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scuttling · 3 years ago

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Weigh Me Down

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 4,221 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad bod Hotch, Physical domination, Manhandling, Slapping, Choking, Mild breath play, Sir kink, Oral sex, Rough sex, Unprotected sex, Biting, Begging, Dirty Talk Summary: You always knew being the kind of girl who runs her mouth would get you in trouble eventually; you just had no idea how incredible being in trouble could feel. *Inspired by @unicornprancing. Link to A03 or read below! It’s always the quiet ones: it’s a cliché because it’s true, something you’ve never really given much thought to because you are not a quiet one. You talk a lot, laugh a lot, aren’t afraid to speak your mind—it can get you in trouble at work, when local law enforcement is being stubborn and you give them a piece of your mind, or when Hotch gives an order that makes no sense, like stay behind me.

Has he met you? You aren’t the stay behind me type, not by a long shot, so when he says that or something like that, it always leads to you running your big mouth and starting an argument.

You are surprised as hell when one of those arguments follows you back to the office and, in an apparent effort to get you to stop talking, Hotch presses your back against his closed door with his body and puts his hands on either side of your head, leaning in to kiss you rough and deep.

Kissing Hotch is not a thought you've ever entertained. It’s not that you don’t find him attractive—he’s pretty much everything you dream about in a man, tall and strong and commanding, with dark hair and big hands and a withering stare. It’s more that you are so different, that you are loud and lively where he is quiet and clearly repressed; the idea of the two of you together just doesn’t make sense, until it really, really does.

You fist your hands in his shirt, arch up to press your hips against his, and he puts his hands on your body and shoves you back against the door; there’s something hanging on the wall to your right, and its frame rattles with the force of it. You moan into the kiss, and he pulls back, panting, to look into your eyes.

“Was just trying to shut you up for a change,” he says, low, and you lick your lips, look over his face. He’s still angry, and his hands are hard on your hips, holding you down when you try to press up again. Your heart is pounding, your breathing harsh.

“It was working.” His eyes sweep over your lips, your heaving chest, and you suddenly want so many things, starting with his mouth on yours immediately. “Maybe try again.”

He tilts his head, looking like he can’t decide whether he wants to kiss you or purposefully deny you what you’re asking for, but ultimately he gives in, leans in, takes your face in one of his big hands and kisses you hard.

You twist your fingers tighter in his shirt, slip him your tongue, and struggle against his hand so he’ll let you make contact, so you can feel the raging hard-on he has to be sporting. He takes his hand off your hip, and you think you’ve won, but he slides a thigh between your legs instead, pins you against the door that way, and grabs your wrists; he pulls your hands away from his shirt despite your tightening grip, holds your arms over your head, and deepens the kiss, makes it wetter and messier.

All your life, you have wanted this: someone bigger and stronger who could handle you at your mouthiest, who could calm the fire that’s always raging inside you and wind you up at the same time. Men have always been intimidated because you’re in the FBI, or because you were a cop, and for those reasons you’re also physically more capable than they expect; plenty of guys enjoy having a girlfriend who can rough them up a little, but not the guys you want. The guys you want see your strength, your fortitude, and they go running.

Hotch knows all of this about you, and he’s not running.

Far from running, he is crowding you up against the door, his body and his hands and his unrelenting mouth bringing you such pleasure you’re tempted to try to rub off against his leg. You grind against it, more to see what he will do than to actually try to achieve anything, and he shifts so both of your wrists are in one hand, brings the other to your jaw to hold it still. When he stops kissing you, you whimper at the loss.

“No.” So deep it’s almost a growl, his command is one you can feel in your bones, and you swallow hard. Your eyes are fixed on his, and you grind up against him again; his hand flexes on your jaw, presses into the bone, and while that feels really good, there’s something you want even more. You cover his hand with yours—his grip loosens, either because he knows you’re trying to ask for more or because he thinks you’ve had too much—and slide it to your cheek.

You let him go, look up at him, breathless, and he pulls back and slaps your face: not too hard, or too soft, just enough to sting and soak your panties. You gasp, lick your lips, dazed, and he switches hands, hold your wrists together with one and slaps the opposite cheek with the other. He takes your jaw in his hand again, tilts your face up like he’s daring you to act up.

You contemplate it, quickly weigh the pros and cons—acting up is looking better by the minute—but someone comes up and knocks on the door, right behind your head.

Hotch drops your hands, steps back, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, try to snap out of the trance you’ve found yourself in. He turns around, presses his hand against the front of his pants, clears his throat and says, “come in.”

It’s JJ, and she gives the both of you a concerned once over when she enters; she was in the SUV with you on the way back from the airport, had a front row seat to the argument that started it all. You can’t imagine how you look—flushed, breathless, a little confused?—but Hotch somehow manages to look unaffected, like he’s really just been up here bickering with you all this time. You envy his composure.

“I was just getting ready to leave, wanted to make sure you guys didn’t need anything.” He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and looks over at you; you shake your head too, hope that your inability to do much more than stand there can be attributed to the fight she clearly thinks the two of you were having. “Okay then. Have a nice weekend,” she says, flashing a soft smile, and she leaves, closes the door behind her. Hotch blows out a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair.

“Look,” he says, and your heart sinks so fast. You really thought for a second that things might be different with him. That you finally found what you’d been looking for.

“No, I get it,” you manage to say, and your voice is rough, but you look him dead in the eye because that’s who you are. “You didn’t mean for it to go that far. We can pretend it didn’t happen.”

You’re surprised again when he frowns, shakes his head.

“No. Well, yes, but no. I didn’t mean to take it that far, I’ve never—I’ve never done that.” He wets his lips and takes a step closer to you, and already your body knows how to react to his proximity. It’s like a switch was flipped, and now it can’t be unflipped. “But I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. Not if you don’t.”

You breathe heavily, let silence blanket the room for one heartbeat, two. Twenty.

“I don’t. I really don’t.” He takes another step closer, brings a hand to your cheek, but this time his touch is gentle.

“Then we won’t.”

His mouth, when it finds yours, is not gentle. It is bruising, probing, his tongue seeking yours, and you wrap your arms around his back, his shoulders, encourage it, until one of your hands drops to his belt and he grabs it, forces it down at your side.

“Not here,” he says through gritted teeth—probably because, while he’s saying no, the unmistakable bulge in his pants is actually begging yes. You move the hand he’s not holding, brush it through his hair, and he blinks slow. “Do you want to come home with me tonight?”

You’re pretty sure you’ve never wanted anything more in your goddamn life. The ride to Hotch’s place is slightly awkward. You are both mostly silent, in that stage of the hookup where you’re both reliving how you got here, wondering what will happen, if this is the right thing, if it’s worth it.

From everything you’ve seen so far, it’s really fucking worth it.

His apartment is very nice, clean, kind of bare in that modern bachelor way. Yours isn’t much better, because you are always at work, always looking at photos of missing women instead of your family and friends. You run a hand along the sofa—large, black, suede—and comment on it just to say something, and he puts his hands gently on either side of your throat, kisses you, and looms over you so you are forced to settle back onto it.

You lay back, one foot on the floor and the other leg stretched along the length of the cushions, and he pushes his way between your knees, drapes himself over top of you, kisses some more. You run your hands over him because he lets you, truly feeling his body for the first time, and the thickness, solidness, softness has you moaning against his lips for more.

He leans up, takes one hand off your throat, and moves the other to the front of it, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck. The image of him on top of you like this, your literal life, safety, comfort in his hands… it’s intoxicating, and you nod just slightly, to let him know that if he wants, this is something he can have. Something he can take.

He bends down to brush his lips over yours, then over your throat, your ear. “Just a little,” he murmurs, squeezing tight. “I’d prefer to discuss it more—unless you wanted to stop and do that now.” There is a smirk in his voice when he says it, because he knows already that stopping is the furthest thing from your mind. You’ll take just a little, for now.

He leans up again, flexes that hand on your throat in a way that makes your eyelids flutter. With his free hand, he loosens the knot of his tie, pulls it off, starts slipping his buttons free.

Undressing himself on top of you, making eye contact, restricting your air supply—never before have you been willing to give a man free rein of your body, but there’s a first time for everything, and he’s quickly earning himself a key to your kingdom. Your body thrums at the idea of being at his complete mercy, tied up maybe, legs spread, edged with his mouth and hands until all you can do is whine his name and beg to come.

Your face heats, and you whimper, and he loosens his grip, brushes his thumb over your mouth.

“Good girl. Are you alright?” You lick your lips, swiping your tongue over the pad of his finger, and nod.

“Yes, sir.”

You would never be insubordinate—okay, you absolutely would be, have been, were earlier today—but authority is not really your friend, so you aren’t the type of person to throw sir around like it’s second nature. Your use of the title here is deliberate—call it a hunch—and when his eyes darken, it’s clear it’s worth swallowing your pride over.

He takes his hand off of you, makes quicker work of his shirt with both hands available to him. You look down at his crotch, and he pauses to bring his hands to yours, moves them to his belt, giving you permission to open it. The clink of the buckle feels obscene in his quiet apartment, and you untuck his shirt so he can pull it off, left only in a tight undershirt that emphasizes every curve of muscle, the bit of softness across his midsection. He’s perfect, and you run your hands over him, moan, make sure that he knows it.

He pulls your t-shirt off, unhooks your bra and kisses your throat, your chest, cups your breasts in his hands and teases your nipples with a pointed tongue. You let your head fall back, because it feels so good and you want to feel his tongue lower, wonder how he’d react to the taste of the slickness that’s been pooling in your panties since he slammed you up against that door.

“Fuck. Please.” He looks up at you from where he’s mouthing at your breasts, pulls off with a wet sound and rubs his hand up your chest to curl around your neck.

“You have to tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’m not a mind reader.” You whimper, and he presses his thumb into your mouth, lets you suck on it a moment before easing it out. “Always running your mouth, always disobeying me. Always have to have the last word. Where’s that mouthy girl now?” You stare up at him, say nothing, and he slaps your cheek, pushes two fingers into your mouth when it falls open in a moan.

He’s back to undressing one handed, stands while his fingers thrust over your tongue and pushes his pants down, his underwear. You moan when his cock springs up, big and full, and you bob your head a little so maybe he’ll get that you want to give him a sickeningly sloppy blow job.

“No, you don’t get this yet,” he says, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and spreading the wetness over the dark head of his dick. “You don’t get anything until I give it to you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you promise with a nod, and he pulls his undershirt off and works your pants open, drags them down your legs. He exhales deeply when presented with your panties—you’re certain they’re obscenely, visibly wet, and it’s confirmed when pulls them off and you can feel how messy you are, your sticky arousal coating your pussy, ass, and thighs.

He pushes your legs up, leans in, and swipes his tongue over you, from your opening to your clit, then over your inner thighs, and you moan, buck against him. Moving his hands to just behind your knees, he holds you tightly, lays his arms over the length of your pushed up thighs, presses down so you can’t move. You whimper at the restriction, and he presses harder, dives down to lick and kiss your pussy, to tug at your lips gently with his teeth.

“All this because of a little roughness?” he asks with a delicious jab of his tongue inside your aching hole. “Soaking your panties because I slapped your pretty face?” You pant, nod, and he rubs his tongue hard against your clit, gets you so close you can hear the change in your own voice as you moan, and then pulls back. “You’ve been needing someone to put you in your place for a while, haven’t you? Someone who can take hold of that smart mouth and render you silent. Do I have it right, baby?”

He has it exactly right and he knows it, only asks to hear you say the two words he probably never imagined he’d get out of you.

“Yes, sir.” It’s strained and weak, and he lays one forearm across your thighs, holds you down, and batters your clit with his tongue, rubs his huge hand over your hot, sensitive pussy until you come whining and trying desperately to move against him even though you can’t. “Oh my god, Hotch, fuck.”

He kisses you as soon as you sag against the sofa, groaning against your mouth, running his hands over your hips, and you are still trying to catch your breath when he gets his arms around you, scoops you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he tosses you roughly onto the bed, your body bouncing from the force, and then turns you over and wastes no time thrusting inside you, laying on top of you, his full weight all but guaranteeing you’ll come fast and hard.

“Does that feel good?” he grunts in your ear, pounding against your ass, and you whimper, claw at the sheets. He covers your hands with his, laces your fingers so you can't move them, pushes your hair off of the back of your neck with his nose. “Good girl, just lay there and take my cock. You aren’t the type to put up a fight, are you?”

That shouldn’t turn you on like it does, but you live to fight, and now that you have this incredible, sexy, strong man on top of you, dominating you the way you’ve only dreamed, it just comes naturally.

You try to buck back against his thighs but can’t because he’s so heavy, his thrusts so deep and rough. You try to get your arms free, whine when he holds your hands tighter, when he presses his biceps down against the backs of your arms so they can’t move at all. You thrash your head, moaning, loud, nearly primal sounds of pleasure, and he puts his mouth against the back of your neck, bites down hard like you’re an animal he’s forcing to submit.

“Settle, settle; just let me fuck you, let me come inside. You’re no match for me, sweetheart.” Your eyes roll back in your head as he speaks it into your ear, as he rocks his thighs against your ass, as you can feel the muscles of his stomach flex against your lower back. He uses your body, truly, every inch of it covered and compressed by the weight of him, forcing your breasts and clit to rub against the comforter; any one thing he’s doing would be enough, but all of it combined is almost too much, and you whimper, desperate, needy. “Too weak to do anything but let yourself be fucked, aren’t you? Whether or not we come is up to me.”

“Mmh, yes sir,” you breathe, and he leans in to bite the back of your neck again, possessive and rough. It sends a wave of arousal through your whole body, makes your pussy throb and ache. “Oh, god. Please, please make me come. Please use me to come.” Your voice is high, eager, so unlike you’ve ever heard it before that it somehow only adds to your pleasure.

“Using you, baby,” he groans in your ear, thrusting faster, harder, the fleshy smack of your thighs as he fucks and the wetness of your cunt as you take him in filthy and amazing. “I’ll make you come, I’ll come in you, if you promise to be a good girl for me. Are you a good girl?”

God, he’s really going to make you say this. Being a sweet, subservient girl is not in your nature, but it could be, for him. You’d be anything he wants you to be.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur, and he lifts one hand off of yours and puts it on the side of your head, pressing your cheek against the bed while he fucks you.

“Louder.”

“Yes, sir.” Your voice is louder, but less convincing, and he trails his lips over the curve of your ear, sinks his teeth into your exposed throat.

“Louder.” He punctuates it with a hard, almost brutal snap of his hips, and you can feel your orgasm so close, try not to become so focused on the feeling that you miss out on all the rest.

“Yes, sir, I’m a good girl. Please, please.” He picks up the pace, crushing you against the bed, beneath his weight, and you are sweaty, breathless, out of control—perfect.

“Yes you are, and you’re going to come for me.” Soft lips brush over the stinging bites he left on your neck, and he swipes his tongue over them, soothes them. “Who are you going to come for?”

“You, sir,” you gasp, body tensing, pussy clenching, and he groans.

“Who are you going to come for? I need a name, baby.” You whimper, moan, wish you could kiss him, taste him, and when you come it is violent, lengthy, gripping your whole body and dragging it somewhere you’ve never been.

“Aaron—oh, god, I’m coming for you, Aaron. Please, please.” Your eyes water as he fucks you through it, pumping deep until he spills inside you, panting that’s right, easy, just like that in your ear until he’s spent.

He settles on top of you, and the layer of sweat between you should feel disgusting, but it just makes you feel closer to him, like a good girl, like you earned the reminder of how hard you both worked, how hard you came.

He is all sweet kisses and gentle hands, asking if you are alright, praising your performance, your body; it feels so good, his velvet voice wrapping around you, his heavy body pressing down on yours.

You shower after that, so you can sleep; notorious insomniac that you are, he chuckles in your ear when you start to drift off in his arms almost instantly after he gets you both situated in bed. You wake to gentle hands sweeping over your body. You are bruised where he held you down, sore all over in the very best way; you hum at his touch, turn to face him so you can collect soft, sleepy kisses. You drape your arm over his stomach, bury your face in his chest, and he rubs his hand over the back of your neck where you are bitten and raw and claimed. It turns you on—the feel, the memory, the implication—and he lays you back against the bed, puts a pillow under your ass, then settles between your legs and kisses your mouth.

“Going to make you feel really good, baby. Just do as I say, be a good girl, and I promise I’ll make you come.” You nod, tired but horny and ready to do as he says, and he leans up over you, wraps his hands around your shoulders, hooks his chin against your neck. His weight is pressing down on you again, but this time it’s different, sweeter and more intimate. You smile softly, wet your lips.

He slides inside you, maneuvers your legs up over his thighs, and rocks upward, his pelvis lined up in such a way that it rubs right over your clit. You moan, wrap your arms around his back, roll your hips while he grinds against you, pumping shallowly inside but, more importantly, stimulating your clit with each stroke.

“Aaron,” you sigh, holding him tightly while he moves against you, and you throw your head back, gasp and groan while his heavy body glides over yours, while he breathes roughly in your ear.

“Yes, baby. Feels good? Want your sweet pussy to feel good, after I was rough last night.”

“Yes, sir, feels good.” It leaves your mouth as a groan as he humps against you right over your clit, as he tilts his head to kiss you softly below your ear.

“Not sir right now, just Aaron.” You hum, clutch him tighter, move against him, feel the tip of his cock come so close to slipping out just to have it pushed carefully back inside.

“Feels really good. I’m close.” He grinds a little faster, body rolling harder against yours, and you shudder, dig your nails in, and climax, easy and slow and delicious. He praises you even though, again, you didn’t do much, then leans up on his forearms and pushes in fully, thrusts quick and deep. “Mmm, yeah. Want your come.” You pull him close for a kiss, grip his shoulders hard while he fucks you fast, desperate.

You kiss his arms when he comes, panting and gorgeous over you, and when he collapses onto you you wrap your arms and legs around him, hold him tightly, and hum.

“What are you thinking about, baby?” he asks, knows that sound, and you press your lips to his shoulder.

“Just thinking how nice this is. How I like that last night isn’t all you want from me.” He makes eye contact, smooths your hair back, brushes a kiss against your mouth.

“I want anything—everything. I think we could be really good together, despite our differences… if that’s something you want.” You nod, smile softly, and he reciprocates, leans in for more easy kisses. “One thing, though: when I tell you to stay behind me, stay behind me.” Your smile melts into a scowl.

“You wouldn’t tell Derek to stay behind you!”

“Why are you comparing yourself to Derek? Why are you comparing at all, I told you—”

“I know what you told me, and it’s bullshit, so forgive me if I—”

“I don’t forgive you, actually, and if you keep talking back to me—”

“What are you going to do?” He demonstrates. It’s extremely effective. You still don’t stay behind him when he tells you to.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #prompt #unicornprancing

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ryoskuna · 4 years ago

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⭑ shaken, not stirred. | bartender!sukuna au.

notes: this thought of bartender!sukuna has been in my head for weeks, but it’s when my mom was giving me a lecture while i was thinking of sketching him as bartender that solidified the fact. this may become a series thing, and you’re also welcomed to ask questions about this au (please do, it is one of my new favorite things). also i have no idea what reader will be in this au-verse, but i’m thinking a law student (am i self-projecting... perhaps), but i’m open to y’all’s suggestions and can do headcanons for whatever kind of reader y’all want to see. additionally, did i screenshot that picture for the banner from episode 14 bc i thought he looked extra good?? yeah... i did.

warnings: like... mild nsfw via music suggestions, mentions of drink tampering but not from sukuna

bonus: there’s a playlist that goes with this, here.

taglist: @lethargicyashi, @night-rook, @izuniias, @skys-luce-stellare, @skys-luce-stellare

there’s something about 6′4 sukuna shaking a cocktail shaker to toxic by britney spears that just.... chef’s kiss. no i will not elaborate, just think about it.

sometimes, you think he’s taller than 6′4, but that’s just his platform doc martens.

god, the man chewing on a thin stirring/cocktail straw or just holding it in his jaw, in between his teeth and watch his lips purse around it. he’ll take it out to talk, of course.

the waist apron he wears only emphasizes his shoulder-to-hip ratio

the best seat in the house is literally anywhere you can see him??? like behind him, you can see his back muscles flex, but in the front, you can see his tattoos on his chest peeking out from the fact that he is not going to ever button the top two buttons on his shirt. also, he leaves his sleeves pushed up to his elbows on most nights

tongue piercing, check. both of his ears are pierced, but he tends to change up whether he has just one in or both.

you find out about the tongue piercing when he does his taste-testing of the drinks he mixes, via the straw drop (take a black plastic straw, dips the straw into the glass, covers the unsubmerged straw end with his index finger to create suction, lifts the straw to his lips, releases his index finger, and "tastes" the cocktail). usually he’ll put the straw in his mouth, but if he notices you’re watching, well, there goes the tongue piercing.

he wears rings, constantly. at least two, one on each hand.

he is a megan the stallion fan (and nicki minaj too, but i digress) and knows most of the words to her songs. his personal favorite is crybaby, and you being his s/o, well, he’ll sing it word for word to you while making drinks at home. he leans in and whispers the real intense/filthy parts like (”uh-uh, don’t fuck me like that fuck me like this”) yeah. he looks like he’s talking normal, but the way his voice drops more and he whispers??? goodbye world.

sometimes he likes to tease too much while he’s singing and will lean in to lick the shell of your ear or maybe nip your earlobe, who knows

and then he’ll pass your drink like nothing ever happened

also has doja cat on his playlist, but yuji is to blame for that

cherry knot tying king

casual friday for the staff at said bar/establishment, and he’s coming in jeans and a loose tank top, you know, the ones with the drops on the sleeves on the sides??

sukuna is extremely aware of what’s happening in the room at all times. some creep hitting on someone? intervene. someone trying to spike a drink?? he catches them in the act. someone spiked a drink???? he just looks at the recipient, tells them to switch with him, and before they can say anything, they have a new, safe drink while he has the tampered one.

does he grab offenders whether they’re being following creeps, coming on too strong, or trying to tamper with drinks by the scruff of their necks and carry them out personally? yes, yes he does. if you’re there, he’ll wink at you before he gives him a kick on the ass for good measure as he pushes them out the door.

he makes custom drinks for people, like he’ll ask what’s your preference in taste like sweet, strong or whatever, plus two other questions that seem unrelated but he’s managed to make the perfect drink for you

again, he’s highly aware of his surroundings, so if you’re looking at his back, he knows, and will look over his shoulder to smirk at you, looking you right in the eyes. (SHEESH)

thinking of him coming in on one of his days off with a ballcap and a tight, dry fit t-shirt on, so by the time he’s working, his hair is a lil messy, and you better thank heaven for that dry fit t-shirt because MUSCLES BABE

is working on his own lil drink recipe book, which means you either get to be his taste tester, or taste it when he kisses you

this man knows he’s hot, he’s a smug shit about it, and works it to his favor. does he tie cherry knots at work because the women at the bar go crazy and give him extra tips?? yes

but if you’re there, oh sweetheart, he’s actually going to give you the cherry before putting the knot in his mouth to tie, BYE

also.... hehe, had to mention this but uh... you could bounce a quarter off that ass of his

he comes home from a late/graveyard shift, and just crawls into bed, smelling like syrup and cologne, just... run your fingers through his hair and he’ll be out in a few minutes

occasionally, he will sleep on the couch as not to disturb you, but the man really is too big to be sleeping on a couch.

if his shift starts at 6, he comes in at 5, hair a little damp from the shower he just took, and in a clean dry fit shirt and tight slacks or dark colored jeans. he’ll either work in the dry fit shirt, or he has a button up he can change into in the back

also??? really decent and will help you get stains out of your clothes if it’s something he can swing to clean in the sink like a shirt

otherwise, he’ll write what you need on a napkin and pass it to you

fucking hates white claws with a passion, ngl

during particularly slow moments at work, you might be able to catch him plucking a few cords on the guitar that sits on stage or poking around with the piano (look, i think he’s very capable of playing instruments and his fingers are good for it)

painted nails!! they’re usually a dark purple or black, occasionally a dark red. sometimes they’re clear, but he’s gotten the idea from when he supposedly was in his emo phase (and learned to keep something on them from breaking from his younger brother’s friend nobara)

likes to dance with you to the songs on his playlist in his minimalistic kitchen in between cooking or making drinks

at least once a month, you can catch him in a necklace

during the winter months, tight turtlenecks or ribbed long sleeved shirts are his best friends

he also drives a very nice and sleek black car (i’d imagine it’s like a black audi TT or an audi R8) that sits in the back of the parking lot and has a habit of turning his keys on his index finger as he walks towards the building/into work.

bartending might have started as a part time job when he was in college, but it’s something he’s just kept up over the years

man fills up a lot of space and knows it, even when he’s leaning on his back countertop during breaks or on the bar to take orders with his arms folded over his chest

ANYWAYS. be nice to your local bartender because he can bite. take that as you will.

#this was so utterly self indulgent #enjoy the meal #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #bartender!sukuna au.#sukuna.#jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #Jujutsu Kaisen #jjk #jjk hcs #jujutsu kaisen x reader #my writing.#rsff

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valdemart · 4 years ago

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Valdebreed Part 2

Us: *votes for courtier content*

Nyx Hydra: Yeah we’re not gonna actually do that lol

I tried to keep Valdemar as in character as possible but honestly? Fuck cannon. If Nyx Hydra isn’t going to feed us, I am! Come get y’all lunch!

NSFW ValdemarxReader Consentacles, way too much cum, dirty talking Valdemar, breeding kink, ruined furniture, pet names, after care probably a rushed intro but fuck it.

After pulling yourself together and freshening up in a very well-earned bath, you made your way back to your room where Valdemar waited.

The fire place had been lit. It was also the only light in the room. If it hadn’t been your own room, you might have bumped into something as you made your way over to where you could see Valdemar.

When you first moved in, there had been a chair in the library that you had fallen in love with. It was an oversized arm chair, big enough to curl up in, made of burgundy velvet. You sank into it like a spoiled house cat and read for hours at a time. Valdemar had found you napping in it at some point and shortly after you had found it had been moved to your room. That’s where they sat now. Naked.

Valdemar never disrobed. Ever. Honestly, you had wondered a few times if their clothing wasn’t part of their actual body. This wasn’t their ‘real’ form, after all. You wouldn’t have been totally shocked to learn that their coat was just their true form’s arm or something, molded to look like clothing. Apparently, you were wrong. All of their skin was the same olive hue as their face and hands, the only other skin of theirs you had really seen before. They were a rectangular shape, their waist only dipping in slightly beneath their ribcage before fulling out to their hips. Their ribs were almost all entirely visible, the shadows cast by the firelight highlighting each groove and protuberance. And sitting on those ribs were the tiniest handfuls of breast tissue, with such perfectly symmetrical shape and nipples that they very obviously weren’t ‘human’. You’d only ever known breasts to be perfect mirror images of each other on statues. You could follow their legs up to their lap, but then all you could make out was shadow.

They were breathtakingly and horrifyingly beautiful.

“I think I’m…overdressed,” you said, your voice so thick with anticipation that you had to pause to swallow before you could finish your sentence.

“For now. I thought this particular situation called for some vulnerability on my part. Disrobe, Little Mouse.”

You slid off your robe and let it pool at your feet, leaving you as bare as they were.

“Come to me.”

You were before them in an instant, desperate to be near them. On them. Filled with them.

“Sit.”

You straddled their lap slowly, knowing the extent of their strength, but still slightly put off by the sight of their ribs. Parts of your brain seemed to have mistaken them for human.

You shivered as your chest pressed against theirs and your nipples hardened against their cool skin. You noticed quietly that theirs were still unerect and soft against you. Their hands wrapped around you gently, their fingers somehow sliding perfectly into the spaces between your ribs where they connected to your spine. If they squeezed, they could probably collapse your whole chest cavity. You had seen them crush a femur in their fist like it had been made out of sugar.

“We’re you ready to begin the experiment, Mouseling?”

“Kiss me first?”

Their lips were cold and thin and they felt so good against your heated skin.

There was loud crackling noise, too loud to have been from the fireplace, followed by a grotesque, wet sound. It sounded like someone was butchering a chicken right in front of you and you would have fallen back to the floor in surprise if Valdemar hadn’t been holding you.

You only saw it for a second but, in the firelight, you saw a cleft on Valdemar’s sternum that started to split open further like the skin was being retracted. You yelped and Valdemar reached out to grab your chin and hold your head upright.

“Look at me, Mouseling. Look only at me.”

They released your chin but your eyes never left theirs. You watched the flames behind you flicker in their red eyes as something unimaginably horrible was happening right below you. The sound traveled downward until it stopped where their genitals would be. Then it was quiet again. You could feel the dark energy emanating from just a few inches below you, but your eyes never left Valdemar’s and you weren’t sure if it was from fear or servility.

“Such an obedient little thing,” Valdemar praised as they brushed your hair off your face. You were sweating despite the chill of their skin and your head was swimming. Their magic tended to do that to you. Asra’s magic and your own magic never made you sick, but Valdemar’s always did. You weren’t sure if it was because it came from a different source or because it was too strong for you. Asra said it was a much older, much darker magic, and that even he wasn’t completely sure he understood it. That had upset you at first, and you tried to argue with him that Valdemar wasn’t evil and you were sick of everyone’s constant comments about it, but he merely placed a finger to your lips to silence you and said ‘I said dark energy, not evil energy’. To Asra’s credit, he handled your relationship with the doctor better than most people had.

But what would he think about a baby?

“Allow me to show you just how satisfying that which you fear is.”

Several appendages the width of a finger started to caress your body, making you jerk away against them, but Valdemar held you steady and your eyes never left theirs. They stared at you, unblinking and smiling softly, as their little tendrils fondled your stomach and legs. They were wet and soft like small tongues, and they left trails of moisture wherever they lapped. While they were a little unnerving, the sensation was like nothing you had felt before. Especially when they found your breasts. They flicked against your nipples flatly before wrapping around them to tug lightly. Your clit pulsed desperately with each little caress and your wet hole clenched around nothing, leaving you feeling desperately empty.

You groaned softly and bucked forward, trying to guide even one of those tendrils to where you now needed it most.

“Impatient?” Valdemar asked, knowing damned well the answer to their own question. “We have the rest of eternity.”

Still, the tendrils descended then. Some softly pulled your lips apart, exposing you, while others tasted you. Two alternated flicks against your clitoris while three or maybe four slid into you at varying depths.

You keened and bucked into Valdemar’s lap, but you knew nothing you could do would change anything they had planned for you.

“Let’s get you nice and prepared to take my seed.”

It didn’t take long for the appendages to lubricate you, perhaps excessively so. Your body was wet now, and it caused you to shiver against the air.

The tendrils working your body withdrew, and you whined pitifully.

“Hush, Pet,” Valdemar said softly, though clearly unannoyed.

There was a singular tendril then, thicker than any of the last ones. A blunt head prodded you gently for a moment before sliding fully inside. Its girth stretched you, but whatever Valdemar had covered you in took away all resistance.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and, for a moment, you were worried they wouldn’t come back. This was so much more than anything Valdemar had ever given you. You doubted Valdemar had an established phallus, especially since they shapeshifted every other part of their physical form. This huge thing inside of you was made specifically because they wanted you helplessly full, pinned from the inside.

“I c-cant…Val…”

You weren’t asking for them to stop. No, this was delicious. You need this. But it was so, so much.

“You can. And you will.”

The phallus withdrew slowly to the tip before sliding back in just as slowly, all while Valdemar didn’t move a muscle. It was so typical of the demon, to wreck you without any indication of physical response on their end. They were going to fuck you and anyone watching would think they had nothing to do with it.

Valdmar’s…cock? For lack of a better comparison in your mind fucked you in the uniform way Valdemar did anything. While it lacked human variation, it was unrelenting in its endeavor to impregnant you.

“I can feel your little cunt milking me. Your body’s as desperate to get pregnant as you are.”

Your head dropped with a heavy moan and Valdemar shifted back, taking your full weight against them. If this dicking didn’t kill you, them talking like that certainly would. The heat inside of you was becoming unbearable. All you needed was a little bit more.

“Can you go faster?” You asked softly as you jerked your hips forward into their thrusting.

“Weren’t you just saying you couldn’t handle things as they were?”

You whined pitifully at their teasing.

“Please? Please? Please?”

With each beg you humped yourself harder. You could feel your climax mounting and all you wanted was to finish with Valdemar this deep inside of you. You weren’t above begging.

“Of course, Duckling. We need your orgasm to move my ejaculate to your womb.”

Their weird medical speak should have been embarrassing, but your walls fluttered around them.

One of their hands found the back of your head while the other wrapped around your waist. When Valdemar pushed back into you, it was a sharp, hard thrust and you cried out before you fell forward. You moaned loudly into the fabric of the chair and Valdemar held you against it.

“I have you.”

The tentacle started to piston in and out of you, the speed of the penetration through both of your fluids making the most unholy of sounds, like someone drowning in mud. Your body jiggled and shuddered against Valdemar as they remained perfectly still while they kept you caged to them.

“Val! Val-d-de-mah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

It was right there. You could feel yourself about to snap. Just a little more. Oh, please just a little more. Oh please oh please oh please oh please

A few of the small tendrils from earlier reappeared to lap at your clit and you screamed into the chair. As you contracted around the still thrusting phallus, you could feel it erupt. The fluid coming out of it wasn’t hot or cold, but there was a ridiculous amount of it. It squirted inside of you before you felt it leak out around the two of you, quickly causing a puddle to form in Valdemar’s lap. Despite this, they were still moving in and out of you, fucking their cum back inside of you as it came out.

Too spent to try and wiggle away from the overstimulation, you whimpered for mercy.

“ ‘S too much. Val…”.

“I’m only trying to make sure you’re completely inseminated. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Despite their teasing, their tendril retracted out of you. You shuddered, both thankful for the break and grieving the loss of fullness.

“Val…That was crazy…”

“Science often is.”

It wasn’t hard for Valdemar to maneuver you onto your back in their lap, despite you being completely dead weight. Hooking one arm under your knees, they elevated your lower body and cradled you.

“You’re being too wasteful with my sperm, Little One. You need to be more grateful.”

Finally able to look at yourself, you saw that you were bathed almost completely in black. It started around your breasts where the tendrils had played with you and you grew darker the further down yourself you looked. Of course, Valdemar came black. You doubted anything viable in terms of offspring would actually come of this, but the closeness, the intimacy, that was what you had really needed. The brain melting orgasm hadn’t hurt either.

“I love you.”

Valdemar hummed in acknowledgement before softly running a finger down your stomach, through the gummy pitch they had covered you in, before tracing small circles around your womb.

Every time the fire flickered, the lighting on their face changed, making them look like they were morphing briefly. You couldn’t help but smile.

“We’re going to have such cute kids.”

#I wanted to spend more time on this but its been months and ill just never be happy with my work so *fart noise*#valdemar x apprentice #consentacles #quaestor valdemar #valdemar the arcana

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clonecest-bin-account · 3 years ago

Text

Relaxing massage

Ship: Jessix

Rating: E

Kix gives Jesse a massage.

AO3 link

When Kix offers him a massage, Jesse immediately says yes, without thinking about it not ever for a moment.

The feeling of Kix’s hands travelling all across his body has to be one of his favorites, if anything because of how good he is at it, always knowing where to touch and where to tease; it helps that, first things first, Kix is a medic, so anatomical knowledge is his forte, and secondly, that he knows Jesse’s body by heart, which makes having sex with him truly something special. He really loves it.

A groan leaves his lips as Kix works at one of his knots of his back. Now more than ever he’s grateful for his cyare’s talent with his hands.

He still can’t help but to think at how readily he answered when Kix asked if he could do this; what can he say, it would’ve been foolish to refuse, and Jesse is no fool. As if he’d ever refuse a chance for some good times thanks to Kix. So here he is, lying down on his bunk, naked, with Kix settled on his legs, massaging his body.

He can smell the pungent odor of the oils he’s using and he gotta say, he likes it. He’s not even the only one who does: as he was passing through to leave the barracks, suspicious empty except from them - almost as if Kix had told them to buzz off beforehand - Hardcase commented on it too, saying that, whatever it is, it’s good. He also commented on Jesse’s ass, but he just laughed and waved him off - they all share the same body, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of.

He wonders how long the smell of the oils will linger in the room. It might be a double-edged sword because, if on one hand it would be nice if the barracks would smell good instead that of sweat or something worse, on the other Jesse fears that the association of this smell to what Kix is doing to him right now might lead to some awkward times. Oh well, that’s the last of his problems right now, so he can easily discard this thought.

“Good?” Kix asks, as if he doesn’t know the answer to that question. Still, Jesse humors him with a groan, which makes Kix chuckle and lower his hands until…

A squeak leaves Jesse’s lips when Kix’s fingers circles his rim. He immediately turns towards him, question evident in his eyes. “Kix?” he utters.

“No?” Kix asks, looking like he hasn’t just touched his ass.

Jesse ponders about it. What is he exactly afraid of? By now he’s pretty sure he must’ve done something to convince everyone to stay clear of the barracks, meaning that he must have something in mind.

It would be a waste of a perfect occasion if he says no, wouldn’t it?

“Why not?” he says then, curious to see what Kix has in store for him; it’s surely going to be good.

He’s immediately rewarded by Kix’s smile as he leans down to leave a kiss on Jesse’s shoulder, while he goes back with his fingers to Jesse’s ass, reaching for his entrance.

His movements are featherlike, slow, methodical. The oil is of great help as Kix begins to circle the tight pucker with a digit. It’s just one and yet it’s already makes Jesse twitch from the anticipation.

“Sssh… Stay calm,” Kix gently admonishes him, kissing a line from shoulder to shoulder. That’s easy for you to say, Jesse would love to tell him, but all that comes out of his mouth is a groan; Kix doesn’t say anything about that, so it must’ve been good enough.

Jesse has no idea about how much time has passed, but Kix still hasn’t moved on from massaging his rim. He’s tried already to subtly move in a way that would make Kix understand that he’s more than ready for what comes next, but to no avail.

“Kiiiiixie, c’mon…” he tries, then, figuring that maybe he just needs to be direct.

“Soon,” is all Kix replies with, however, much to Jesse’s frustration. He lets out a groan, burying his face between his arms. Why has his dear cyare decided that he was going to torture him like this today?

And yet, Jesse can’t help but to think as Kix keeps circling his rim, unrelenting, that he doesn’t really mind it. Kix could do any sorts of things to him and he’d take them all.

When Kix moves down, it’s enough to convince Jesse that things are about to get moving, so you can imagine his disappointed when he finds out that he’s doing it only to lay one single kiss to his pucker, making it twitch.

“Kixieeeeee,” he whines, making Kix chuckle.

Something changes, however, before Jesse finally feels Kix’s thumb breaching inside. His cyare is moving slowly, carefully, as if Jesse wouldn’t be able to handle it if he were rougher, though it’s also true that it’s nice being pampered like this.

He mutters a small “yes” when Kix begins to move his thumb in and out. He almost looks like he’s testing the waters, but as long as he keeps moving, Jesse’s happy about it.

Kix goes on just for a little while, then he pulls away, much to Jesse’s desperation. He begins trashing around, trying to get some contact again. “Kix!”

A chuckle. “I’ve got you, relax!” Kix says, soothing Jesse by pressing a finger inside, making Jesse groan. Damn, Kix must’ve ruined him if he’s getting this worked up just for a mere finger!

He shivers at the way the other arches it upwards, crooking it just right. At this point, Jesse isn’t even bothering keeping quiet, letting him know just how much he’s appreciating him.

His moans are getting higher in pitch when Kix adds another finger, scissoring inside him. The stretch feels so good.

Stretching him open, however, isn’t Kix’s objective, and soon, in fact, he drops it in favor of something else.

It takes little effort to find what he’s looking for, and as soon as he does, Kix begins to rub his fingers against that spot mercilessly, without skipping a beat.

It feels nice, of course, but for now that’s it. Still, Jesse doesn’t do anything except enjoying the sensation of Kix rubbing against his prostate. He closes his eyes, exhaling from his nose; he doesn’t think he’s ever been looser and more relaxed in his life, even with the pleasure that is building up inside him, and it’s building up alright.

The more Kix keeps going, the more that small candle fire inside Jesse burns stronger, brighter, until it becomes a wildfire, burning Jesse from the inside.

“Kix!” he moans, shivering. Despite the build-up, Kix is still moving quite slow, which won’t do at all.

“Ssssh,” Kix mutters though, soothingly. “Relax. Just enjoy it.”

Jesse has lost track of time; they could’ve been doing this for an hour or for a minute and he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

His entire mind feels vacant, filled up just by thoughts of Kix and the pleasure he’s giving him.

He feels on the brink of exploding, and the fact that Kix hasn’t stopped touching him doesn’t help at all. Every time he brushes against his prostate, it sends a jolt of pleasure all over Jesse’s body.

“’m close,” he manages to mutter, though it comes out more like nonsensical ramblings that actually words. It’s fine, Kix has understood him perfectly, if the way he begins to rub against his prostate more insistently and faster can tell us anything.

“That’s good. Let go,” he encourages him, voice gentle, always gentle. He crooks his fingers, and Jesse knows he’s done for. He does it again, and Jesse comes. Despite the slow pace, it still feels like a kick to the stomach, but in the best of ways.

Kix doesn’t stop moving. Helping Jesse throughout his whole orgasm, and even after then, he keeps rubbing small circles against his prostate, but in a lighter way and only occasionally making Jesse whine.

When he slowly pulls away. Jesse lets out a sigh. His entire body feels like jelly; he doubts he’d be able to move any time soon for any reason, so he hopes that there won’t be any emergencies, because in that case he’d be as good as dead.

Thankfully that doesn’t seem to be the case, at least not for a while.

He barely realizes that Kix is turning him around until he lays down beside him; at that point, he lazily drapes an arm around his waist and rests his head against his chest.

“Holy shit…” he mutters then. It’s all he’s able to say.

Kix laughs - it brings a smile to Jesse’s tired face - and closes his arms around Jesse’s shoulder, kissing the top of his head. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay,” Jesse replies immediately. “I feel great.”

“That’s good to hear,” Kix replies.

He waits for Jesse to have recovered a bit, then, after looking around to make sure that they’re still alone - not that privacy is such a big deal when you live this close to one another, but sometimes it’s nice - he whispers to Jesse. “It’ll still take a while before everyone makes it back. Wanna go for round two?”

So he did stipulate some sort of agreement with the others! Jesse knew it.

Hearing those words has a rejuvenating effect on Jesse, because he suddenly feels strong enough to be able to turn he and Kix around, getting then immediately between his legs. He’d love to repay Kix with his own coin, but he knows he’s not as patient as him; besides, it would be unkind of him to punish him when he’s made him feel so good. No, what he truly deserves is a reward.

“Oh, you didn’t even have to ask.”

#clonecest #cloneshipping #jessix #arc trooper jesse #clone trooper kix #my fics #spicy tag

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joshslater · 4 years ago

Text

Beached

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

It's really amazing how the beaches can be so empty when the weather is this good. It's technically winter or spring or whatever, but that just means you can spend all day on the beach without getting heatstroke or sunburn. No one else appears to agree with me though. Someone is walking a dog in the distance in one direction, and some surfers are ignoring the warnings of big waves in the distance in the other direction. Like that would be bad thing in their minds, though just right now it isn't as windy as in the morning. Volatile weather is another drawback of spring weather.

I don't think it is the weather that is keeping people away though. This whole plague thing is really messing with people. The hotel was almost deserted and the room dirt cheap. Flight was cheap too. The plan was to go here with Will, but he chickened out at the last moment. Probably the positivity rates of their "second wave" or whatever. The tickets were refundable, only way they can sell anything these days, but I had already made up my mind to go here. Spring in Rio is better than summer at home, and the summer is decidedly over now, where you are never sure in the morning if you need jeans and hoodie. Here it is shorts and T-shirt every day, and the water is really nice when the waves aren't fatal. I really thought it would be colder the way the ocean looks.

As I walk along the beach in solitude I spot a gaudy, cheap beach chair also alone in the sand. I look up towards the road that goes along the beach. Sometimes there is a bunch of chairs or stuff chained together, waiting for busy days when the owner can charge a coin for a tourist to sit on it, but I don't see anything up there. I take a seat and look out over the crashing waves. There is a zen-like quality sitting on a lone chair on a vast beach, alone in a different country, watching the waves while the warm spring sun smiles down on you. No birds or animals around either, so you just have the white noise of the ocean keeping you at peace. I had fernet and coke in the lobby bar last night and evening has been going slow even before this, but somehow I felt I deserved a break from doing nothing.

I lost track of how long I was sitting there. I have all week after all. I'm taken out of my trance by someone behind me talking agitated in Spanish. No, Portuguese probably, as that's what they speak here. I turn my head and a stereotypical Brazilian beach greaser steps into my view. He wears a loose, pink tank top with Copacabana printed on the front. It reaches almost far enough to hide his green speedos that peeks out every step he takes. Brazilian tan, white teeth, black, slick hair, and a swagger that comes equally from acting macho and years of bodybuilding that prioritized looks over range of motion. "What?" I ask him, mostly just to tell him to speak English.

"This is your chair?" he asks. "Yeah," I say tentatively. At least I'm using it right now. It really was calming to look at the ocean like this. "No. No, it is not your chair," he says in an accusing tone, visibly upset. "You want to sit?" I don't need any trouble. It's soon time for lunch anyway. I start to raise myself from the chair. "No, you sit! You sit!" he almost screams at me, and I fall back into the chair.

I'm confused. Did I sit down again, or did something push me down? He steps towards me, and I again try to get out of the chair, but I'm somehow not strong enough to lift myself. He grabs the front neck of my T-shirt and pulls it up over my head. My arms do nothing to stop him. He then grabs hold of the legs of my shorts and pulls them sharply forward. Again, I can't do anything to stop him. I can move my body, sort of, but it's sapped of all strength.

If things were weird up until now, it just turned impossible. Instead of my Hanes underwear I wear black speedos with yellow print "ca-rio-ca" in front. How the fuck did they end up on me. He doesn't waste any time, but just bunches my clothes together in his hand and angrily marches off towards the road behind me. "Hey! HEY! I don't want this fucking chair." I shout at him while making another failed effort to get out of the chair as he disappears out of view. It's like being stuck with your ass in a big bean bag. I just can't get up somehow. I try to rock sideways to knock the chair on its side so I can roll out of it, but again with no success. Exhausted I fall back into the chair.

It's a cheap-looking foldable beach chair. Some green tubes as a frame with some blue and yellow nylon fabric as a seat, suspended between the tubes. I could see how someone would pick it out for its "Brazilian" colors, but all the shades were totally off compared to the flag. It couldn't be more than $10, probably much less down here. Why would anyone make such a fuss over it? I touch my magically appearing speedos. They appear completely normal. Some type of high tech stretchy fabric with yellow print on top. As I touch the print on the front of the speedos there is like a shock wave through me, like I rubbed the exposed head of my dick. I quickly move my hand back to the dainty armrests, but the damage is already done, at least for now. I can feel the blood inflating my dick, at least partially.

I look back at the ocean, trying to distract myself. I still see the surfers way off in the distance to one side, but I don't see anyone in the other. I'm a bit limited in my field of view though, reclined in the beach chair. Dammit, and I was about to have lunch. Fuck! My wallet is in the shorts. My phone, my credit cards, my cash, my hotel room key, all in the hands of some dude made of muscles and STDs. If he doesn't come back I'd have to walk back to the hotel, wearing only speedos like a fucking douche, tell the lobby staff to get my passport from the room to identify me, and issue a new key card. Then I have to take the laptop and block the credit cards and the phone SIM. I hope you can do that online. If nothing else you can call 800 numbers from Skype, I think. But first I need to get out of this fucking chair.

I make another failed attempt to get up. How can this be happening? Did he poison me somehow? Perhaps I just need to relax for a bit and regain my strength. That doesn't explain how my underwear was swapped out. Perhaps I'm making this more complicated than it has to be. These could be two unrelated events. Perhaps the speedos were somehow in my room, and somehow I put them on this morning without thinking about it. I think I've seen something similar in a store back home. "CA" could just as well mean California. This pair could have been forgotten by someone and then mixed into my laundry somehow, packed in my travel bag by mistake, and then ended up on me without me thinking about it because of the fernet. No, that doesn't make a lot of sense either. If you remove all impossible explanations, the remaining one, however improbable is the right one. It's just so very fucking improbable.

I want to drop it. Thinking about it more won't solve anything, and my current problems notwithstanding the day is still very nice. The slow burn of the spring sun, the smell of sand and salt, the soothing white noise of the ocean, and the wide visuals to go with it all. If I just let go of my predicament it was easy to relax again. That's what I needed to do, right? Just look out and feel the sun rejuvenate me. Despite it being essentially just indoor temperature, I've managed to get a tan. I trace the skin from my knees and up with my eyes. No, this is wrong. I should have tan lines where the shorts and T-shirt ended. I've only been sitting here topless for ten minutes, twenty at the most. There's nothing to tell time. The surfers are gone.

And I really shouldn't look this good sitting down. I don't sit down with a flat belly. I can't remember that I ever did, not that I really paid a lot of attention to how I looked. I try to stand up to have a better look, but only manage to lift a few inches before falling back. "Merda!" I say out loud. Not only did I fall back into the chair, but I managed to pull something. There's a cramp in the abdominal muscles that hurts like hell. I squirm in the unyielding chair and arch my back to make it stop, which results in both my legs cramping at the same time. I let go and fall back into the chair, and raise my legs up and try to shake them. I tense and relax the muscles over and over to make the feeling go away.

When it finally goes away I feel exhausted. I certainly don't want to feel that again. It's like a cosmic force doing everything to keep me in place, docile, and watching the ocean. While I want this to all be over I don't feel like I want to put up a fight. I scratch an itch on my face and feel my beard. I know I shaved less than... I know I shaved this morning, whenever that was. I've done that every morning from when I started to grow facial hair. I know nothing that looks worse. Nothing that looks more like you are taking a shortcut, or don't care. Yet I could clearly feel strands of hair all around my mouth and up the sides of my face. Not just stubble either, but fingertip length beard. The kind that doesn't look like a planned and neatly maintained beard either, but an accidental one. I didn't think I could freak out more when my hand touched the hair behind my ear, and I frantically felt the rest of my head. It was clearly a curly mess, and not just wavy but a tight curl. My hair is straight.

"Olá!" one of the two young surfers greet me. I'd been too preoccupied and had completely missed them walking across the beach towards me. They looked very similar, same height, same short cropped pitch-black hair, handsome white smiles, black and blue Mormaii wetsuit. My startled mind feels blank. I have no idea what to say to them. Somehow, inappropriately I can feel my dick stirring again. "Você quer foder?" I shout back at them. I have no idea what it means. They just keep walking, shaking their heads and ignoring me. What the fuck is going on? Can't I control myself anymore? I haven't since I sat down, I realize. This fucking chair is ruining everything.

I'm angry with it. I start hitting it. At first I'm just feebly pounding the armrests, but then work myself up to start hitting anything I can find. I'm banging the tubes, I'm pulling the synthetic fabric of the seat, I'm trying to pry the joints free. I'm only hurting myself of course, though not bad enough for any visible bruises. After some minutes someone has had enough of my tantrums and I feel a searing pain across my chest, back, and right ribs. I cry out in pain. My noise is met by the constant noise of the ocean. When it stops, just as suddenly as it started I look to either side and all I see is empty beach in both directions.

I'm almost afraid to look, and it is difficult to see well, but the skin has discolored where I felt the pain. On the right side of me is a sentence tattooed in cursive. I can't tell what it says. On my front chest is another large tattoo saying something almost as difficult to read upside down, just below my chin, also in cursive. "Live fast, die young" I think. I can only imagine what platitudes are on my back. "Carpe Diem?"

My legs are hairy. They've been that for years, but now they are black pubes kind of hairy. Did that happen just now as well? What's with the slow walking? Just do all the things to me and be over with. Arms are hairy too. I'm not even going to be upset anymore. I'll just sit here until it ends, whatever that means. Listen to the ocean and let the sun do its thing. Holy shit, that isn't suntan. I have a different skin color for sure. No. Not upset, just listen to nature and come what may. Let the sun sparkle in the water.

I can also see a sparkle from my right nipple. I feel drained, dazed, and dumb. Did the nipple piercing come with the tattoos and I had just missed it, or did it sneak up on me somehow? I don't really care. I slowly reach for it with my left hand. It feel an explosion of sensations as soon as the vibrations of my touch reverberate into the nipple. It shoots right into my balls, into my spine, into my brain, into my dick. Not quite an orgasm, but definitely not not an orgasm. I can feel the cramp again. The muscles on my front all contracts, but this time it isn't really painful. It's more like when you exert yourself during sports.

As before I arch my back to flex the chest and abs differently to make it go away, but the cramps just spreads. I can feel it in my back as well, and my arms, then finally in my legs. It's like those youtube videos where you can see the muscles moving under the skin all on its own. I just turned to the side and rolled in the sand, unable to control anything. It wasn't pain, but definitely not not pain.

When it finally stops I'm on my back in the spring warm sand, exhausted, panting, looking into the blue sky, hearing the waves crash down at the edge of the beach. I somehow know before I see it. My arms are almost twice as muscular as this morning, my chest and abs chiseled, and my legs are massive.

The sun is getting low. It is probably getting close to dinner time, though it sets early. I sit up in the sand, looking in both directions down the beach. There's nothing but sand. I know how to walk back to the hotel, though I can't remember the name of it, and I think I know what my name is, but I'm pretty sure nothing on that passport will match me. I don't feel like going there though. I really, really need to find someone to fuck. Or be fucked by. I don't care.

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babbushka · 5 years ago

Text

Hide Your Smile

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

11.5k ; Warnings for: Dark!fic (graphic depictions of violence [drunken violent outbursts, domestic violence, domestic abuse {physical and verbal}], blood and gore, graphic brutal murder, mild stalking, possessive behavior), & NSFW content (Car sex/fingering)

Also available on AO3!

(this fic was written in collaboration with my amazing friends and followers here. Thank you all so much for voting in the polls to determine this oneshot, I hope you enjoy it!)

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You don't own me I'm not just one of your many toys You don't own me Don't say I can't go with other boys

And don't tell me what to do Don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display 'cause

You don't own me...

Darkness, all around.

Nothing but hot wet earth, mud sinking under your feet, swallowing you whole.

Rain, thudding against the ground, against your back as you are chased by a monster in the night, bitter breath haunting the back of your neck, the hair rising on your arms only to be drenched down by the torrential downpour flooding your lungs.

The world blurs around you, and you can’t tell, can’t tell which way is up, which way is forward. Things feel slow, thick, you blink but the spots only multiply. There’s a rush in your ears, a gruesome thud thud thudding – is that your pulse? You don’t know.

Blood stings your eyes, dirt caked into the backs of your molars. You can’t see, you can’t hear, you don’t know what’s going on, you see lights in the distance but when you run towards them they seem farther and farther away. Claws and teeth nip at your heels, you can’t stop running, can’t stop no matter how badly your legs ache, because if you stop even for just a moment, he’ll get you, and who knows what will become of you then.

Somewhere far away, a million miles away, Leslie Gore sings and your friends dance in a cookie cutter house in a cookie cutter town. But there in the woods, as something closes around your arm and drags you down to the ground,

you scream.

The party had been going well enough, hadn’t it? Josh hadn’t taken his hand off of you all evening, and wasn’t that something just dandy. Things had been getting tense between the two of you lately, you try not to think about all those heated arguments and cold shoulders that your boyfriend had dropped atop your head. You could ignore all of that now, he didn’t mean it, you knew that.

Maybe he did mean it, but he wasn’t meaning it now, as he dances with you in the dimly lit living room. You weren’t so sure what time it even was, gosh the rain was coming down so hard and making the skies nearly pitch black; why, it coulda been two in the morning for all you knew!

You give a strained smile to Josh for a brief moment, before laying your head back down on his chest. You think he looks relatively dashing tonight, dressed up for the party. New Year’s Eve 1962, could you believe it? Or well, it’d be 1962 in a couple minutes, but still.

You wore a mini-dress with the grooviest pattern you could find, some bright purple tights and white block heels, and you’d done your hair up so high you were sure you could feel it swaying on top of your head. It was very on trend these days, this sort of hairstyle. From what you could tell, anyway. You knew that this party was important for Josh, was important that he show up and make a good appearance with his football buddies, there were guys here that knew NFL draft scouts and he needed to impress them so he could get on their good side.

You wanted to look nice. He looked nice too, in his letterman jacket and jeans. Maybe he could have dressed up a little more, put a little more effort in. It was alright, it was fine. He gelled his hair down, that was more than you were expecting.

Thunder cracks across the sky and you involuntarily press yourself closer to him – he’ll hold you, won’t he? You wait for his arms to tighten around you, but they never do. Disappointed, but not surprised, you think.

“What’s your problem babe?” He asks, his voice slurred. You realize you’ve stopped dancing, stopped the short back and forth of your feet and he’d picked up on that.

“Nothing Josh. Just you know, the thunder and all.” You shrug, but he only scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“It’s not even real, it can’t hurt you, get a grip.” Josh steps away from you, away from the dance floor.

There are prying eyes there in the dark, and you’re embarrassed by the volume in his voice. He doesn’t realize how loud he can be sometimes, you know that, especially when he’s a little more buzzed than normal. He’s been getting more and more buzzed these days, you didn’t think it was good, was healthy. Just because he was of legal drinking age didn’t mean that you should dump alcohol into your body, not the way he did anyway.

“Right, of course Josh, sorry.” You grit your teeth, clench your jaw.

“Why don’t you go get me another beer, make yourself useful.” He dismisses you, turning towards his group of friends on the football team, towards bigger and stronger boys than he is, an attempt to weasel his way inside their group.

You’ve had quite enough of being dismissed, pushed aside. You’ve had enough. You’d been thinking of leaving him for a while, thinking about telling him what for, for once and for all. It never felt like the right time, something about him always made you feel like something bad would happen if you tried. But you’re at a point where you’re not being given any other choice.

You watch him laugh with his friends, with these college seniors, big boys on campus, and your heart races in your chest. A very small part of your brain fantasizes late at night about killing him, pushing him off some cliff or into traffic, an accident. Always an accident.

You’d never do it of course – of course not. Good girls didn’t kill their star athlete boyfriends.

But.

But maybe…maybe if something were to happen to him, you wouldn’t be so upset, would you?

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” The words tumble past your lips without much thought, and you don’t really even register it until the whole group of jocks go silent and Josh turns around slowly, menacingly, to stare you down.

“…What the fuck did you just say?” His voice is low, angry.

“You’re supposed to drive me back home after this, I just want to make sure you’ll be alright to drive.” You’re unrelenting, shoulders square and jaw tight. If he thought he was going to be a jackass to win brownie points, then he had another thing coming.

The jocks only sip their beers, carefully watching. You wonder if any of them would come to your defense, but their silence is telling. You decide you hate them.

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion, I asked you to get me a fucking beer.” Josh shoves his red cup into your hand and you decide you hate him too.

Without another word, you accept the cup and with a forced smile, make your way to the kitchen where people are crowded by kegs and bottles.

You give a small sigh while you pour a cup of whatever shitty draft they’d gotten for the party. Part of you wishes you hadn’t come at all, you knew it could have only ended like this, being ignored and belittled all evening.

You wish that Flip were there, and you sigh again.

Philip ‘Flip’ Zimmerman, your best friend. The handsome basketball player, the guy who’s got his life together. A good job at the lumbermill, probably going to be a manager or something, the CEO one day. Smart, so smart! You can’t help but think of how many nights he tutored you for math with gentle eyes. And funny, and kind, and nice to you. He’s a couple years older than you and probably doesn’t think of you as anything other than a friend, but…but for a moment, you imagine what it might be like to call Flip your man.

You wonder if Flip would hold you tight when the thunder cracks across the sky, and a small smile threatens to creep up on your face. He definitely would, he’s done it before, hasn’t he? Given you his jacket to keep you dry from the rain, strong arms around your shoulders. Your cheeks begin to warm at the thought, at the way you can practically smell the cologne he wears whenever you’d rest your head on his shoulder.

You wish Flip were here. Or maybe no, maybe you just wish you were with him alone, were with him anywhere that wasn’t here. You wish you were cozied up on the couch in his Ma’s house, watching some scary movie and tucking yourself under his chin while you share a bowl of stove-top popcorn.

Lightning splinters across the clouds through the window in the kitchen, and you sigh again.

You had asked him to come, you really did try. But he said he was busy with work stuff, and he couldn’t. You admired that about him, his work ethic. He was so dedicated to everything he did, and even though you wanted to be selfish and whine and complain about needing his attention, you respected when he put his foot down.

Watching the froth begin to fade from the top of the beer cup, you think to yourself that tonight’s it, the last night you’d deal with Josh. You decide that you’ll go over, give him his beer, and then as soon as he drops you home whenever this party is supposed to end, you’ll tell him not to bother calling you ever again.

Something inside of you lightens up at the thought, like a weight slowly slipping off your shoulders. You can’t help but smile a little bit, at the thought of no longer being with him. Maybe…maybe if Flip saw you were single, he’d make a move of his own. Your head is in the clouds thinking about Flip, when you accidentally bump into someone on your way back to the living room.

A little bit of beer sloshes onto a boy’s shirt, and you recognize him as one of Josh’s new pals.

Before you can even open your mouth to apologize for the mess, he grabs you by the arm. His grip is harsh, and he yanks you around for a second, the beer spilling everywhere, all over the floor, onto your new white shoes.

“Hey J, are you gonna control your woman or what?” The guy – was his name Tommy? – sneers down at you. He’s tall, and he’s strong, you can start to feel a dull ping of pain on your arm where his fingers are digging in deep.

“I’m not his to control.” You wrench yourself out of the guy’s hold, stumbling backwards a few feet from the force of it.

Josh is up off the couch in an instant, infuriated with you.

He’s drunk, eyes glassed over like some shark, dark and empty. He backhands you across the jaw, sends you falling to the floor despite your best efforts, the crack of your skull against the wooden panels calling spots to your vision.

“Don’t ever speak back to someone like that, are you out of your fucking mind?” He wrangles you back up off the floor, grabs you by the front of your dress and hauls you up roughly, unkindly.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, your nails scratching at his face, teeth bared in a rage of your own, pent-up anger that you’ve been swallowing for six months as you smack him across the face back in retaliation, angry and spitting, “Get off of me!”

Josh doesn’t let up, in fact he doubles down, kicks at your ankles so your knees cave in to try and support yourself as his hand shoots up from the collar of your blouse to wrapping around your throat. He drags you like that through the party, and you can’t help but wonder why no one is saying anything, doing anything? Do they not hear you? Do they not care?

“I’ll make you regret that – I’ll make you regret everything.” Josh hisses lowly in your ear as he forces you through the house by the scruff of your neck, sour breath of a drunken stupor stinging like a brand across your cheek.

“I already do.” You choke, struggling against his hold, against his hands.

You manage to elbow him in the stomach, hard, hard enough that he doubles over from the wind knocked out of his lungs, and you run.

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Don't try to change me in any way You don't own me Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay

I don't tell you what to say I don't tell you what to do So just let me be myself That's all I ask of you

Shoving through the crowd of people, a hundred faces you don’t recognize, smiles fading into confused glares, you run.

Thunder, rain, lightning, music deafens in your ears as you look for the door. Why is it so dark at this party? Where in the house are you? Hallways lead to doors that lead to nowhere, and you can hear his footsteps, can hear him running running running after you.

Didn’t you pass through this room before? Where was a telephone, surely whoever’s house this was, surely they had a telephone. But who would you call? You couldn’t call your parents, couldn’t let them know you snuck out of the house. You could call Flip, yes, that was it! You’d call Flip, if only you could find a phone.

They laugh at you, the people at the party. Laugh with their drug addled eyes, high off mushrooms and LSD, acid trips going wrong wrong wrong. They dance and laugh and laugh and dance, chugging spiked drinks with wild abandon, lights flashing red yellow purple green blue, a cacophony of psychedelics.

He’s there, somewhere among them, he’s there, you know he is. The smack of your footsteps sound like gunshots against the wood, your head throbs. You want to sob and scream and shout and cry cry cry but you can’t do that until you are safe, and if you stay in this house, there’s no telling where you’ll find safety again.

Or at all.

You try every door, locked ones, unlocked ones, looking for a way out. Eventually you lock yourself in a bathroom, lucky that there’s a window. It’s a single story house, the jump isn’t far.

You abandon your shoes, they don’t stay on your feet that well anyway, and you don’t have the time to groan about the frigid mud that squeaks between your toes as you splash down onto the ground from the window.

“Help!” You cup your mouth and shout, hearing something, a twig snapping not too far away. You see him, he’s coming after you through a side-door, and you have to run, you have to go. “Oh fuck – ”

You bolt, freezing rain soaking your clothes.

You don’t know where you are, don’t recognize this part of town.

Josh knew the area, not you, not you. These were his friends, not yours, not yours.

You just run, hoping your legs carry you to safety, carry you away. There’s woods, in the distance. You whip your head around, try looking for a road, any road. Where’s the driveway? It must be on the other side of the house, it must be –

Josh is gaining on you, athletic legs more powerful than your own.

“You can’t outrun me, don’t even try, don’t bother, get the fuck over here!” He hollers at you, voice guttural and deep, primal in a way that strikes fear into your heart.

You wish you had something, a weapon of some kind, any kind, to fight him with, but you don’t.

So you run.

“Shitshitshitshitshit – someone help!” You toss your voice to the wind, the howling wind which carries sheets of rain, pounds it down sideways against your back, your face, hair sopping wet and sticking to your eyes, nose, getting in your mouth as you pant pant pant, sobs of terror spiking through your chest, salty tears whisked away by the rain.

You don’t know how far you’ve gotten, you don’t know if anyone can hear you, don’t know if anyone would even come if they did. You need to form a plan, need to put enough distance between you and this monster of a man, need to catch your breath.

Your adrenaline pounds in your ear as the earth slips and slides underneath your feet, your nylon stockings not doing anything to help gain traction. You skid your knees on rocks and trip over gnarled roots, but every time you get up, each and every time you have to get up, otherwise he’ll get you.

You can feel how close he is, his hands reaching out to tear away at your clothes, can feel the ghost of his fingers trying to hook around your dress, and you can’t help but let out a high-pitched scream, something that pierces into the blackness of night, something that sends the birds from their branches.

“How dare you! How dare you embarrass me like that!” Josh manages to snatch you, the both of you tumbling down to the ground from the momentum, rolling in the mud. It’s in your eyes, mouth, a sharp hot pain at your temple makes you think you’ve hit your head, maybe on a rock? You don’t know, you taste copper in your mouth. You feel hands, no, fists, hard against your jaw. “I’ll kill you, you whore, I’ll fucking kill you for embarrassing me.”

“Don’t touch me – !” You scream, searching the ground for something, for anything, relief flooding through your body when your hand closes around a rock large enough to do some damage.

“Quiet, just be quiet!” He’s annoyed with you, annoyed with how loud you’re being, as if you’re inconveniencing him by not taking a beating politely. You take in a deep breath and muster all the strength you possibly can, to slam the rock against his face, making him knock backwards with a loud, “Fuck!”

“Someone – please!” You cough and sputter as blood streams down your face, washed away by the heavy rain which does not relent.

In an instant, the hands are yanked away from you, and you scramble to get away as fast as you can to catch your breath. You cough and hack up blood, dirt, mud which grinds between your teeth, the pounding against your temple making you dizzy, making you sick. You feel like you’re going to be sick, the adrenaline rising up up up your throat.

“Who the fuck are you – ” You hear Josh start, before the sound of punches and grunts cuts through the air again, and you squint in the dark to see who came to your rescue, who heard your calls.

“Flip?” You nearly can’t believe it, can’t believe your widened eyes, but there he is – you’d recognize those broad shoulders and the pattern of his breathing anywhere. Despite all better judgement, you rush back to his side, slipping and sliding on mud as rain beats down with such fury as your best friend’s fists, “Flip!”

“You don’t get to touch her, ever again.” Flip does not yell, he does not scream.

He does not raise his voice, he is calm, eerily calm, unnervingly calm.

You almost don’t hear him speaking at all, from how softly his voice comes out as he kicks the shit out of Josh, as he holds his head in place and knees him so hard in the face once, twice, three times, hard enough that the sick crunch of bone and cartilage echoes the thunder all around you, and he goes limp.

But Flip doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop beating Josh’s face in with his fist until the man is a mess of blood, teeth coming loose, broken nose and busted lip bubbling hot, steaming in the freezing cold air. He doesn’t stop still, and you watch in awe, in twisted admiration as Flip hauls the ragdoll of your former boyfriend up enough to get him in a chokehold and snap his neck.

Only then, does Flip drop him, face down into the mud.

You look at the lifeless body, and then up at Flip, who you find is already looking back at you. His chest is heaving, he’s panting, out of breath and exhausted. The rain has soaked him through too, but he’s not shivering, not the way you are. He must have ran too, had to have ran to catch up with you. You don’t know how deep in the woods you are, how deep he had to go to find you.

But he did, he did.

You’re numb, standing there. Numb from the cold, from the shock, you don’t know. You want to comfort Flip – and isn’t that fucked up? You wanting to comfort someone else right now? But you do.

Everything feels like it’s going to be okay now, now that Flip’s here.

“Oh my god.” You say, because you don’t really know what else to say, don’t really know what else to do other than stand there. You’re frightened, you can feel the fear bubbling up in your stomach, but there’s calm now too, a calm that’s got you more afraid than anything. You look at Josh, then back to Flip once again. “Do you think…”

“Are you okay?” Flip pushes the hair out of his face with a bloody hand and takes a cautious step towards you.

“Me? Yeah – yes I’m…Do you think you killed him?” You ask, holding a hand out to Flip.

You know he’s worried about scaring you, and warmth cuts through some of the chill in your bones at the thought. You extend a hand and encourage him to take it, smearing blood between your palms which the rain washes away, carries down into the wood in thick muddy rivers.

You’re not afraid of Flip, could never be afraid of Flip.

“Look at me,” He’s hung up on it, presses his forehead against yours and goes nearly cross-eyed in the dark to peer into your eyes, your soul, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” You finally answer truthfully, taking another step closer to him, trying to get as close to him as possible. You feel safe, your brain screams safety with this man, with your friend, your Flip. “But I’m better now that you’re here. What are you doing here? I thought you had work.”

Confusion dawns on you, and you frown a little bit, just because it doesn’t make sense for him to be here right now, it doesn’t make sense for him to be here at all. Flip’s eyes widen a little, and even in the scant moonlight you can tell he’s blushing. He tries pulling away, but you don’t release your grip on his hand, warm and solid and real against your own.

“I just – I’m sorry I – well I got off early and I wanted to make sure that you would be okay so I came over and just kind of watched from the car in case you needed me for anything.” He rushes out in one big breath, winces, waits for you to berate him.

“Do you do that? Watch me from a distance.” You ask him, the both of you standing there in the rain.

You know it’s absurd, somewhere in the back of your head a small voice tells you it’s absurd to have a conversation like this while standing over a body in the middle of the woods, but you push it away, push it away and step closer to Flip. You’re not accusatory when you ask, you’re not condemning him – you’re just curious.

“No – I – well yes, sometimes, but only when you’re out with him.” He admits, nudging Josh’s back with the toe of his boot. His voice is dark, low, gritty in the back of his throat but he doesn’t yell, you sigh against him, your heart breaks for the anger in his voice, the sadness. You wish you never started dating this schmuck, wish you never said yes to him, wished that it had been Flip who asked instead. “I don’t trust him, (Y/N), I don’t like how he treats you. I worry, and I know that it’s creepy I know, I’m sorry, I’m not a creep I swear, I just. I care about you.”

You’re quiet for a little while, and then you move away from him only far enough to plant your stocking-clad foot onto the back of Josh’s head, push him deeper into the earth, the mud. The body gives no resistance, and a sick satisfaction makes your vision go blurry.

“Have…have you done this before?” You ask, that numbness starting to fade, the tremble of shock at what you witnessed, experienced setting in.

Flip looks like he would fall to his knees before you in that moment, as he blinks water out of his eyes, as he trembles too.

“No, I swear. I don’t even know what came over me, but I heard you screaming and begging and I couldn’t stop, I had to help you somehow.” His voice breaks, and all you want is to be close to him, so you go, go rushing into his arms, and he holds you tight.

He holds you and you hold him back, two people under the moonlight as lightning illuminates the body with picture-perfect clarity for a split second. He’s face down in the earth but you can tell, you can just tell he’s brutally mangled by the damage Flip did to him, and as you shove your face into Flip’s chest, for the briefest of moments, you smile.

“We have to get rid of him.” You say softly, trying to think of a plan, trying to think of what to do.

Flip gently pushes on your shoulders to separate the two of you, and shakes his head with a frown.

“We? No (Y/N), you can’t be involved at all, you can’t, just please go to the car and get dry and warm, I can handle this.” He’s sweet, so sweet with the way there’s sincerity in his eyes, but you’re not having any of it.

“I’m already involved, Flip, I’m not going to let you do this alone. Whatever it is, we’re in this together now. We can’t go to the police, they wouldn’t understand, they wouldn’t believe us. I’m with you.” You squeeze his hand lovingly in your own, and you can’t help but think how good it feels, how right it feels, to hold his hand.

“I think I have an idea, but first, we need to get him to the car.” Flip chews the inside of his cheek, a nervous tick of his that you always scold him for.

You don’t scold him now, there’s no time, that’s not what’s important now.

What’s important is hauling dead weight down the woods without a trace, without any evidence other than what will be washed away.

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I'm young and I love to be young I'm free and I love to be free To live my life the way I want To say and do whatever I please

And don't tell me what to do Oh, don't tell me what to say And please, when I go out with you Don't put me on display

The body rolls around slightly, in the trunk. You’re in Flip’s dad’s '58 oldsmobile, the heat is blasting, and you hug your knees in the passenger seat, as Flip maneuvers through the winding Colorado roads. It had taken quite some time to get back through the car, out of the woods.

He had been parked out front, only a few feet from the driveway the whole time. All evening, sitting, watching, waiting. Hoping you wouldn’t need him, but prepared to do anything for you if you did. He’s silent on the drive to wherever it is you’re going, the radio is playing softly. The music helps calm your nerves, and you’re thankful for it, you try not to freak out.

The little clock on the dashboard says it’s only about midnight, but you feel like it’s way later than that. The rain fucks everything up, you think, the rain’s been pouring for hours and hours now, but it feels like days.

Every time the car makes a sharp turn, or goes up and down a hill, the body thuds against the walls of the trunk, and you just hug your knees tighter.

“Where are we going?” You ask eventually, voice soft. You’re afraid if you raise it, you’ll scream. Your throat hurts, you’ve done enough screaming already.

“Hospital.” Flip replies easily, not taking his eyes off the road, his hands at perfect ten-and-two. You wonder if he’s afraid of screaming too.

The thought of the hospital sends a spike of fear through your blood, makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“What? Why?” You demand immediately, confused, scared.

“You still haven’t stopped bleeding and I need to make sure you’re okay.” Flip says evenly. You can tell he wants a cigarette, you can tell. But this is his dad’s car, and he can’t smoke in it. You wonder what his dad would say to knowing that there’s a dead body in it, wonder if smoke would be more of an issue.

“No!” You shake your head, turning yourself towards him fully, a hand on his arm. “No, Flip please, they’ll call my parents and they don’t know I’m out this late, please just – let’s just get rid of him, and then take me home, Flip I’m begging.”

“But what if you’re seriously hurt? What if he did something severe?” Flip’s grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled, and your stomach flutters as the windshield wipers beat back and forth, whisking the rain away.

“I’m okay, I promise I’m okay, I’ll be fine.” You don’t know if that’s the truth, but you have to believe that it is, you have to. “Philip, please.”

The use of his full first name convinces him, you don’t think you’ve ever said it before, not out loud anyway, not like this. He chews on his lip and sighs, nods his head to your supreme relief.

“Thank you.” You want to kiss him, want to embrace him desperately, but now isn’t the time. He’s driving, there are more important things right now, more important things to deal with. “What are we going to do with him? We can’t bury him in the woods, the rain’s logged all the dirt.”

“Logged – we can go to the mill.” Flip snaps his fingers, and it’s like a light bulb has gone off inside his head.

You just sit back and press a bundled up wad of wet napkins against the wound on your temple, hugging your knees, knowing that you’ll be okay, as long as you’re with Flip.

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

The lumbermill is a family-owned and operated affair. Flip’s grandfather had founded it sixty-two years ago way back during the turn of the century in 1900, and it had remained in the Zimmerman hands ever since. Once a small business, now stood a proud industrial center for logging and clearing away trees to produce more logs and square away neat pockets of land. Where there used to be only hand-held tools and traditions, now there were the highest-end types of machinery.

You thought Flip was brilliant, absolutely brilliant – you knew exactly what he was thinking.

Just last month, Flip’s dad had been bragging about the new woodchipper that had finally been ordered. You remember sitting at Flip’s Ma’s shabbat table and listening to him go on and on about the new sharp blades, how much more efficient it would make everything, not to mention how little waste they would have, considering the wood chips could be sold for all kinds of uses.

At the time, you had thought it was a little annoying how he wouldn’t let anyone else at the table get in a word, but now you’re thanking your lucky stars that you had been paying attention.

It’s strange, being here this late, being here at all. You’ve visited before of course, Flip has always been eager to show you around. It never felt like you were sneaking about or anything, not considering his family owned it, considering he’d own it one day too.

But it’s strange, with the flood lights filling the night sky with a brilliant white, the usually bustling lumbermill quiet, nothing but the sound of harsh rain clanging on machinery and metal roofs. Flip parks the car in the lot, reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a key-ring. There must be a dozen keys on the little circle, but Flip seems to know exactly which ones are for what.

“Emergency backups of all the gates,” he explains, jingling it on his index finger for a second, “No one will suspect anything.”

You nod, chew on your cheeks. The thought of going back out into the rain is unpleasant, but you suck it up and open the car door, bracing yourself for a minute before the icy water plunges down the back of your dress once again, body already shivering.

He meets you at the trunk, pops it open. With the flood lights, you can see the extent of the damage to Josh’s face – if you could even call it a face anymore. It was nearly caved in completely, soaked with blood and mud, all the planes of a face that should push out were indented inwards. You manage a glance at Flip’s knuckles, and you see they’re busted wide open, and you suck in a sharp breath.

“Follow me.” Flip says, hoisting the body over his shoulder like a fireman would rescue someone from a burning building, and his boots splash in the mud towards where he knows the woodchipper is set up.

You regret not going back for your shoes now, as more freezing mud stains your tights. You regret dressing up at all, dressing for fashion instead of comfort. Flip is in a flannel and jeans, and normally you tease him for being like a cartoon character always wearing the same thing, you wish that you weren’t in a fucking miniskirt and tights in the dead of winter.

Lightning backs the machine dramatically, after a few minutes of trudging. The ground here is much more substantial than the woods, and you push your legs across a developed terrain instead of through the wilderness of the mountains. It stands tall, proud, the woodchipper, and you swallow a lump around your throat.

“Is that it?” You ask, close enough to Flip that you only have to raise your voice a little bit to compete with the sound of the rain.

Flip dumps the body onto the ground, goes over to the woodchipper and turns it on. You can tell that using it in the rain is a poor decision, but it’s the only option you have. Flip adjusts some settings, and the thing roars to life, metal blades whirring whirring whirring.

“Yeah but it – he’s too fucking big he can’t go in all in one piece, it’ll get jammed.” Flip runs a hand through his hair as he comes half-jogging back over to you, and you just blink for a moment.

“Okay then we cut him up.” You say matter of factly, your heart pounding in your chest, aware that time is not on your side, that you have to get this done and get out, have to get this done and go as quickly as possible, in case someone comes, in case someone sees.

“(Y/N), are you sure you want to do this?” Flip asks you seriously, puts his hands gently on your shoulders and looks into your eyes.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” You whisper, eyes wide, feeling more liberated and free, feeling so light, determined. Maybe it’s the shock, maybe you’ve lost your fucking mind, you don’t know. But you can’t stop now, you’ve done this much, you can’t stop now. “It can’t be too hard, like breaking down a chicken, right? Split at the joints.”

The analogy is lost on Flip, because as much as you love your friend, he cannot cook to save his life. Flip isn’t one to smile, and he doesn’t smile then, but you know he’s agreed with you because he looks around, tries to find something.

“Hold on.” He runs across the yard, finds one of the sheds that’s tucked against the back wall of one of the main buildings.

You stand there and wait, arms crossed, staring down at Josh. While Flip searches for whatever it is he’s looking for, you just grow more and more angry, watching rain flood the spaces in the dips of his shoulders.

“Fuck you.” You say to his lifeless body, “You say I embarrassed you? You tormented me. I wish I could have killed you myself. You’re lucky Flip did it, I wouldn’t have been so merciful.”

You don’t know what’s come over you, but the words sound like the most truthful ones you’ve ever told this boy, this husk of a monster, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. You can’t help yourself, spitting onto the ground in his direction, sneering through the rain, blinking it and the shocked fury out of your eyes.

Flip returns with an axe, brand new from the looks of it. The blade glints in the floodlight, freshly polished metal dripping with silver rivers of water as Flip swings it lightly in his hand.

“This should work, fuck, okay. Okay. Okay alright okay, you come over here, stand over here I don’t want you getting hurt accidentally.” He’s steeling himself, psyching himself up for this, and you put a hand on his back to calm him.

“Want me to do it?” You offer, not knowing the first fucking things about even how to hold an axe, let alone swing one.

“No, no let me.” Flip huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. You can’t help but feel silly for asking, you know there’s no way you’d have the upper body strength to cut through a person. You’d never even chopped wood before, and well, Flip was an actual lumberjack.

“Okay, I can count to three?” You acquiesce with a tremor in your voice.

“Please.” Flip whispers, getting the body into position.

You stand where Flip tells you, a little ways away, as he raises the axe high above his head.

“One…”

There’s a ringing in your ears, a pounding in your chest. You’re doing this, you’re really doing this, you can’t help but think. Flip plants his feet firmly on the ground, takes in a deep breath. You can see his hands flex and grip the handle, as he liens himself up.

“Two…”

Your face shakes, teeth rattling in your skull from where your jaw chatters, shivers in the cold. It’s so bright, so bright with all the floodlights, you feel like you’re being watched, you feel like you can hear the whispers, the murmurs of ghosts all around you, the ghost of this monster you’ve killed.

“Three!”

Hot blood sprays from Josh’s shoulder as the axe swings down, cleaves into his shoulder. The blade is bran new, terribly sharp, and it nearly goes all the way through. The bone splinters, you can hear it, can hear it slicing into pieces. Flip pries the blade out and lines himself up again, does not wait this time for your count before taking aim and slamming it into the body again.

Blood hot and thick bubbles up, gurgles around the wound, and when Flip tosses a severed arm away from the rest of the body, despite yourself, you turn around, brace your hands on your knees and throw up. Everything you ate and drank at the party comes back up in an acrid stinging cough that has you nearly choking, but you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and get yourself together.

You don’t know how Flip has the stomach for this, for it, but he has a steady hand as he works on the other arm, separating it from the body.

The machine is still on, the machine is hungry.

You want to give it what it wants, you want to see the spray out the other end. Without waiting for his instruction, you pick up the arm, grab it by the wrist. You make sure there’s no jewelry, no watches or anything that could get jammed, and you rush it over to the woodchipper, drop it into the basin.

The sound it makes is horrific, the sick squelch and crunch of bone, the shredding shredding shredding of the blades. Mincemeat blasts out the other end, and even as some of it sprays back against the wind, even as some of it lands on your face, speckles of blood and guts and shards of crushed bone, you find that you’re grinning, because it worked.

“Another one, give me another one.” You say eagerly, holding a hand out to Flip.

He smiles too, eyes too bright, as he gives you Josh’s other arm, hacked away in nice clean segments. He watches as you dump the second arm into the machine, gets to see as it eats up the flesh, grinds and slashes it into nothingness, watches as the bits of this man land in wet smacks on the dirt.

Piece by piece, you obliterate the monster that had tormented you for months.

Piece by piece, you free yourself of the hurt and pain, the lies and manipulation he shackled you with.

Piece by piece, you destroy the evidence, watch as it washes away, watch as the rain carries it down the drain, into the sewers where he’ll rot among the rats like he deserves.

The rain absolves you and Flip of the muck and grime of the deed, and now that it’s over, now that he’s gone, you close your eyes and tilt your head up towards the sky, letting the rain patter down onto your cheeks, your forehead. You feel clean, though you are cold, so so so cold, the only thing you can focus on is the cleanliness, the relief.

“You never should have fucked with her.” You hear Flip say, and that makes you open your eyes, makes your turn towards him.

Flip looks down to the drain, and you smile, because he looks lighter too.

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

You’re leaving the lumbermill, when it hits.

You’d been so caught up in the euphoria of getting rid of him, of this man who had made your life a living nightmare for far too long – that you hadn’t stopped once to think of the consequences of these actions.

“I – holy shit I can’t believe we did that.” It slams into your chest, the realization that you’re a murderer, you’re both murderers, you’re going to go to prison for this, they’ll send you to the chair for this, they’ll kill you for this the same way you killed Josh. Your heart races, pounds pounds pounds as dread and terror and fear all come rushing back, all come slamming down inside your brain. “What the fuck did we just do? Flip what did we do?”

Flip must have willpower of steel, because he doesn’t even blink when you whip around to face him, when you immediately freak the fuck out, when you start to hyperventilate, holding the sides of your head.

“It’s okay, it’s fine. Things like this happen. It was an accident that spiraled out of control, it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Flip is calm, so calm, and that almost freaks you out more, maybe you were going to scream, maybe you were already screaming, you don’t know, you don’t know anything except you just murdered a man.

“Oh my god what are they going to say when he doesn’t come back to the party? Or go home?” You panic, shifting around too much in your seat, legs bouncing, back aching from the way you keep twisting and turning, “What’ll they do if they find the pieces of him?”

“You have to breathe it’s going to be okay, we’ll be okay – fuck, what was that?” Flip is cut off by a loud thud, the car coming to a complete stop.

Your eyes begin to well up with tears as you hiccup out terror, hands shaking. You want to slam your fists against the window, want to throw yourself onto the street and beg for forgiveness, you want to be sick, you want to tell Flip to drive and never look back.

“Oh no, oh no no no this is it, this is the karma catching up to us already.” You can feel the tethers of reality start to slip, black splotches dancing in front of your vision – will you pass out? Are you at your limit? You don’t know, you don’t know but the car isn’t moving, it’s not going anywhere no matter how hard Flip pushes on the gas pedal.

“Stay here.” He says, and you’re in no mood, no state to defy the instructions now.

Flip puts the car in park, gets out and shuts the door so water doesn’t come pouring in. You watch him through the warped view of rain on the windows as he walks around the car, his hands on his hips, trying to figure out what the fuck happened.

It doesn’t take him too long to find the problem, and he comes back into the car with a sigh, soaking wet and unsure of what to do.

“We’re stuck.” He tells you, and that’s the last thing you want to hear. A flat tire you knew he could change, even in the rain like this, but being stuck left nothing to do except wait for someone to come un-stick you.

“So we’re stranded out here?” Your voice creeps up higher and higher in octave as the consequences of that stab you through the chest.

You never should have snuck out of home, you lament, hot tears finally stinging the rims of your eyes. You never should have left home through your window, never should have agreed to the party. You never should have agreed to date this fucking guy, you think, because if you hadn’t maybe you’d be safe and warm somewhere, maybe you’d be asleep soundly in your bed and not stranded in the pouring rain, in the middle of you don’t even know where.

“Yes but – but this is good. This is good, this is our alibi. We don’t know anything, because we were stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere in a ditch.” Flip knows you’re freaking out, he knows, he can feel it, can see it, it’s happening right in front of him.

“Wh—what will we say that we were even doing out here? What if someone asks why we’re here in the first place?” Your whole body wracks through with terrified sobs. “They’re going to kill us for this, Flip if they catch us they’re going to kill us – I don’t want to die, I don’t --”

He collects you in his arms and holds you tightly against his chest, rocks you to soothe you, calms you. The rain is unrelenting, and you wonder how much water the sky can hold, how many clouds are up there to maintain such a downpour. Flip’s arms are so warm around your shoulders, and his neck is blazing hot where you tuck your face against it.

“You called me to pick you up from the party, I came, we got lost, wound up here. It’s dark and raining, that’s all the truth.” Flip whispers, “We don’t know anything, we’ve been here, waiting for someone to pass by.”

You nod, because it’s all you can do right now. You had almost forgotten how cold you were, the stark comparison of your own body temperature compared to Flip’s making you feel even colder.

“I’m f-f-freezing.” You say, because you don’t have anything else to say, and Flip hums in the back of his throat.

“I don’t have any spare clothes, I’m sorry.” He frowns, but then you pull away for a moment, begin stripping off your dress. You peel away the layers until you’re in your bra and underwear, just wanting the wet cold fabric off of your skin. Flip’s hands drop from your body, and he nervously looks away with a very gentlemanly, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry – I just – I figured maybe if we use body heat – ” You explained, suddenly feeling stupid, feeling unwanted, feeling --

“Don’t stop, I’ll do it too, if you want. I’ll keep you warm.” Flip nods, understands what you’re doing now, what you mean. He looks at you cautiously, not ever wanting to be imposing, not wanting to make you comfortable. “Only if you want.”

You lick your lips and nod, and in mere moments, he’s shedding his clothes too, until he’s just in his underwear.

Flip climbs over the bench seat and lands in the back, laying down on his back and spreading out. There’s significantly more room in the back seat, and without another thought, you unclip the straps of your bra, letting your breasts breathe, before arranging all the clothes in the direct line of the heater so they might have a chance to dry, before climbing over too.

Flip welcomes you with open arms, and as you settle against him, body flush with his, your heart pounds. He rubs your back, warms you with his palms, palms which feel like the most comforting iron brand, heating you through.

“You know…” You whisper, listening to the sound of his breathing and the rain that pitter-patters onto the roof of the car, “I’ve been thinking about doing something like that to him for a long time.”

“Yeah?” Flip asks, voice thick.

You’re nuzzled against his chest, feeling the most safe that you ever have. The panic has subsided for now, for now at the very least.

“Yeah. It was never a real idea that I had, at least not in the beginning. But more and more lately, I’ve been thinking about how good it would feel if he were gone forever. I don’t know what I ever saw in him. I guess I just…I liked that someone liked me, wanted me. It felt good to be wanted, for a minute there.” You’re honest with Flip. Sometimes it feels like Flip is the only person you can ever be honest with.

“Just a minute?” He asks softly, teasing and playful in a way that makes you want to cry.

“Yeah, just a minute.” You whisper back, propping your head up onto your hands, looking at him.

“There are…other people, you know. Who are out there, who like you. Want you.” He looks back at you, eyes filled with apprehension, but hope.

“People like you?” You ask, hope in your own lungs, in your heart.

“Yeah, people like me.” Flip nods, caresses the back of your head with his strong, capable hand.

“You know, the entire time I’ve been with him, I wished I were with you.” You confess, because now feels like as good a time to confess something as any, doesn’t it? What’s this admittance, compared to the thing you have just done together?

“This isn’t the shock talking, is it?” Flip’s hand smooths around to hold your cheek, pinch at the apple of your smile, because you are smiling now, smiling how he hasn’t rejected you, how he never would have, now you know.

“No, no I promise. This is me talking.” You turn your face into his palm and press a light kiss to the creases in his hand, those hands, the hands which have only ever protected you, defended you, loved you.

“Why are you crying?” Flip frowns, confused, worried, but you shake your head, unable to stop, unable to quit the smile, the tears.

“Because I’ve dreamt about being in your arms like this for what feels like forever, and I – I kept thinking that there’s no way you could ever want me, I thought I was just delusional for thinking maybe we could be something. And here you are, coming to my rescue, the way you always do, and we’ve just killed a man but all I want to do is kiss you.” You huff out a laugh, a laugh that’s tinged with regret for the past, all the time that could have been.

“Can I?” Flip asks suddenly then, innocent and gentle, “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh Flip, yes, please.” You nod, pushing yourself up a few more inches so that your lips can meet.

They press together in the softest, sweetest of kisses, and all at once it feels like the gates of your heart have been unlocked, and all the love you feel flows out with wild abandon.

Flip deepens the kiss when your mouth opens in a small gasp, and you let yourself be rolled underneath him. The car rocks a little from the effort, but you don’t care. A kiss or two becomes making out, and you feel your head fill with the thick perfume of lust, your whole body warm now, on fire almost. His mouth is hot, tongue thick and heavy against yours, but he tastes delicious, tastes like home.

He kisses you until your breathing begins to quicken, until the smallest noises start to moan and hum in the back of your throat. Your nipples are stiff, so hard from where they’re brushing against his chest, your arms looping around his shoulders, legs parting so he can settle between them.

“Did…did you two ever…?” He pulls away, lips kiss-slick and flushed, and you blink, forgetting all about your boyfriend, or one you used to have.

“No, no I didn’t want to, it didn’t feel right. Not with him.” You tell him honestly, suddenly feeling inexperienced, feeling self-conscious, “Have you?”

“No, I’ve been waiting for the right person.” Flip shocks you by blushing out his own truth. Your eyebrows shoot up, you really would have pegged him for a womanizer type, he was certainly handsome enough for it. But thinking back, you realize in all the time you’ve known him, he’s never once mentioned a girlfriend or even a fling, nothing. It’s always just been you, and him. Flip blushes deeper when you don’t say anything right away, stammers out, “I know it’s cheesy.”

“It’s not cheesy.” You shake your head quickly, dismissing the idea that you’d make fun of him for something like that. You’re relived, it means you can be together for the first time truly together.

You kiss him, invigorated, no longer feeling shy or inadequate. He kisses you back, and when your eyes close there’s nothing but the welcoming embrace of his warmth and affection to pull you in. Your mouths and tongues slide against one another, and your hips raise up, your underwear rubbing against his, wishing there were no barrier between you.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to, I don’t ever want to pressure you or – ” Flip shakes his head, so caring, worried, nipping at the corners of your mouth.

“Maybe, maybe you could just touch me? Just for now, touch me and then, then we can see where we go.” You’re desperate for him though, desperate for him in every way.

He smiles against your mouth, and you smile too, his hands sliding down your body. He shuffles back a little, straddling your hips, knees digging into the upholstery as his hands roam your body, touch where he didn’t have permission to touch before.

He’s drawn to your breasts immediately, kneads them. He licks his lips and rolls your nipples between his fingers, and your back only arches for him, pushes your chest up into his hands further. His breathing is heavy, and you decide that you’re tired of holding yourself back from the things that you want – after this, after tonight, you won’t deny yourself anything ever again, you’ve spent so much time bending to the will of other people, from now on you are going to ask for what you want.

You cup the back of Flip’s head and push him down, gently nudge him. He takes the hint, immediately nuzzles his face into your cleavage, rubs against your breasts. His mouth latches around one of your nipples and he kisses and licks and sucks, and you moan, the pleasure going straight to your pussy.

So does his hand, tentatively skimming over your panties until your legs spread enough to give him permission. He tugs the cotton aside and you hiccup out a little cry of pleasure when he reverently pushes his fingers through your folds, pushes his way through into the tight wet heat of your cunt.

“Oh, oh, that feels good.” Your eyes fly open, hand tangling in his hair where he makes out with your breasts, grunting and groaning with need that the praise spurs in him. His fingers are more insistent, more purposeful, and his thumb swirls over your clit making your hips lift up up up against his hand. “Yes, yes! Flip – do that again, please do that again.”

“Good?” Flip lifts his head from where he’s been smothering himself in your tits, eyes so big and brown, eager to please.

“So good! Phil, it’s so good, I’ve wanted this for so – ah!—long.” Your head tips back against the seat as your toes curl, his fingers moving faster, your stomach expanding with each deep breath you take, trying to suck down the air, trying to lose yourself in the bright white hot light of pleasure.

“This doesn’t count as our first time, okay?” Flip bites a mark around the bottom of your ribs.

“Okay.” You grin, elated that this means maybe maybe maybe he’ll want to have sex with you again, maybe he’ll fuck you with his cock. Maybe he’ll want you forever, maybe he’ll ask you out and take you on dates and do all the things that you’ve always hoped but never dared to dream for.

“I want our first time to be sweet and good and gentle, and not in the back-seat of this car.” He fingers you faster and faster, and you struggle to pay attention to his words because his fingers are so thick and so full and they know just where to touch you to get your feet searching for purchase as you moan and whine and gasp. “I’m going to take you out to dinner and then a movie, and then I’m going to make love to you on a big bed with rose petals like you deserve.”

“Oh fuck – I’m – I’m gonna – ” You gasp out, hips rolling, undulating against his palm, grinding your pussy against the warmth of his hand to chase your orgasm, your body thick with pleasure, sweet and sticky like molasses in your veins.

“Come on my fingers, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Flip encourages you, presses a little harder, moves a little faster, the car shaking shaking shaking from the way your body trembles, rain thudding against the roof as your orgasm crashes through you, a wave of nothing but good, nothing but love.

“Fl-Flip!” You shout, eyes shut tight, the first couple hints of tears clinging to your lashes.

“You’re so beautiful, holy shit.” Flip strokes your pussy through it, coaxes out come that shines on his palm, shimmers on your inner thighs. He kisses your neck, your chest, bites and sucks and marks you so thoroughly, marks you as his, you’re his you’re his and he’s yours and, “(Y/N) you’re – you’re so beautiful.”

“Can I, I want you to come too, I want you to feel good too.” You try, you offer, but he’s still sliding his fingers through your pussy, two – no, three? -- stretching you wide, stretching you for him, for his cock. You want it, you want it so badly, want to be filled, but an aftershock of pleasure builds builds builds and you’re not sure it’s just an aftershock anymore, as your toes curl again, knees shaking, bones aching to come again, “Flip I’m, I think I’m – oh!”

“No, it’s okay, you don’t have to do anything for me, this is more than enough, you’re more than enough, thankyouthankyouthankyou.” He smudges the words into your chest, your throat, litters you with sweet nothings and gratitude, and you want to ask for his dick right then and there –

But there’s a sound, coming from the window.

A knock on the window.

Someone is there, knocking.

“Wait – what was that?” You freeze, the rose-tinted glasses ripped off.

Flip carefully pulls his hand away from your pulsing cunt, sucks your come off of his fingers until they’re clean. He reaches for something, anything, to cover you with, to cover himself with.

“Cop.” Flip says quietly, and you want to panic but he shakes his head, “Don’t, it’s okay, follow my lead.”

You are suddenly very very aware, of what you both look like. Flip with his torn up fists, you with the split lip and wound on your temple. You’ve both finally stopped bleeding, but you know – you just know – that this officer is going to question you on it, normal people don’t go driving around in the rain with head wounds and split knuckles.

Fuck, you think, you haven’t even cleaned the car yet, there’s bound to be blood in the trunk from where the body had been stashed, what if the officer decided to search the car? There were no weapons in the car, but there didn’t need to be. Your stomach does little flutters of panic as the impending anxiety drips cold down your spine, and just hide yourself behind Flip’s denim jacket, cover up as much as you can, cover your face.

Flip rolls down the window, and a flashlight peers inside the car for a few moments, before you hear a resigned sigh.

“Alright you kids, come on, break it up.” The cop says, tapping his flashlight on the roof of the car. “The middle of the road isn’t the place for this kind of shit, let’s go.”

“Our car is stuck, we’ve been waiting for someone to drive past to ask for help. Could you help give us a push?” Flip asks, and the officer looks at him like he’s crazy.

“No.” The man scoffs, before sighing again, realizing that he can’t just leave the two of you out here. “But I’ll call someone. Then off you go, okay? It’s late.”

“Thank you.” Flip says, and then, like some miracle, the cop goes back to his car, radios for a tow, and leaves.

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

You both are dressed by the time the tow arrives and pulls you out of the mud. Leaving the clothes in front of the heater did wonders, and though your dress is still fucking filthy and caked in mud, it’s not freezing, or soaked. You feel awful, Flip’s dad is going to be pissed when he sees the car like this, but Flip assures you that he’ll have Jimmy help deep clean the whole thing before his parents come home after the weekend.

The tow truck driver doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t really talk to you at all. By the time he arrives, the rain has stopped, slowed enough as the storms moved across the mountains. You don’t say anything, just sit there and wait for the wheels to come free, holding your breath until the tow driver leaves too.

The radio is soft and gentle, the time on the little clock reads just past three. Flip drove all the way to your house with a hand on your knee, reassuring, comforting. You can’t help but think it feels so different from Josh’s hand, how gentle Flip’s hold is on you. You wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or keep you calm. Maybe it’s both.

He shuts the lights off and the radio when he rounds the corner. Puts the car in park, and the two of you walk the last few yards to your house. It’s not raining anymore, not at all. That feels like a good sign, somehow.

“Will you come in?” You ask him softly, standing under the streetlamps, careful not to step on cracks in the sidewalk.

“If you want me.” Flip nods, and you smile, and he smiles, because you both know that you always will.

The climb up through the window is a little difficult because of how wet everything is from the rain, but you both manage easily. Your bedroom is warm, and you both shed your clothes in the tub of your private bathroom, knowing your parents wouldn’t ever look in there. You want to shower desperately, but doing so this late would raise suspicion, so you don’t, you’ll have to wait until morning.

But that’s alright, because for now it’s enough to be in clean clothes. Sheepishly, you offer Flip some of his own clothes, clothes that you’ve accumulated over all the time you’ve known him; jackets accidentally forgotten on your couch, sleep shirts and pajama pants he let you borrow that you never returned.

Flip doesn’t tease you for them, he only accepts them gratefully, and the two of you lay down on your bed in the dark. You face one another, so close that your noses almost touch. He’s so handsome, you think. You’ve always thought it, but up close, this close, it’s like the thought consumes your whole mind.

“We can’t ever tell anyone about this, ever. Not even when we’re old. This is something we take to the grave.” You whisper, rubbing the tip of your nose against his.

“Agreed.” He breathes, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. You lean into the touch, lean into him.

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if you didn’t show up.” You confess, and in the silence of the room, the thought of what might have been is more terrifying than anything you two had done together. Flip is quiet, but his jaw clenches as he gently touches the closed wound on your temple. You don’t know what prompts it, but suddenly you’re asking, “Do you believe in alternate universes?”

“Hm?” Flip frowns, and you shrug in the dark.

“You know, like, a different version of our world, existing in some other dimension out in space.” You explain, shuffling close to him, tucking yourself under his chin.

“I never thought about it.” He admits with a shrug of his own and you close your eyes against his throat, warming yourself with his heat as his arms wrap around you.

“Maybe there’s a world where this never happened.” You whisper, “Maybe there’s a version of us out there that never had to do this. Maybe there’s a universe where we’ve always been together.”

“We can be together now, here in this one. If you want.” Flip whispers back, and you can feel the rabbit of his pulse jump jump jumping in his chest, and you smile.

“Phil?” You ask, not opening your eyes, not moving, barely breathing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He responds right away, with enough feeling behind the words to make you think that maybe he’s loved you just as long as you have loved him, maybe even longer.

A grin spreads across your face as you snuggle up closer to him, impossibly close, suppressing a thrilled little bubble of laughter as he cards his fingers through your hair.

“You’re stuck with me now, you know that? Forever.” You tease with a smile in your voice – but you both know there’s some truth to it. No matter what happens, you’re bonded by this, this nightmare of an evening.

“Happy New Year, (Y/N).” Flip teases right back, kissing the top of your head, before you reach up to kiss him properly.

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

When the sun rises the next morning and you find him gone from your bedroom, tub empty of soiled clothing and the car driven away to the cleaners, you aren’t afraid, because there’s a note on your nightstand written in the most incomprehensible handwriting that could only be Flip’s, asking you on a date, and a brand new pair of heels to wear for it.

And when they ask about Josh you’ll say you don’t know, and when they launch the investigation you’ll testify lies, and when you attend his funeral you might shed a tear, but only only only if Flip’s there by your side, so you can stand behind him, and hide your smile.

You don't own me

I'm not just one of your many toys

You don't own me

Don't say I can't go with other boys

You don't own me

You don’t own me

You don’t own me.

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

Tagging pals! @steeevienicks @heldcaptivebychaos @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @whiskey-bumblebee @magikevalynn @tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov @romancedeldiablo @helloimindelaware @autumnlovesadam @peterisparker @goodboybensolo @the-marvelatic @miasera @emily-strange @proxyfoxy @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca @1-800-choke-that-snoke @ktellmeastory @anongirl007 @zimmerxman @okk--maaan @flapjacques @aweirdlookingtree @callmemania-pls @theold-ultraviolence @og-selene @pinkmoontribe-blog @schopenhauerdeathsquad @nekonaomitard @feminine-machinegun

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman/you #adam driver character #adam driver fanfic #blackkklansman #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman angst #flip zimmerman fluff #darkfic #my writing #heed the warnings please #flip zimmerman imagine #flip zimmerman fanfic

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lyssismagical · 5 years ago

Note

Hi! Are you taking Parkner prompts? can you write one where Peter discovers he has to get glasses but is really insecure cause it reminds him of his pre spider bite days so Irondad and Harley reassure him with fluff? thanks!

Peter first got glasses when he moved in with Ben and May. He’d thought the strange blurry vision was just endless tears, the blurriness looked exactly like when he was crying and he had to squint through them to see the world clearly.

He didn’t realize he needed glasses until Ned pointed it out in their English class. His sister had glasses, so he knew how to spot the signs. It wasn’t too hard to tell anyway, Peter kept asking Ned to read the board for him and he was squinting to the point where his eyes were shut.

At first it wasn’t that bad.

He got glasses and he wore them without complaint, and he didn’t mind. It made life easier so there was no point in fighting it.

Until he reached high school.

It wasn’t really a big deal, there was plenty of people with glasses. The difference between him and everyone else was that he was also the biggest nerd. He was on Academic Decathlon, chess club, and robotics, he was kind of a teacher’s pet. Not by choice, just because he was nice and smart.

It got worse when he started getting shoved against the lockers or hit occasional by stray elbows.

May and Ben didn’t have the money for replacement glasses more than once a month, so he was left with cracked lenses, barely held together with tape.

When he got bit by the spider, everything changed. He suddenly didn’t need glasses, he didn’t have asthma, he could stand up for himself and help instead of feel helpless all the time.

He finally felt comfortable in his own skin.

And then, a year and a half later, it was ripped away from him.

He knows it’s not a big deal.

It’s just a pair of glasses. Black square-framed, not as strong of a prescription as he used to have, that he has to wear to see long distance.

But he hates it.

It’s a small thing, a small change, but it reminds of a time where he felt helpless, a time where he wasn’t comfortable being him, a time where his glasses got stepped on when he was shoved into lockers and teased relentlessly.

He hates it.

He doesn’t wear them.

It gives him godawful migraines at school, squinting at the board or taking photos to copy off his phone instead. The worst is leaning over to copy MJ’s notes in Spanish because he can’t possibly see the notes on the projector.

He shoves his glasses case into the bottom of duffel bag when he stays over at Tony’s. Harley’s living at the tower, and the last thing he wants is to wear the glasses in front of the two most important people in his life.

But it only takes a couple hours in the lab before he wants to tear his eyes out. A headache throbs behind his eyes as he squints up at his computer and down at his webshooters, vision foggy and worse than normal.

“You okay there, kid?” Tony asks.

Peter’s too far away to make out the expression on Tony’s face, but he nods anyways. “Just a little tired, is all. I think I might call it an early night, if that’s alright?”

Harley comes up behind him, hands resting on his waist as he presses a kiss to Peter’s cheek. “Let me walk you. You look like you’re one breath away from collapsing.”

He nods and lets Harley lead him out of the lab and to his bedroom.

He’s about to close the door behind him when Harley grabs his arm. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I’m just tired, Harls. I didn’t sleep well last night, I had that big chem lab due and I stayed up late to finish it. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah, alright. I love you.” Harley kisses him quickly before flashing one of his dorky grins and stepping out of the way of the door.

“Love you too.”

When morning rolls around, Peter’s sick of not being able to see anything. His head still throbs angrily and he tries, despite himself, to blink away the unrelenting blur.

He can hear Harley and Tony in the kitchen already, coffee machine humming and pan sizzling.

So he figures he’ll bite the bullet.

He fishes his glasses out of his duffel and shoves them on, holding back the residual anger that makes him want to snap them.

He almost chickens out when he passes the mirror. He looks like the nerdy kid from before the spiderbite. The kid who had thick glasses and wore braces for all of his seventh year, the kid who got pushed around and teased and floated through middle school with only one friend. The kid who couldn’t run in gym class without needing his inhaler and who couldn’t go more than one class without talking about Star Wars.

Hair mussed from sleep, glasses sitting crookedly on his nose, wearing his old Hello Kitty pajama pants and one of Harley’s hoodies that make him look small and young.

He looks like a child, the one thing he was always trying to prove he wasn’t.

Bite the bullet, get it over with. He tries to convince himself he’d rather have vision and self-consciousness than to stumble through another day blindly.

So he steps out into the hallway and forces one foot in front of the other until he makes it to the kitchen.

He pretends to act nonchalant, moving straight for the fridge so he can try to cool his burning cheeks, waiting for the teasing to come, but when he turns around, he’s met with his boyfriend’s wide-eyed stare, and Tony just lifts an eyebrow at him.

“You need glasses?” Tony asks, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Yeah.”

“You weren’t wearing them yesterday.”

Peter shrugs, looking down at his socked feet, shuffling awkwardly. “I don’t like them.”

“You don’t like them?” Harley repeats incredulously. His eyes are almost comically wide as he shoves a hand through his bedhead, a failed attempt at flattening his wild curls. “Why would you ever try to hide this from me?”

He doesn’t know whether it’s a genuine question or not, if Harley’s really asking him to explain the reasons that’s kept him from wearing his glasses, but before he can even try to explain any of it, Tony speaks up, “Didn’t you used to wear glasses as a kid? May’s shown me a few pictures.”

“We thought the spiderbite cured it, but…” he trails off in confusion, part of him still tense as though waiting for someone to tear them off his face and throw them to the ground. He pushes his glasses up his nose and frowns. “I don’t like feeling like the kid from before.”

Tony nods as though he perfectly understands it all, he turns without a word and disappears down the hallway. A moment later, he reappears, a glasses case in hand.

“I, uh, I don’t really wear them all too much, but I suppose getting older sometimes means it’s necessary,” Tony explains. He opens his case and slides the glasses on. “Reading glasses.”

Warmth floods through Peter’s chest. He’s known glasses are normal, he knows there’s a huge number of people who needs them. But seeing Tony, a superhero, needing glasses, that’s a gamechanger.

The shock has Peter silent in return, gaping wordlessly at Tony like this is groundbreaking news.

“My little sister has glasses too,” Harley says, shrugging. “Long distance. She used to get teased in school for it, but pretty much everyone at school got teased for something.”

“Yeah, me too.” The self-consciousness is finally fading. He’s not particularly confident, but he feels a thousand times better knowing the people who’s opinions matter are perfectly happy with it. “Back before the spider, I used to get bullied a lot. I mean, I can’t really blame them, I was the easiest target. Asthma, glasses, dorky, tiny kid who wouldn’t tattle or fight back. I guess I was happy not having to be that kid anymore.”

Tony’s forehead creases, jaw clenching. He never takes that kind of information well, he looks just about ready to get in the Iron Man suit and murder the kids who used to bully him. “You never deserved to be treated like that, kid, and I swear, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. If anybody gives you trouble, you come to me or Harley and we’ll take care of it.”

Finally, a smile graces Peter’s face and he can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Thank you. I know I’m being kinda irrational about all of this, so thank you. Really. It means a lot.”

Harley grins, arms sliding around Peter’s waist to tug him into a hug and he kisses Peter’s forehead.

Tony pretends to gag, like he always does whenever the boys are within a foot of each other, but he’s still smiling, shaking his head in amusement.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @justme--emily {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

#lyss writes #lyss answers #parkner #irondad #tony stark #peter parker #harley keener #Irondad and Spiderson #parley #irondad fic

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fairytsuk1 · 4 years ago

Text

despite everything, it’s still you | (a)

character: tommyinnit

genre: angst

words: 1.8k

summary: tommyinnit is sent to the afterlife after being killed by dream, his experience as a broken soul in the afterlife is different than he'd imagined.

warnings: head injury at the beginning and it’s a bit graphically described! also depersonalization with the afterlife

notes: a bit different from my usual stuff but i had this idea and wanted to do it!

The last thing Tommy's present body feels is his brain practically leaking out of his ears. The force with which his head is knocked into the ground is too strong, and he instantly blacks out. Dream's fists collided into him much harder than he thought, and it was even harder to try to block each hit as he was instantly overpowered by the godlike man. He just couldn't seem to get away. His soul might have even been connected with Dream's at one point; how could someone live every day of their life and always go back to the one who caused so much pain? It's not a peaceful end; it's gory and sticky with blood splattered on the quickly growing pale skin. When Tommy opens his eyes, there's no Tubbo or blue sky; it's just white. The first thing he realizes is that he's not breathing, but he's not dying because of it. Because, well, he's already dead.

"Dream?..."

His thoughts are there, at least the most important ones. There are some of them that blur together, like watching a movie on fast-forward and not pausing. He couldn't remember his life so far up to his death, and the panic was setting in; what man didn't remember their own life? Was he even Tommy? A thump beats in his chest but looking down...there is no chest at all. In fact, there is no skin, bones, no solidifying figure that could tell him, "ah, I was a person." Tommy doesn't even want to think about what would happen if he didn't know his own name. Would he be lost to time forever?

"What the fuck is going on…?" his finger jabs at the translucent blob of a figure, he's still got limbs, but he looks like a bucket of slime rather than a fleshed-out human, "Hah! I'm like fuckin' Charlie Slimecicle…"

His humor hasn't left him, which warms his heart. Well, he supposes he has no heart as Tommy continues to poke and prod the gelatin-like substance he was hosting. It was weird seeing the ghostly shape of your own body, long legs, and big yet bony hands...it was freaky.

"This is just disgusting, actually. Fuckin' hell…"

He stands and tries to ignore the way he feels weightless; it's depersonalizing. Makes him nauseous to think of how he doesn't exist in the mortal realm, but instead, he's here in some sort of blank space.

"Wilbur!"

Walking, he realizes that he feels loose and lets out a laugh when he twists his body and finds it going farther than any human could. His ghostly capabilities were kinda cool! He had to focus though he needed to find a way to jump back down to Earth if he was dead. As much as he enjoyed being able to touch his toes and squat with his feet flat on the ground, the loneliness was starting to get to him. Though he didn't say anything out loud, being dead was starting to get a little scary. Of course, the lead-up wasn't nice, and he's glad to be pain-free (though he does jerk out of shock once he realizes his head is caved in). There's something about being alive that is just so...he misses it, that's all.

"Wilbur!...Schlatt??"

Tommy walks for a while with no changes to his atmosphere. For a moment, he thinks that he hasn't even been walking with the lack of environmental changes. That train of thought simmers to a stop as he spots a bench in the distant future, running towards it at lightning speed. There's no sound when he runs; his voice doesn't even echo. It's as though this afterlife has nothing in it at all. Like it's made of nothing. Like he's made of nothing. He relaxes into the bench and smiles widely; if only he had his favorite disks! It's like being with Tubbo again, like being kids again! The warm touch of affection kisses his cheek as warmth spreads through him. When can he go back? He's so ready to go back.

"You know, Tubbo, I hope you're not all focused on Ranboo to forget about me! I mean, I'm that one that, you know, died!"

Who is he speaking to? This afterlife is really getting to him, there is no Tubbo here, and there is no Mellohi. The smile fades as he glances around, white on white: white walls, floor, ceiling.

"Whoever the God here is, your heaven is shit."

He shouldn't have said that. The bench rumbles, and he's shocked to see it crumbling underneath him. Chips of wood fly into space, and he scrambles off of it, watching it decompose his very own eyes.

"Ah, ah, wait! I'm sorry, I'm really sorry! Give it back! Give me my damn bench back, you bitch!"

A bigger piece flies off and slices his hand, a glob of his fingers falling off and melting into the ground as he stands panicked. There's no blood, but it suddenly hits him. He isn't even human; this is all he has left. He's lucky to have his thoughts. That is his last tether to all he knows. If he lets himself be broken down, he'll never be human again. His time is limited. He has to find a way out.

His feet take off before he can even realize it, sprinting as he shouts for Sam, Tubbo, Wilbur, and even Phil.

But nobody came. No-one scooped him up and rescued him like they should've. He's only a child, for god's sake!

"What have I done to deserve any of this!? Let me go back! I want to go back!!"

His voice is shaky as he spins, decomposed and blocky trees forming around him like corroded pixels. He could cry, but he's holding it back; Dream instilled that in him. The less you care, the better the ending. The trees fall in shards, and each one that touches him breaks off a piece of him. He's practically melting as he runs through the rain of pixels, each one hell-bent on destroying his soul. Right now, he's no human. It's his soul in the purest form. His feet stick together before pulling apart, and he collapses onto the solid white ground. Everything jiggles, and he thinks he might pass out with the pure shock of taking in everything around him. His body ripples like water as he hears a faint and distant voice call for him.

"Tommy?"

A memory. "My first decree, as the President of L'Manberg, the EMPEROR, of this GREAT COUNTRY! IS TO REVOKE! THE CITIZENSHIP! OF WILBUR SOOT AND TOMMYINNIT! GET 'EM OUTTA HERE!"

Is that his savior? The one who's come for him? The one who caused his life hell in the first place? Well, maybe it was Wilbur who did that. Or Technoblade. Or even Dream, but Dream was his friend even though he struck him so hard he sobbed for someone to help him—

"Hey, Tommy! What the hell are you doing, kid? Where the fuck's your body?"

He's being hoisted up by his arms, and he pushes into Schlatt's chest as he cries and cries. The Ram hybrid grunts and mumbles something before pushing him back to hold his shoulders. He was never one for affection. When Schlatt looks at Tommy, he knows this is the book's doing. Dream, the current owner of the book, had done this all in preparation. The easiest way to bring someone back was to only let their pure soul transfer on, everything else remaining the same.

"It's easier than moving a whole body, right?"

"Whatever, just take the fucking book, man. I'm busy."

Tommy's damaged. He's deformed, and his soul is hot to the touch. He's in agony. He didn't know he could sleep till it was over or relax. He tried to fix things and find a solution like he always does. Now, he was broken like he always was.

"Schlatt I...how do I go back? I don't want to be here anymore! It's fucking shit! And, and it hurts! This isn't some heaven; it's fuckin' hell!"

Dream sat on the prison floor after arranging Tommy's body in a relaxed position, the book open in front of him.

"Time to come back, Tommy."

"Hey, hey! You listen to me! That fucker Dream, you have to be strong! He's messed you up, but this isn't the Tommy I know! You don't fucking cry, and you don't fucking get scared! You're the bravest kid I know!"

Tommy feels flashbacks come to him, slowly but surely. Him rowing to fight Dream, the bravery he had when he fought him one on one. The first disk war...he was so brave.

When he looks up at Schlatt, he sees the man he fought so hard against and won. He clocks in at that moment.

I used to be someone. Now, I'm just like everyone else. Scared and weak.

"You used to be someone, Tommy! You are someone! You just have...believe and know... you're stronger…!"

Schlatt gets all twisty and turny, his vision fading in and out as he feels himself being dragged away from his arms. For a second, Schlatt reaches out, seeing his son in a box. He retreats and opts to yell out as Tommy fights to regain himself. The strength is unrelenting as the young boy's head twists to see his arm pulled like taffy towards a glowing light. It's so pretty; he could almost just touch it and forget it all.

"You are stronger than anyone else, Tommyinnit!"

His head whips back, and he extends a jelly arm, his fight coming back to him.

"If you fucking lose yourself, you'll lose everything!"

"If I lose myself, I'll lose everything…" "You were made to beat this world, and don't you dare fucking forget it!"

It makes Schlatt grin as Tommy's widened eyes get pulled as he's compressed into a singularity. There's a sudden pop, and Schlatt's knocked back as the white walls envelop him. He wants to yell more, but Tommy's already back where he belongs. He's already gone.

"Tommy? Hey, Tommy!"

His cerulean eyes open like he'd just drank an energy drink, a smiling mask staring up at him. For a moment, he wants to shrink back into the floor.

"How was it? How was the afterlife?"

If I don't beat him, how could anyone else?

He snickers, "awful. I'm never going back there again."

Tommy feels determination settle in his soul. After everything, he's still him. If he loses himself, he'll never be able to bring it back. So, the only other option is to fight.

If I win, maybe then, I can know who I am.

#tommyinnit #tommyinnit fanfic #dreamwastaken #dream fanfic #jschlatt #jschlatt fanfic #dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction

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proxylynn · 4 years ago

Text

Underfell: File Name not Edgy Enough #27

Chapter 27: Burden

WARNING: I WANT NO RESPONSIBILITY OVER SPOILING THINGS FOR OTHERS. THAT BEING SAID, THIS IS HOW FILE NAME NOT FOUND WOULD FUNCTION IN THE AU OF UNDERFELL. BEFORE YOU READ THIS, UNLIKE THE NICE TIME OF UNDERTALE, THIS WORLD IS KILL OR BE KILLED. THIS STORY WILL BE GRAPHIC, GORY, USE SWEARS LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS, AND DEAL WITH SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTERS. FOR EXAMPLE, THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE READ THE FILE NAME RELOCATED SPOOF WILL KNOW HOW I PICTURE THIS VERSION OF LYNSIE COMING TO THE UNDERGROUND. IT IS NOT AN ACCIDENT. IT IS NOT BECAUSE OF SOMETHING DUMB. IT IS BECAUSE SHE CHOOSES TO END HER LIFE. SO TAKE THIS WITH A GRAIN OF SALT. I MADE IT BECAUSE I NEEDED TO LET SOME OF THIS EDGINESS OUT OF MYSELF. WHICH I GUESS MAKES UNDERFELL LYNSIE EVEN MORE TRUE TO WHO I REALLY AM. ANYWAY, ENJOY. ^_^

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

[A quick recap]

My melancholy blinds me to my current surroundings. I only come out of it once a spotlight hits me.

"The hell...?"

Things look funny. No doubt it's a setup by Mettaton. But I'm unsure what this act is. I mean, it looks like a receptionist's waiting room. A desk and some random chairs.

"GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTS...!"

Mettaton zips in wearing a red suit and shoves me in a chair as he takes center stage.

"FIRST AND FOREMOST, WE HERE AT MTTTV WOULD LIKE TO APOLOGIZE FOR THE LACK OF ME OVER THE COURSE OF THE PROGRAM. DUE TO THE LACK PREP WORK WITH MY COSTAR HERE, WE SADLY HAD TO FORGO A THRILLING ACT BACK IN LEVEL TWO INVOLVING HUNDREDS OF EXPLOSIVES!!"

I so freaking called it. I should let him have his moment...Nah!

"I thought you said that act was shit anyway?"

He extends an arm to cover my mouth.

"FORGIVE HER. SHE'S LOST A LOT OF BLOOD AND NOT ALL THERE MENTALLY."

I leer at him flatly.

"BUT...DARLING HERE IS GOING TO MAKE AMENDS WITH US ALL RIGHT NOW. IT'S TIME TO ANSWER SOME BURNING QUESTIONS."

I'm so confused as he lets go and leaps onto the desk, posing dramatically.

"IT'S TIME FOR..."

A large neon sign shaped like him drops from the ceiling.

"BURNING THE MIDNIGHT OIL WITH A KILLER ROBOT! THE LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOSTED BY YOURS TRULY."

Huh. Not a bad title.

"I thought you were working on a courtroom trial program?"

He scoots to now sit behind the desk.

"UNFORTUNATELY, WHILE I DO HAVE THE FUNDS, I DON'T HAVE AVAILABLE WORKERS TO MAKE SUCH A SET. SO...WE'RE DOING THIS INSTEAD."

"Heh...Must be hard to meet your expectations."

"DARLING, YOU HAVE NO IDEA."

A tense dramatic score plays.

"SO, DARLING...ARE YOU READY TO TELL ME EVERYTHING?"

Ah. I see now. Fine, Metta, have it your way. Just be careful what you wish for. You may not like it. Now don't get me wrong. I know my limits. I'm not about to tell him EVERYTHING. I'm not that stupid. But if he wants truth, he's going to get a version that's missing some characters and other junk.

"As you wish. You wanna know the truth? You want to scar the entire Underground? Sure. Why not. What else do I have to lose at this point since you exposed me? So congratulations! I hope you like the prize you've been longing to get. Because I sure as hell don't."

Let the show commence.

[Now our featured presentation]

"RIIIIGHT...ANYWAY...WHY NOT INTRODUCE YOURSELF. LET THE UNDERGROUND KNOW JUST A BIT ABOUT YOU."

I wave with a stupid grin to where I think a camera is.

"Howdy, monsters of the Underground. My name is Lynsie. Last I checked, I'm 5'8'', twenty eights years old, born November 7th, am a Scorpio, blood type A+, and enjoy long naps by the beach."

Am I introducing myself or recording a dumb dating profile video?

Mettaton whips out some cards from his desk.

"REALLY? YOU'RE THAT OLD? HUH."

"Yeah. Why?"

"YOU LOOK OLDER THAN THAT."

I sneer.

"It's the raccoon eyes. Insomnia is a hell of a slap to the face."

"THAT ASIDE...HOW ARE YOU FEELING? YOU'VE BEEN THROUGH A LOT SINCE THIS PROGRAM STARTED."

"I'm grateful to have this reprieve. It's nice to not be flung into fight after fight for a moment. I don't like fighting. I'd much rather avoid any conflict if able."

"SUCH A KIND GIRL. ARE ALL HUMANS THESE DAYS LIKE YOU?"

I eye him funny.

"WHAT?"

"Do mean 'kind' or 'stupid'? Because every monster has called me a fool for being nice."

"STUPID IS A STRONG WORD. NAIVE IS MORE LIKE IT."

I rumble lowly in my seat.

"But...To answer you properly, no. Not all humans are like me. Or...I'm not like most humans."

"OOOOH~, SUCH AN AMBIGUOUS ANSWER. FINE THEN, IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE LIKE THAT, I'LL HAVE TO BE MORE BLUNT IN MY QUESTIONS. LET'S SEE..."

He flips through some of his cards.

"OH! HERE'S ONE...HOW DID YOU COME TO FIND YOURSELF IN THE UNDERGROUND?"

Blunt? I'll give you blunt.

"Easy. I tried to kill myself."

[SNOWDIN: Skeleton House in present time]

The mood in the room sours as the human continues.

"Yep. You see, Mt. Ebott has a reputation, a legend dating back lord knows how long, that those who climb the mountain never return. This has made it a popular place to die. Not as bad as the literal 'Suicide Forest' of Japan, but it does the job okay."

Mettaton's screen blacks out.

"Don't give me that look. You wanted this. You wanted the truth. So take it. Take the blunt no holds bar truth of the matter. And you know what else? It wasn't the first time either. I can think of at least five other attempts. Each more pathetic than the last. But, if memory serves me right, I do believe my very first try was when I was still so very small. Somewhere around age six to eight. I had learned that apple seeds contain cyanide, a very toxic poison. Of course, there's not a heck of a lot in a single seed, but if you ingest a lot...well...Kid me didn't know how many were needed. Just that it was deadly. As you can see, I didn't have enough and I didn't try that form of suicide again. I don't try the same kind twice. I'm too fearful of messing things up the second time. What if it only partly works and I end up surviving? Heh...Trying to end it all only to live but in even worse condition? The irony would be such a hilarious joke. Then again, that's my life in a nutshell. One big cruel unrelenting joke."

Toriel's eyes water. She knew her child had her demons, but she knew not just how far back they spawned. Mettaton's screen relights.

"I...I WASN'T EXPECTING..."

"Yeah, no one does. No one expects me to be so dark. But what can I say? I do a damn good job hiding it."

"BUT...WHY THOUGH? WHAT WOULD MAKE A CHILD THAT BENT ON KILLING THEMSELVES?"

She takes a deep breath and lounges back in her chair.

"You ever feel guilty for something? Something you have no idea why you should feel that way for but you just do?"

She runs her hands over her face.

"I don't remember why I asked her that question. Maybe I was just morbidly curious. I knew my siblings were unexpected pregnancies. The eldest never came to be, so whether it was a boy or girl is forever unknown. My brother came about in the randomness of my mom hooking up with my dad. She married my dad because, well, she did like him but also so that he wouldn't be deported once his school visa ran out. He and his family escaped their homeland to start a new life...but did so illegally. Even on the surface, there's no true freedom. Four years into the marriage, I was born. Things only seemed to spiral from there. Dad would stay out drinking. Mom would be pissed. Bro and I would hide in my room and try to keep the fighting out. Mom gave up on him, someone else charmed her heart and would later be the father of my sister. Eight years into this world and they divorce and months later sis is born. She was unknown and with how old mom was at the time, she now suffers from spontaneous seizures."

The girl looks up in thought.

"So a few years ago, I asked mom...Was I unplanned like they were? Was I another surprise baby?"

She looks back down, her face holding a more cold expression.

"No, she told me. You were the only planned one. ...I should've stopped there. *sigh* I then asked...Why? She answered..."

Emotion leaves her.

"We had you in the hopes that you'd fix our marriage."

Silence. Dead silence.

"So much pressure. And to put that on a babe? How was I supposed to solve your problems? How is it my fault you couldn't stand each other when things got rough?! How is a kid supposed to make sure you don't start taking drugs and acquire sixteen felonies?! How is it my job to make sure you don't regret loving someone else?! How is that fair?! Why not take some fucking responsibility for once in your god damn life?!"

She becomes irate, grabbing one of the chairs and beating it into another one till both are useless before ending with a guttural roar that pains the throat in its harshness.

Toriel recalls similar words from her not long after they became close and she found her.

"Child? You're trembling. Is everything all right? Child, please. Just speak to me. Tell me what's wrong."

"I hate you! I hate all of you! You fucking pieces of shit! Why?! Why is it so hard for any of you to care?! I've been missing for days or weeks and none of you care! *sobs* Did you ever love me?! Why did you even bother having me if you don't even care that I'm gone?! *bawling* Why? Why? Someone tell me why...please..."

"I know this isn't the most pleasant of times to ask...But since we've come to know more about each other, I have been curious about something. The humans that fall down here...They tend to not fall down for the happiest of reasons. If it is not too painful...Can you share with me your reason? What made you come to a cursed mountain where none ever return from?"

"*hard sniffling* They used to care. I used to know what it was like to know others cared. I can't remember when they started to pull away. When I became invisible. I just want to know why. Was it something I did? Did I do something wrong? Did I not make them proud? I thought I did everything right. I was a good girl. *voice cracking* I'm a good girl. Aren't I?"

Even Grillby had memories of such talk pop into his head.

"You are an amazing person. You live in his cold place and open this bar to every sad face willing to cast aside their mean spirits for spirits of another kind. You put up with a lot of nonsense, a good bit came from me today, and I'm sorry about that."

"Where is all this coming from?"

"I'm not done. You have been nothing but nice to me. And doing that isn't easy in this world we live in. Since meeting you, you've shown me more kindness than I got from my own family, and this is only our second meeting. Heh, how pathetic is that? I fell into the Underground trying to die, only to end up wanting to live because of the few that showed me any decency. And for that, I give you my thanks."

"Pussycat?"

"I don't know if it was the punch or I'm just in a weird mood. I'm probably making things awkward. No one wants to hear someone ramble about lame junk when at a bar. This is a place people go to forget things. I know I've got a lot I want to forget. Like the three or four times I ran away from home but never had a plan and always had the cops take me back. Or the time I cussed out my grandma because I thought she lost my dog when it turned out my mom had dumped the pup at a shelter and told me it escaped. Or the suicide attempts..."

"Attempts?"

"Oh yeah, there was more than one. Hard to believe, but I'm a very sad person. No, that's being too nice. Depressed is more accurate. 90% of the smiles you see me do are fake. Just part of the mask I wear to hide how truly miserable I really am."

"God, I hate myself. I'm a sad pathetic mess."

Sans now gets a clearer picture of the baggage weighing on her.

"oh! and don't forget, you're making dinner. pap only let that slide because you were practically dead. so don't get any ideas thinking you can get out of it."

"Did you just really say that?!"

"the hell is your problem?"

"Did you really just insinuate she'd harm herself?"

"i dunno...maybe?"

"You can't say that kind of stuff to her!"

"why not?"

"You...You don't know how she came to the Underground, do you?"

"she told me that she fell."

"I'm not comfortable telling you this, seeing as she hasn't and I don't think it's my place, but I can't let you say idiotic things like that."

"okay, weed, you have intrigued me. if she didn't fall, then how did she get here?"

"Well...Falling is how she came to the Underground. But...She didn't fall from an accident."

"you're telling me she..."

"She fell on purpose. She...was trying to die. I don't know about her life on the surface. She doesn't tell anyone about that stuff, not even Mom. But I have been with her since the start and I can tell...Under all that toughness and pass the goofy dork innards...She's very sad deep down."

And that moment that recently happened at Grilbby's.

"enough with the act! you act all calm, with your little quips and remarks. making you look so well put together. but i know better. i know you're just as messed up as the rest of us. so why don't you get off your high horse and get out of my life!"

"You're right. This is an act. Every day, I wake up and I pretend to be this way. To play this role of the girl that never gives in and can smile through it all. I put on my mask and face this world as best that I can. But inside I'm dying. I'm being crushed by insecurities, doubt, depression, and so much negativity that I let myself fall into a pit hoping for the sweet embrace of death. I have attempted to end my life a good handful of times. Each more pathetic than the last. Even now, I'm just a few triggers shy of crumbling into a blubbering mass of tears. Yet there are few things that keep me from doing those bad things now that I'm here. And if putting on this act keeps me in, relative, ease...Then yeah. I'm gonna pretend my ass off that all is fine with me. Because I'm a fucking moron that is too afraid to open up to those closest to me and ask for help!"

Papyrus, of course, takes all this in as vital information he could use against the human. Her emotional and mental instability can be used to manipulate her. Grooming her to be more obedient to his will.

"I'm sorry."

"DAMN RIGHT YOU'RE SORRY."

"No...I mean, I'm sorry for earlier. It was wrong for me to hit you. You just...*sigh* How do I say this without sound like a dweeb?"

"JUST...SAY WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY. DON'T ALTER YOUR WORDS. THEY LOSE IMPACT THAT WAY."

"If that's true, then don't make a big deal out of this."

"W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"I am an emotional wreck and going through so much internal bullshit that it ain't funny. So know that the stupid things I'm about to say are true because this is making me feel very vulnerable and uncomfortable which I think you feel too."

By now the human was breathing heavily over the shattered remains of once recognizable objects, slowly regaining her composure. She stares at the mess for some time. Mettaton doesn't even try to do anything that could get her attention while in such a state. Eventually, she drops the bits in her hands and takes a seat in the chair she spared. Slumping in remorse and holding her face.

"I'm sorry. That...That was shameful. I'll pay you back for the damage."

"DO YOU NEED A MOMENT?"

She rubs her eyes of faint moisture.

"N-No...No. I'm fine. That...That was just a moment of venting weakness. I normally cry this crap out of my system. But...I'm so sick of crying. Yet...That felt good though. So much pent-up bullshit I don't or can't let out was just dropped like weights off my back. ...Does this count as therapy? Because this feels better than that child physiologist mom sent me to after I ran away...the first time."

"SOUND LIKE YOU DON'T CARE FOR YOUR PARENTS."

"You'd think that, but no. Don't get me wrong. I love my parents. They could've been far worse even with the flaws I've mentioned. Dad never missed work and made sure bills could be paid. Mom always made sure we could eat even if it meant she didn't and often broke the law to do so."

Her head lolls back as she lounges.

"It's easier to dwell in the negatives than the positives growing up. It can make for a bitter soul. This is just the tip of a massive iceberg, there is so much more crap hidden below. But now is neither the time nor place to dive deeper into those murky waters. I'll drown if I stay under too long. *sigh* I don't hate them for the life they brought me into. I'm just...disappointed. Disappointed by the choices they made and things they expected to get from them. Disappointed in myself for allowing all that to have so much of a hold on me. Disappointed...So very disappointed...*long drawn out groan* Could we please leave the personal questions for now?"

"VERY WELL."

He flips through the cards.

"YOU'VE BEEN IN THE UNDERGROUND FOR SOME TIME NOW. HOW HAS THAT BEEN? WHAT IS IT LIKE TO BE A HUMAN AMONG MONSTERS?"

This gets their attention. The human knows better than to tell all. But she's so far been extremely open. They hoped she was of sound mind enough to remember to keep some secrets.

"Even after all the attempted murder...I prefer monsters to humans. Because at least once the fighting is over, things can be somewhat normal. It's like 'hey, I know I just tried to kill you, but do you wanna maybe hang out for a bit?' and then that happens. It blows my mind how there's no animosity or spite afterward. After Humans fight with each other there's no calm, no peace of it being over, hell, a war might break out if it was bad enough. You never know how bad someone feels after and if the grudge they carry will make them go to extreme measures to make them feel better. Well...Except for the Irish. Those lads can tussle and then be all chummy after like it was a bonding experience. Nice folk. Always fancied them. Heh...Kinda like Monsters. A tough outside but nice inside. Maybe that's one of the reasons they were persecuted too. ...God, my kind is trash. All it knows is hate. We even hate ourselves. And one day...That hate will be the end of us."

She moves some hair from her face. A small smile coming to her.

"Moments like this...It's nice. Brief pauses of reflection and repose. Typically I end up doing this kind of thing in my head or I talk to myself. Funny how that works, the mind I mean. It is a self-aware entity in itself that can be both you and not you at the same time yet won't confuse itself by doing so. Probably why the imagination is such vital part of it. *pause* Heh...My bad. Lost myself for a moment. Back on point...Sure, this all began with you nearly killing me and it's probably just leading up to something else. Something good or bad. Yet till that happens...This is nice."

"SPEAKING OF NICE...YOUR LV HASN'T GONE UP FROM ITS BASE LEVEL. WE'VE SEEN YOU GO INTO FIGHTS, SO IT'S NOT THAT YOU'VE AVOIDED THEM COMPLETELY."

"As I've said...I don't like fighting."

"YOU MUST BE AWARE THAT PACIFISUM IS NOT A RECOMMENDED OR AN EASY THING TO DO IN THE UNDERGROUND. IS IT HARD BEING NICE FOR YOU DOWN HERE?"

"Is it hard for a fish to swim or bird to fly? Nice is my default. I don't have it in me to be genuinely mean. I can be rude or even a bitch, but that's only if that was how I was treated first. The real hard part about it is getting others to understand this niceness is real. Some pick it up with no trouble. But others are difficult. Going so far as to think I'm trying to lull them into a false sense of safety as part of an evil human trap. Can you believe that?"

Sans eyes Papyrus who rolls his sockets at his brother, both knowing damn well she meant him.

"EVEN SO, HAS THERE BEEN A TIME WHERE YOU WANTED TO FIGHT BACK? SURELY EVEN I PROBABLY INCURRED SOME IRE FROM YOU?"

She looks at the mechanical machination with a mix of confusion and annoyance.

"Ire is a strong word. True, I'm not happy about this situation. Exposing me for ratings. One of your goons bashing me over the head. The creepy stalking behavior by watching me through cameras. The needless puzzles and fighting. All of it wasn't necessary."

"I DISAGREE. EVERY BIT WAS COMPLETELY NECESSARY."

"Bull crap."

"NOW NOW, LET ME EXPLAIN. REGARDLESS OF YOUR INTENTIONS, YOU HAVE TO AGREE THAT YOU BEING HUMAN DOES CALL FOR CERTAIN MEASURES TO BE TAKEN. HUMANS DEAL PHYSICAL DAMAGE AND MONSTERS ARE WEAK TO SUCH ATTACKS."

"I know that. Get to your point, Metta."

"MY POINT? VERY WELL. MY DATABASE CONTAINS THE COLLECTED INFORMATION WE'VE GATHERED FROM THE PREVIOUS HUMANS THAT CAME BEFORE YOU. EACH WEAKER AND WEAKER AS TIME PASSED. YOU, ON THE OTHER HAND, HAVE BEEN DISPLAYING STRANGE ABILITIES..."

A monitor comes down, displaying the human in her earlier distress and giving off that strange energy.

"NOT TO MENTION YOUR SOUL HAS BEEN CHANGING IT'S COLOR WITHOUT MAGIC INFLUENCE."

The monitor shows the many different colors her soul was throughout the show.

"SO, DARLING, AS YOU CAN SEE EVERYTHING HAS BEEN COMPLETELY NECESSARY. EVERY LITTLE OBSTACLE ALLOWED FOR MORE OF YOUR UNKNOWNS TO BE REVEALED. HOWEVER..."

The monitor goes back up.

"I GET THE FEELING YOU'RE STILL HIDING SOMETHING."

She glares at the robot.

"I repeat, this wasn't necessary. All you needed to do was ask."

She sits up straight and focuses. Her soul emerges...it is a deep dull blue.

"I don't know everything. Seeing as this whole 'soul' thing isn't known on the surface anymore. To use now, the soul is an intangible thing. It leaves when we die and does whatever since no one truly knows what happens after death. But...I do know my soul isn't normal. Not normal from what I've learned here anyway. I possess ten traits for which my soul can become."

Shock smacks them. Even Mettaton spits oil from some port.

"T-TEN?!"

She nods.

"Ten traits. Ten colors. Nine of which are completely fine."

Her breathing falters as she concentrates harder, forcing the soul to change color to her will.

"Blue, integrity. Cyan, patience. Green, kindness. Pink, passion. Purple, perseverance. Orange, bravery. Red, determination. Yellow, justice. White, hope. ...These are my main traits. The nine that make up my core personality. Yet...There is one, the last one, that I will not show you. No matter what."

A question mark appears on Mettaton's screen. Toriel and Sans know full well which one she means.

"WON'T SHOW? HOW COME?"

"That soul is too dangerous. One that I can't control. The black soul of relentlessness."

Papyrus sockets widen. Sans wasn't making it up after all.

"IF YOU TRULY EXPECT ME TO BUY INTO THIS BLACK SOUL NONSENSE THAN YOU BETTER FIND A WAY TO PROVE TO ME THAT IT'S REAL!"

"and how do you expect me to do that? have it triggered and let her kill half the town?"

"OF COURSE NOT! SHE'D NEVER GET THAT FAR INTO SUCH A SPREE ONCE I SLAY HER."

"YOU DON'T THINK I CAN KILL HER?"

"her? sure, you'd kill her no problem. she'd probably let you do it if things got really bad. but the black soul? that's a different story all together."

"YOU TALK AS THOUGH YOU'VE SEEN THIS 'BLACK SOUL' IN ACTION."

"..."

"YOU HAVE, HAVEN'T YOU?"

"that thing isn't something you want to mess with. don't go after something you can't handle."

"YOU DARE THINK THAT PITIFUL CREATURE CAN HARM ME?!"

"no! i don't think it would harm you! i know it would kill you!"

"I have no will over that trait. It consumes me utterly. Coldly targeting anything and everything as a threat, then calculatingly eliminating victims brutally with no remorse by any means. Pain doesn't phase it. It has no fear. But I do. I fear this soul. I fear becoming that...that thing. That beast."

The robot's screen blips.

"YOU MAKE IT SOUND TERRIBLE. IF IT'S AS BAD AS YOU SAY, HOW HASN'T YOUR LV INCREASED? SURELY A MURDEROUS SOUL LIKE THAT WOULD HAVE A BODY COUNT ATTACHED TO IT?"

"I have thankfully been taken out of that state when it happens. My brother down here, the flower you may have seen me with, he's the one that saves me. I don't know how he does it as I only barely register what happens when the Black Soul is in control. But it's one of the reasons why we stay together. He doesn't want to die and I don't want to hurt anyone, so it's a good deal for us both."

"AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT TRIGGERS SUCH A STATE TO HAPPEN?"

"I'm not 100% sure but I have a theory. The worst of times. Moments when I lose all hope or can't take the pain. Mentally and/or physically. It takes over when I can't deal with things. And I guess it tries to 'solve' the problem...by getting rid of it."

Her demeanor is becoming more unsettled as she continues.

"I...I normally am unwilling to share this information. I don't like being personal with strangers. But since this is a live broadcast, and I've basically torn open a can of worms full of my emo baggage, I want this to be known. I need others to understand the danger. Because you all seem to view me as an easy kill. The dumb nice human that doesn't fight back. It'll be easy to get her soul. Hell, if it weren't for the black trait, I'd have given this thing to you guys ages ago. But it's not worth it. There's no point going to the surface, otherwise I'd be more inclined to leave and be subjected to the crap I deal with. And trust me...You don't want to know what I deal with."

Her eyes get dark and her expression serious to the point it's unnerving.

"The death that can possibly happen if the black soul activates and isn't stopped could be limitless. As the bearer of this curse, I remain here. Not because I see less harm if it triggers around monster, hell no. I trust my death to you because I have faith in monster kind being able to handle it. It's because I don't want to risk it being weaponized by humanity. Magic...REAL magic like this is gone from the surface. If it were to be discovered now...Magic will be coveted like any other valuable resource. Blood and dust will be spilled over ownership. The experiments to find a better means of harvesting it, the torture, the suffering, the endless cycle of hate feeding upon the lack of morality. I have no doubt monsters wouldn't even be seen as people. We've done it to different creeds of humanity throughout history, hell we still do it. I...I don't want that for Monsters. Part of me is saying I'm overthinking it, but I can't that optimistic side of me knowing all the fucked up shit Humans do. I don't want you guys to suffer. I don't want to cause harm. I don't want to see any more death! Please!!"

Her eyes are watering and her body trembling.

"I...I-I hate this feeling. This h-helplessness. I'm caged. I'm useless. I'm nothing on the surface. I'm a danger underground. I'm my own worst enemy and I don't know how to fight. *struggling* Why? Why didn't the fall kill me? Why can't I just die? Why am I so weak? I can't even bleed to death!"

She's a mess, weeping into her gloved hands. But Mettaton dismisses this display and keeps going.

"WEAK? YOU SELL YOURSELF SHORT. CLAWING INTO YOUR OWN BODY ISN'T A VERY WEAK THING AT ALL. COME TO THINK OF IT...IN YOUR ENCOUNTER WITH MUFFET, YOU TOLD HER WHY YOU DID IT. CARE TO EXPLAIN WHAT YOU MEANT?"

A recording is played.

["I have just spent an ungodly amount of time trapped in that elevator over there having my soul violated by people that don't even exist anymore on this plane of reality. I have clawed my skin off to stop feeling their hands on me."]

Her face has the look of someone biting their tongue fairly hard to stay in control.

"What's to explain? I meant what I said and said what I meant."

"YOU'RE AVOIDING THE QUESTION, DARLING."

"No. You're refusing the answer."

"YOU SAID YOU'D TELL THE TRUTH!"

"I am!"

Agitation mounts.

"BULLSHIT! HOW THE HELL CAN ANYONE BELIEVE THAT?"

"I don't give a crap if you believe me or not! You weren't the one there!"

"JUST TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!"

"It doesn't matter! You can't do anything about it! No one can! You can't stop people that break the laws of reality!"

Sans didn't like what he was hearing. And none of them liked that her still exposed soul was sparking with that strange energy.

"THERE ARE NO PEOPLE LIKE THAT!"

"How would you know?!"

"IF EVEN A FLY FARTS ANYWHERE IN THE UNDERGROUND, I KNOW ABOUT IT. IF ANYONE WITH ABILITIES LIKE THAT WERE HERE, THEY WOULDN'T BE UNKNOWN FOR VERY LONG."

"Did you not hear my words? They don't even exist anymore on this plane of reality! You can't find people that are outside time and space, you fucking idiot!"

"I'M THE IDIOT?! DO YOU NOT HEAR YOURSELF?! OUTSIDE TIME AND SPACE?! YOU CAN'T EVEN MAKE A CONVINCING LIE!"

"I'm not lying, you insufferable ego-maniacal narcissistic jackass!"

"TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED!!"

"I did! Accept the fact there is shit in life you can't fathom or comprehend yet is true! Like Bigfoot, life on other planets, or stigmata! Unexplained phenomenons are the backbones of reality! Deal with it!"

"THAT'S NOT AN UNEXPLAINED PHENOMENON! THAT'S A PURE IMPROBABLE IMMPOSSIBLITY!"

"By who's rule?! Are you God?! Do you know every infallible law the universe runs on?! No! You know nothing! No one does! So stop digging for shit that isn't there before something bad happens!"

"THEN GIVE ME A REAL ANSWER!"

"Stop...Please stop!"

"DARLING..."

"I s̷ái͟d͝ s̷t̢̛o̧͘p̀͟!̵̕͜!̧"

A surge of energy bursts from her soul, the flash whites out the screen and hurts the eyes. While blinded they all can hear the garbled sounds of pain and the sudden thud of weight hitting the floor. Their sight comes back to see the human writhing on the ground and gripping her soul, teeth bared in restrained growling.

"DARLING?"

She struggles to make her body move. Just slightly getting her head off the floor.

"Th͜i͞s͠...͜T́h̴i̵s̸ ̛įs ̕y̕our ̛f́aul͝t͏..̢.̴I͜ ͟a͡ske͝d ͠y̕o͏u t̷o͜ ͜s̛top..̢.̵"

The energy courses from her soul over her form, a brighter than normal light emanates from her clutched soul. She weakly pulls herself up to be supported by her free arm and the reason for the light is made clear, a crack has marred her soul. But that is far from the worst part. Sans spots it before Toriel but she's the one that points it out.

"Oh no!"

"What's wrong?"

"The darkness!"

Indeed. Black began to appear in the human's heart. The darkness corrupting the white light and faintly leaking out of the crack. The girl feels this. Panic flashes in her eyes but she's in no condition to handle so much on top of what has already happened.

"Wh̸en̢ wil̡l҉ ̛yo͡u̶ le͘ar͜n.͞..̡Y͘ou ̴fuc̀kín͜g id̴iot.̸..W͢hén wil̡l yoų ́a̶l̢l͜ léar͘n that͏ ̵y͘our act̵i҉o͞ns ͏ha͡v̛e ͘co͡n̴seq͘uenc͘e̶s͘?͘!"

The distortion. The off tone. The malice that seeped out. Perhaps it was enough proof for the automaton to believe her earlier words. For Mettaton seems to be distracted one second and then takes it all seriously the next. One of his hands snakes under his desk and the next thing to happen is the floor beneath the human opens up, dropping her into the unknown. Glitched roaring echoes as she plummets. A sickening crash leads into dead silence.

"WELL...THAT WAS INTERESTING."

His nonchalance about the whole thing is upsetting.

"SADLY, MY CO-STAR SEEMS TO BE HAVING A BIT OF TROUBLE. NOT EVERYONE CAN HANDLE THE STRESS OF BEING IN THE SPOTLIGHT, LIKE MOI."

His flamboyance is rubbing them the wrong way.

"HOWEVER, DESPITE HER TEMPER TANTRUM AND LACK OF COOPERATION, I WILL ASSURE YOU ALL SHE IS NOT DEAD. I MERELY GAVE HER THE SMALL BREAK THAT SHE CLEARLY NEEDED."

It's likely that the break involved her bones or some body part.

"BUT...I CAN GIVE YOU ALL SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO...THIS WAS THE LAST PRELEWD ACT. THE NEXT TIME YOU SEE US TOGETHER, IT WILL BE FOR THE MAIN EVENT. THE FINAL BATTLE APPROACHES, MY ENCOURAGABLE VIEWERS. DO NOT MISS OUT ON THIS HISTORICAL MAKE OR BREAK MOMENT."

The show shifts into a commercial break.

Toriel begins shaking. She can't deal with this much longer. Grillby does what he can to give her support, but he too has much on his mind. His pussycat unloaded a TON of things and a lot of it was incredibly concerning. Papyrus ushers his brother away from the other two as not to be overheard.

"SO...HOW LONG?"

Sans looks at him funny.

"uh...what?"

"HOW LONG WERE THE BOTH OF YOU GOING TO HIDE THIS PART OF THE SECRET FROM ME?"

"um...which part?"

"THAT POWER. SHE HAS TEN TRAITS, SANS. JUST HOW STRONG IS THAT GIRL?"

Sans scratches his skull.

"i honestly don't know, pap. i didn't even know she had that many. my main worry was always the black trait, so i never asked about others."

Papyrus folds his arms and shuts his eyes in thought.

"i swear, i ain't lying to ya."

"I KNOW YOU'RE NOT."

"then...what's wrong?"

"*HUFF* I DON'T LIKE THIS. I DON'T LIKE THE IDEA OF THAT WEAKLING BEING POWERFUL."

His eyes open but look at nothing.

"I SHOULD'VE KNOWN SOMETHING WAS OFF THAT NIGHT...THAT PUNCH...SHE WAS HOLDING BACK SO MUCH..."

Papyrus clenches his fists into tight balls of rage.

"THAT BITCH."

"ya know she didn't want to hurt ya."

"THAT'S THE THING. SHE THOUGHT SHE COULD HURT ME. HOW WEAK DOES SHE THINK I AM? THAT'S WHAT'S PISSING ME OFF MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW."

Sans sighs. One day his brother will taste humble pie and not like it.

[HOTLAND: LAB]

Undyne finishes off her sixth bowel of ramen and looks at Alphys.

"Well...That wasn't how I thought it was going to end. Was it really necessary to tell him to drop her?"

Alphys takes a few more notes and ponders.

"Would you rather there be no main event? Besides..."

She adjusts her glasses.

"If what the human said is true, then the Black Soul being triggered in an open area would result in mass casualties. The zone in which the ending will be shot in is, for the most part, closed and under my remote control. So even in the event of something going wrong, which the odds of such are highly unlikely, then any and all threats can be dealt with in an optimum manner."

Undyne nods.

"I guess that makes sense. Still...I don't what I saw. There was real fear in the human's eyes."

"Good. She should be afraid. She should be very afraid of what's to come."

"And what's that?"

"That would be spoilers."

"Damn it. *sigh* A human soul with ten traits...Sounds tough. I wanna fight it!"

"It does raise a lot of questions. One, in particular, is on my mind."

"What's that?"

"If a human soul, deprived of magic, possesses ten traits and begins gaining magic...What will happen when it attains 100% magic?"

A cold chill runs through the captain.

[HOTLAND: SOMEWHERE ON LEVEL 3]

I am getting so sick of this crap. Why can't I just die at this point?

"*muffled* Lynsie?"

The voice and light jostling is bringing me back to consciousness. Damn it. Here I go again.

My eyes weakly open to the sight of dirt and rock. Just an inch away from losing the ability to see. Like I need a handicap in all this.

"Lynsie? Are you okay?"

Ah, Flowey. It's about time we met back up.

"*groan* H-Hey, bro. I missed you."

He smiles sadly.

"Are you okay? Can you move?"

I roll over on my back and check myself.

[HP ██████████ 10/40]

[HEARTBREAK level ONE in effect]

I figured that's what happened. No wonder the Black Soul was triggering. Thank goodness for the fall knocking my ass out or things would've gone bad fast.

"I think I'll be okay. Sore, but okay. I'm sadly getting used to falling and possible brain damage."

My answer has him pout.

"What's with the face, bro? You know I'm a tough cookie. I'll be fine."

His face gets full of concern.

"I...I heard what you told Mettaton."

Yeah, you and the rest of the Underground.

"I...I understand now why you didn't talk about your past. Why you kept to yourself. I'm sorry."

God, he's too sweet for this place. I reach over and gently stroke his petals.

"I love you, bro. You have no idea how much it means to me that you care. But don't pity me. I do that enough on my own."

I wearily sit up, shaking my head of all that baggage I brought up for the show.

"I wasn't pitying you. It's just..."

He fiddles with his leaves in a shy way but I cut his words off.

"Bro, I get it. I do. It's the same feeling like when you told me your history. Yet, let's be honest here, you're more mentally mature than me and I'm still not completely okay after getting all that off my chest. We can talk more about it later after this ordeal is over. Maybe over mom's cheesecake? Deal?"

"...You mean it?"

"Yeah. I promise."

He smiles brightly.

"Okay. I'd like that."

I pick myself up and stretch, taking a look around at where we are.

"Don't tell me he dropped me back at the start."

"Nope. This is still Level Three. In fact...I do believe MTT Resort is just past this place."

"...For real? Is it a safe space?"

"Yep. There are shops and rooms to rest."

I hear a heavenly choir sing in my head.

"Finally! The universe throws me a decent bone!"

I regret saying that the moment it leaves my mouth. Flowey looks at me funny.

"Don't take that out of context, you know what I meant."

"I don't know. You and Smiley Trashbag are eerily close."

My eye twitches. Things I wish Gaster didn't show me try to pop into my head.

"Are you okay? You look like you're about to puke."

"Never insinuate something like that ever again."

He shakes his head at me. I try to change the subject before I have a heart attack on camera.

"So...Are you able to follow me to the resort? I'm sick of being separated."

"There's ground outside of it and parts I can reach beyond it, but the resort itself I can't get in without some sort of aid like a pot. Cement and tile flooring is a pain to break into."

"Damn, bro, you hella strong."

There's a deactivated reversed conveyor belt that's attached to the artificial platforms.

"Is it safe to cross? It's kinda giving me 'trap' vibes."

"You should be fine. This is normally the part where the colored tiles would be used again, but you know, stuff changed. It's probably off."

"Ah. Gotcha. I guess...See ya soon?"

"You bet."

He ducks into the ground so I take it as my time to leave this pit. The entire time I feel on edge. With my luck, the trap will turn on and I get screwed. Thankfully nothing happens apart from some jets of flame randomly going off in the distance and making me jump like a wuss. At least it got me to the stairs quicker.

After a quite the climb, I reach the top perturbed yet undaunted as a four-way crossroads greets me, though the two paths on the sides are blocked. More Royal Guards, a cat to the left and some kind of insect on the right, both in that imposing armor.

"Well if it isn't my best customer..."

The Ice Scream rabbit pops up from behind the cart I wasn't paying attention to.

"Fancy seeing you again."

As odd as seeing him here is, he's a familiar face that is a sight for my sore eyes. I approach.

"Hey, guy, what's up? Haven't been seeing you much in Snowdin Forest for a bit."

He leans on the cart like a cool guy.

"Yeah...Been moving around seeing if I can make mad gold somewhere where the weather isn't the same temp as my product."

"Any luck?"

"Waterfall wasn't so bad. Even started a new program with rewards cards. Turn in a card with ten punches and get a free doubling of your next order. Speaking of which..."

He reaches into his pants pocket and hands me a punch card. Some holes have already been made.

"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have had the funds to get this far. So...Instead of starting your card full, I may have added your previous buys. Can't say I haven't gotten better at my wonderful salesmanship."

I can't help but smile. He's come a long way. I'm proud of him.

"Well then, wonderful salesman, I'd like to add some more holes please."

"Heh...sure. But I'm warning you, prices have gone up. 25G. Got to charge more here 'cause of the heat."

"Understood, my dude. Um...Just curious...Got fudge pops? Kinda have this hankering for something chocolate."

He shakes his head.

"Sold out. The Royal Guards bought those like crazy."

"Damn. Oh well. One blue, orange, grape, and blood. All bisicles."

He fills my order and I pay the 100G.

"Here you go. All five ready to enjoy."

I look at him funny.

"Five?"

"Yep. Five. I definitely didn't toss in a strawberry one because of customer loyalty. Nope. Didn't do it."

Must...resist...the urge...to HUG!!

"...Thank you. That...That means a lot."

He gives me a wink and I practically skip away up another set of stairs. I place the treats in my inventory for now. I know not what crap will happen from here, so healing items are a big help.

I am met by a large complex. Redbrick that's been tagged with graffiti, yellow-tinted windows with some broken, a gold MTT sign with two Mettaton images with devil horns, a black & white checkered awning over the door, two large plant potters that have dry withered flower remnants, and a blood-red or just stained that way rug embroidered with gold MTTs.

"Classy."

I'm about to head inside when something hits my leg. A paper airplane? I inspect it to find it's a note.

[Hey! Go up the creepy alleyway on the right for some great deals!]

"...I'm gonna get mugged, aren't I?"

It's against my better judgment, but this is a neutral zone, so I should be okay. I wearily creep around, following spray-painted arrows, to end up finding two girls gossiping among garbage. They notice me and straighten up.

"Hey! Check it out!"

"Yeah! Check it out!"

"So, like, what's up? I'm Bratty, and this is my best friend, Catty."

"I'm Catty, and this is my best friend, Bratty."

Oh no...More valley speak!?! Why is that a thing down here?!

Bratty is a tall, green alligator or crocodile monster that wears a primarily black shawl with yellow and red details on the sides. She has yellow hair that flows into curls and red lipstick.

Catty is a plump purple cat creature who wears a set of black overalls with yellow buttons and tufts of red fur with yellow highlighted tips coming out from under it on either side. She has black hair with a red streak in it and a yellow earring on her left ear.

"Uh...Hi? So...This is a shop?"

"Like, the best shop!"

"You should buy ALL our stuff!"

Catty gets this blanket out and opens it out to show me their items. They don't have much, just four things, but I can't turn away from these items.

[25G - Junk Food - Has a big bite out of it]

[350G - Rusty Revolver - Bullets NOT included]

[350G - Tattered Western Hat - ATTACK up when worn]

[600G - Mystery Key - Probably to someone's house LOL]

A gun...How the fuck is that here?

"Oooh! I know that look!"

"That's the look of some wanting something!"

"Bratty! We're gonna be rich!"

"Where did you find this stuff?"

"I mean, like, where does anyone get guns, or food, or..."

"We found it in the garbage!"

I so called it.

"It's GOOD garbage."

"It's like, really good garbage."

"Where do you get the garbage?"

"Like, the garbage store, duh!!! ...Waterfall mostly."

"I found a gun in a dumpster!"

I check my gold...I don't have anywhere close to 1,300G for their garbage.

"Um...Maybe we could work out some sort of arrangement?"

They glare.

"That's poor talk."

"You need WAY more money."

What I need is to get that stuff away from them. That stuff is bad enough with humans, I don't want monsters messing with crap like guns.

"Ladies, I'm sure there's something we can do. Shops run on trade. This is just a trade of a different kind. I can't give you the gold, but I can get you other things. There's gotta something you'd both want that I can fetch for you in exchange?"

They mull it over.

"Thanks, but we, like, don't really need anything."

"Oh my god, can you go get us some Dazzleburgers?"

"We don't. Really need. Anything."

"Wait! I'll pay you 1000G if you get Mettaton to autograph my butt!"

Catty seems to be the easier one here. Maybe I can work with this.

"While I do know the guy, I'm not sure I can get Metta to sign your butt."

"Damn."

"Wait...You know Mettaton?!"

Their eyes sparkle.

"...Yes?"

They squeal with fanatical glee.

"Oh my God. Mettaton."

"Oh my GOD, METTATON."

"He's like...My robot husband."

"Actually he's like...MY robot husband."

"I think we're like...both going to marry him."

"We're both like, ALREADY married to him. He just, like, doesn't know it yet."

They're insane.

"Okay...Can I ask what's a Razzburger? I could try to get that."

Their eyes widen in shock.

"You don't know what a Dazzleburger is?"

"Do you, like, live under a rock?"

Don't we all do since this is a mountain?

"Dazzleburgers are epic!"

"They're only sold in the resort."

Interesting.

"Inside huh? Let me guess...Very pricey."

Bratty nods.

"The stuff inside, is like..."

"TOTALLY wicked expensive."

"But, like, this stuff we found is like..."

"TOTALLY wicked cheap."

"You should..."

"Like..."

"TOTALLY wicked buy all of it?"

"Cheap? You're selling a random key for 600G!"

They giggle at me and I sigh. Bitches, man...bitches.

"So where inside am I gettin' them?"

"The MTT-Brand Burger Emporium."

"You have to get them from Bugerpants."

That name...That name brings back memories...as well as sore spots. Douche-cat...

"Burgerpants."

"Yeah, that guy from the store. Yuck, what a creep."

"Yeah! He's a creep! But he's kind of cute, too..."

"C'mon Catty, don't you have ANY standards?"

"Nope!!!"

...You need standers, Catty.

"Yeah, I met him. Not so much a creep but he is a massive prick."

"OK, like, the annoying thing is..."

"He'd be OK if he just treated us with some respect."

"But he just acts..."

"Really weird."

"And then acts like it's OUR fault he acts that way!"

"Like, when we asked him to get those Dazzleburgers..."

"He dropped them and ran away before we could even say anything!"

"We were, like, going to share them."

"Really? I wasn't."

"Catty!"

This zone is full of awful people.

"One last thing...How many you want?"

Catty waves her paws.

"So many! Enough to fill a dumpster!"

"The mega value pack should cover us."

I give Bratty a thumbs up and leave their shady establishment. Now I enter the main building and this time I'm greeted by someone for once. It's either very diamond-like or very origami-like, but above all, it's a tiny monster.

"Welcome to MTT Resort - Hotland's biggest apartment-building-turned-hotel! Whether you're here for a night or still live here, MTT Resort prides itself on a great stay! Just passing through...? Nice! MTT Resort prides itself on being passed through!"

"Interesting business model. Does it work?"

"Oh, indeed it does, human."

"You know what I am?"

"Oh yes! The staff has been informed of your coming and instructed on how to handle you upon arrival."

Oh god, what now?

"Over on your left, we have a dine-in restaurant complete with a stage which hosts a wide cast of live acts. Either comedy done by locals or Mettaton entertains when he isn't too busy."

"Neat."

"If you're feeling like you hate yourself, behind me is the MTT-Brand Burger Emporium, home of the Dazzleburger!"

Well, they know how fast food works.

"All further questions can be taken to my coworker behind the desk."

I scratch my head and shrug.

"Thanks."

I walk away and head for the other receptionist. It's not a bad-looking lobby at least. Red & yellow checkered tiles and the rug from outside continues forward into parts unknown. The obnoxious fountain of Mettaton is gaudy though. I reach the desk and the monster behind it is a weird one. It's blue and its head is a hand with very well manicured red nails.

"Yes, we know. The elevator music volume is super loud and the song is stuck on a three-second loop. We are working on it. Because of this incident, rooms are running at a special rate! 200G a room. Interested?"

Someone sounds grumpy.

"No thank you. I was told to come to you. I'm the human if that helps."

Their head fingers extend in alert.

"Oh! Sorry. I was instructed to inform you on where to go next."

"That would be helpful, yes."

It motions to where the rug is heading.

"If you follow the rug there, you'll be lead out back to the entrance of the CORE. Mettaton will be waiting for you at the top."

"Could I use the elevator instead? All this travel is exhausting."

"No can do. The elevator leads to the Capital and main residence of our people. You're not allowed to go there."

"Oh...That's fine. I didn't want to go there. Just trying to take shortcuts if able."

"*ahem* If you require a small rest, might I suggest renting a room?"

"I don't the gold, sorry."

"That's fine. Mettaton has pre-paid a room for you. One time only."

I'm stunned. Damn him! Why does he confuse me so much?! I want to like and hate him at the same time!

"Um...In that case, sure. Where are rooms?"

They motion again.

"Down the hall to the right."

I wait for them to give me a key or card but nothing is there except awkwardness.

"Is there a problem?"

"No...not really. But...uh...Isn't this the part you give me a room key?"

"What? Room...Key? No, we don't do that. If you leave your room, you'll have to pay again."

So if I enter I can't leave or else I'll have to pay? That's insane!

"On second thought, maybe later."

"Shame. Do let us know if you change your mind. Have a sparkular day!"

I'm getting the feeling they're being nice because they were told to be. Otherwise, I doubt I'd be given such a warm welcome. Oh well. Time to pay a certain someone a visit.

I stroll up to the emporium and find myself paused. I can go about this in many ways. The different choices and outcomes play out in my head super fast. After a few, I settle on something...something that'll leave an impression. I push the doors open. A digital bell sounds. I look at what appears to be a sadder version of McDonald's. And like a mindless corporate drone, he speaks while moping the floor before seeing "who" just walked in.

"Welcome to MTT-Brand Burger Emporium, home of the Dazzleburger. Sparkle up your day (TM)."

He begins to turn around.

"What can I do to..."

His eyes widen seeing me, grinning sadistically at him like a lunatic.

"Uh...help?"

This hurts my throat to do, but it really sells this whole thing. I deepen my voice to imitate Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget and just laugh. He is unnerved to say the least.

"*menacing* No one will help you."

"H-Hey now...Don't think of doing anything funny."

I walk up to him and he backs away slowly before leaping behind the counter.

"Stay back! You can't hurt anyone in shops!"

I keep the deep voice.

"*menacing* Hurt you? Foolish boy...Why would I do that? It's not like you put a cigarette out on my wrist and bashed my head with a bat!"

That last part was done a bit too harsh and I end coughing. All seriousness leaves.

"*coughs* Nah, man...*normal* I ain't gonna do anything. For reals. I was just messing with ya."

He eyes me funny.

"Riiiiiight...What do you want then?"

"Preferably, my phone."

He flinches, his eyes looking quickly down then darting back up.

"I..."

"Metta doesn't have to know."

"What do you mean he won't know?! He knows everything that goes on here!"

"Look, you either give me my phone, or I'm gonna go back there and take it."

"You're not seri..."

My dead stare shuts him up. He seems to freeze up now. I sneer and put my hand out. He looks at my hand and then starts sweating. I'm beginning to lose my patience.

"You have five seconds."

His fur stands on end and he suddenly slams his face on the countertop, giving himself a bloody nose.

"Sorry, (Ha ha) it's against the rules to talk to customers who haven't bought anything. And talking with you this long has put me in serious shit. If you want this 'exchange' to continue, you're going to make a purchase."

I'm not happy.

"...What do you have?"

[60G - Sorebet - Very popular food.]

[120G - Dazzleburger - Very popular food.]

[300G - Mythical Villain - Anti-Hero Sandwich. ATTACK UP in battle.]

[500G - Biltong Slab designed to look like Mettaton - Don't ask. Please.]

I huff through my nose and shell out the 60G.

"That Sorebet better come with my phone."

"Yeah yeah. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"Fuck you. I wear boxers."

He eyes me with a blush before heading into the back. Might as well chat him up while I can.

"So...Do you know the chicks behind the building?"

"Huh? Oh...Them. Yeah, I know them. What of it?"

"They were talking about you."

"The girls were...Talking about me...?"

Hooked him.

"They mentioned you threw burgers at them and ran."

"Bullshit! That is not what happened."

He comes back to the counter with a glass of frozen dessert and my phone.

"Care to enlighten me?"

He sighs and lights a cigarette. I wonder if he can do that while on shift?

"Never interact with attractive people. Unless you're 'one of them', they're just gonna take advantage of you. Those two chicks asked me to sneak them some Dazzleburgers. And I, the naive teenager that I was, said yes to them. Bad idea."

"What happened?"

He takes a dag and lifts the collar of his uniform shirt open, blowing the smoke in there.

"Does that really keep the smoke from spreading?"

"It's worked so far. *puff* So I went out to the alley to see those two ladies, and uh...you know, see what'd happen next."

"Like...Naughty stuff?"

"...Maybe."

"Nice."

He blushes.

"Anyway...Then my boss comes out of nowhere, sees me, and demands to know what I was doing. I was so startled, the hamburgers in my pockets tumbled out onto the ground. Not wanting to lose face to the girls, I scrambled to pick them up! But, as I was bending down, the weight of the remaining hamburgers...*puff*...caused my pants to fall down."

He expected me to mock him. But I can't feel anything more than pity for the guy. This surprises him and he continues his story.

"Then the girls laughed at me. Everyone calls me Burgerpants now. It's gotten to the point I can't remember my name half of the time. It's even on my name tag for fuck's sake!"

Poor douche cat.

"I think you're the first to not laugh at me or that story."

"Why would I laugh? That's...That's messed up, man."

He takes another drag.

"You know something...I misjudged you, human. I know it ain't much, but, I'm sorry for being an ass."

I rub the back of my head.

"I'll be honest, guy...Since the bar thing, I've seen you only as a prick. The idea of you having hard times and lashing out didn't cross my mind at all. That's my bad right there. Sorry on my part for being a bitch."

He smirks.

"So...You're really not going to tell Mettaton about this?"

He hands me my phone.

"Dude, this stays between us. Besides, he's kinda been pissing me off lately."

"Yeah, he does that."

He takes a deep drag before putting the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe.

"Can I give you some advice? I'm getting on in years, so take it from me...You've still got time. Don't live like me. I'm 19 years old and I've already wasted my entire life. I'll probably be trapped at this stupid job forever. But wait! There's one thing that keeps me going! If ASGORE gets just one more SOUL, we'll finally get to go to the surface! It'll be a brand new world! There's gotta be a second chance out there for me! For everyone!"

"Maybe. So, what did you want to do before this?"

"Oh...I wanted to be an ACTOR."

"Neat."

"When I first came to Hotland, it was my dream to work with Mettaton. Well, be careful what you wish for! God, look what that idiot has done here. This place is a labyrinth of bad choices. And every time we try to change something for the better, he vetoes it and says that's not how they do it on the surface. Oh! Right! Humans are always eating hamburgers made of RHINESTONES AND GLITTER."

"...I can assure you we don't eat that. Eating that would be very bad for our health. Maybe even fatal. Monsters don't really eat that...Do they?"

His eyes shift and I facepalm.

"And you guys think I'm gonna hurt ya?"

"You should probably get going. The boss will get his gears in a bunch if you take too long getting to the CORE."

"Fine."

I put the Sorebet in my inventory and remember my awkward side-quest.

"Oh! Before I bounce, can you help me with something?"

He tilts his head.

"What?"

"The chicks, Bratty and Catty, they have items I want but don't have the crazy amount of gold. They say they'll trade for a mega value pack. Any way you might be able to help make this trade happen?"

He sighs.

"Really? Do you know how much that is?"

"1300G close? Because that's how much I need."

"...What kind of shit are they selling that's worth that much?!"

I goofily shrug. He groans and rubs his face.

"I can't just give you that much for free."

"Catty thinks your cute."

"...For real?"

I nod. He fidgets, fingers tip-tapping and pitter-pattering.

"Okay, I'll tell you what...You score me a hook up with her and I'll give you the burgers."

Damn you rule of three in side-quests!

"Argh...I guess I can try. It won't be the weirdest thing I do today but it is on the list though."

His eyes light up with excitement. I can't mess this up now. How often does he actually smile like this?

"Thank you! *ahem* I mean...Cool."

I slink out of the emporium and head for the exit.

"Um, excuse me, human...The CORE is the other way."

I groan.

"I know. I'll be back."

Exit building, go into the creepy alley, and meet the girls again.

"Look who's back."

"Do you have the Dazzleburgers?"

I show my empty hands.

"Ha! I knew she'd blow it."

"Sucks to be you!"

"Hold up. He'll give me the goods. But..."

"But...?"

"Catty...Do you really think he's cute? 'Cause he thinks you're hot."

Catty's face flushes. Bratty rolls her eyes.

"For reals? He wants a date?"

"A date? A hangout? A simple meeting while he's working? I don't know. For all I know she can walk in, say hi, and that's it. All I need is confirmation and you get all those shiny burgers."

"Yes!"

"Catty...?"

"What a deal! A cute guy and free food! It's the score of a lifetime!"

"Catty, he's a loser. You hang out with him once, then he wants to hang out... All. The. Time."

"But don't you feel bad for him, Bratty? Poor Burgerpants...Think about how cool we are compared to him!!! We'd be saving his LIFE with our awesomeness!! His LIFE, Bratty!!"

"Uh, so?"

"Think of all the Dazzleburgers he could get for us!!"

And just like that, I feel like shit for doing this.

"...So is he free after work?"

"*huff* I'll be back...again."

Leave the alley, enter the building, meet up with Burgerpants.

"I don't like the look you have there. Did she say no?"

I can't lie to this guy.

"Dude, I'm really uncomfortable with this."

"What's wrong?"

"She said yes. But..."

"She said YES?!"

"I mean, she agreed, but please listen..."

"Ha! Ahahaha!! Yes!!! You've brought a tear to the eye of this old man."

I feel so bad.

"Dude, please...I'm, like, 100% sure she's gonna use you for free food and maybe gold."

"...So?"

I'm taken back.

"Look, you don't think I didn't think of that? I know she's probably going to use me. Everyone does. If it's for the food, I don't care. That's just another way I can stick it to my boss. Speaking of..."

He plops this cardboard case down on the counter.

"A deal's a deal. The mega value pack for the girl."

...Okay, they're made for each other. Everyone here is trash!

"So, uh, what time did she say she wanted to hang out?"

I hate everything about this!!

"I'll be back again."

Take food, leave, exit, alley. At this point, I nearly shove the shit at them.

"Oh my God!"

"Is that the mega value pack Dazzleburgers?"

"OH MY GOD!!! GIMME!!!"

"God, Catty. Try to have some self-control."

"Sorry..."

"'Cause they OBVIOUSLY brought the Dazzleburgers for ME."

"NO WAYYY!!!!!"

I point to the items.

"Trade. Now."

Bratty puts the key and gun into the hat before handing it over to me.

"Thank you."

I put the key in my inventory and equip the other two.

[You equipped the Tattered Western Hat]

[You gain 12 Defense and 5 Attack]

[This battle-worn hat makes you want to crew on straw for some reason. It also raises attack by 5.]

[You equipped the Rusty Revolver]

[You gain 12 Attack]

[An super old gun. It has no ammo. Must be used precisely, or damage will be low. Duh.]

[HP: 40 ATK: 62 DEF: 50]

I am becoming OP!!

"Oh! Give burger-boy this!"

Catty hands me a scrap of paper with her number.

"Fine. I'm just glad this is done."

Back to Burgerpants. I slap the paper down.

"Here's her number. I hope you don't regret this."

His face contorts in a weird way...Is he...Happy?

Sweet! I need to pick a spicy outfit for my little shindig later. Though, now that I think about it, I had to throw away all of my clothes to make room for the outfits Mettaton gave me."

"...What?"

"Don't take it the wrong way. They're just all these...Weird getups. 'Promotional' costumes. For 'holidays'. Or 'specials'. Or 'because he felt like it'. The thing IS though! Most of the time I'm the only employee who has to wear this stuff! Sometimes he even calls me into his office just to...Make me put something on...Then he laughs and lets me go back to work as normal."

My pity meter is breaking.

"Anyways, I won't sweat it. I'll take it casual. NEVER let hot people think you care. That's how they GET you."

And the pity meter dropped dead.

"Good luck with that."

I leave on that note. Fuck this resort. Fuck this quest plot. Fuck this whole damn thing!

Wanting this shit show to be over and done with, I do as instructed by following the rug's path out some doors that have a giant sign above that says "CORE". Lazy-ass designers, I swear.

Weirdly this leads to a balcony. A balcony that has been opened and a walkway built that connects to the massive facility. The light from the resort barely shows half of the path as the CORE itself surprisingly gives off the faintest glow. The CORE is an entirely mechanical complex that is largely black and yellow with red accents. The blah colors aside, what gets my attention are the two monsters that were minding the entrance that slip inside when I show up. I don't like this.

"Flowey, you better be able to get here. I have a bad feeling about this."

Approaching shows more of this crazy thing. The CORE appears to be the most industrial and modern region of the Underground. Ozone, a byproduct of electrical power, is omnipresent below the floor level of the CORE. This could mean the CORE might be made of stainless steel, titanium, or platinum; as ozone is highly corrosive to most organic materials. If this is the case, they could use this stuff. The CORE could be a source of ozonated water, which cleans clothes, sanitizes food, and purifies drinking water. This also implies this might be the greatest source of oxygen in the Underground as ozone simply decomposes into oxygen at high concentrations and temperatures. The only hazard I can think of is that oxygen is a shitty thing to breathe. Breathing pure oxygen at high pressures can cause nausea, dizziness, muscle twitching, vision loss, convulsions, and loss of consciousness. Breathing pure oxygen for a long time can irritate the lungs causing coughing and/or shortness of breath. Higher exposure may cause a build-up of fluid in the lungs and subsequent death. Guess how much more O2 is needed to do this to a person? 20% more. God, Humans are so freaking weak. I'll need to be careful here.

The lobby of the CORE has an elevator to the north and two paths to the left and right. Not a bad looking place, very lavishly decorated, the floors are engraved with intricate patterns and multicolored neon tubes serve as wall ornaments and embellishments. I check the elevator, which is disabled, I'm not shocked at this point. Not much else to do, I go to the path on the right, which turns out to be a small room with a square platform overlooking a pit of fire. Not bad. I do enjoy looking at fire. It's pretty. Moving on! Going through the left path leads to a rectangular stretch of wall-less hallway with a doorway at the end.

"Hmmm...My bullshit senses are tingling. I'm willing to bet a random encounter/ambush is about to happen."

As if cued by my words, something cracks the back of my head and then hits my gut as I turn.

"*wheeze* Called it..."

My attacker appears and my dull cracked purple soul is forced out to play.

[Madjick pops out of its hat!]

Madjick has a typical appearance of a wizard. It wears a curved wizard hat, a pair of boots, and two rotating orbs emitting cross-shaped particles. Madjick has a sly smile on its face, but a pair of bright eyes are hidden just under its hat.

[FIGHT]

[ACT]

[̴͝SP͜͞E͡L̵͜L͟͠͏]͘͢

[ITEM]

[MERCY]

I wonder if SPELL will work on this thing? ...N-No. No. Can't chance it. Stick to normal tactics.

[ACT selected.]

[New options available.]

[CHECK]

[TALK]

[STARE]

[CLEAR MIND]

...The fuck kind of options are these?!

[CHECK selected.]

[MADJICK – HP: 190 ATK: 29 DEF: 24 – This enemy can only speak in magic words.]

Finally! My states aren't shit compared to my attacker. Also, only speaks in magic words is the most fucking adorable thing I've ever heard.

"Abra cadabra."

An orb spawns off to my left and rapid-fires crosses at me. I dodge and the orb tries to cut me off by going where I'm headed. It fires about eight times and moving around is not so great.

[HP ████████████████ 16/40]

Thank goodness my defense got increased during all this crap. I could've been really messed up.

[Madjick flaunts its orbs in a menacing manner.]

It snickers.

"A smug one. I like that."

[TALK selected.]

"You know...I can do magic too."

It looks at me intrigued.

"Yep. I can make your smile disappear."

It pauses before sneering at me.

"See? I made it vanish before your very eyes!"

It didn't seem to like my humor.

"Hocus pocus."

[Madjick begins chattering to itself. Its gibberish dizzies you...Your DEFENSE drops by 1.]

My head feels fuzzy. Did it just jinx me? Are there more types of magic than what I've been told?

One of the orbs begins to chase me while deploying harmful but immobile crosses. Yet due to the jinx, my sense of direction is ass-backward. Left is right and right is left. Up is down and down is up. However...much to Madjick's dismay...I'm used to being incredibly dizzy. My childhood was filled with countless hours of boredom appeased by spinning around till I couldn't see straight.

[HP ████████████████████ 20/40]

Ha ha...Suck on those magic balls, wizard-boy!

"*slur* Is that what you call magic? Boo! Disappointed!"

[Madjick whispers arcane swear words.]

"*slur* Oh...Someone needs to put some gold in the swear jar. I'm gonna tattle!"

It growls.

"Eh eh eh. It's not your turn."

I slap my face a few times.

[CLEAR MIND selected.]

"I wonder where Flowey is?"

[You think of pollen and sunshine. Your confusion abates. Your DEFENSE increased by 2.]

"...What?"

"Alakazam!!"

It tries to surprise me with that following orb trick. But now that I know that move it's not so bad.

[HP ██████████████████████████ 26/40]

Huh? Am I auto-healing faster? Sweet! Surely that only means good things for me.

[Madjick peers at you with strange eyes.]

"What? You scared? My sick moves and auto-healing too much for you? No worries, wizard-dude, we cool. I got you."

The hell did I just say? Am I magic high? Fuck it.

[MERCY selected.]

[New options available.]

[FLEE]

[SPARE]

[SPARE selected.]

It looks at me funny. Then it looks at my HP.

[HP ████████████████████████████████ 32/40]

It flinches.

"Please and thank you."

Madjick accepts my act of mercy.

[YOU WON!]

[You earned 0 XP and 120 gold.]

The fight ends, my soul returns to my body and I give my opponent claps of approval.

"Good show, buddy. Keep up the good work."

It seems confused but nods, hovering away behind me towards the exit.

"Well...That was weird."

My head still feels odd. Nothing a few brain sloshing shakes of the old noggin won't fix. Anyway, no time to question strange feelings or whatever. I gotta get through this so I can get back to Toriel. Onwards I go.

Continuing forward, I enter a room with a bridge that is cut off by a tesla coil. Wow. Hadn't seen that in a long ass time. How much do I wanna bet there's a convenient off switch nearby. Oh, look! A super obvious switch right there on the wall. Who could've ever had guessed! I flip the switch and lasers fire at me! First blue, then blue again, and orange. Thankfully they're slow, so once I triggered the first blue laser I easily hit the deck to avoid the others that pass by.

"Setting booby traps on top of other traps now. Geez, Metta, I'm starting to think you don't like me very much. Well, that's fine. I don't like me either! So come at me already and quit this pussy bullshit!"

Calm down. No need to get riled up. Get through this and go home. Then I can just stuff my face with Nanny's awesome cheesecake and pass out happy. I march on, doing my best not to look down or notice how some of the walls and floors are chipped away. Now I'm paranoid about if any other laser that turns up is functional or decorative.

The path leads into a crossroads with a path to my left and a path straight ahead. My bullshit sense is tingling when I look at the left path. Straight ahead it is.

This room contains a bridge with many blue and orange lasers followed by a massive wall of blue lasers.

"Nope. Just nope. Screw the rules! I have plot armor importance and common sense!"

Fuck this outfit. Fuck this shit! I have lost all my fucks! I get down on the floor and combat crawl the long as fuck cold metal catwalk.

"*muttering* Stupid bullshit. Why do I have to be nice? If I wasn't nice, I wouldn't have to put up with shit like this. Bitches don't end up in laser catwalk traps. But no...I have to be a decent person. *getting louder* I have to be a good girl. I have to not give in to the overwhelming urge to punch assholes for being assholes because that's wrong for dumb reasons! *shouting* Why am I pissing myself off?! This is extremely counterproductive given my current situation! Fuck!!"

I blame all this on Mettaton. That's a healthy way to look at it. Probably not. But I'm not a mental health doctor! The fuck do I know?! After crossing the bridge, I storm grumpily along another walkway only to reach something called "Core Branch".

Turns out the "Core Branch" is a four-way intersection. Fan-fucking-tastic. Man, my mood is fucking sour. Maybe the digital sign can be useful and give me directions.

[North, the warrior's path. West, the sage's path. Any path leads to The End.]

"*growling* This is so...FUCKING STUPID!!"

Nope. Not falling for anymore of this. I choose neither side and go straight. This middle path of the "Core Branch" has me entering a vertical room with a right path leading to the eastern portion of the "Core Branch". There's nothing to my left. It just drops into the ozone, so it's certain death. I'm so sure this place followed all safety measures. There is a sign on the wall that is telling me to "Get lost...And stay that way".

"Wha...Why have signs telling me to leave when you told me to come here?! Stupid metal moron giving me dumb mixed messages."

I hate everything. No monster better encounter me while I'm in this mood. I take out a gold piece and flip it. Heads for straight and tails for the right. It lands on tails so right I go. This has to be the stupidest designed building ever! What the hell was Gaster thinking?! Was he on the drugs? Because this seems like he was on the drugs! 'Cause now I'm at another four-way crossroads. Only now I have two digital signs.

[To the East! This is The End.]

[I cannot fight. I cannot think. But, with patience, I will make my way through.]

A third, and hopefully final, tesla coil blocks what has been established as the exit. This means there's a switch somewhere. F that shit. Know what? You know what'll piss everyone off? I'm gonna do what that sign said. I'm going to be patient. Because if I know Mettaton, and I know massive egos very well, he won't want boring content to be televised and eventually spice things up. I plop my edgy tush under the sign and...wait. Using this time to chill. Let this negativity go and...

*Clank-clank-clank*

Oh hell no!

A large monster ominously approaches. Knight Knight is a monster that wields a great staff with a sun symbol in her right hand. She wears a suit of black armor and what resembles a horned helmet with a crescent moon emblazoned on her forehead. The helmet's eyepiece occasionally widens and un-widens as if it is her mouth. Her torso is dominated by a dragon face whose beak occasionally opens and closes, revealing a small eye. It is unclear whether which face is the true face.

"Let me guess...You're here to make me move?"

"Yes."

"No."

She's confused.

"...No?"

"Did I stutter? I'm not moving."

She readies her spear.

"Then prepare for..."

"Let me stop you right there. I get that you're doing your job and following the law, and blah blah blee bloo, whatever. I have been through one of THE worst days in my life. My mind, soul, and charitable goodwill have been pushed to limits that are very VERY thin now. I am in no mood to deal with any more crap. So I'm going to say this once because I ain't fighting you or moving from this spot till this electrical blockaded is gone...Turn around and go home."

She doesn't take me seriously and laughs.

"Heh heh...You have no power to give me orders, human."

She takes a step closer and I snap.

"I͏͟ ̧̀̕W͝IL͘͡L̴ ̶Ŗ͟͜I͝҉P͘ ̵O͜F̧F̛͞ ̸̀Y̧͡O̡͢U̡͠R ͠H̸EA̶͏D͏͢ ̸̕A͜N͢D S̢̛͜Ḩ̶Į͢T̵̕ ͝D̶̀OW͞N̷̴͠ ҉͞Ý̸̢O̡͡U̡͢R ̸ŅE̴͝CḰ̡̧!͞͞!̧͢"

She stumbles back in shock. The strange energy sparks off me. I regret everything.

"I̵'͘͟͏ḿ͢͞ ̧̕͞so̧̨͡r̴̢ŗ̷͜y̧.̵̛.̢͞.̛p̢l͝ea̷se͢.͟.́͢.leave me. I'm so sorry."

I seem to have disturbed her. She slowly steps back and turns around when she's convinced I'm not going to move.

"Adieu...Human."

She leaves me and I let out a shaky exhale. It's getting worse. I'm losing control. I can't do this for much longer. I haven't been given any proper time to deal with this shit. My internal bottle has been shaken too much! It's going to explode! I...I...

"What the heck was that?!"

Flowey pops up beside me and I'm too freaked out to be startled.

"Sis? What's wrong?"

I hold myself in an attempt to squeeze into a tiny ball of self-loathing. This only worries him more.

"Lynsie?"

I...I can't...I need a break. If only I had my music. I could drown out all this. Lose myself in the lyrics.

"B-Bro..."

"Yes? Talk to me. I can help. Tell me what you need."

"...H-How fast can you get to Snowdin?"

He frowns.

"You want me to get 'him', don't you?"

All I can do is nod.

"I...I can help too. You don't have to turn to him."

My eyes dart to the blocked path. He puts things together. He is a smart boy after all.

"True. Mettaton is that way and the room his encounter takes place in is an elevating platform. I can stretch from my roots pretty far but not THAT far."

He pouts.

"*huff* I guess there's no other option. He does have experience helping you out when things get bad. And he can teleport."

I feel bad that I'm making him do this...again. Like in the dead timeline.

"I...I'm sorry."

"Wha...N-No! Don't apologize. I understand. You're worried. It's okay. We'll get through this. Family helps family. What kind of big brother would I be if I didn't do everything to help? Even if that means getting others to help when I can't."

"...I need a hug...please?"

It pains me to see him hesitate. But vines come out to wrap around me for a bit.

"Thank you."

The vines retract and he extends to nuzzle my cheek.

"It won't be like last time. I promise. You won't kill anyone. No one's going to die."

"H-How do you know?"

"Because you're strong. You just have to believe in yourself. I know I do."

...I needed that. I give him a smile.

"There we go. There's my sis. Now keep that smile. I'll get Smiley Trashbag and we'll be back home with mom in no time."

He really is too sweet for this world. He sinks into the floor and I forgot to ask how he was able to get through this floor. I mean, I guess he said he can get through cement so metal can't be too far of a long shot. Asriel sure is a super strong boy even as a flower.

*BUZZ*

The power to the coil suddenly is shut off remotely like I so knew it could be. Damn it. I was hoping to have more time. How impatient is Mettaton for this? Reluctantly, I get up and walk down this new road. Halfway along this bridge, I am blocked by three vaguely familiar monsters that look like tougher versions of monsters I see in the Ruins.

Final Froggit has spike-like protrusions on its head and eyelids, accompanied by a crown-like muff on top of its head. Its lips are marked with lines, as though wrinkled from age. Its "shoulders" are decorated with sharp excrescents, while the silhouette between its legs forms a face with a triangular smile and cross eyes.

Whimsalot has a more human-like appearance than Whimsun. Also, its antennae are thicker, and there is a muff on their head that branches in two. Whimsalot's appearance is also accompanied by a double-bladed spear and a knight mask. Its ghost-like torso is skinnier and shorter.

Astigmatism's body consists of a large ball and four spiked limbs. The ball is accompanied by two "horns" on each side. When idle, a large eye can be seen on the ball also with three eyelashes. However, it changes from this face to another where the eye hollow is changed with a smile. When having its eye closed, the two side eyelashes become Astigmatism's eyes, while the middle one simply becomes a marking.

I don't know what I must look like to them. Probably dreadful. Because they move aside with not a word being side. I nod in thanks, proceeding to the end which for all I know might be the most tragic moment of my life second to Grillby dying. No! Stop it! Do as Flowey said. Smile. Stay chipper. Think of something silly. Like how dumb this place is. Honestly, was Gaster high making this place? I'll have to ask him later. Nah...I'll ask Sans. Less hassle.

The bridge comes to an end, leading to a shadowy doorway and an elevator that probably would've been super handy but was out of order to pad out the length of this bullshit subplot. Augh...It's so much easier to think my life is a fictional story or internet abridge series. It's the only way my brain allows most of this crap to make any sense.

"So this is it, huh? The epic conclusion of this grand show. Heh...I want to feel accomplished for making it this far. Almost. But all I do feel is..."

I can't finish my sentence. The weight I thought I got off my back earlier begins pressing on me again.

"Nothing...I feel nothing. *sniffling* Damn it...Don't fucking cry!"

With a breakdown seconds away from happening, I enter the doorway to the room of darkness and a door shuts behind me then locks. There is no going back now.

Please...I made a promise...Please...Don't make me have to RESET...Please...I'm begging...Please...

#undertale #underfell #Anomaly #Lynsie #sans #papyrus #gaster #grillby #grandpa semi #flowey #Asriel #toriel #asgore #frisk #chara #undyne #mettaton #napstablook #alphys

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spacemilkies · 5 years ago

Text

gateau→ ; part i of iii

pairing: cal kestis x reader

word count: 2.5k+

summary: “So you had a Jedi as a roommate … that wont be a problem in the future or anything.”

a/n: a bunch of new things to get me writing. all written at some ungoldly hour. this will probably be a three part series. something short and simple, based off the prologue with some background. hey, no song fic for once. i spent all day in this fandom. i feel ready. put me in coach.

_______

“C’mon just this once, please.”

“Oh ho, no no. This is definitely not the first time.”

There was never a good reason for your roommate to visit you on the job. Not only were you stationed on opposite side of the station, you differing positions also lessened the opportunity for you to meet up without explicit reason.

He was a rigger and you were a builder, simple as that.

You refrained from lifting your mask, maintaining a sense of distance from the conversation as you continued to weld the two pieces of metal together. Maybe if you did your job hard enough he would eventually give up out of respect of your workload….

Who were you kidding.

A fiery shock of red hair crouched down next to you, apparently uncaring for the wayward sparks emitting from your torch. It was only when he dared to lean closer that you reluctantly cut the power out of concern for basic occupational safety.

Flipping the hood of your mask, you gave him your sharpest glare to which he combatted easily with a killer smile. If only it was as effective on his conquests as he seemed to think the same applies to you.

“You’re all just going to melt it down any.”

Any metals and ores that made it up here were better than the average scraps found in the lower sectors and certainly worth a pretty sum of credits. It was your roommate's favorite way to exploit your job and threaten your only means of survival in the same breath.

Darting your gaze around, you found that for once your colleges were rather forgiving of personal space. Though it didn’t mean that your supervisors wouldn’t have watchful eyes on your every move. Hence why these daring favors tended to have more impact than meaningless valve.

You weren’t agreeing. Definitely were not going to get drawn into to those pleading baby blues. You were just curious.

“And what exactly do two upstanding individuals as yourselves need with my fine metals?”

Cal’s smirk was shallow but no where lacking in its killer properties,” I’d bend your fine metals anyway.”

With a huff, you nudged him away with your shoulder. Practice allowing you to ignore the faint flush it brought to your cheeks.

“You’re wasting time, Cal.”

“Just something nice. I’ll pay you back.”

You were not going to fall for it Totally, explicitly would not lose resolve on your promise to not give in like last time. You were strong and resilient and Cal was a big boy with his own means of survival and-

“I swear to all above, Cal if you-”

The force of his lips against your cheek nearly knocked you over and you were left momentarily stunned as nimble fingers searched knowingly against your body. Before you knew it, he was drawing away, your access card in hand.

You should be happy with how quickly he scrambled to his feet, prepared for a hasty departure. It wouldn’t be long before your superiors began making their rounds and the last thing they wanted to see was a scrapper hunting around their stores.

Gesturing with two fingers against his temple, Cal waved off before he disappeared around the corner.

“Why are you not working? Your pay is based on your progress, not your time.”

Swallowing down a retort, you merely smiled shallowly in response to the haughty order as you tugged back down your face mask, Cal’s phantom touch still lingering against your form.

“Of course, sir.”

_______

It should be said that Cal wasn’t a terrible roommate. In fact, when he first responded to your advertisement you had a feeling that he would actually be a helpful one.

That was a lie.

You knew that he would be a cute one. Someone that you would have to try /really hard to keep your hands off of. Fortunately for you, at the beginning he felt more like a brother than a bachelor. His boyish habits cutting into some of his charm.

It didn’t take much longer than that before the two of you fell into a rhythm of sorts.

Having another human around was kind of nice too.

Not to say you preached xenophobia. Some of your closer friends on this desolate planet were part of varying species. But in a way it aided in building a familiar quality of home even as you reside on the opposite side of the galaxy.

Cal was moderately fair roommate. He wasn’t spotty with rent and you split the amenities, as scarce as they were, fairly. He was a little messy but not in the obnoxious unhygienic way.

Everything was balanced.

And you couldn’t really complain.

He was a great guy. His humor and antics proving to raise your mood after a long day. Just the way he spoke about his own day bringing tears to your eyes and curling your stomach with laughter.

You were a capable engineer, even though your talents were wasted on rebuilding the same schematics over and over again. At home, you are able to hone your own skills. Working on various knick knacks and gadgets. It was nice to have a second opinion as well.

The two of you had spent many nights huddled around the living room surrounded by scattered parts and various prototypes. Only to have to separate the more advanced ones in fear of being caught.

It was nice.

_______

“Damn, I didn’t think the boss would ever let you off.”

With less finesse and not a care in the world, you dropped haggeded into the seat offered by your friends. After another long week it was nice to finally load off with a few drinks and company chatter.

For some reason the quota skyrocketed in the past few weeks. The recycling of old metal into new vessels becoming an unrelenting force on your crew.

It turned out to be one of the worst moments to find yourself promoted.

To think just three weeks ago you were throwing around drinks in celebration and now you were ready to drown out the accomplishment with whatever was on tap.

“Apparently they’re bringing in a huge freighter soon,” you called out solemnly. Your supervisor had shown you the schematics of the parts that would be salvaged and what they wanted to accomplish with its predecessor.

After another long shift all you could really make out was work and more work.

But at least the same would be said for the riggers.

To your right Reif, a Rodian, spoke crudely over a mouthful of food,” Yeah, been hearing about that one for sometime now. Suppose to be a Separist ship. Going to be quite the project.”

Slouching idly in your seat, you played lazily with the handle of the mug offered to you. Just another long project to keep you stranded on this planet. Not to say you had any plans otherwise.

If anything you should really thank them for giving you something to focus on.

Garnering everyone’s attention with a slam of her glass against the table, Enisa a pretty pale blue Rylothian, slurs loudly,” Enough of all this work talk. Let’s focus on something else.”

Then she’s sliding sharply into you, leaving you to fumble with your own glass,” Like your roommate. Why didn’t you tell me he was available.”

Because you weren’t in the market providing companions?

Your furrowed burrow must have voiced your thoughts because she was rolling her eyes without your verbal response.

“Oh don’t play dumb. You’re harboring one of the few attractive souls on this god forsaken planet. And you’re not even bumping uglies with him, what a shame.”

You were stuck between defending your own choices and wondering when she learned such a human phrase. It was hardly worth the effort of explaining how the two of you just weren't like that. Your inventory of excuses were running dry.

“Stop making it awkward for her, she has to live with the guy.”

Catching Reif’s gaze over the rim of your glass, you give him a thankful nod. The rest of your group takes the initiative to fill the silence and progresses the conversation further into the night. Unlike most outings, neither of you are able to keep up with one another past a few extra hours. The weight of the day taking more out of you as it came to a close.

You’re not the only one grateful when Reif brings the outing to a close.

There is just enough alcohol in your system to make you stumble through the threshold of your home, groaning quietly as you try to stabilize yourself. More likely than not Cal was already asleep and you didn’t want to disrupt that.

Now with the evening settling into your bones, there wasn't a part of your body that didn't ache and the incoming headache didn't make any part of it better.

Right now the couch was looking a lot more inviting than it should be. You’d deal with the consequences it would leave on your body in the morning.

Rounding the edge, you collapsed back into the cushions.

“What the hell?”

“Shit, Cal! What the fuck?”

A sharp hiss escapes him when your elbow jabs unkindly into the softness of his side. Before you could try to remedy it, his hand is gripping your upper arm and settling you more safely in the available space rather than on top of him.

For a moment it's just your mixed breaths as you come down from the unexpected surprise. With more care, you twist more comfortably mindful of your limbs this time.

It's hardly necessary but you whisper anyway.

“Why are you here?”

You feel his arm wiggling behind your head and you raise your neck obediently to allow it to rest beneath you. As a reward, the same hand curls inward to comb through your hair lazily. He works his fingers across your nape and back up to your scalp finding just the right spot and drew small circles.

“Dunno, just came home and ended up here. Kind of like you but less dramatically.”

You snort, “Sorry, wasn’t expecting a party of two.”

He hums to himself, the pad of his thumb pressing inward in a way the manages to reset your whole mindframe and you nearly white out from the release.

There is more that could be said but the words escape you both as you settle for the night. If you weren't already going to regret this before, you were definitely were going to more now for an entirely different reason. But there was no chance of you altering the flow of what it was now.

You would just have to lay there and try not to think too hard about the natural slot of your body to Lance’s despite the finite space. It was much easier to count the staccato of his dull thumping heartbeat as it lulled you off to sleep.

_______

“Goddammit, Meeka. You’re going to wake up your mom.”

Too late.

Though in the defense of your mischievous loth-cat, the warm smell of breakfast permeating from the kitchen was just one waft away from rousing you. Stretching out your arms, you used the length of them to hook around the back of the couch to drag you up.

Questionably burnt but you recognize the scent of some of your favorites.You has not caught a glimpse of what he was wearing last night but Cal appears to be wearing some fresh clothes. The way the collar of his shirt is damp in the back hints towards a shower.

Part of you wonders if breakfast is a preemptive apology towards a cold shower you would be expecting later.

“Where do you have to go so early?”

If you startle him, he doesn't show. He slides a bit of food onto a plate, giving Meeka more than gracious portion before bringing the plate to you. You take it gratefully, balancing it on the spine of the couch.

Alert to your presence and no doubt ready to beg for more scraps, you watch unimpressed as the feline-like creature slinks against you. She gets what's expected anyway as you part with a strip of meat.

Leaning against the counter within view, Cal scolds you playfully. “And you said I spoil her.”

“You start it,” you retort without any bite.

You blame the queasiness on residue alcohol when he laughs warmly.

“Oh. “ You look up and Cal has a fork pointed at you. ‘’Your access card is on the table there.”

You’d already forgotten about that.

“Get anything good?” Safely, is weighted on your tongue but it seems like a waste to add it. Cal has always been mindful of his self, actions and footsteps in a way that makes you wonder how long he’s been watching his own back.

In the few years you’ve known him, things like the past rarely came up. No one really came to Bracca chasing a future. It was just a means to an end until you could find something better if you could manage to get out.

You hard already stopped trying when Cal stumbled into your life. But now it hardly seemed like a bad thing.

The clank of dishes brings you out of your thoughts. His back is to you now as he cleans his mess.

“It will be a nice personal pay raise, that’s for sure. Prauf sends his thanks too.”

Cal surprises you again when he comes to collect your empty plate. Rather than comment it on it, you lounge comfortably in the domesticity of it all.

“What’s your plan for the day?”

That was a good question.

Your body had an obvious vote towards rest but responsibilities made a greater bid on your time. A bit of shopping would unfortunately be necessary but your savings would have to survive. Between the recent raise and this upcoming project, you should survive to hit.

Replenish resources it would be then. At least if you start early enough it would allow you to relax for the remainder of the day.

Cal’s gaze follows as you stretch and eventually slink off the couch. Meeka happy to have the entire furniture to herself doesn’t waste a moment to snuggle into your lingering warmth.

“Down to the Bazaar first, then after that we’ll see.”

But first to see how much hot water you were going to be working with. Yawning loudly, you get to work with untangling the mess of your hair. Just before you can round the corner, Cal calls out to you.

“Want to make it a date?”

It’s an innocent play of words. One’s he’s used in the past without acting on it.

‘And you’re not even bumping uglies with him, what a shame.’

And just when you finally stopped overthinking it.

Peeking over your shoulder, you found Cal waiting expectantly yet so unaware of the winds of the storm picking up in your mind. Was it even worth it to wonder if similar thoughts ever troubled him?

-nah, it was just easier to smile.

“Yeah, it’s a date.”

#cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order writing #im on a roll

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angryhausfrau-writes · 3 years ago

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I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 16 - In Which Charles Vane Destabilizes the London Real Estate Market and Takes a Bath

Also known as the chapter I finally write the Charles Vane bath bomb scene that is the entire reason I began writing this fic. It still turned out more weird and angsty than I wanted it to. But here we are.

Charles has been acting a bit strange lately. Strange in a way that doesn't match his usual strangeness. In fact, one might say that this new strangeness is completely antithetical to his normal sort of hyper-aggressive, hyper-masculine nonsense.

That's not to say Charles has gone soft. He's still going to the underground bare knuckle boxing ring at least two days a week to bash other toughs' heads in, returning home in the early hours of the morning, bloody and bruised and grinning that feral sort of grin that makes Jack's guts writhe with a combination of desire and fear.

Because Charles Vane is a predator. Leonine in build and appearance, but more than that, he's a hunter. And most people on the other end of that look perish by his blade.

The ones that don't tend to become intimately familiar with an entirely different sort of blade – Eleanor Guthrie being a prime example.

And as much as Jack might enjoy that type of, heh, swordplay, he knows that it's a terrible idea. Particularly now, when the team is so cohesive. Charles and Mary have formed an unexpected but heartening accord with each other and with Max. Jack's own relationship with Max remains cordially businesslike, but that suits them both perfectly fine. And Jack has absolutely no desire to pry into Max and Anne's relationship.

Perhaps the largest surprise is that Charles has not once tried to challenge Jack's leadership, despite Jack having taken his crew and his command and his whole world. But Charles hasn't even really threatened him since that night in the hotel when Jack had first suggested they all settle down. And Jack is grateful. And he is more than disciplined enough to keep it in his pants to prevent ruining the accord they've all reached. More than able to put the con first and everything else second.

So Jack doesn't let the desire show. Keeps to the flippant and easily brushed off type of dialogue he and Charles have always shared. Non-flirtatious by its very flirtatious nature.

And Jack refuses to let the fear show either.

Because Jack has been on the receiving end of that look several times now, and he's still alive and kicking. And, as previously stated, Charles hasn't ever challenged Jack's leadership. And he's too Charles to ever play the sort of long con to disrupt him from behind the scenes that Jack himself prefers to employ. That Jack has employed against him – and isn't that just a tiny jolt of guilt right in the heart?

Completely unrelated to all of that, Jack has started keeping watch out the front window the mornings after Charles goes out. And when Charles comes up the street, stumbling and grinning and flying higher than the pipe ever got him, Jack is there to put a narrow shoulder under his thick arm. There to help him limp through the front door and into the front hall bathroom to collapse on the closed lid of the toilet seat and grin that terrible, frightening, arousing, alive grin up at Jack. Who just dabs at his cuts with the ruined, bloodstained towel he's started keeping in that bathroom solely for that purpose.

And Charles holds still through all of Jack's patching him up and getting him an ice pack for the bruises blooming on his ribs and admonishing him for getting into that state in the first place. And Charles lets Jack lead him up to bed and sit with him for a bit as he falls asleep, Jack brushing his long hair off his forehead so the blood and the sweat doesn't glue it to his skin as he sleeps.

Charles looks so peaceful like this, all tucked into clean sheets, with Jack's hand running gently through his tangled hair. Peaceful in a way he never looked with a needle in his arm. And Jack's honored to get to see him like this. With his guard down. Vulnerable.

Vulnerable is not the word one would have ever used to describe the Charles Vane from the streets. But this Charles Vane, the one who moved into a real house, if under protest. This Charles Vane seems more than content to let Jack and Anne and Mary see a side of him he's never shown before. And Jack keeps that trust close to his heart like a treasure.

But he's always been a greedy sonofabitch, reaching beyond his station, beyond the cards life dealt him by virtue of his birth. And Jack wants more.

Jack has kept patching Charles up after he gets back from the fighting ring he joined as a way to keep the pounding of the blood in his veins, the drive to fight and fight and fight until there's nothing in his head and his heart and his arms except the singing of his blood and the cooling tackiness of the blood he spilled. A way of feeling alive. A way of keeping sane that doesn't ruin all their carefully laid plans, all their carefully constructed facades.

It has also conveniently doubled as a way for Charles to keep his ear to the pulse of the street. A way to keep tabs on their former colleagues and competitors. And some outright enemies.

They move in different enough circles, Charles doubts they'll ever end up fighting for turf. But sometimes you need dumb muscle to knock over a mark, drive them further into your arms. Help them understand that they're in danger, but you can help them. You can keep them safe, if only they just trust you.

If only they sign over their soul.

And, and, it's helpful to know what the word on the street is about the rich fuckheads they're trying to con. Cuz sometimes the street knows things about them they don't even know about themselves. Things ratted out and weaseled out and just plain observed by the unfortunates forced to wash their dishes, or clean their houses, or drive their cars, or any number of menial, forgettable tasks that allow the person performing them unfettered access to their vulnerable underbelly that not even eel-slippery Jack or silent watchful Anne or flirtatious Charles have been able to gain access to.

Like, for instance, the fact that the Hennessy family is not nearly so well off as they like to pretend in front of guests. Sure, to the world it's all champagne and caviar and Mediterranean cruises. But Charles is have-a-drink-together-down-the-pub close with a fellow boxer whose wife's cousin's sister is a housekeeper for their big London house. And she knows there ain't hardly money to turn the heat on in winter. Goes to work in three layers and mittens to vacuum the priceless antique rugs and dust the slowly dwindling collection of priceless family heirlooms in the china cabinet and on the cold hearths' mantles.

Which is a good indication that just a little push, just a little pressure to their already cracking facade, and the property could be bought for a song. If only the facade can be maintained. If only there was someone to spin it so they don't lose their place in society. So they don't have to give up the game of pretend they're playing.

So they can pretend they're just going off to live in the relatively inexpensive Maldives because they're sick of English winters and not because the crumbling remnants of British imperial estates can be bought for a comparative pittance. Plus, everyone speaks English so it's properly civilized. Their British friends can be invited for reciprocated holidays without fear of losing face.

That's how Mr. Scott presents it, anyway. With no mention of fact that the islands are being slowly subsumed by the ocean. Not when that's why the deal appears so strongly in the Hennessy's favor. Cuz after all, you get what you pay for.

Charles allowed himself to smirk from the corner as he listens to the sales pitch, having been brought along since he is “friends” with Hennessy's wife, and a gentle hand on her arm, a quiet word about how much he would enjoy visiting their estate in the Maldives - his voice and touch and everything calculated to conjure images of him nude on the beach of said estate, just as Max coached him before the meeting - might do something to sway the conversation. Everyone knows Mrs. Hennessy's got her husband by the balls in a way Anne's admitted to admiring.

But someone like Mr. Scott is more than capable of sealing that particular deal all on his own. Gentle and bland and unassuming Mr. Scott. With skin dark enough and accent pronounced enough the Hennessy's can feel condescending even as Mr. Scott bleeds them dry. But his words are deferential, honeyed, and the facade is maintained. Everyone gets what they want.

So Max is pretty happy with the whole arrangement – with Charles keeping tabs on the London underworld, even if it results in a few scrapes and bruises. Happy with it continuing if he keeps getting results like this. So he'll keep doing it, even if Charles knows Jack isn't as happy.

But Jack's a worrier by nature. The kind of man to think and think and overthink, until he's thought himself into a right tizzy over all the hypotheticals and what ifs and Charles just doesn't understand, cuz he's never been like that. Never borrowed trouble when he's got enough right in front of him.

So Jack worries – mostly about Charles staying safe, he's pretty sure. About him coming home from the fights with cuts and bruises. And not about him blowing the con or anything. Which is kind of nice, really. Charles doesn't think he's ever had somebody worry about him for reasons other than a job. For reasons other than him being strong enough to do the job they need doing.

So Charles lets Jack take care of him, safe in knowing Jack ain't doing it to use against him. And it's nice - especially the getting to drift off to sleep with Jack petting at his hair.

Charles imagines it's like how a mother's supposed to sooth her child to sleep. All tucked into bed in pajamas, with a bedtime story. With the mother staying until he falls asleep, there to keep the monsters in the closet and under the bed away. There to sooth and to love and to care.

Charles never had a mother. Never had anyone to hold him like this, even. To care for him like this.

All his lays, all his fuck buddies – even Eleanor, the closest thing he ever had to a stable relationship – they'd all expected to fuck off as soon as the fucking was over. Or expected him to fuck off as soon as he got his rocks off. There was no lingering, no sentimentality.

And if they ever spent the night, his lovers – Eleanor, mostly – they expected him to be the one to hold them. And he'd expected it of himself, too. He's big and strong and tough. Protective. That's about as soft and sentimental as he'd ever let himself get.

So it's nice to be able to let himself be taken care of by people he knows won't use his vulnerability against him. And that's probably why he lets Jack talk him into taking a fucking bubble bath of all fucking things.

Jack has always been the type of person to push his luck. The kind of person who can never leave well enough alone. The kind of person who refuses to be content with what he has, always striving for bigger, for better, for more.

So that's probably why he thought it was a good idea to convince Charles into taking a bath with him one morning.

He's less beat up than usual. No bleeding, minimal bruises. Just that look in his eye that promises... Jack doesn't even want to start thinking about what it might promise.

Yes, absolutely no problem with getting naked together with a man looking like that.

Jack may, in fact, be very, very stupid. But Charles had agreed to the bath, swayed by Jack's argument that it would be relaxing, presumably. That it would help the lingering chill left from the dank parking garage Charles had spent the night in and from the walk home in the early hours of the morning.

And, in true Charles fashion, because that man knows absolutely no shame - and certainly not for anything so mundane as nudity - he'd simply nodded at Jack, proceeded up the stairs and into Jack's en-suite bathroom, and started stripping.

Jack turns away and busies himself with filling the frankly ostentatiously large tub. His doubts are beginning to have doubts about the soundness of this plan. But it's too late. Charles is already climbing into the bath. And the sigh of relaxation he makes as he sinks into the water makes any discomfort Jack feels more than worth it.

Jack's thrown something into the bath that bubbles and fizzes and smells sweetly of lemon and darkly of something spiced that makes Charles a lot more happy about this whole bubble bath idea. He'd been a bit worried he was going to walk out of this thing smelling like an entire fucking rose garden. But it seems like he'll be at most smell like he's taken a walk through a citrus grove, which is bearable. At least until he realizes that not only is the soap turning the water different colors, but there's a shiny slick of gold glitter riding along the top of the water.

Glitter he's sure he's going be washing out of his asscrack in the shower later.

And it seems pretty stupid to him to take a bath where you have to take a shower after. And he bitches to Jack about it. But then Jack's stripping down and getting into the tub, water up to his chin, and the smug look he's giving Charles – the look that says he knows that Charles is enjoying this, even if he won't admit it – that look makes Charles have to splash him with the foaming, sparkling water. There's no other choice really.

And then Jack splashes him back. And Charles just has to put him in a headlock – one tight enough he can't get out of it easily, the slippery bastard. And they're slopping water all over the bathroom floor, but it'll clean up easily enough. It's not like they don't have an overabundance of decadently soft towels in the fucking ridiculous built in linen cupboard.

So they wrestle playfully for a bit, Jack giving nearly as good as he gets despite being smaller. But he's never been afraid of playing dirty – something Charles has always admired – and the roughhousing ends with Jack's arm around Charles's throat. Well, really it ends when Charles sits on him, the only move available that wouldn't actually hurt Jack.

And Jack's arm moves from pressing gently, carefully, against Charles's windpipe down his chest until it's wrapped around his stomach, holding him closer.

Charles slumps down into the water. Leans back against Jack's skinny chest.

And then Jack starts scrubbing through Charles's hair, fingers massaging against his scalp. And that feels. Nice.

Nice enough that when Jack directs Charles to dunk his head underwater, enough to completely wet his hair, enough that Jack could hold him under until his thrashing limbs stopped twitching and he stopped breathing, Charles does it.

Jack guides Charles up out of the water. Guides him to lean back against him. Starts massaging at his scalp again, combing his fingers through Charles's wet hair, working out the strands until they're floating loose around his head like a halo.

They stay like that until the water cools.

Charles gets up and hoses all the fucking glitter off – berating an unrepentant Jack the entire time. But at least he does promise to use bath bombs that don't have glitter in the future. So there's that.

Charles pretends he isn't happy that there will be other times when they get to do this.

And Charles cleans up the disaster of spilled water around the tub while Jack showers. And Jack leads Charles from the bathroom into his bedroom. Lets Charles curl up in his bed.

And despite his halfhearted protests to the contrary, Charles is pretty fucking happy to drift off to sleep to the gentle tug and pull of Jack combing through his damp hair where it spreads across Jack's pillows.

#black sails #charles vane/jack rackham #i travel troubled oceans #chapter 16

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