#everyone thinks he stinks but I KNOW what he smells like and it’s the hot air that comes out the back of a ps4

[jurassicass]

Finally drew my baby girl again 🫦

[henry7931]

Got Your Body B*tch!

Drew:

This is Marco, he’s a raging asshole (for a lack of better words). I’ve known him all of my life, down to when we were young kids. And he’s always been a huge pain.

Marco, is the type of guy who’s cocky, always gets what he wants, comes from really nice rich parents, and incredibly insensitive.

He’s been that way forever.

I thought I was done with him when I left to go to college. That was until I walked in to my college apartment and saw Marco unpacking bags.

“Drewphus! I didn’t know you’re my roomie. You’re going to have to leave the apartment when bring a girl over, okay? Oh also, no touching my shit. I don’t want you get poverty all over it.”

If looks could kill in a moment, I swear Marco would be dead on the ground right now.

“I’m kidding…. Well, kinda. So here is your space, I hope you don’t mind but i already called the bigger bedroom since i was here first.”

“That’s fine Marco,” I say biting my tongue.

“Great, well have fun unpacking whatever you got in those two suit cases. I’m gonna have some private Marco time if you know what I mean”

Marco makes a jerking off hand gesture, I just roll my eyes and head into my new room.

A few hours past after I unpack and settle in, I order a pizza for dinner and lay back in bed.

All I can think about is how I’m about to have to live in the same quarters as Marco. The same guy I cant stand to be around.

Ugh…

So just like I always do when I get this stressed— it’s time to jerk off. (Something I’m sure Marco has already done 12 times today)

I checked my phone to see how much time I have until the pizza arrives, one hour. Great!

I pull off my shorts and open up my laptop. I feel a little embarrassed to admit this but I the kind of porn I like isn’t for everyone. I have a foot fetish. And not just that I this thing for jock athletes and their feet. I hate how much it turns me on especially since it’s guys like Marco that really get me going.

I start scrolling through and see this really hot jock with big feet. I click on his page. His username says AlphaAlex, he’s tan, dirty brown curly hair, six pack, big muscles…

I start mentally picturing him with me in the room, fantasizing him taking off his sneakers and dirty gym socks in front of me.

He says to me, “Hey Drew, do you mind rubbing my feet? I’ve had a really long practice and they are killing me.”

He puts them on my lag and says, “sorry if they stink!”

He lets me rub them and I ask him if I can smell them…

He says, “Sure, you can do whatever you want with them. After you’re done with my big jock feet, do you mind massaging my cock next?”

I stare deeply into AlphaAlex’s massive bulge on the screen. Almost about to nut…

“BRO!!! WHAT THE F*CK DREWFUS! I KNEW YOU WERE A HOMO BUT YOU’RE A FOOT FREAK TOO?”

Cum squirts onto my chest just as I turn to see Marco standing at my door with his cellphone recording in hand.

“MARCO!!! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?”

“Bro, wait until I show this to everyone! Now everybody going to know you’re a foot freak!!”

“MARCO PLEASE NOOO!!!”

I hop out of bed and Marco turns around and I chase him butt naked through our apartment.

He screams, “Stop chasing me foot freak!!!”

Marco shuts the door and I feel my stomach turn. I beg him to delete the video but he doesn’t respond.

As I go back to my room, I cry into my pillow… I feel so mortified.

I lay back, wiping my tears and say, “If someone could hear me, I wish I can get revenge on Marco. No I want more! I want everything Marco has…”

I cry myself to sleep, nervous for what the next day had in store for me.

The next morning, I wake up feeling kinda off. It takes me a second but I realize that somehow I’m not in my room!

In a panic, I rush to get out of bed until I come across a mirror.

That’s when I see Marco’s reflection looking back at me!!!

“Holy shit!!”

I feel a moment of fear hit me… but then I remember my wish last night. Someone out there listened to me.

I look at Marco’s face and then down at his body. Hes a dick but…. He is hot…

I pull off Marco’s shorts he slept in and his 10 inch hard morning wood comes flopping out.

“Holy fuck…”

I grasp it in Marco’s hand, which I guess is my hand now?

Nervous, yet kinda excited, I wasn’t sure what to do.

I looked down at the throbbed cock in my new new hands and immediately start jerking off.

I hop back into Marco’s bed and bring his foot up to his face. He actually has some sexy feet!

I start licking his foot from heal to toe. I relish in knowing the fact that he would go insane if he saw me with his body right now.

I keep tugging away at his cock and this maybe the best jerk off session in my life.

I twist Marco’s nipple and let out a soft moan.

“Fuckkk Marco your nipples are sooo sensitive,” I say aloud.

Hearing his voice sends me into a frenzy, just the thought that I can say anything, do anything as him. I have complete control of this dickhole!

I stand up out of bed and dash to the mirror, I grin at his reflection and jerk his cock even faster.

“Drew, it feels soo good, keep jerking my cock Drew. My body belongs to you now, my big feet, my sensitive nipples, my sexy abs… FUCKKKK THIS IS SOOO HOTTTT!!!”

I nearly screaming by this point and I feel every muscle in Marco’s body tighten.

I’m tugging so fast now and then cum sprays all over the place.

I fall back onto Marco’s bed covered in his nut. I look at his covered hand and lick it clean.

I lay back and gently rub his fingers back and forth on his stomach up to his chest.

Then reality started to sink….

Wait, if I’m Marco… what happened to my body?

“AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

I hear a distant familiar scream coming from the background.

“Oh shit…”

Heavy footsteps coming charging my direction and before I can even get up the door slams open.

Out of the door is my body…

My eyes get big, I don’t think I’ve ever been that angry. My face is blood red and he starts to charge at me.

“Hold up!” I say hopping on top of the bed.

“DREW YOU PIECE OF SHIT IM GOING TO END YOU!!”

He balls up a fist and starts to pull back. Before he can reach me I grab the balled fist.

I guess Marco’s body has quicker reflex’s.

I pull him in and toss him on the bed. I pin him down and say, “I’m a lot stronger than you now. You wanna talk instead?”

“F YOU!!!”

I twist my former weaker arm and he shouts out, “OWWW SHIT, FINNNE!!!”

I get hop off my body and let him turn over.

He glances me over and says, “did you just jerk off in my body?”

I look down at the undeniable evidence.

“Yeah, I did. It was amazing.”

“You piece of—”

I look down and notice the tent in my boxers.

“Wait are you turned on right now?” I say to him.

“NO IM NOT!”

“You have a very noticeable boner right now.”

“Shut up! No I don’t!”

“What was it for you? Seeing your body all naked? Or was it when I pinned you down?”

He says nothing to me, just looks away.

“I mean you have very hot body Marco, theirs no shame in being turned on by it. Hell, I can’t stand you and I just had the best jerk off session in my life. What’s getting all hot and bothered? Is your hairy pits?” I hold his armpit up and step closer to him.

“Or maybe it’s the sight of your own cock.” I say shaking his semi-hard dick at him.

I move even closer to him. He looks like he’s in a trance.

“Oh you know what always gets me hard. Big manly feet,” I kick his foot up and show it to him.

I place his foot on my former bulge and start rubbing it.

“Does that feel good?”

He still say nothing but lets me keep going.

I push him further on the bed and pull off the brief I went to bed in my last.

My dick comes out standing straight up and leaking from the tip.

I place his foot on it and start toying with it using his toes.

He lets out a moan.

I look at my former face and he’s so turned on right now.

I pull his foot away and he says softly, “please don’t stop…”

“Oh you don’t want me to stop?”

“No… please Drew… it’s throbbing…”

“Well you’re gonna have to finish the job yourself, I’m going to shower and head to the pool.”

“WHAT!??”

“Yeah the pools still open, got to make the most out of these last few warm days Drew.”

“YOU!!! Drew, you can’t just leave me like this!!! I want my body back right now!”

“Sorry DREW! But this wasn’t my doing necessarily. If anything this is karma for you being such a prick all these years. Now run along and go take care of that boner little gay boy.”

I look at the corner of Marco’s room and see his dirty sock.

“Oh here you go! A gift from me to you, enjoy!”

I give my former throbbing dick a pat and I run off to the shower, leaving Marco in his mixed emotional state.

I rinse off quickly and come back out, I walk back into Marco’s room and see he’s still on the bed— sniffing the dirty sock and wanking one out.

“Oh fuck you’re back already!” he says to me.

He looks so pathetic right now.

“Geez, just stay right where you are.”

I drop the towel and get into bed with him. I grab my former cock and push it into Marco’s throat.

“HOLY!!!!” he screams out.

I suck off my former body while Marco’s moans frantically.

I feel him running my former hands in his hair and I feel myself getting a little excited from it. It’s kinda hot being this aggressive and sucking my former body off.

He lets out a loud grunt and cums down my new throat.

“Better?,” I say whipping the excess cum off my mouth.

“God yeah,” he says taking heavy breaths.

I look at my former body in the eyes and for a split second I thought about kissing him. But then reality sinks in… that’s still Marco inside.

I get out of bed and say, “I’m heading down to the pool.”

I put on his bathing suit and he says to me, “Drew, I’m sorry for being such a dick.”

“I know you are,” I say back.

“Can we try to fix this?”

“I’m sorry to Marco but I don’t think we fix this, these may be our bodies forever. So you might as well get comfortable.”

I left him sitting in his now former room naked and silent.

When I get down to the pool it doesn’t take me long to notice others noticing me.

Some girls and some guys, I look over at some of the guys and even wink at one. He is super cute and fit.

I hop on to a float and lay back soaking up the sun. I wait to see if that guys going to make a move when the ultimate buzz kill shows up.

It’s Marco in my body.

“Sup,” he says to me.

“Just trying to relax.”

“Yeah well, we still need to talk.”

“We don’t now f*ck off.”

He rolls his eyes and walks over a chair by the pool.

Soon that guy from earlier comes over.

“Hey, what’s up?” he says to me with a grin.

“Just laying out wait for you to come over,” I say with a smirk.

“Oh is that so?” he says flirtatiously.

He gets into the pool and now he’s right next to me.

“I’m Lois.”

“Marco,” I say introducing myself to him.

“So do you live here?”

“Yeah I’m on the second floor.”

“Nice, I’m on the third.”

We flirt and have small talk for a minute until he asks me out.

“Sure you wanna do tonight?” I say to him.

“Oh man, yeah I’m down,” he tries not to be too excited.

“Great, let’s say 7?”

“Yeah 7 works for me.”

“Cool,” I say grinning at him.

I peak out of the corner of my eye and see my Marco coming up to the pool.

“What are you doing?” he says to me.

“Oh hey Drew, this is my roommate.”

“Oh nice, I’m—”

“Don’t care dude, I need to talk to you Marco.”

“Uh okay, sorry Lois. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah for sure!”

I get out of the pool and walk back to the apartment with Marco angry.

“What was that?” he says sternly.

“None of your business! Also you were just so f*cking rude!”

“I don’t care! You were flirting with that guy!”

“Yeah so? We are going on a date tonight.”

“WHAT?!?”

“Yeah, and you interrupted it.”

“You’re going on a date with a guy in my body?!?”

“It’s my body now and yes I am!”

“But… but you just sucked me off and…”

“And what? You thought that was something special?”

“OF COURSE NOT! I’M NOT GAY!”

“Well what you did a few hours ago seemed pretty gay to me.”

“Yeah that’s because I’m in your gay body and plus that’s my body. It’s kinda like masterbation.”

“Whatever man, I really don’t care. If you want to pretend to be straight that’s fine. But I’ll be honest, I think you’ve always had feelings for guys. I know because I’m in your body and I’m still attracted to men.”

“SHUT UP!!!”

“So it’s true, you’ve been a dick to me my entire life about my sexuality, what I like, and it turns out you have some pinned up jealousy towards me right?”

Marcos looking down at the ground.

“We could have been friends, do you not get that?!? We could have—”

Marco grabs me and kisses me.

I was so shocked and I even felt butterflies in my stomach. We kiss for a few minutes before I pull back.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!?”

“I’m sorry Drew! I was never going to do all of that stuff. I… I don’t know how to say this… I like you. I like you a lot. Hell, I thought about kissing you just about every time I went to kiss any girl. But I have so much anger and you’re right I am jealous! I’m jealous that you’re out and proud of yourself. You’re so confident! Fuck!!”

“So why put me through so much!?!! I mean look at us, we’re literally trapped as each other now! All of this could have been prevented if you just owned up.”

“I thought… I thought you would have hated me so much that you would tell everyone the truth about me. So… I just, I was a prick.”

“Damn right you were!”

“Sorry… again.”

“It’s fine, I guess I’m sorry for causing this body swap thing between us. I made some wish last night to get back at you. I didn’t think it would become anything but then woke up as you.”

His eyes get big, “so that’s how this happened?”

“Yeah, I guess something out in the universe was listening in and heard me.”

“That’s nuts.”

“Yeah it is.”

“Well if we are being honest about everything. I wasn’t just turned on by you dominating me upstairs. I was freaked out and yet turned on from being inside of you.”

“Really? My body?”

“Yeah Drew, you’re cute. You have an adorable face, cute slim figure, you’re charming yet kinky.”

“Wow.”

“And now I guess we are going to have to be each other forever?”

“Yeah I guess so.”

“Well if I had to be anyone else, I’m glad it’s you.”

“You mean that?”

“I do.”

I grinned at him and he smiles back at me. We both start to laugh.

“Are you still going on a date with this Lois guy?”

“Well not if an adorable guy who’s charming yet kinky stops me.”

“I guess that’s me now isn’t it?”

“Yep!”

“Well I can’t fully stop you but I can tell you this. If you don’t go—we can order take out, lay in bed together, and fool around all night.”

“Hmmmm… that sounds promising.”

“Plus, I know my body really well. And I can tell you no one knows how to make that body feel as good as I do.”

“Is that so?”

He walks closer to me seductively and Im starting to get hard again.

“I’ll nibble on those nipples, toy around with my balls…I bet you these hands are going to feel so good working that cock..”

He reaches into my bathing suit and I gasp.

“Fuckkk, I guess I’ll be staying tonight,” I say barely getting words out.

“Hell yeah!!!”

3 Months Later:

“Babe, are you packed? We got to be at your parents in a couple of hours… Babe?”

“Hi”

“Are you kidding?”

“We have time for a quick round, sides I’ll jerk you off using these sexy toes,” I say wiggling my feet at my boyfriend.

“Fuckkk… I guess we have time.”

Marco pulls off his shirt and I see the definition built into my former chest. He’s been hitting the gym a lot lately and everyday he’s looking sexier and sexier.

Marco pulls off his shorts and he’s already hard from these feet. It works like a charm every time.

I watch as my boyfriend grabs the foot that used to belong to him and he kisses every toe.

It’s crazy how quick the time had flown since we woke up as each other. I guess it helps that we are so in love with one another.

I start rubbing the cock that used to belong to me and now I’m hard.

“Babe, you are so talented with those toes… mhmmm that feels good.”

I use both feet and stroke back and forth.

He stops me for a second and plants my foot on his face.

“Did you work today without any socks on?”

“Hell yeah I did.”

He takes a big sniff of them.

“Fuckkk, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[lovelyiida]

mha guys confessing their feelings<3

INCLUDES: BAKUGO KATSUKI, EJIRO KIRISHIMA, DENKI KAMINARI

GENRE: fluff, light-angst

WARNINGS: implied fem reader, vulgar language, sexual themes

MASTERLIST

WORDS: 4.1K

KATSUKI BAKUGO

• we all know this poor guy would be a mess.

• constantly checking if there are wrinkles on his perfectly ironed uniform (that took him several hours to do the day before).

• making sure that his spikes were in all the right places, twiddling with his hair strands making sure the point is so sharp your hand could be sliced off if you touched it. Not that he wants to hurt you…

• reciting his lines over and over until his mouth gets dry.

• this man is a mess, and it’s all because of you.

‘damn chick, you’d just had to’ve sat next to me on the first day of training.’

Bakugo thought to himself whilst adjusting his tie for the seventh time today.

it’s true to think that you were a force that couldn’t be pushed away. first day of classes and you walked straight up to him, with a bright smile you extended your hand out to shake. rolling his eyes, he gets up and walks away.

but you never knew that his fate with you would be sealed beyond that point.

from constantly ignoring you, to always making random conversations. you even became his go-to sparring partner, leaving a sad Kirishima in the midst.

‘she’s just a better partner, no hard feelings bro.’

from the beginning of the day to the end, you guys were always together. It was a simple joke made by Denki, one day, you all were sitting at lunch, chatting it up and making regular convos.

Denki realized that you and Bakugo were having a whole other conversation from the table. Silently chuckling to yourselves, hitting his shoulder when he says something funnier than the last remark (most likely talking shit about his classmates). Denki shows a devilish smirk.

“so, how long have you guys been dating?” the table confused as to who he was talking to, your eyes narrow. “huh?” you say, bakugo looks up at him, confused and pissed off because he was in the middle of a lovely shit-talking fest with you.

“y’know…” Denki looks and you and bakugo, signaling that he was talking about both of you. Mina’s blank expression becomes ecstatic. “You guys are dating?” she yells.

You and Bakugo’s eyes widen, you start the shake your head and wave your hands. “oh no, w-were just friends, right?” looking at Bakugo he swallows his spit.

“Yeah, we are.”

“We’re just fucking friends, and if I hear any of you guys spread rumors, I’ll have your guts on a platter by the end of the fucking day!” slamming his fists into the table, everyone jumps.

getting up from his seat, you try to call him back. But it was no use, angrily muttering to himself back to the dorms.

“fuckin’ crush on her? why the fuck would I have a crush on her?”

“they’re all dead wrong.”

they’re all dead right.

I mean, looking at it from his point of view, he couldn’t help himself.

same sense of humor, great sparring partner, same interests, same music taste, and you were fucking hot? it was only a matter of time until he couldn’t deny the facts any longer.

now here he is, nervous as all get out, with a bouquet with your favorite album in one hand, and a teddy bear in the other.

blowing his breath into the air he smells it, making sure it’s up to par, you complained to him yesterday that his breath stinks when he yells in your face. so he took note of that.

“you look like a loser.” Kirishima laughs at Bakugo’s nervousness, if it wasn’t for all the time he spend on himself he would’ve thrown him into a wall, he couldn’t today, not with you on the line.

“whatever.”

“dude, just walk to her room, knock, and tell her how you feel. it probably won’t come as a shock since everyone knows you have a crush on her.” his last few words make bakugo growl in curiosity.

“what the fuck do you mean, everyone knows?”

Kirishima gulps and scratches his neck, “n-no reason! I guess they all caught on like we did haha.” he laughs nervously, obviously lying.

grumbling, bakugo pushed past him on his way to your dorm.

“you got this dude!”

“yeah, sure, whatever.”

he hopes that you say yes to his proposal, you don’t even have to be his girlfriend, a simple date would make him happy. but he would love it if you were his and only his.

walking towards your door, he swallows his spit. Nervousness lingered around him, palms beginning to sweat as heat rises from them. taking in a deep breath, he knocks on your door.

“you got this.”

he waited for a bit, no answer.

huffing his breath, he knocks again, a little louder than before.

no response.

“shit,” he curses to himself.

he swore you weren’t busy around this time, and yes, he did remember your schedule. letting out a sigh, he hangs his head low.

“there’s always tomorrow—“

“always tomorrow for what?”

jumping at your voice he turns around, his cheeks burning as he sees your figure. it looks like you just left the convenience store.

he hasn’t been this nervous since the entry exam, he hasn’t been this nervous since…ever.

“uh, hey! I thought you were in your room and—“

“is all that for me?” your voice softens, walking closer you set your stuff down to take what Bakugo has from his hands.

“yeah, stupid shit I put together…don’t think your special.”

you chuckle at his statement, “thank you bakugo, even though it’s not even my birthday.”

“yeah, whatever.”

grabbing your other stuff you open your room dorm and head in, but before you shut the door your look at him.

those big, stupid, beautiful eyes of yours.

fuck, you’re beautiful…

“is that all you’re here for?” You coo, looking away nervously, he sighs.

“tch, yeah.”

smiling to yourself, you nod.

“okay well, goodnight Bakugo.”

“night.”

closing the door behind you, you set your gifts and groceries down.

5 minutes or so pass, as you settle yourself in. What just happened? why was Bakugo so damn nervous to talk to you? you’ve never seen him look so startled before.

looking at the basket that was gifted to you, you couldn’t help but smile. Taking a picture of the basket, you were about to send the picture to the “1A Chicks” group chat when you hear a banging at your door.

startled, you scurry to open the door, “Bakugo? what’s wrong?” you asked. looking at him, he frowns. “You’re what’s wrong.”

confused you shake your head, “w-what?”

rolling his eyes he curses, “fuck it.”

pushing himself into your room, you yell. closing the door behind him, you were even more confused now.

“Bakugo, what the hell is your problem?” you yell. As he walks towards you, you walk away. every step you took back, he took a step forward. slamming yourself into the wall you look up at him.

Bakugo corners himself into you, leaving no room for Jesus. pressing his body up against yours, you stare at his face, noticing how his cheeks are pink and his breathing is stagnant.

a moment of silence passes by, you noticed your noses touching. you feel his breath on your lips, warm and soft. looking into his amber eyes, you chuckle a little.

“if you’re thinking about kissing me, I’m not gonna stop you.”

Bakugo lets out a huff, “and why would I even kiss you out of all people? I hate you.” Squinting your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile at his denial.

“so you did all of this just to tell me you hated me?”

Bakugo stares into your eyes, “yeah I did.”

rolling your eyes you adjust yourself, trying to free from his grasp until he leans in. you let out a small gasp, as his lips touched yours. He was kissing you.

closing your eyes you kissed back, melting into the feeling of his lips on yours. His arm snakes around your waist, giving it a squeeze as he deepens the kiss.

this goes in for another 10 seconds until you back away for breath. the world could’ve stopped moving and the both of you wouldn’t have known. staring into each other’s eyes, scared that if you look away you’d lose this moment forever.

Bakugo leans in one more time, a quick peck before he lets go of you. he nervously puts his hands in his pockets.

“I assume you do this to all the girls you hate?” you questioned.

“no, only the ones I like,” he answered.

“so, you don’t hate me?” you laugh, he rolls his eyes at your statement.

“no I don’t hate you, I like you dumbass!” he yells.

“don’t yell at me, I just wanted you to admit it,” pulling him by his shirt you plant another kiss on his lips. a small smirk shows on his face.

“Whatever.”

DENKI KAMINARI

• has zero fucking rizz

• tries so hard to be someone he isn’t just so he can impress you.

• he just needs to realize that he doesn’t have to go all out to impress you because just being him is enough for you at the end of the day.

• at first, it was funny to his friends seeing how bad Denki would try to flirt with you.

• the cheeky one-liners were cute, but now they were starting to be just plain corny.

“woah, you’re all scuffed up from hero training today huh y/n?”

it was the end of training today for class 1-A, you were around some of your friends sitting on the ground, Denki decided to walk up and start some conversation.

“yeah, Iida got me pretty good today.” you sigh, letting out a defeated smile.

“looks like you just fell from hell!” Denki laughs.

confused, you tilt your head to the side. looking over you see Mina facepalm, Bakugo next to her pinching the bridge of his nose.

“do I look that bad?” you snort.

Denki’s eyes widened, “no you don’t! you look the opposite, that’s what I meant!” he nervously rambled.

“I-I meant to say you fell from heaven because you’re all cut up, a-and you’re an angel— because you're pretty!—“

“you think I’m pretty?” a tinge of hope carries through your tone.

“Yes!— No!— I mean—“

Watching you get up from the ground, you become quickly uninterested in the rest of his ramble. Mina frowns and lays and hand on his shoulder.

“hey, Denki, you can torture y/n some more during lunch time m’kay? we need to get changed before the bell.” Mina saves the day, pushing you away from Denki as you laugh at his awkwardness.

“nice one, playboy,” Bakugo smiles and punches Denki hard in the shoulder earning a wince from him, bakugo chuckles to himself and walks off towards the locker room.

Denki sighs in defeat before following Bakugo.

Now it was lunchtime, and everyone sat down happily eating their food as they finally get a break from their rigorous daily schedule as heroes in training.

Denki watched you from across the table, staring honestly.

He saw the way you’d laugh with Bakugo, the way you whispered into his ear, leaving the both of you to snicker to yourselves.

He hated it.

So he did something about it.

Walking over to your side of the table, he sees the way the both of you look at him. You show a soft, inviting smile his way…whilst Bakugo’s expression could be a bit better.

Sitting across from you two, he takes in a deep breath and exhales.

“CANT you see we’re having a conversation?” He spits. Denki rolled his eyes at his venomous remark.

‘god I’m going to regret this’

“Aren’t you tired of being such an asshole all of the time?” Denki snaps.

“Hah?” Bakugo leans his head to the side.

Denki snorts, you watch in amusement at his antics. This makes his ego boost.

“I mean, it’s like you’re constantly on your period or something! Like, lighten up a little man!” He laughs.

“I’m gonna light up your ass real soon toaster head if you don’t leave me alone! And I’m asking you nicely.” Bakugo growls.

“I mean…he’s a little bit right” you jump into the conversation. Watching you lean your head on your hand, he can’t help but think about how hot you look right now.

You’re helping him.

“you can be a little agitated at times” you side with Denki.

Frowning even deeper Bakugo lets out a dark chuckle, standing up from his seat he stomps over to Denki.

Denki becomes so busy looking at you look at him that he forgets that Bakugo is looking over his spirit at the moment.

You shoot him a look, telling him to look up. So he complies.

“Is there something you need?” Denki says with a snarky tone.

“get up.”

The death glare stings into his very being, bakugo’s amber-red eyes burning into Denki’s golden ones.

“Make me” a smug smirk shines brightly off of Denki’s lips.

Of course, Denki didn’t have time to revel in his interaction with Bakugo. Because the next thing he knew was that he saw a flash of light and he was flying.

He flew so fast, it felt like he flew all the way to the recovery office.

eyes fluttering open, Denki whines as the hard white lights above him shine into his eyes. Tossing on his side he curls into a ball, hugging himself closer to the bed. he groans before letting out a deep sigh.

“Denki, are you awake?” A soft voice rang out into the silence.

He knew that voice.

Quickly turning over his eyes grow wide.

“Y/n?” He breathes out, earning a half-hearted chuckle you nod. He could tell you were worried about him.

“Oh my god, Denki, what we’re you thinking back there?” you scold him.

“I…I don’t know,” Denki frowns.

“You and I both know that we shouldn’t buck up to Bakugo like that unless you’re looking for a death sentence! Why the sudden change of character?” You asked, a frown still visible on your lips.

Your lips…

Denki was going to talk about how he just felt like pissing off bakugo, but then he realized how close you were to him. Only a hands distance from your face, his eyes travel down to your pursed lips.

They look so soft, so warm, so sweet.

So his.

His brain wasn’t aware that his body was moving, it seemed like the only thing that could control him was his heart. And he knew what his heart wanted more than anything else.

And it seemed like his heart knew what you wanted too.

“Denki.” You whispered.

“Hm?” His voice was so soft, you melted at the slight raspiness of it.

“Are you trying to kiss me right now?” You asked, you bit your lips. That action makes him let out a chuckle.

You tease.

“And if I was?” He whispered, softer than the last time, his hand sliding softly onto your cheek to his and thumb and index finger sliding further down to hold your chin, he leans in a little more.

“Then I wouldn’t stop you,” you leaned in, lips touching, but only grazing.

You felt each other's warm breaths, you felt the shake of his breath travel onto your lips.

“Fuck,” Denki cursed to himself, guiding your face towards his as he closed the gap. Leaning in further you make him fall back on the bed.

Your lips attacked one another, even tho it was his first kiss he was pretty damn good at making out.

Breaths hot, teeth grazing, lips wet and soft, Denki grabbed a fist full of your hair and groans as he deepens the kiss.

There’s no way he can be doing this right now, this has to be a dream or something.

He couldn’t even think of a response until you ripped your lips off of him. Denki lets out a soft whine you could barely catch, you giggle at this.

Leaning back up, your hand caresses his face.

Denki spills.

“I didn’t know what I could do to impress you, the pickup lines weren’t working, every time I tried to flirt or compliment you it just turned into shit, and I wanted you to not see me as some loser dweeb! So I did something that I knew would get your attention-“

Leaning down again you plant a quick peck.

“Denki, you had me from the start! Cheesy one-liners and all,” you chuckled.

“Really?” Denki asks.

“Mhm, really”

EJIRO KIRISHIMA

• there’s nothing more manly than matching Kirishima’s energy

• but it’s also not manly to get so bashful over it

• you and Kirishima have been the best of friends for a while, besides Mina being the only girl within the friend group. Sometimes he forgets that you’re a girl, he feels as if you’re one of the guys.

• so sometimes, some things he says to his guy friends he says to you.

• and it’s not necessarily a bad thing, it’s just bad when other people around don’t understand the dynamic the both of you got going on.

“Hey, sexy!” You yelled.

Walking into the dorm kitchen, you slap Kirishima’s ass. Jumping, he lets out a laugh.

“Hey, there beautiful~” Kirishima coos.

Of course, everyone around them is shocked seeing such a greeting exchange take place. Except for the rest of bakusquad, duh.

Casual flirting is a thing Kirishima does with his friends, he got it from Denki and now he can’t shake it. He does it to all of his close friends, especially you.

These occurrences usually happen out of nowhere.

Like when the both of you finish sparring with one another during training:

“Y’know Kirishima, if you wanna finish off strong…land on top of me next time,” you say, a sarcastic yet seductive tone sliding off your lips.

“Really? I was really hoping you’d not complain about me pinning you face down ass up this round.”

Or when the both of you are at lunch:

“Oh my god, stop eating your food like a barbarian!” Mina squeals in disgust.

“Oh please, don’t be a cry baby. Y/n knows all about this technique right here, don’t ya?” Kirishima growls, taking a loud slurp of his noodles, he slowly swirls the noodles into his mouth.

Earning a groan from Mina and a giggle out of you.

Or that one conversation you had in class that no one speaks of:

“Kirishima, can you stop bothering me and just do your work!” You laugh.

“I could…but I won’t. I’d rather do you than do my work” he sighs, leaning back into his chair as he stretches. Letting out a groan, you can see a peek of his toned stomach come through.

Is he seriously trying to tease you right now?

“Oh really?” You snarl.

“Mhm, matter of fact. If you were my assignment, I’d work on you all day long until you’d beg to stop.”

This earns a slight blush from you, laughing it off you insult him. “If only there was actually a guy out there that could~” you sigh.

A sparkle shoots through Kirishima’s red eyes.

“You making that a bet? Because listen, honey, I’ll do you better than any man you’ll ever meet do you hear me-“

“Ejiro!”

Mr. Aizawa’s voice booms through the classroom, making the both of you jump.

“Yes sensei!” Kirishima jumps up from his seat, his face red from embarrassment.

“Detention.”

You almost pissed yourself from laughing so hard that day.

Needless to say, the both of you like to talk about fucking each other. Even though you guys always flirt like this around everybody, you’ve never done it alone.

Kirishima felt that if he crossed that boundary, it could ruin your friendship for good.

That was until one day you asked him if he wanted to binge-watch a show with you, and he agreed immediately.

He didn’t realize what that agreement came to until he was there.

“You don’t have a tv?” He says.

Rolling your eyes you chuckle, “why would I have a tv Kirishima, they’re expensive these days and you know that.”

Flopping onto your bed you grab your computer and tuck yourself under the covers.

Let him register this correctly,

You and him, alone, in the dark, under the covers, watching a tv show, on Netflix?

holy shit.

slowly crawling onto the bed, kirishima goes under the covers.

smiling at him you prop open your laptop on your computer and press play.

around 30 minutes passed, the both of you didn't talk that much besides a short witty one-liner and a snort at a funny moment from the show. either than that, it was dead silent.

a moment passes until there's a certain suggestive scene on the screen. a couple sneaking into a random back room in some laundry mat, crashing onto the floor the girl straddles him and starts to grind on him.

"oh please," you groan a slight smirk hints on your face.

perking up kirishima turns towards you, "what's wrong?"

"well...." you trail off, a wide smirk cascades over your face.

this earns a chuckle from him, "what?"

"I just think I could do way better than she can" you say.

this makes Kirishima lightly blush, thank god it was dark and the screen was only lighting the side of his face. "oh really?" Kirishima smiles, you hum with a nod.

the scene continued into a full-on sex scene, he wasn't expecting to watch such a scene with you, his face starts to burn red at this. now he was just thinking about you doing these unholy things to him.

i mean, god, he wished you were riding him that hard-

"are you blushing right now?" you snort.

eyes snapping wide, he looks at you with terror.

frantic, Kirishima slams the computer shut in embarrassment. "what the hell kiri!" you exclaimed.

"y/n, I really can't lay here and pretend that we don't have something going on between us" Kirishima's voice shakes.

the room grows silent for a moment.

"what do you mean?" you ask, voice quiet, almost a whisper.

"this! the constant flirting, the way we touch each other, the way I look at you, and the way you look at me! I mean- look at what we're doing right now! you just talked about how you wanna fuck me in your own bed for all might's sake!" Kirishima grows irritated, he's tired of hiding his feelings from you.

"I'm sorry I didn't get the memo then! fuck, you do it to everyone-"

"but I don't, everyone knows this! you and I both know that I don't talk like this to mina or bakugo, I don't even talk like this to Denki to this extent!" he yells.

"so what do you want me to do? STOP?" you snarl, irritated at his tone.

he rolls his eyes, " you and I both know I don't want that-"

"then what do you want!" you yell.

"shit, I want you, y/n!" he yells back.

his words quickly shut you up.

it becomes silent again, he hears you shuffling with your blankets and a weight it lifted from the bed. he hears you stomp towards your door, flipping the switch with force Kirishima winces at the flash of light.

eyes adjusting, he sees you with a frown on your lips, walking back towards your bed you plop onto your side of the bed. eyes locking with his you whisper, "are you serious?"

"I'm more than serious, I've kinda liked you from the beginning, I thought the flirting was a dead give away but I guess it wasn't" Kirishima scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment.

smiling, you crawl towards him and wrap your arms around his neck.

"so...does that mean that everything you've said to me you meant it?" a smug smirk shows on your lips. kirishima's face gets redder by the moment, he stammers.

"y-yes? I mean! do you like that I meant it?" voice nervous, the makes you giggle.

leaning in you plant a quick peck on Kirishima's lips, leaving Kirishima stunned.

"mhm," you hum.

a moment passes by, then Kirishima smiles.

"well in that case..." Kirishima lets out a mischievous grin, his hands sliding up your waist. the next thing you knew he quickly flipped you on your back, pinning your arms down you wiggled.

before you could even protest, kirishima smashes his lips against yours. pulling away kirishima whispers into your ear.

"well then, maybe we can practice some things I've been meaning to say then, hm?"

hey guys! omg, over 200 likes on my first post! ahh you guys are crazy!! I meant to put iida and deku in this headcanon but they sadly didn't make the cut. I started to get lazy sorry...

-lovelyiida<3

[ssahotchnerr]

hi honey! I'm watching criminal minds and I'm very sleepy and I've been thinking about hotch and I thought I'd send something in

Would you be interested in writing something where the reader grows progressively more tired through a case (Maybe sleep deprived or from all-nighters) and because reader is so tired she progressively more touchy because she has no filter? Like she keeps resting her head on Aaron's shoulder and touching his back as she walks by him. And like this isn't usual for reader but Aaron doesn't mind because he thinks it's cute and is love with reader.

sleepless

cw; fluff!!!!!!!!!!!

you've gained an immunity to coffee. you must've, or the department's supply was straight decaf.

you attempted to pour another cup, it being your fourth, fifth? helping of the day. at this point, the days were colliding together; it was hard to tell where one ended and the next began. you, all of you, hadn't slept in at least thirty-five hours, and while everyone was seemingly managing their lack of sleep, you were close to delirious. you could barely hold yourself upright; a small yelp escaped you as a hot droplet scorched your skin, a swig of coffee missing your mug altogether.

abandoning your drink, you redirected yourself back to the department's conference room, where aaron and the rest of the team had been throwing ideas around for the past three hours. the past three, long hours.

aaron. you'd so much rather prefer to be tangled up in bed with him, sleeping comfortably in his arms. you'd be embedded into his side, a leg thrown across his waist, clutching onto him as if he were about to slip through your fingertips. maybe he would even be shirtless, allowing you to feel his muscles flex around you as he held you in his sleep, strong and secure. his skin was soft, much softer than anything you've ever encountered. that was much more tempting than discussing who-had-done-what and why-they-decided-to-do-it.

instead of opting to settle into your empty, waiting chair- it wasn't nearly as inviting- you stood behind aaron's chair. you draped your arms around his shoulders, hands falling in front of his chest, your face only a few inches away from the crook of his neck.

aaron froze slightly at the initial touch, but relaxed in his chair as he recognized it was you. he was still exhibiting a stiffness in his composure, as you were in front of your colleagues and officers could enter the room unannounced at any moment, but he didn't have the heart to push you away, especially not when his heart belonged to you. and besides, he wouldn't deprive himself the contact. he's missed you, despite the fact you hadn't been a few feet away all day.

he peeked back as much as he could manage, his eyebrows taking form in their signature furrow as he made an observation. he also immediately took note of your exhausted state, surprised that he hadn't already done so sooner.

"no coffee?"

"hm? oh, i must've forgotten." you murmured, taking a breath. your next words escaped you in a yawn, "you smell good."

aaron's ears immediately flushed at your words, and derek nearly snorted out a laugh, he had managed to cover his mouth just in time.

you were aware enough to know derek was making fun of you on some account as you heard his snicker, giving him the stink eye. "what?"

"nothing." derek's mouth formed in a line to prevent himself from smiling, skimming through the file placed in front of him. "nothing at all."

as everyone fell back into conversation, you could feel yourself beginning to nod off. you had been mindlessly tracing patterns along aaron's chest, and the repeated movements were enough to lull you to sleep, finding a relaxed, comforting ease within it, his dress shirt soft against your fingertips.

"aaron?" you whispered, loud enough only for him.

"yes?"

"i was thinking about you shirtless earlier."

aaron's jaw tightened, eyes quickly darting around the table to make sure no one heard you but him. "oh, were you?"

"yeah." you sighed out happily, the image coming easily to mind. "you're so pretty, you know that? i could look at you forever."

his lips pulled into a small smile, barely a laugh escaping him. "thank you sweetheart, i could say the same to you."

"no, don't say that just because i said that, you're only saying that because i said that." you whined gently, tiredness finally claiming your mind. you laid your head more so on his shoulder, the angle was awkward and strained your neck, but you were too tired to care. "let me compliment you. just you."

just as he was about to answer, spencer inquired for aaron's input, causing your conversation to cease. while aaron answered, you couldn't help but admire him; his prominent jawline, his long, dark, beautiful eyelashes, and his voice was like silk to your ears. soft, captivating and familiar.

sudden movement caused you to startle, knocking you back into the real world. the team had all begun packing up papers, exiting the room before you could put together what had just happened. not that you could to begin with, you had been oblivious to the entirety of the discussion.

"sweetheart." aaron stood up slowly, in attempt to prevent you from losing balance against his chair and reaching for you once he was on his feet. "i think it's about time you finally got some rest."

"no, 'm fine." a yawn betrayed your words, clutching onto the sleeve of his suit jacket. "i don't wanna leave you."

"get some sleep, for me, please. can you do that for me?"

"yeah, of course i can." you caved right away, easily persuaded as it was him, your words slurring a bit in sleepiness, "i can, just for you."

"thank you darling," he laughed softly, taking off his jacket to drape it over your shoulders.

"aaron? did i tell you that i love you today?" you asked as he guided you out, clumsily tripping over your own feet.

"every day sweetheart, you let me know every day.” there was a gentle look in his eyes, a hand on the small of your back. “now c'mon, i'll drive you to the hotel."

[skz317cb97]

so i have no idea if you take requests, but… yk that skz code episode where they play like a bored game and they have to wear the cat ears and see who can make their heart flutter?? imagine reader as the 9th member and she has to wear the cat ears and she picks chan not thinking anything would happen but she turns into a blushing hot mess in front of everyone… (i believe its episode 4)

The Heart Flutter Game

Chan/ot8 x Female reader

Word count: 990

Synopsis: What happens when you realize Chan is capable of making your heart race?

A/N: 18+ ONLY! I hope this is what you were looking for and I hope you enjoy reading. I couldn't help myself and threw just a smidge of angst in there lol otherwise it's all cute fluffy crack! If you all enjoy reading please give it a reblog, like, comment, hop on over to my asks, whatever. I love hearing from you guys! Warnings below the cut

Warnings: None but if there is something I should have up as a warning please let me know and I'll add it. Also although there is no smut or nsfw content in this fic my blog and stories are strictly for 18+ and over. MDNI you will be blocked.

You didn't know where the staff came up with these games sometimes but when you all walked in and saw a huge game board you knew you were going to have fun, especially when you all started to walk around and read the squares. Blind tasting, debate, this or that, heart flutter, fruit ninja. You didn't know what some of the games were but you knew the heart flutter game from watching tik toks.  

You all rolled a big dice to determine the order you'd go in. Once that was decided the game could really begin. You made it a couple times around the group and then it was your turn again. You rolled and Chan moved your piece for you, landing on the heart flutter game. You had watched Seungmin and Jisung play one of the other rounds, so you knew what to expect and you knew who you would pick. 

"I choose Chan." He smiled and walked over. 

"You don't think I can make your heart flutter?" He seemed up to the challenge.  

"No offence Channie but I highly doubt it." He clutched his heart. 

"I'm hurt and will now have to prove myself that much more." You laughed. 

"Well go on then sweep me off my feet old man." He made a stink face. 

"I'm not old!" Seungmin laughed. 

"You just forgot you're old because you're old." Chan feigned laughing and then turned back towards you as a staff member finished setting up the ears and sensors. Then one of the other staff members got the stopwatch ready. You just had to survive two minutes. They hit the button to start it. 

"Okay and go!" Chan walked towards you a little more. 

"Da? Ahh Da? Uwu..." Chan went straight for aegyo but you stood there expressionless the ears unchanging. He stepped closer.  

"Daaaa? Oooo cuuuute!" He poked his cheek and you still gave no reaction and he got no movement from the ears. He stepped closer, now he was definitely in your bubble and you could smell his cologne. Why did he smell so good? The ears twitched and Chan looked at you with a little smile. 

"What's wrong y/n?" You shook your head. 

"N-nothing..." His smile got bigger. He leaned in and the cat ears moved more. The guys all started teasing you as your ears started turning red. 

"Flirt Chan!" He got closer and you took a deep breath. 

"Nothing? Really? You seem flustered..." Chan's face was so close to yours that you could feel his warm breath on your neck, giving you goosebumps and the ears started moving even more. 

"Uh... I... I..." You were starting to get embarrassed that Chan was having such an effect on you. His lips were almost pressed to the shell of your ear. 

"Do I make your heart flutter y/n-ie?" He whispered, then he kissed your cheek and the ears went crazy. You gasped surprised he did that. Your whole face was burning now as the guys all laughed. Suddenly, to you, it wasn't funny anymore. You pulled the ears off and tossed them down before running off. Everyone stopped laughing. Chan looked around at the guys who were all looking up at him. 

"Way to go Chan." Chan looked over at Changbin who had said it. 

"What?! You guys told me to flirt." Minho shook his head. 

"Yea flirt, we didn't say kiss her." Chan face palmed and groaned. 

"I'll go apologize." Chan walked off in the direction you had run off in as the rest of the guys took a break. He found you by following the sounds of your sniffles. He felt terrible.  

"y/n? Hey I'm really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I was trying to be silly and took it too far." You wiped at your face a huffed out a breath. 

"It's not that. You didn't make me uncomfortable Chan." He was confused, his head tilted to the side as his bottom lip protruded. 

"What then?" You slouched against the wall. 

"I... I liked it." Chan nodded. 

"Okay..." You rolled your eyes. 

"I liked it a lot okay?! And everyone was there watching and laughing and I realized it was all just a joke, that I was a joke, and..." Chan's brow furrowed. 

"Hey hey no. You're not a joke." You looked down and shrugged.  

"Well that's how it felt. 'Chan kissed y/n hahaha big joke'. Even you just said you did it to be silly." Chan realized he'd hurt your feelings. 

"I'm so sorry y/n. I didn't mean it like that." You shook your head. 

"Just forget it. Okay? Let's just get back and finish the game." You started to walk off and Chan gently grabbed your wrist stopping you. 

"Hey wait we need to talk about this." You pinched the bridge of your nose. 

"Why?" 

"Well you liked the kiss and I liked kissing you. Isn't that something we should discuss." You looked at him speechless. 

"You what?" He shrugged. 

"I said I liked kissing you and I think this is something we should talk about instead of ignoring it." When you finally processed Chan's words and that he truly meant them you nodded. 

"Yea okay..." You said shyly. You and Chan sat down on the floor with your backs against the wall and started talking. Midway through the conversation Chan grabbed and held your hand and your heart started racing faster. Back in the main part of the studio the guys were all huddled around a monitor. After a moment Felix spoke up. 

"Shouldn't we tell them their mics are still on?" Hyunjin shook his head. 

"No give them their moment." Seungmin chimed in. 

"I didn't think they would ever figure it out. It was starting to get painful to watch them." All of the guys agreed in unison. They let you and Chan have your moment while they waited for you both to return and finish the game. 

Please do not repost or translate any of my works. My blog and stories are NSFW and 18+ ONLY! Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked!

@acciocriativity @caroline-ds-world @chansynie @ughbehavior @jquellen27 @jisuperboard @fixation-dump @lachinitaaaaa @rinrinndou @bangchans-angel @laylasbunbunny @owo-manii-uwu @armystay89 @b00dyguts @purplenimsicle @caticorn61 @lauraneuuh @channieandhisgoonsquad @minnysproutgriffinteddy @svintsandghosts @the-sweetest-rose @alice630 @3rachasninja @m0ri-apeuda @eastleighsblog @linoification @mlink64 @smally97 @fun-fanfics @chansducky10 @starfire21 @cessixja @siewoon @berryberrytan @binnies-minsung-fanclub @lethallyprotected

[watermelonlovershigh]

Valentines Day Surprise (SMUT)

AN: this is an AU world so keep that in mind when reading this. also sorry this is a few days late from actual valentines. it took so long to write and i work alot so it took a while to complete. hope you don't mind. enjoyyyyy!!!

This story contains: tons of fluff, fingering in a bathtub, soft sex in bed, then more fluff

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - three kids }

word count- 2,796

After a long shift at the hospital, you come home thinking you were going to get into the shower and be off to sleep, but your husband Harry has a surprise for you beings its Valentines Day.

Harry is a stay-at-home dad while you work at your local hospital. Some people look at your family dynamic and dislike the way you do things, but for you and Harry it works out great. Harry loves to stay home each day and take care of the kids and you usually love your job as a nurse at the hospital. Key word, usually.

Like today for instance. Today is Valentine's Day and you knew you had to unfortunately work but until eleven at night, that's what you didn't know. Around five in the afternoon you called Harry and told him you'd be getting home late tonight and he was so understanding. He knows that your hours at the hospital can change quickly due to short staffing problems.

When you finally got off work and settled in your car, the only thing on your mind was a hot shower and getting into bed with your husband for sleep. You were exhausted from working a twelve hour shift. Your feet hurt and your back ached. You wish instead of working today you had got to spend a romantic night with Harry because it's Valentines Day, but maybe next year you'll get the holiday off.

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

After what felt like forever, you eventually make it to your house. You expect to walk into a dark house because everyone should be sleeping, with maybe a covered plate of food on the counter from the dinner Harry cooked for him and the kids earlier, but as you step in the front door you realize you have a surprise waiting on you.

You look over to the left where the kitchen is at and see your little breakfast nook decorated with a red table cloth, a candle in the center of the table, two glasses of wine, and two plates of hot food. You're confused at first but then see your husband round the corner with a happy smile on his face. "Hello m'love," Harry walks over for a hug to greet you, "you're finally home. Made you dinner."

Retracting from the hug, you mutter confusedly, "Har.... Harry what is all this? It's almost midnight. Thought you'd be asleep."

"Baby, it's Valentine's Day. You didn't think I wouldn't treat m'wife on such occasions did you?" Harry coos back with love clearly in his demeanor. And wow do you love him back. He's probably so tired from chasing your three to eight year olds around the house all day. Not to mention the cleaning he had to do around the house and the cooking, baths, and bedtimes. But Harry still choose to stay up until you got home from work to make the last hour of Valentine's Day special for you.

Harry leads you over to the table set up and pulls your chair out for you. "Babe, let me change first. I stink of hospital." you argue but he isn't having any of that.

"Nonsense, you can change and bath after we eat. You smell and look fine." he replies and you decide not to push the argument further. Though you are exhausted and want out of your dirty scrubs asap, you're very much appreciative of this little dinner set up that he worked so hard on.

The next twenty minutes or so is filled with eating the lovely meal Harry prepared for you, laughter, and small touches of affection. As well as Harry gushing about the promise of making every Valentines special for you for the rest of your lives. And once you were finished, Harry blew out the candle that sat on the table and placed your plates in the dishwasher for the night. You were about to head up the stairs to begin getting ready for bed when Harry stopped you.

"Wait a minute," he quietly calls out, "I've got you another surprise. Follow after me." Amazed at all the dedication Harry put into tonight, you follow after him up the stairs and into your bedroom. The bedroom looks pretty much how it always does except very clean with the bed covers neatly folded back. You're about to question where the next surprise was when he leads you into the ensuite bathroom located inside your bedroom.

When you enter, you see something that nearly brings tears to your eyes. "Harry," you whisper aloud, "you didn't have to do all this. Wow, oh my God!" You look around the bathroom that's dimly light and see a bathtub filled with warm water and bubbles.

Harry steps forward and wraps his arms around your body from behind. Then while laying his head on your shoulder and placing a kiss to the side of your neck, he responds, "Course I did. Love you lots and wanted to treat you after your long day at work. Plus, once again, it's Valentine's Day. Gotta take care of m'wife on such days."

Before the water gets any cooler, Harry graciously begins to help you strip from your hospital scrubs before removing his own clothes as well. Once you're both naked, he leads you over to the tub and gets in first so that he can help you settle in front of him. You lean against his tattooed body and sigh out in relief at how relaxing this feels on your sore muscles.

To add to your relaxation, Harry reaches up and starts to massage your neck and shoulders. You almost let a moan slip out from how great his touch feels. You start collecting your hair in your hands and twist it into a bun on the top of you head, securing it with a hair tie you had on your wrist. "This is nice." you tell your caring husband behind you.

He leans in to peck a gentle kiss behind your ear and whispers, "Hmm, glad you like my Valentines surprise." His low speaking sends chills down your spine. Right after your little shiver, you begin feeling Harry's hands migrate down from your shoulders and to your chest. He first gages your reaction and when he sees no resistance on your face, Harry takes his pink nailed fingers and ghosts them over your sensitive nipples.

"Fuck!" you quietly moan out, not wanting your kids to awake. You toss your head back onto your husbands shoulder and allow him to roam your body as he pleases. As Harry stimulates your nipples under the water, he realizes you're clenching your thighs together and he can't be having you do all that. So while one hand stays on your breast, his other hand slides down your belly eventually makes it down to your thigh.

He gives your thigh a gentle tap and you know he's silently instructing you to open your legs. So you lift your legs up so your feet are pressed flat to the tub floor and spread your legs open for him. With now having enough room, Harry drops his hand to between your legs and the real pleasure begins.

His soft ringless fingers roam your prickly pussy, from having trimmed your pubic hair about a week ago, and you gasp when you feel him prode your hole. Harry swirls the tip of his index finger at your entrance and moans himself when he feels how slick you are, even under the water. "You're so fuckin' wet, love. All because of me?"

You nod your head against Harry's shoulder blade and cry out when his slick fingers are brought up to toy with your swelling clit. He starts to rub your clit from under the sudsy bath water and you nearly melt straight through his body with how good you feel. You rarely get time to yourselves anymore. With you working long hours and having kids that need attention, you're usually limited to quickies and sleepy fucks late at night or early in the mornings from under the covers.

Though you aren't complaining about how you usually have sex or get sexual with one another, Harry taking his time with you right now is fantastic. He edges you when he stops the simulation to your clit but soon is sliding his middle finger inside your hole. His fingers are thick and long and feel great inside your tight pussy. "Ah, oh fuck." you moan.

When his finger is fully inside, Harry turns it around and curls it up before asking, "Yeah, am I makin' you feel good? Treatin' your pussy right on Valentines Day."

Through heavy breaths and closed eyes, you mutter, "Yes, so good." Harry decides one isn't enough and pushes his ring finger inside you too. The stretch is even more then before and when his fingers start fucking in and out of you a bit faster, your body starts to tremble and shake. Then right when you feel on the cusp of your orgasm, you start grinding your clit into the palm of Harry's hand and that's what pushes you over the edge.

He can feel your walls contracting around his fingers and to hold you as still as possible, he loops his other hand right under your boobs to keep you secure against his body. Harry fingers you through your orgasm until you jump away from his touch because you're overly sensitive. He slowly pulls his fingers out of your pussy and coos words of endearment in your ear to help bring you back to earth.

After a few minutes, you notice the hard lump pressed into your lower back and realize Harry is painfully hard right now. You turn your body around slightly in the water and say, "Want me to ride you? Help with your, you know, hard problem."

Harry giggles and answers, "Not in here, baby. Let's get you washed up and if you're still in the mood we can shag in bed where it's more comfy, m'kay." You nod an okay and the actual bath begins.

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

After Harry helped wash your hair and body, he got you both out the tub and dried off. Then once you brushed your teeth, the two of you finally crawled into the nicely made bed and the love making begins. If you both weren't so tired and had the house to yourselves you would have made the sex more special with some toys and loud, passionate moans. But just some simple missionary will do for tonight.

Once under the covers, Harry rolls on top of you and questions, "Are you still wet enough or do we need lube?"

With a sleepy smile, you retort, "Why don't you find out." And that Harry does. He dips his hand between your naked bodies and feels around your sensitive pussy, coming to the conclusion you are in fact still wet from the fingering that took place in the bathtub.

"Shit, love that you're still wet f'me. Pussy's begging for m'cock, huh?" Harry whispers and starts to position his tip at your entrance. No matter how many times you've had sex, you still can't get over how it feels when he first slides in.

"Ugh, mhm!" you whine while nodding your head and grasping at his back. After he's filled you up all the way, Harry settles his body flushed to yours to feel closer to you. Plus his muscles aren't that strong this late in the night. "Move, baby. You can move." you encourage and he listens.

Harry pulls his hips back with his knees bent and pressing into the mattress, then slowly pushes them forward again, meeting your hips as they collide. With his arms around your head, he lifts his head up so its hovering over your face. He looks down and admires your beautiful blissed out face. Harry leans down and presses his lips to yours. You catch on quickly and join in on the kiss.

The kiss is very heated the longer it continues and it's mostly filled with panting breaths. Your bodies are getting sticky from sweat and it's making it harder to rock your bodies together as smoothly as you started out but it still feels great. Eventually fatigue begins setting in Harry's muscles and he's dying for you to come so he can come. So he pulls his mouth away from yours and questions, "Are you close, love? Need you to come."

Trying to keep your moans as quiet as possible, you look up at his straining face and answer, "Ye...yeah. S...so close." Knowing what will pull the trigger on your orgasm, Harry slides his hand down between your bodies and starts to rub over your sensitive clit for you. You immediately start clenching around his cock.

As your hands claw at his muscular back, you heave, "Oh God, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming." Harry focuses on his thrusting to make sure he's hitting just the right spot for you and his fingers continue to stimulate your clitoris. Your orgasm washes over you so deeply that you swear you black out for a few seconds.

Your mind has gone blank and all you can feel is Harry's touch and your muscles intensely contracting with your release. But eventually it starts to fade and you can feel Harry coming inside of you. His face drops to your shoulder blade and he lets out deep grunts while trembling over your body. You rub up and down his back to sooth him. Then the room becomes silent besides the sounds of heavy breathing.

Neither one of you want to move a muscle from the activities that just took place but you want to get some sleep and know you can't risk getting a UTI. You tap on Harry's shoulder and ask quietly, "Can you carry me to the toilet? Need to pee your cum out."

Harry sits up, remaining inside you still, and coos, "But what if I wanted to stay in you all night? Keep my cock and cum nice and warm in there."

"You know we can't. I don't want an infection. Now hurry before I wet your dick and the bed with my piss." You know Harry was just joking about staying inside you all night because he takes aftercare very seriously. Reluctantly, he slowly pulls out of your tight hole and shuffles off the bed. He then reaches over to lift your body up and carries you bridal style to the bathroom.

Harry sets you on the toilet and walks out of the bathroom to allow you some privacy. He goes over to your dresser and grabs him and yourself fresh underwear and you an old t-shirt to sleep in. Before he can return to you, he sees you wobbling out the bathroom door very naked still and rushes over towards you. "Baby, I would have carried you back to the bed. Don't want you fallin' over with how shaky your legs are." Fuck, how did you get so lucky with the perfect husband.

"I know and thank you. You're too sweet to me." you reply and sit down in the edge of the bed. Harry comes up to you and helps dress you in the clean panties and shirt. He hasn't put his underwear on yet so his soft penis is right in front of you and you smile.

"What?" Harry asks with a sleepy smile plastered on his face. "What's got you all smiley?"

Looking up, you explain with a tired drawl in your voice, "Just, just remembering back to when we first started dating and you were so embarrassed the first time I caught glimpse of your dick soft. Said something like it looks all small (though not small even when soft) and wrinkly when it's not hard. And now you don't give a fuck. Letting it swing around limply between your legs."

Harry lets out a quiet laugh before speaking, "Yeah, well we are married now. Been married for years. And we have kids together. Not much I am embarrassed for you to see. You've seen me cry, you've seen me be violently sick, and you've seen my entire body inside and out."

While Harry finally pulls up his own briefs, you mutter as you turn to get into bed straight, "It's called unconditional love, babe. You know I'd never judge you and that I love you no matter what. Love all of you, even your soft wrinkly dick."

Harry moves around the bed after he's dressed and turns off the lamp before sliding under the duvet with you. Instead of waiting for you to come to him, he shuffles over to your body and rests his head on your chest. You love when Harry gets like this. All soft and cuddly. He lets out a yawn before whispering, "Love you unconditionally, too. You're my forever Valentine."

Right before drifting off to sleep, you whisper back, "And you're my forever Valentines, too."

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @japanchrry // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles  // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss  // @kissmyaxe140  // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore1 // @florencepughily  // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom  // @swiftmendeshoran

 // @luv-flor7777  // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown  // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar  // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone //  @goldenkhae // @lntwithharry // @shadowygladiatorlight  // @manifestrry  // @mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts  // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghosts // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @theroosterswife24 // @justlemmeholdyou // @stylesmygucci // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

[rorywritesjunk]

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy’s in his early 20s. He’s an asshole. He just is because I wanted to write him loud, demanding, everything. Also, I’m not nice to Buggy when he tries to flirt. I definitely write him as a bit of a disaster when it happens. It’s just going to get a bit worse from here. This chapter is just kind of fluffy but also Buggy is kind of young and anxious and has a bit of an attack but Sunny gives him love. Bath time chat as well. A/N: I have no idea when Buggy became a Captain, so he’s a fresh faced captain in this. No clue how long this fic will be.

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates @the-angriest-angel @tiredemomama @valen-yamyam16 @i-reblog-fics-i-like @plethora-of-fickleness @uhnanix

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 11

“If you’re hanging out here today, I’m putting you to work.” Miss Pins told Buggy as she glared at him as he leaned back in the chair in the shop. You were working on an order for a customer, patching holes in a jacket while Buggy sat and watched you, but your boss wasn’t having any of it.

“Do I get paid?” Buggy asked. She shook her head.

“Your payment will be getting to spend time with Sunny while at the shop.” She told him. “Now, there are some things I need put away in the backroom that Benji can’t reach with a ladder, and I’ve seen some of what that Devil Fruit of yours can do, so go help him.”

And that's how Buggy (begrudgingly) became a shop worker for the day. If it meant he got to spend the day with you, then fine. He helped organize things on the top shelves, cleaned windows, and even helped paint the front exterior of the shop with Benji (while managing to get covered in paint). The only upside was you bringing him lunch once he was hot, sweaty, and covered in purple paint. 

“Looks like you could use a bath.” You chuckled as you set a plate of sandwiches down for him and Benji. 

“What? No.” Buggy took one of the sandwiches, shoving it into his mouth as he continued talking. “I'm fine without one.”

Benji made a face as he picked his own up. “You sure?”

“What’s the damn point? I'm just going to get dirty again.” Buggy told him as he ate. You shook your head and went inside to grab them both something to drink. “Besides, life on a ship doesn't allow for such a thing.”

“You're on land now.” Benji pointed out. “And you stink.” He pinched his nose and stuck his tongue out at him. 

“Yea? Well, that's because I'm a man and you're just a kid!” Buggy shot back. “I smell manly, got it? You just can't handle it.”

“No, he's right.” You said as you came back out with their drinks. “You do stink, Buggy. You need a bath.”

His jaw dropped at what you said. Did you really think so? He wondered if you were teasing him because you sat down and kissed his cheek. 

“One bath on land won't kill you.” You told him, smiling. “And getting caught in the rain doesn't count as one, okay?”

And he really did love you because he was nodding in agreement with whatever you told him. Benji was pretty impressed that he listened to you and was convinced you had magic powers for a moment, because at the end of the work day, you had Buggy in the bathroom and in the tub, washing his hair for him like you would a stray dog.

“Don't you trust me to do it myself?” He asked as you ran your fingers through his hair, making sure the shampoo was able to reach his scalp. 

“Of course I do.” You told him as you tugged on a lock of hair gently. “But why would I miss the chance to play with your beautiful hair?” 

He turned red and covered his face with his hands when you said that. Why did he have to blush every time you said things like that to him? You said nothing after that, just humming softly as you made sure his hair was fully lathered before using a cup to pour over his head, rinsing the shampoo out. It took a few minutes, but once it was done you grabbed a towel and began drying his hair.

“Buggy, can I braid your hair?”

“What? Why?” He asked as he turned to look at you. You twirled a lock of his hair around your finger with a shrug.

“Keeps it out of your face while you wash up.” You replied innocently. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at you before nodding, wondering what was going on in your mind. Honestly, you just wanted to braid it because you thought it would look nice in a crown braid on top of his head. You got up to grab a comb and some hairpins, humming once more before returning to your spot outside the tub. He turned around to look at you with a frown.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked. “Why are you… so nice all the time to me?”

You looked at him curiously, frowning a bit before you shrugged. “I don’t see a reason not to be nice, Buggy.” 

“Yea, but-”

“I only thought you were an asshole once, Buggy, and you apologized to me for it. Other than that you’ve always been nice to me.” You leaned in towards him and he leaned back just a bit. “I think you’re sweet for a scary pirate captain.”

Buggy’s face turned red as he glared at you. “Are you making fun of me?”

“What? No.” You smiled and put your hand behind his head, pulling him back to you for a kiss. He tensed up, turning redder, and when you pulled back you weren’t sure you’d seen him turn that shade of red before. “You okay?”

“Y-Yea.” He looked away from you. “I’ll finish up. Uh, you probably have things to do.”

You raised an eyebrow but nodded, kissing his cheek before getting up. “Come find me when you’re done, Buggy.”

~

Buggy found you in the kitchen a little while later as you started on dinner. He stood and watched you for a moment, scratching his chin, wondering if you really would marry him if he asked. Would you want to live on a ship for months at a time with him? Would you be happy with him? Why would you even think of leaving this life to join him on a ship? His mind was starting to race as he started wondering why you would even consider being with him, and he almost started to panic just a bit. 

“What’s on your mind, Buggy?” You asked, not turning around and interrupting his thoughts. “I heard you walk up.”

He hesitated but walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you carefully, letting his head rest against yours. You touched his arm softly, stirring the pot of stew with one arm carefully making sure not to spill the contents. 

“Would you really marry me?” He mumbled against you, refusing to move as he tightened his hold. You stopped what you were doing and pushed him away from the stove before turning to look at him.

“Do you not want to suddenly?” You asked with a frown. 

“I-I do! I just… wanted to know if you really want to!” He said. “Or are you just saying that to be nice?!”

You sighed softly and put your hands on his shoulders. “Buggy, honey, I do. I am not saying it to be nice, I'm saying it because I want to marry you eventually. I want to wait until I'm finished with my apprenticeship, okay? And after that you can propose however you want, but I want to marry you.” 

“Really?” He asked. You leaned in and kissed him, catching him off guard for a moment, and when he tried to hold onto it for a second longer, you pulled back and patted his cheek softly.

“Yes, really.” You insisted. “Remember, if I didn't like you, I wouldn't be this nice to you, Buggy. Feeding you, sharing my bed, all that kind of stuff. I do it because I care about you.”

“You really want to live on a pirate ship?” Buggy frowned. You shrugged and smiled at him.

“I wouldn't mind. Besides, my mom was a pirate and she used to say she could see me ending up on a ship one day like her.” You told him as you kissed him again.

“Wait, what?” He jerked away and looked at you, confused by what you just said. “Your mom was a pirate? You never said your parents were pirates!”

“My parents weren't, just my mom.” You chuckled as you smiled at him. “She was a member of the Cook Pirates under Captain Red Leg Zeff.” 

“What?!”

“I guess we got a lot to learn about one another, Buggy.” You said as you turned back to the stew you were making. “But I like that we have the time to do so.” You looked back at him. He looked like he was still processing what you told him. “You okay?”

“Your mom was a pirate?” He asked. “Really?”

“Yea, for a few years.” You shrugged. “Met my dad on a merchant ship they were raiding and fell in love. Decided to stop being a pirate and married my dad.”

Buggy stared at you for a moment, his mind still processing what you said. Your mom was a pirate but wasn’t anymore? Did… did he need to stop being a pirate to marry you, like your mom chose to do? He didn’t want to stop, but he loved you. Was this a choice he was going to have to make? His mind was starting to race; you looked back over at him, saw he was becoming distressed, and walked over to him.

“Hey, stop thinking for two seconds and sit down, Buggy.” You told him as you led him over to the table. 

“I don’t…. I can’t give up the sea!” He blurted out. 

“What? I wouldn’t ask you to do that!” You told him, looking surprised. “Why would you think you had to?”

“Your mom-”

“Yea, she chose to because it was what she wanted to do.” You told him as you made him sit down. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Buggy.”

He looked up at you, uncertainty in his eyes. You ran your fingers through his hair and sighed, letting him wrap his arms around you. What was going on, why was he suddenly so panicked? 

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” You asked softly. “You still will be a pirate if you marry me, Buggy. I wouldn’t ask you to ever give it up and no one should.” 

“I can’t give up being a pirate.” He muttered as he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. While you were touched that he was this comfortable around you to drop his guard like this, you were a little surprised how anxious he could become over small things. 

“You aren’t going to.” You assured him as you stroked his hair softly. “I promise. I want you to become the most feared pirate, Buggy, and I won’t let anything stand in your way, okay?”

He just nodded, refusing to look at you as you held him. This was such a contrast from when you first met him, when he demanded services after storming into the shop. Now he was sitting in your kitchen, letting you hug him after thinking he would have to give up his piratey lifestyle for you. 

“Are you okay, honey?” You asked. He could only nod. “Okay. I need to finish dinner. You can hold my hand if you want.”

“I’d like that.” He mumbled as you pulled away, his hand slipping into yours and popping off his wrist as you returned to the stove. Buggy stayed at the table, watching as you worked. You were adding a few spices into the stew before checking the flavor. Once you seemed satisfied, you took Buggy’s hand and put it on your shoulder while you set the table. He watched you, wondering now what you thought of him. He felt pathetic, getting worked up over nothing, but you were there for him, comforting him, which made him feel better in the end. 

He was starting to think he didn’t deserve you, but you finished setting the table and reached over to brush his hair out of his face, tucking a lock behind his ear before kissing him on his forehead.

“Dinner’s ready.” You told him. “I can walk you back to your ship after, okay?”

He didn’t really want to leave after dinner, however.

[southsidestory]

Chapter 1: Grounds for Harassment

Mickey knows he’s a piece of shit. It’s easy to forget sometimes, like how piss in the carpet stops stinking after it’s settled, but every now and then he’ll think something so awful that he remembers, Oh, yeah. Piece of shit.

That happens when Mandy says Ian Gallagher messed with her (and not in the good way). Because Mickey’s first thought is that Mandy is lying, and his second is thank fuck.

Getting to hunt down Ian is the best thing that’s happened to Mickey in months.

“What he do to you, exactly?”

“I’m not giving you the gross details!” Mandy shouts.

She leans against the front door, blocking the handle, as if he’s stupid enough to go inside the house.

He’s been locked out for a week. A whole fucking week of stealing food from corner stores, taking a leak behind buildings, and sleeping in icy alleys. He can’t even remember what he did to set Ronnie off this time, but his uncle must still be angry if Mandy won’t let him in on the sly.

Mickey sniffs back snot, then spits on the porch. He hopes he’s not getting a goddamn cold. “Will you at least let me in after I beat the shit out of Ian?”

Mandy tugs on a lock of her hair. “If Uncle Ronnie will let me.”

“That’s some award-winning gratitude right there.”

“You got to know that I want to let you in,” Mandy whines. “But if I do he’ll kick me out with you and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not a moron.” Mickey adjusts his coat and scratches his cheek, moving dirt from his skin to under his fingernails. “Guess I’ll just keep smelling like a pig sty.”

He’ll probably knock Ian back with his stench, won’t even have to hit him.

“If it makes you feel any better, the water’s turned off, so you couldn’t shower anyway,” Mandy says. “Nobody paid the bill again.”

“You look squeaky fucking clean for a girl who’s got no running water at home.”

Mandy picks at her cuticles. A tell that means shame. “I showered at a friend’s house last night.”

“Ah. That code for ‘fucked a dude in exchange for basic hygiene’?”

Mandy grabs a crumpled beer can off the porch and lobs it at him. Mickey catches it and passes it between his hands. Left, right. Left, right.

“Maybe I should hit up Angie Zhago. Trade a ride on my dick for a bath.”

And a bed. Speckled bruises cover his right side from the cracked pavement and gravel he slept on last night.

“Are you going to beat up Ian or stand here all day with your thumb up your butt?” Mandy asks.

Mickey turns away, shoots his sister the bird over his shoulder, and hurries down the steps.

He could go to the shelter for a shower and a hot meal, but he’d rather stay freezing, filthy, and hungry than deal with a bunch of homeless assholes. Half of them are plain batshit, most would steal his stuff if he doesn’t take it into the shower with him, and plenty are actual rapists (unlike Ian) who’ll think he’s an easy target because he’s young and short.

No shower, no food. Time to find his brothers, or maybe some cousins, and get down to business.

Read more of If You Have a Problem on AO3

***

AN: I swore to post the first chapter of If You Have a Problem before the end of the day, and I did it! (barely lol)

Tagging some kind folks who expressed interest on my teaser posts

@poisonedquiver @marstheterrible @5ammi90 @freitasgst @darlingian @ianandmickeygallavich1 @definenormalifyoucan @jadejabbers @ifconfusionwasaperson @machinegunbieber-blog @callivich @tsuga-of-mars

Many thanks to everyone who supported my teasers, as well as my wonderful betas @bawlbrayker and @hamspamandjamsandwich <3

[idesofrevolution]

The Last Possession

Yeah. That’s me. And yeah, I’m not cheap. You can’t afford to look this good workin’ a nine to five every day. Nah. I’m a freelancer. Call me a life coach for those who need some assistance finding who they really are. Sometimes you just need to have a little push in the right direction, eh? Plus, you know I’m the real deal by just lookin’ at this bod. If I do say so myself, I’m pretty damn hot.

Let’s cut to the chase. I take over the bodies of nerds, has-beens, washed ups, losers, and everyone else in between. Over the course of a few days, normally, I change them into exactly what they wanna be. Cocky, sexy, built himbo bad boys. And they pay top dollar for the privilege.

That’s exactly what Michael asked for. For whatever reason, he was unhappy with his pretty okay life. He was a game designer in Seattle, a pretty decent looking otter boy, and well off. I’m not gonna lie, I was on vacation, so I wasn’t too excited to take a job out here in the Bahamas. But the pay grade was just way too good, and I had a nice little vacancy in my bedroom since my twat of an ex dumped me. “Too many good looking guys coming out of the apartment” apparently.

Pssh, what did that fucker know? I brushed whatever dumb scraps of affection I had for him aside, and took the kid’s offer. The dude bought a ticket and flew out to Nassau, and drove to my holiday place. From the picture, I wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He was pretty good looking already!

My clients are usually the old creepers, absentee fathers, and middle aged former jocks. Median age: 40. So, when this guy showed up at my door, looking like an adorable little gamer guy, I couldn’t hold back my curiosity. I handed him a Mai Tai, and we sat by the pool, where I asked him his reasons for wanting a transformation. His reasoning was super simple, and it took my by surprise.

“I just wanna try something new, I guess.” It was no skin off my back if he didn’t think it through. Even if he did, I had doubts he knew the full extent of what my plans were. I asked him about his life back in Seattle, probing to see if he had a family I had to worry about, a dumb bimbo, or anything like that. Nothing. Just his dog. Just how I liked it. The more we talked, the more I started to like this guy. He just really seemed like a cool dude that was a bit… Disillusioned with his life. There was just something about him. I don’t know.

I asked him when he wanted it all to go down, and to my surprise, he shucked his shirt off and turned his back to me. This dude had a majorly casual vibe about the whole thing. I wasn’t sure how to approach it. After a few seconds of really thinking about it, I thought, “Fuck it” and dove right in.

Now to give you some perspective: this guy was like 6′3, where I was like 5′9. He was super skinny too. This was gonna be a tight squeeze, but not anything I hadn’t done before. I placed my hand on his shoulders, just starting out with a light massage. I smelled a light dash of cologne. It was so cute, he tried to impress me with some expensive Gucci-knockoff he found at Kohl’s. But, as my hands started to knead harder, and they began to sink underneath his pasty white skin, I thought about the others I had changed.

They hadn’t gone the extra mile to even put on deodorant. I’m not talking about that sexy, musky smell that I gladly add to my clients charge-free. They were stinking like the geriatric ward, or like they just got back from a burger-flipping job. All they cared about was getting me in, and becoming something else. But this dude… Michael… He actually thought about me, and my experience throughout the entire thing. It was a little thing, but it was more than anyone else had done for me…

I had sank into him at a forearm’s length. Crossing my legs around his waist, I could hear him moan a bit. I nibbled on his ear, letting my hot breath caress him, allowing him to shudder. For the first time in a possession, I smiled. This wasn’t work, this was pleasure. I felt my arms slip into place, fingers into his own as a well-fitted glove. I brought his hand to his cheek, caressing it, sticking a finger into his mouth, letting it roll onto his lips.

I was sinking ever faster into his body, his warming skin inviting more of me into him. My built, muscular body effortlessly crept inch by inch into his being, taking up every available ounce of space. Through me, his hands explored his body, stroking and prodding everywhere. I had almost all of me within him. By the end, all that was left was my head, protruding from the back of his neck. A lot of guys ask me what it feels like at this point. Imagine being submerged in a hot tub filled with heavy jello. That’s the only way I can describe it. Everything is slick, tight, compressed, yet extremely buoyant… This time was that much more intense, as I had gone the extra mile to really give him a ride. You know, let him go out with a bang.

I slowly pressed my forehead against the back of his head, feeling his hard skull give way to the same dense, gelatinous feeling that surrounded the rest of me. It takes a minute for me to adjust myself within him before I can actually see out of his eyes, but that first breath… Damn. It’s always exhilarating. I let the humid, hot air of the Caribbean into my lungs, and opened my eyes to the bright, tropical sun. Michael, for all intent and purpose, was relatively gone. Well, normally he would be.

At this point in the possession, I get the memories and thoughts of the host, and usually I just wipe it clean, for the sake of a clean slate. Though, this time, as his memories flooded me, I knew everything about him. He was a good kid. Like, unbelievably so. He cared about others, and not an ounce about himself. Yet, this deep-seeded insecurity he fostered… It actually broke my heart a bit.

Lounging on that pool-lounge, at that beachside Bahamanian mansion, I decided this was my final possession. And this was gonna be the crown jewel. My magnum opus. Maybe it was for selfish reasons, but I couldn’t let this one go. He’d be mine. I mean after all, what more of a prize is there than my smokin’ hot ass?

I spent days in his body, reversing the clock, rewiring his brain, encoding his genetics. It was like shopping for a christmas gift for myself! He’d be just as cocky as I was, a show off to everyone he’d meet. Sexy, lean muscles underneath a perfectly sunkissed skin, painted with tattoos. From his mesmerizing frost-green eyes, to his gigantic, size 16 feet; this 6′3 God among men was going to be a blast to finally meet.

The last day, laying on the pool lounge where it all began, I thought about the last few tweaks. You know, the pierced ears & cock, finger tattoos, finishing up his background, changing his vocal range, making him an alpha top… I had thought long and hard about it over the transformation, and I had decided it was time. This lovable goofball would love me, and I’d love him back. As I pulled myself from his bronzed body, I left his consciousness intact. He was still him underneath it all. He remembered everything. He knew what it was like to have me within him. By the time my exhausted, sweaty body was finally detached from him, he had already opened his eyes for the first time.

He brought his inked hands to his face, smirking a smug grin. I watched him from the cement ground, flexing and kissing his biceps. Our eyes met, and the alpha bravado I had programmed oozed out of him. Yet… I could see Michael in his eyes. He pulled me into a kiss, gentle at first, then passionate and fiery. That mouthwatering musk poured into my nostrils, just as I wanted it to. I tasted that wintergreen tic-tac breath of his, just as I had intended. He groped me and bit my tongue, smiling at me. I had never been so into a guy before.

I knew that Michael would be proud of who he is now. He is truly experiencing something new. He also had a stud by his side to experience it with alongside him. I enjoyed every minute of his invading tongue in my mouth, of his strong fingers tenderly wrapped around my neck. He was perfect. This was perfect. Besides, the best Christmas gift came as he picked me up and carried me to the bedroom. A sizable, delicious, musky, uncut package waited for me to unwrap it.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

JAN MOIR: What do Charles and William think about the Spencers' very public embrace of Harry which could cast them in cold and unflattering light? by u/Von_und_zu_

JAN MOIR: What do Charles and William think about the Spencers' very public embrace of Harry which could cast them in cold and unflattering light? Witty prose from Jan. Ruddy of face, snowy of hair and thick of calf, the elder Spencers entered the cathedral like a shire farmer and his clan visiting a county fair to give the sugar beets a good old squeeze. \**And do you know what? I'm so very glad they were there for him. It's too sad to think of Harry flying over here, fretfully offsetting his carbon footprint, clutching his little box of medals, thrumming his fingers on his temples, his anxiety levels rising as the dog-bowl threat and the road less travelled rise up to meet him yet again. \**The Spencers don't have to forgive the Sussexes or accommodate their peeved intransigence or just seethe and suck it up. For Prince Harry has no beef with his Uncle Charles, nor has he ever hoisted his sauceboat of hot sulk to pour the usual grievance gravy over lovely Aunt Jane.He hasn't accused either of them, or anyone in their immediate family, of being racists, bullies, sneaks, liars and downright stinking rotters. He hasn't trashed them or betrayed them in books, podcasts or on television interviews watched by millions around the world. He hasn't caused reputational damage to their family, like he has elsewhere, ahem.He even thanked Earl Spencer and Lady Jane in the acknowledgments section of his autobiography, Spare — an honour accorded to absolutely no one in his inner blood circle.So their support was nice, and so was the small, cheering crowd of blimps who turned up for him, too. Not everyone hates Prince Harry for smearing his family — and by extension the entire country — as a racist backwater full of repressive thickos unable to see the bigger picture or wake up and smell the roses, like him and his sainted wife.Speaking of which, such a shame that the Duchess of Sussex was not at Harry's side this week, patting him like a puppy as per, holding his hand, sharing in the dim glow of this rare show of public popularity.Certainly, it is not like Meghan to miss a full on, super-swank opportunity like this; she's usually all over Invictus ceremonies like a regimental mascot on parade. It brings out her inner drum majorette, it gives her a sham regal sheen — so why the unexplained absence?Spencers or no Spencers, the Duchess hasn't got a proper excuse for avoiding the UK this week and the truth is that she doesn't even need one any more. The cavalry has been and gone, the dust has settled and we all know where we stand.Next stop, Nigeria. And I simply cannot wait for that.https://ift.tt/n6WN8AD post link: https://ift.tt/PbJBNfV author: Von_und_zu_ submitted: May 10, 2024 at 04:38AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[unohanadaydreams]

Remember that poll I made? Here is whatever the fuck this is that I wrote in honor of the results.

Features: Reader is a gender neutral fairy and they are not immune to the residents of Urahara Shoten.

Kisuke Urahara x Fairy!Reader

Dense cherry air clung to your clothes, skin, and wings making you feel like a sticky wad of hot glue. You’d given up on movement entirely.

“Poor thing’s all tuckered out,” The blonde mop said, eyes glittering through the bar of shadow his hat sat on.

Two teens jostled until their eyes were horrible distortions above you. Their constant vying for the best view and the muggy artificial air beat against your forehead in a climbing migraine.

“We should dry it off—“ a swirl of flesh and flame red tapped the glass, “Remember the one who said that is me, Jinta, when you get out.”

Big, sad eyes bobbed larger, smaller, larger, smaller next to him, “I feel bad. I don’t think it would actually go for our eyes, Urahara.”

“Of cooourse not,” Urahara sang. “I was just being cautious.”

You absolutely would of. If Ururu, the horrible girl with the water gun and amazing aim ever let her guard down, you would burrow through her cornea using your teeth alone.

“Stop bragging,” Jinta said. “It was a lucky shot.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You’re still being smug.”

“I’m not.”

Actually, they were both losing an eye. The consistent thumping stab was migrating from your forehead to behind your eyelids and still, they continued bickering.

“Enough, you two,” the cat said. It pawed your jar, shifting you toward the edge of the table. After Ururu had shot you down, stinking teeth and a rough tongue had caged you as everyone scrambled for a jar. If you were given the chance to dole punishment, this beast would suffer most.

The cat flicked an ear, inching you closer toward the floor. You did nothing, pasted to perspiring glass, hoping for an impossible reaction of flight out the still open window if the cat did indeed smash your jar against the hardwood.

“Get to the training ground before I change my mind and eat the little monster.”

The cat herded them away but they argued still, growing quiet only once they were farther away. You had always hated cats. They had pawed at you since birth, the insatiable beasts. Adding sentience was a waking nightmare. And what if its thumbs were opposable? Truly wretched possibilities.

“This air is disgusting,” you said in a rasp, almost sad you hadn’t been spilled to the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Urahara said. “Next will come the lychee; much lighter in composition but still yummy. Don’t cute little fairies love sweet smells?”

You lied and said, “Fuck no.” Juicy, ripe fruit was your favorite. But this was being forced down your nostrils so you hated it.

Sweet candy smells landed you in this sweltering prison. The lush cherry air compelled your lungs to inhale fully, body confused and convinced the fruit lay close to your lips. Panting, mouth ajar, spit trailing your chin, you let the wash of verbal nonsense fade along with your consciousness.

@

You moved from a jar, to a proper glass cage, then to an expansive enclosure tailored to your tastes. How they knew your tastes was a questions you didn’t want answered. The Urahara man was as disturbing as he was compelling.  How did he know your tastes.

“Now, now,” he’d said taking you from proper cage to expansive enclosure. “Needless violence will get you grounded.”

The cat was suddenly there. “You’ve never grounded anyone.”

Tessai, the only one who would keep his eyes once you escaped, took you from Urahara gently, coaxing your needle teeth free from Urahara’s intersection of flesh between pointer finger and thumb before lifting you away.

You almost said thank you. He was the only one that minded your wings. Urahara was the worst, always rubbing them with obscene strokes. And the teens did so too, at least innocently.

Actually, you would thank him.

“Than—“ He misted you. Twice. With water. Like a snake.

Your wings were too wet to stay swift. Their dehumanizing version of clipping you like a bird.

Tessai’s fingers were already out of reach, beyond your teeth, smartly transporting you in a jar when you reached for him.

“I hate every one of you.” Your fists knocked against the lid, gums and teeth sliding uselessly against metal.

“Just let me eat them already,” the cat yawned.

Tessai screwed the lid with a firm twist, “Don’t indulge in their tantrum, Yoruichi.”

“Fuck you,” you said, flopping to the bottom.

“Hmm, that does sound interesting to work out the logistics of,” Urahara said. “But we hardly know each other.”

You screamed and thrashed wildly.

“Both of you are children,” Tessai said, shaking your jar lightly, “you too. Stop hurting yourself.”

“Yes, Jinta and Ururu are already so fond of you,” Urahara said.

The hallway they were carrying you through was dimly lit. And longer than you thought possible, when you’d cased the outside of the building before absolutely bungling the theft.

“Who cares?”

“I do!” Urahara tapped the lid, the metal popping in rapid succession, and you clapped your ears, the next words muffled, “So you’ll have to bear it. My original plan was to keep you out here. In a fun little enclosed for the costumers—like a sea monkey!”

Your teeth latched into Urahara’s skin the moment the world stopped moving and he opened the lid. He didn’t flinch.

Instead, he rubbed one of your wings with relish between his finger, until you curled into yourself in shaky defeat.

“But we clearly can’t trust you around our precious customers, can we?”

You bit him again, vibrating with each fondling touch passed over your wings.

“So what,” you said around his flesh. “Gonna kill me?”

“No,” Tessai said at the same time the cat said, “Yes.”

“That would yield valuable data, but Tessai’s right,” Urahara said too close to your face. “I like you better alive.”

His hold was careful but firm as he lowered you into a large terrarium, mimicking a small, rustic fairy town. The wooden buildings squatted on loamy moss. An oval of pond was the focal point, directly in the middle. Everything fanned from it, like fingers from a palm. You used the sweet water to swish away the taste of Urahara’s blood after he pinched your wings enough to work your jaw open in reflex.

A prick of pain between your shoulder blades sprung while you hunched over water and you felt a weight resting under your skin there. You flexed your back uselessly, the implantation snug beneath your skin.

Your wings were too damp to spring up and retaliate fast enough. Instead, you spluttered on the springy moss until you could breathe again.

“I’m going to kill you,” you said.

Urahara tapped the glass. “Many people have tried.”

For once, you believed him.

@

The enclosure was surrounded by a maze of mess that rose and fell in mysterious order. Both Urahara’s room and personal workspace, he navigated the jumble of belongings with ease. He was graceful when he forgot about playing to your audience of one, too absorbed in expansive, flickering screens and piles of manila folders, many stained and some literally moldering.

He spoke at—not with—you often.

When he forgot you, when he existed beyond any reach but the data he toiled hours analyzing, you felt lonely. It was a defeat to admit that. But after months of living an oddly cushy life, surrounded by people who seemed to want you happy, you’d become shamefully complacent.

Biting was a chore. And thoroughly unpleasant since Urahara started flavoring the flesh and blood of his gigai. Your escape attempts had grown pathetic. The last had ended with choosing to flap back to Urahara’s room over battling one moment longer with Yoruichi’s claws and teeth and fucking taunting. She did have opposable thumbs and no matter the pitch of voice or shape of body, she was always smug.

You turned away from the enclosure you’d not been forced in for weeks. The lid was ever open. You were beholden with choice. Doors were left ajar. Windows  were never shut now that Summer called. Tessai had whiddled little cutlery and cups for you. Jinta & Ururu were fiercely vying for your ownership of a shiny, new—human scale—gigai. Urahara was too accommodating when you deigned to sit on his silly hat or his sturdy shoulder. And Yoruichi had mostly laid the game of cat and winged-mouse to rest.

Urahara  swept his hat off to scratch his scalp, not mindful that you sat on top of the striped bucket. You clung to any fabric you could hold after being flung, landing somewhere along his back. Fluttering up  his shoulder, you pinched his neck and settled there instead.

“You did that on purpose.”

His laughter fell to sheepish denial, “Not at all.” Urahara placed you next to his keyboard, lifted his arms high, and almost toppled backwards as the stretch stole his balance on the wheeled chair he loved.

“I still don’t get what all this is for,” you said, swiveling away from the subject before he could suggest you wear a bell again. You stepped over a couple keys on tip-toes, enjoying the ‘click’ sound when they sunk under your weight. “What’s the point?”

“I owe a favor,” Urahara shrugged.

“You actually repay those?” You danced over the keys, grinning when he reached for the backspace symbol.

“Well, this is an exceptional favor,” he said, undoing your gleeful work. “Kurosaki is a good kid.”

You could agree with that, at least. He and a gaggle of his friends would come at times, only a little surprised when they first saw you, like they bumped into fairies all the time.

The only one you couldn’t say was a ‘good kid’ was his girlfriend. She was beautiful and acted perfectly kind.

But when she’d first seen you, she had asked Urahara, “Oh! Is she like mine?”

“Entirely different outside of being just as tiny and cute, Inoue,” he’d said in answer. You’d slapped away his pinching near your cheek.

“There are other fairies around?” You hadn’t seen a single one in years.

Orihime held you carefully and her smile sparkled. “Not anymore. I guess I grew out of them.”

“Where’d they go?”

She gestured to the flowery blue hair clips framing her face.

“Ahaha, well…..no where? They just don’t exist anymore. Unless they work with poke-ball logic! If so, they’re probably very cozy. Unless it was up to me to imagine their home which—oh, I’ll have to do that tonight. I’ll imagine the best house! I hope they haven’t been squished all because of me!”

The girl had followed up by saying ‘Ayame, I choose you!’ and despairing a bit when the phrase did nothing but make the Kurosaki boy snort.

You had grown suspicious when Urahara could not clarify what the fuck that meant or where the fairies had gone. The image of Orihime smiling kindly as she did to you and striking down a handful of fairies stuck firm in your mind. You were wary of her label as ‘a good kid’.  

But Kurosaki could keep his title, because he was obvious in his annoyance toward Urahara and Yoruichi. And anyone who did that was some kind of good.

You dropped from your tip-toes, smashing four keys all at once. “Yeah, but didn’t you say this thing may not exist?”

Urahara lifted you back to his shoulder. And you let him. Your stomach squirmed when you lost your opportunity to put up a fight and instead sat, placid.

“It does exist,” he said. “Just not today. Maybe not for years. College is statistically a stressful time.”

“This makes no sense and Tessai is right. You need an actual hobby.”

Urahara retrieved his fan and a gust almost topped you. “Are you going to teach me to paint?”

“I’d rather die,” you said, twining your fists into his robe. Woe to whoever had taught Urahara anything, ever. “And stop that!”

He tapped your head after folding the fan and said, “I don’t think you mean that anymore.”

“I really, really do,” you said, climbing up his head, back to the hat, twisting your hands and digging your feet into his hair and ear instead of flying. “You make a joke out of everything.”

“If you change your mind, you’ll be the first to see the gigai I’ve been working on.”

He waited until you were settled to place his hat to the level of his eyes, carefully and in consideration of you this time.

“I don’t want a human body,” you said with bite.

Urahara tittered, “Oh my, I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s not for you, anyhow.”

“What does that mean?”

Urahara plopped you back on his head with his hat and went back to typing.

“Teach me to paint and you’ll find out, remember?”

He was baiting you. Plain. But effective. His words were like the smell of sweet candy through an open window and the lure of a comfy life surrounded by strangers who grew to people you knew and cared for and stayed for. Even if they were annoying. And pushy. And still batted you around like fucking yarn.

Even then.

You were going to grab for it eventually.

[superprincesspea]

The Arrangement

Chapter 2 - Perception

Masterlist

The next time you see Joel, you’re up on stage. Lights, camera, action.  

You think of days like these as a circus except there isn’t any big top and the only clowns are the dolls in six-inch heels.  

‘Welcome to Negan’s horrific spectacle.’  

Come one, come all, and, for the low low price of silence, everyone in the Sanctuary can have a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth. Losing the last shreds of your humanity is free and vomiting is optional.  

You laugh grimly but the sound is barely a snort of a breath meant only for yourself. The truth is nothing about this is funny. The room is thick with tension, the entire Sanctuary squeezed onto the factory floor. 

You can’t distinguish between the hushed whispers of the audience and the wives standing beside you aren’t talking. So, in this room of people, you’re alone. Your feet sore, sweat gathering between your breasts and your spine aching for the chance to sit down.  

After a while, whispers turn to grumbles but it's all part of the show. The long anticipation before Negan’s grand entrance and, finally, it’s time for curtains up.  

He winks at you as he steps onto the stage and his smile is all bright white teeth and devilish charm. You’ve always admired Negan’s confidence even when his actions disturbed you beyond belief and today is no different.  

With Negan in full view of the audience, everyone has become impossibly still, choked by the kind of quiet where no one even dares to breathe. The silence makes your stomach churn, your heart race but Negan is relaxed, his smile still captivating as he saunters from left to right with Lucille balanced on his shoulder.  

“Now, I bet you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here today,” he begins, the ringmaster in full command of his crowd but you don’t need to hear his reasons. You already know. You’ve already seen Dwight, bound and gagged, waiting just out of view. 

You also know why. Know that he dared to love Sherry and run away. But what you don’t understand is, why had they been caught? Why hadn’t they been smarter? And most of all, why couldn’t Negan just let them go?  

Sherry is still missing and though you like to think she’s out there somewhere, surviving despite losing Dwight, you’re not holding your breath. If surviving was easy, everyone would do it. You would do it.  

Pushing away the thought, you look back towards Negan, still in command, still effortlessly poised as he finishes his run down of Dwight's charges in a court where he is judge, jury and executioner. Then all eyes are on Dwight. But not yours- you can’t look. Won’t look. 

You’d like to say you don’t recognise the stink of flesh as it bubbles and cooks like meat in a skillet, but you do. Sour and fatty, the smell makes your stomach twist into knots so tight you’re sure you’ll never eat a morsel of food again- but you will.  

Survival is so hardwired into your brain that you know you’ll do anything to keep breathing. Even love a man like Negan and you had loved him for a while. Far longer than he really deserved but, after The Duke, he’d felt like Prince Charming and, like every woman everywhere since the dawn of time, you’d thought you could change him. Make him better, make him love you back but when did that really work?  

So, while Dwight's face is melted with the hot end of a poker, you try to let everything fade to black but not Joel. He’s standing in the middle of the packed crowd, and he isn’t looking at Dwight either, he’s looking at you. You hadn’t noticed him before and now you’re not sure how you saw anything else. 

His dark eyes seem to burn onto your skin and while the rest of the audience is still captivated by the show, your eyes lock with Joel’s and neither of you break contact until it's all over. The sizzle, the screams, Negan’s speech on loyalty and penance.  

You’ve heard it all before, but this is Joel’s first time and there’s something on his face which tells you he won’t be here for the next one. If only you could say the same.  

Instead, you say nothing, do nothing and the show is over. The players exit the stage and you’re no exception. You get in line with the rest of the wives and follow Negan up to the apartment where he heads straight to his bedroom, leaving you and the other girls to hover outside the door.   

You glance around, hoping one of them will make the first move to follow him but they’re too upset. Tears on cheeks, sobs trapped in chests and the smell, that awful smell must be burned into their noses likes its burned into yours.  

“I guess I’ll go,” you sigh, and Tanya squeezes your shoulder before you force yourself over the threshold and click the door shut behind. 

Negan is settling Lucille in her usual spot, and you don’t know why today is any different from any other day, but you can’t take another minute of pretending.  

“I didn’t like that,” you say and though something stronger, something more rebellious is brewing under your skin, your tone is still cautious. 

Negan turns, his eyes widening, “neither did I, baby.”  

His words sound sincere but you’re not sure what to think anymore and though your tears have run dry, your voice still cracks when you ask, “then why?” 

“You know why.” 

“You could have just let them leave. You didn’t have to hunt them down and-” 

“And what?” He lets the question linger in the air, but he doesn’t want you to answer it. You’re certain he doesn’t even want to begin this conversation or any conversation at all. Still, he’s not the kind of man to back down from a challenge even a challenge as inconsequential as this.  

He moves closer, his eyes levelling with yours and they’re stern, narrowed in to hold tightly onto your gaze. “Maybe I should let every fucker in the Sanctuary think he can do whatever the fuck he wants? Maybe one of them will decide they want to fuck you, should I let them get away with that?” 

Again, he doesn’t want an answer just like you don’t want to challenge him anymore, so you look at your shoes, strappy, flimsy and in complete contrast with Negan’s heavy boots.  

Your submission works, his voice is softer now, but he’s still pissed.  

He paces the floor in front of you, his arms gesturing for effect, “maybe I should let every fucker with half a brain cell decide they can just walk the fuck out of here and get themselves killed? Or worse- let them bring back an army to take what's ours?”  

You dare to look at him.  

“You know the fucking score just like everyone else.” 

Now his hands are on your cheeks, his touch so gentle you could mistake it for love. 

“Say it,” he commands. 

“I know the score,” you whisper and Negan sighs, his shoulders losing some of their tension. 

His speech might have been more for his benefit than yours but honestly, he’s right. You all know the score. Negan’s way or no way and you don’t even hate him for it. Society, as you knew it, is gone. This is Negan’s world where he is King, President and God. At some point, you’d all agreed to the new world order.  

There’s no old school penal system for those who broke the rules, no review to make sure Negan’s punishments aren’t cruel and unusual. They are. They’re supposed to be and that’s the point.  

The sad thing is, you don’t even care about Dwight. There probably wasn’t a person in the room who did. Everyone watched his face melt and thought the same thing- I’m glad it isn’t me.  

But you’re done with safety in exchange for oppression and you’re done with Negan.  

Just not tonight.  

Tonight, you’re still his wife, his best girl and honestly, you’re not even mad about it. Negan is familiar. A port in the storm even if he’s the one creating the storm. 

He moves closer, pushing the strap of your dress down your arm to kiss your shoulder.  

His beard tickles your skin, his lips are hungry, desperate to taste and find something satisfying for both of you.  

“I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to get so-” he murmurs into your neck. 

“I know,” you brush your fingers through his hair and down the soft supple leather of his jacket, pulling him closer.  

Negan isn’t a monster; you know that much. He might enjoy the theatrics, but he doesn’t seek to maim and hurt people. There are only three rules in the Sanctuary which carry such corporal punishment. Rape, Murder and Stealing.  

Dwight and Sherry might be in love, but he stole her from Negan whether Negan wanted her or not.  

Perception is everything. Rules are rules.  

Negan doesn’t say anything more, he’s worn out from the theatrics, and he doesn’t want to fight. He wants this- flesh and pleasure.  

He pushes you onto the bed, legs spread, ankles dangling over his shoulders. He isn’t a selfish lover and maybe that would have made him easier to hate. But he’s on his knees for you, burying his face into your pussy and putting that charismatic mouth to good use. Stealing your thoughts, bringing you to the peak of pleasure before his cock finally pushes inside. 

His jeans are still clinging to his hips, the bite of his zipper nicking against your bare ass with every thrust. He comes fast, a quick release of tension before the real fucking begins.  

[xbeezchaos]

My <Harsh> thoughts/headcanons of your faves

Yes I'm serious so take a seat and get ready. I firmly belive a lot of these are Canon in my heart and cannot be persuaded otherwise.

This will be multi Fandom but I'm starting with genshin because I have a lot to say about certain characters. Also, this may be multi parts and some of this won't be explained.

Kamisato Ayato

Look I know he's some dude everyone loves but like. I can't wrap my head around it. If you think you can help. Please entertain me with it.This man has the most cocky attitude and that isn't even the part that makes me mad.

He has a piss kink.

Would let the right man/woman piss on him and would give EXTRA MONEY if it's stinky

He doesn't shower or bathe often

I wouldn't ever put it past him to not only wear shoes in bed, but to wear dirty white socks on freshly cleaned bedsheets

His bed is dirty. Like. Crunchy dirty.

He gives off high school guy using way too much axe Apollo body spray in the middle of the Hallways to poorly cover up his man must after gym class

Take petty and smart and dial it to to the thousands. He's a smart stink bag

He uses a cringey baby voice with his partner. Don't even fucking try telling me otherwise.

Probably calls himself daddy towards his partner too.

Smells like a wet beach towel

He would eat expired food. <this one pains my soul>

Raiden Shogun

Honestly I do not give a flying fuck how hot she is or what her past is. I'm aware of most of it but still don't get it tbh. Game wise she's cool but in the lore she makes me mad and confused

She quite literally fits the definition of "stick up your ass"

Unjustified and over the top rage. It's calling sister issues. Not even mommy issues

Immature and old as hell

Scatterbrained

She can't read.

She showers, but she takes 4 fucking hours and takes them twice a day without telling anyone so she'll be gone during important times and kill anyone who tells her that

A bad mother. I know you can't read but bro. Get somebody to write your son a damn letter before sending him out next time like??? Going back to the scatterbrained piece lol

Anyone and everyone is on her shit list. No fetus or dust bunny is safe.

Has the same energy of the try hard super competitive kid in gym class that takes all the fun out of the games.

Would purposely step on your phone if it fell on the floor (especially if she's in heels)

She eats uncooked rice as a snack.

Smells like metal 24/7

She really doesn’t understand affection so she bully flirts at best.

Tartaglia <Childe>

I love him and plan on pulling for him in his next rerun but bro the shit I have going on in my head either makes me laugh or mad.

Has freckles

Like to fight pretty women when he's bored so he can get choked out by thighs

Has arthritis/ something like that

Can and will eat anything for the right price <or if you say "i dare you" "you wont">

He's the "where's my hug at"guy but not creepy.

He’s literally just a hyper pit bull, and he does need a leash.

He was and still is a leash kid.

All his shoes wither and fall apart at the soles up. Shoe stores and repair men love him

Would get into bar fights

Cuts his own hair at 3AM with no back mirror

Has gotten into an argument about why the flame in a match doesn't have a shadow with the entire universe

Despite his vision. He doesn't like to drink water. Anything but that.

The closest he’ll get to regular water is flavored water

Can't ride a bike. At all.

Cries at sad scenes of shows or movies like someone shot his dog

Impulsively twerks on people he considers close.

Can and will torment his siblings. Had probably thrown one into a river before

Looks like a twink. But probably eats ass too. Don't question me.

Super easy to rile up. Try gaslighting him. It's funny.

Can't read Roman numerals.

Breaks shit at fatui headquarters a lot and finds people to fix them for cheap

If he has any close friends. He breaks into their homes often to take naps, eat or leave shit there.

Gojo Saturou

I know nothing about this man so it’s purely the vibe I get from him and some of. May be off due to the fact that I’ve only seen fan stuff of him- ANYWAYS TO THE FUN PART BELOW

Personally think he’s a perv. But like. Hell only make perverted jokes to friends or complete strangers

Has a vast knowledge of the human body and fixated on the nervous system for like 3 years

Makes dick jokes.

I feel like this man has ADD/ADHD he just reeks of it. Look at him!!!

Has a raging secret foot fetish. Like. You wouldn’t guess it about him. But he has it.

Sleep talker

He’s very clean. But dear gods he smells either really good like. Has that amazing jaw dropping cologne or he smells like 10 cans of bounce that ass fucked a dumpster fire on a hot summer day and no there isn’t an in between

Despite using the eye cover a lot he falls a lot.

He can’t swim. But if it’s canon he can. You’re lying

Eats raw pasta. For fun.

Chews on plastic. And has accidentally swallowed pieces of it multiple times too

Asks questions with obvious ass answers. Most times it’s genuine, but others it’s to be an ass

Would use “🥺” emoji un ironically

An instigator. Til death may he never stop.

Uses that baby talk shit. He’d baby talk his partner. Sorry I don’t make the rules

[might-be-max]

Entry 1 [The Page, pt1]

I’m sure everyone can remember their retail days. The periods of our lives when we worked long hours for shit pay and at the mercy of every dickhead who felt a soy sauce shortage was a legitimate reason to ruin someone’s shift. I’m still unfortunately eyeballs deep in that phase of my life. I sure wish that soccer moms with bad haircuts or thumb-shaped juice heads with little-man syndrome were the biggest of my problems. We all make jokes about working retail being Hell, some even compare it to purgatory. A between space where time passes at a painstaking crawl. It’s nothing compared to this. 

I had my back pressed against a cold refrigerator in the appliance showroom. I was starting to get the hang of this disturbing version of hide and seek, but I was getting pretty tired of being the one hiding all the time.

I could hear the subtle, deep-throated clicking of the creature as it made its slow pursuit up the aisles, meticulously searching. It knew I was here, they always did. I could see the arch of its back over high shelves and its gangly limbs clinging to beams to keep its balance.

I held my hands over my mouth and tried to steady my breath as the creature made its clumsy advanced. A viscous sludge oozed from its skin sounding like tar when it dripped to the floor. The sludge, eating away at everything it touched like corrosive Piranha Solution. It smelled of hot Florida dumpster. Like burnt tire rubber, warm beer and melted plastic with the nose-curling sourness of spoiled food. I could feel the muscles in my gut sizing, threatening to eject the dry cereal I shoveled into my mouth this morning. 

The refrigerators rattled as I saw a meaty clawed hand the size of a large dog cling to their tops followed by the sound of ragged breath. The smell grew heavier as the hand slapped from one fridge to another until it settled atop of mine. It sat there just long enough to wonder if I’d been found before it, along with the smell, vanished entirely.

*Oh thank God…*

I waited for my heart to move from hammering in my throat to back in my chest. I peek my head out from behind the fridge to see no one. I was alone again. 

“Management nearly got you this time, man.”

Or at least I thought I was. I about pissed myself and quickly turned around to find a mannequin standing within shoe throwing distance in an ugly sweater and pair of fitted khakis. 

“FRED! Jesus Christ! I told you to start announcing yourself!” 

“I mean, I could have. But then you would have ended up as Sheryl’s lunch.”

I know what everyone would be thinking right about now. “This guy is hiding from monsters and talking to mannequins, he’s probably nuts,” and yeah… you’d probably be right. But consider this first— I work retail. I deserve to be crazy, so reserve all judgments for now. 

The mannequin, Fred, swung his body from side to side, stiffly waddling over to me.

“What’d you do to make her mad this time? Breath too loud? Sit too long?”

I stood up and dusted the lint bunnies from my pants. “Fidgeting with a sign stickytab…” I said.

“Yeah, that’ll do it. She got Juan earlier, poor bastard didn’t even see her coming.” 

Fred looked like a life-sized Ken Doll and spoke with a New York accent. His mouth never moved though. It was permanently fixed into a smile, filled with a row of perfectly straight, white painted teeth. But his eyes… those moved. They seemed to follow you. It was like one of those spooky old paintings where the eyes seemed to track you around the room, no matter where you went. It was a little creepy.

“Donkey tattoo Juan? I liked him. He didn’t give me as many stink-eyes as the others.”

“Well, he’s got no eyes to stink with anymore. Squashed like a watermelon, KER-SPLAT. Sheryl didn’t even stop to lookit’em.”

“Yeesh…”

“Better him than us.”

“Us? It won’t eat you. It'd be like eating a plastic bead,” I said as I began to re-face the water filters again. 

“I mean. Yeah, but I’d give her indigestion for you if she ever does!” Fred made an attempt at putting his hands on his hips with an awkward, rubbery squeak.

“How noble of you.”

If Fred had been endowed with the gift face muscles, he’d probably be wearing a shit-eating grin.

“It ain't easy being a Hero!”

I listened again to see if Sheryl was still around. Can never be too careful with Manager “Five Ears To The Ground” Sheryl. The screams in the distance told me it was somewhere in Household Chemicals which meant there was around six miles of store between us.

 The hellscape where I work is called Thetamart. It was supposed to be like a super shopping center, best described as if a mall and Costco had a baby. But this baby was unfortunately disfigured so horribly it broke and disregarded the laws of the reality we live in. All that to say, ThetaMart is like a retail affair baby if H.P. Lovecraft was the mistress. It’s full of impossible creatures, monsters and products an insane person couldn’t even conjure in their strangest fever dreams. 

Everything inside of ThetaMart is white— a stark, sterile white from floor to ceiling, with shelves that stand several tall men high. There’s the lingering smell of cheap plastic in here, and the only thing piercing the constant mind-numbing silence is the distant sound of tinny elevator music that seemingly comes from everywhere and nowhere. The tune feels so familiar, just not enough to place or follow. If that wasn’t chilling enough, the screams that abruptly break the silent hours when management is close by is frightening enough to start the heart of a dead man. 

Which is why it was so strange when first, a momentary blanket of silence fell over the store, like what they do for memorials. It was an oppressive, drawn out stillness before being broken by a voice erupting from the invisible speakers. 

“Max, there is a call waiting for you on—” The page was followed by a shrill garble that sounded like Jabba The Hutt was choking on rocks before it went silent again. 

I looked at Fred. 

“What the fuck was that?”

“You got a page man, you gotta answer it.”

“How? There’s no phone in this department.”

The nearest working phone that I knew of was in electronics which was about six or so miles away. I'd just cut my losses and throw myself from the highest shelf. There was no way I'd make it without being maimed or eaten before getting there. As absurd as this place is, I don't think trekking over Toys and finding a Playskool Elmo & Friends Smartphone would cut it either. 

“Well it won’t stop paging you till you answer it, and trust me. You’re gonna wanna answer it.”

“What… What happens if I don't?”

He doesn’t respond and instead stares silently for a moment. 

“…Hello?”

He lunged forward and snatched my phone.

“Hey!” 

I swiped to get it back but Fred was quick for a guy with limited mobility.

“Sorry pal, you’ll thank me later!” 

He began to speed-waddle away. I actually had to run after him just to keep up, which was impressive considering his legs only moved in two directions. 

“Fred! Fred! I can’t— I can’t leave without my—“ 

He disappeared, heading deeper into the store. 

“Aw man…”

Considering the short time I’ve been here I’ve learned a lot about this place and how it operates, sort of. In the grand scheme of it all, I probably know absolutely dip-squat. But because of these dubious guidelines, I’ve made it far enough to share this. 

1. Stay away from the other associates. They may look like people or potential survival partners. Perhaps the last anchor you could hold steadfast to sanity with. But they are absolutely, definitely not. Far from it. Avoid them at all costs. They might have been human once, but they certainly aren’t anymore. 

2. The areas that turn yellow, or the zones of the store that are more decrepit than the other areas and are more prone to Management activity. That’s what Sheryl is. The denizens of this place are known as Management. The higher the status, the nastier they are.

3. Be sure to follow the first two rules no matter what. It will make life a lot easier.

Funnily enough, Fred actually bestowed upon me a lot of the knowledge I’ve accumulated about this place. Which pissed me off even more when I had to actively choose to break all three rules.

“Fred! This isn’t funny! I don’t have time for your crap!”

I continued walking at a brisk pace, following the distant taps of hollow dress shoes. All around me the fluorescent lights became yellower, more tarnished. They flicker and hum overhead and some blown out completely. 

There are pillows and overturned furniture, soggy boxes, and broken glass strewn about the linoleum. The smell of stale old couch stuffing and mildew penetrated the air and hung like a wet blanket making it slightly uncomfortable to breathe.

I walk beneath the hanging sign saying in bold blue letters, *Home and Decor*. 

Oh crap. I found myself reconsidering how important my phone really was. I could just buy a new one. Sure, the other one isn’t even paid off yet. But is it really worth being eaten or squashed or… whatever it is monsters do to people? A scrawny college student sustained purely off of ramen and espresso can’t taste that good, right? Just when I talked myself into abandoning my phone with every puppy pic of my dog I had ever taken, I felt eyes fixed on me. I had been spotted.

“Maxwell…” *Shit*. 

I very slowly turn around to find looming over me, was Nosferatu. 

Well, he’s not actually Nosferatu, but he could have had me fooled if this were a Spirit Halloween. 

“Ralph. You look uh… alive, today.”

Ralph’s skin clung to his skeletal frame like wet toilet paper. The white of his eyes were as sunken and yellow as the lights around us, and his apron identical to mine covered in various stains of several concerning colors. I tried my best not to stare at them as he leaned down and hovered closer to my face. 

His irises glistened a gross, milky white with something swirling behind their film. 

“Why aren’t you in your department, Maxwell?”

Now would’ve been an amazing time to be great at lying, but I wasn’t much of a talker at the best of times.

“Uh…I was getting…” 

My eyes began to frantically dart around for a sign or—

“Milk!”

“…milk?”

“Yeah, milk! Can’t have my bones breaking on the job right?” 

I made an attempt at a playful punch, but Ralph was *so* much squishier than he should have been. I felt my stomach lurch when my fist sunk through his arm and into his torso like a damn slime-filled stress ball. Accept instead of alleviating stress he makes it so, so much worse.

He stared at me for a moment in unimpressed silence. Ralph was a supervisor. Not only that, but I managed to piss him off twice in my first week. Needless to say, he’s far from my biggest fan. He also makes me really uncomfortable.

“You are heading in the wrong direction…”

“O-oh really? Sheesh, I’m still getting turned around. Three weeks and I still have no sense of direction. Typical Max!” 

I took a step back. 

“Well I better be on my way now. Looks like I’ve got a ways to walk.” 

“I’ll call for assistance.”

“NO–“ *Lying isn't working, try being honest-*

“Why is that…”

“You’re gross—” *Too Honest!*

He said nothing.

“I mean, grossly understaffed! You look like you are barely holding on with these dang staff shortages right? I don’t want to impose!” *Nailed it.* 

He continued to eyeball me for a tiny eternity. All I could do was stand there and sweat. *Maybe if I don’t move he will leave… like a T-Rex*. Unfortunately, Ralph didn't follow predatory chicken rules. He took a step back and very, very slowly started opening his mouth. It stretched and cracked like the Conjuring House with osteoporosis. His teeth were rotting and twisted, and his tongue was a sickly purple color. If I wasn’t running on three hours of sleep and two RedBulls, I probably would have started screaming like a kid in a haunted Chuck E. Cheese. Just as Ralph took in an impressively deep breath to shriek or howl or whatever awful sound the supervisors make to summon managers, I saw my phone fly out of seemingly nowhere with the momentum of a bullet. It twirled wildly like an IOS throwing star and very effectively caved in the right side of Ralph's face. 

He fell to the floor with a tragic plopping sound that reminded me of a soggy banana peel landing in a puddle.

“BOOYAH!”

Fred sprung out from behind a loveseat and started doing an awkward victory dance.

“Shoulda tried out for the Yankees!”

“Hopefully you have some reflexes to go with that throwing arm! You’re lucky I don’t do the same to you for running off with my phone!” 

“Aww come on Maxy, I had to get you moving somehow.” 

I didn’t respond. Instead, I leaned down and plucked my phone from Ralph’s caved-in dome. It came free with a moist snick. Thankfully there was no grey matter or blood, just a gross and slightly greasy film where his skin and my phone made contact. 

“If I have to touch one more bodily secretion that isn’t mine one more time this week….”

Fred slowly stuck his foot into Ralph’s side and laughed when the old man made a sound like a deflating sponge cake. 

“Eh, you get used to it. Now let’s get this show back on the road.” 

“Uh, no. I need to go back to appliances where it's safe. I haven't even been over here for five minutes and Ralph was ready to hand me a pink-slip from life.”

Fred somehow managed to blow a raspberry without his lips moving and pat my shoulder.

“He wishes he had the clearance to do that. All he can do is hoop and holler. Ain't that right, Ralphy?” 

Ralph, now drooling, said nothing and only continued to make more squishy deflating noises.

“Is he ok?”

“Oh yeah, I saw him get crushed by a shelf once. He’s even been sat on by Bonnie and still got up. He was totally fine too. I’m sure he enjoyed getting sat on more though, sly dog.”

“Wow–”

“I know right? He’s all about that bass. I respect that.”

“Ew, n-no I mean does he just not die or… does he not have bones?”

He looked back down at Ralph, then back at me. 

“Well he's got somethin’.” 

“How the heck did he get a squash-proof card?”

“Ha! What, you want one too? Trust me, you don’t want what he’s got. Shit’s probably terminal.”

“What’s that mean?”

Fred did something that looked like he was trying to shrug. Trying and failing. He also had the nerve to take another swipe at me in an attempt to grab my phone again. 

I jerked it away just in time and slapped his plastic hand away. 

“If you don’t cut it out!- Why did you bring me here anyway!? You hate Home and Decor.” 

Fred looked like he was about to say something, seemed to buffer then looked back down at Ralph one last time. 

“Well, my original plan was to ask Grandpa Pudding here if he still happened to have a phone but I’d doubt he’d tell us now. Guess we go with plan B.” 

“What’s plan B?” I asked. Fred answered this by taking another swipe at my phone. I stuck it in the air as high as I could manage. 

“HEY! God you’re worse than a three-year-old today! What the hell man?!” 

I’ve seen Fred do some pretty weird stuff, aside from the living mannequin thing. All it took was the fraction of a second for me to blink for Fred to be gone with my fucking phone again. I looked at my empty hand, then over my shoulder at him booking it down the aisles. Before I could sputter the creative string of swears I had threaded together just for Fred’s ears the store was plunged into silence again.

“Uh-oh.” It lasted a few seconds longer than before.

“Max there is a call waiting for you on—”

The horrible sound it made was louder. So much louder this time. 

I slapped my hands over my ears and could feel the sound vibrating in my chest. It only lasted for a moment, but that's all it took to leave me with an annoying ring in my ears. *So that's what he meant.* 

Now begrudgingly coming to terms that this shift was going to be a probably very dangerous trek across the store, I looked back at the now deflated Ralph. Within moments of being clocked with my phone, he looked like a snake was running around in a human suit and shed him at some point. I almost wanted to feel bad, but he was a dick and I thought better of it. I instead opted to start going through his pockets. 

"Let’s see… food tokens, a box cutter, and some new blades. I’m sure those will come in handy." 

I had made the mistake of losing my pocket knife on my first day to the disembodied appendages that live under the shelves in aisles 12 and 16. Don’t ask— that’s a story for another time. I clicked up the blade and the thing extended to almost four inches long. 

“How many newbies like me have you used this thing on, Ralph? Cause I certainly haven’t seen you open any boxes.” 

I stood, gave him one last squishy nudge with my foot, and went to go find that stupid mannequin…

The Home and Decor department almost reminded me a bit of a decrepit thrift store. The musty smell of old, used things and old, used people. Ralph fit in perfectly with the washed-out background that was bathed in piss yellow. But I also couldn’t help but wonder, why did this side of the store look as awful as it did? There were even water stains on the fiberglass ceiling tiles way up above. Everything I’ve seen of the store looked awful in some capacity, but the level of awfulness here was borderline ridiculous. 

My job here had me stuck in a different department every shift, something referred to as a *Floater*. Basically, I was being trained in a bit of everything. The one who hired me told me that I would have this position until I found my place. I thought that statement was strange, because I was only supposed to be here for about four months. At one point I was certain I would stay longer. Twenty dollars an hour for a retail gig sounded like cake, but now I find myself wondering if I’ll even last that long. 

“You’ve been standing there for an awfully long time, Maxwell.” 

The sound of a woman’s voice hung itself in the air and arrested my attention, it was enough to snap me back into the moment so hard I nearly got whiplash. Wet and broken glass crunched under my feet as I spun. I pull out my new box cutter, holding it out in front of me like I could actually fight something if I needed to. 

“It’s Max. And a guy can’t take a second to collect his thoughts?”

“Sure you can, but standing in the middle of an aisle muttering to yourself might be considered a little…crazy, wouldn’t you say?” 

A massive spider, as big as a Volkswagen Beetle slowly peered over the shelves that had been covered in ugly pillows and rested atop of it. She had a shiny black body and long, sharp legs that still shimmered like obsidian spears in the low light and easily extended around 17 feet. Her eight eyes were a deep red, and her front two legs ending in unmistakably human hands with painted, manicured nails. Janis, from what I understand, is one of the vendors. She’s also one of the few creatures in here I don’t find myself running and screaming from, shockingly. She’s just kind of a bitch.

“Considering the things that go on here I’m not exactly concerned with what uh… people think of me,” I say slowly aiming the box cutter away. The giant arachnid almost seemed to smile smugly at me from her perch, her mandibles moving and twitching as she spoke. 

“Oh, not enjoying your position? You seemed so enthusiastic a few weeks ago.”

“Why in God’s name do you think I would be enjoying this place? I just had a run-in with Ralph I’ll be trying to scrub from my mind for the next three weeks! And I had no idea the shit I’d have to deal with a few weeks ago! This is entrapment! It’s illegal! ”

Janis tapped her perfectly polished claws against the metal shelf like an irritated Disney villain, making annoying tink sounds.

“Still on that are we? Not the brightest color in the box. But a busted-broke college student down on his luck with $5 to his name… people like you thrive in extreme situations. You adapt. Not because you want to, but because you are in the unique position of not having any other choice.”

“I don’t want to adapt or change or anything! I just wanted a job!! Not to end up with a new list of phobias or nearly be killed every time I clock in! Twenty bucks an hour isn’t worth dying for!”

“Well seeing as how you were hired here, no one will miss you if did bite the dust. So make the best of the situation, learn. Maybe bitch less, it will make you more likable.”

“... Ouch.”

“It’s true.”

“I know…I know it’s true. But you didn’t have to say it.”

“ThetaMart, as well as being a space between, has the ability to bring out something in people they would rather not look at. It changes them into something more—” She looked at a moldy pillow sitting beside her on the shelf, she huffed while pushing it away and it went tumbling to the floor with a wet plop. 

“More compelling, I'd say. You get to break the monotony and forget how small you are.”

“I am perfectly comfortable with how small I am, thanks.”

“What a winner. I’m sure your girlfriend shares the same sentiment.”

“Was there a point to you Grudge-crawling up there, or are you just here to harass me?”

“I like having the high ground, and I wanted to give you a bit of friendly advice.”

“Well don’t leave me in suspense Obi-Wan.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s— …never mind. What is it?”

She sighed and slowly lowered herself down the shelf, creaking under her weight as she did so she lowered her voice to a whisper.

“You know how they tell you to stop and smell the roses?.”

“Yeah?”

She reached her hand down into my apron pocket and took out one of the food tokens I had lifted from Ralph. They were made of tarnished brass. 

“You may want to skip it this time where you’re going. As for these…” She examined one of them closely.

“Heads or tails, little bug?” 

“Uh…t-tails.” I said. She hummed and flicked the coin into the air, I watched the coin owl-eyed as it hovered above us for just a moment before she snatched it and slapped it down on the outer side of her hand. I shuttered reflexively at the quick motion, then felt embarrassed for doing so. Janis seemed to grin in amusement, peeked under her hand at the coin then extended it to me. 

“Tails. Luck sways in your favor today. Use it wisely and you might see the end of your shift.” she said.   

“You can’t really determine that with a coin. Luck isn’t real.” 

“You are really going to look a giant talking spider in her face and say–” she lowered her voice a few octaves and said in the universal guy voice, you know the one “Luck isn’t real.” She did have a point. But to accept luck was real, was to accept my luck up until this point was actually kind of shit and I had no idea why or if I had any way to change it.

“Well if luck is real…it’d be nice to catch a break. But I’m not saying it is.”

“Whatever you say, Floater.”

She sighed and rubbed all eight of her eyes. 

“That mannequin wanted me to pass this on to you…” She pulled out a pair of pink flower clippers from seemingly nowhere.

“Go to Garden & Live Goods. He’s waiting for you there. Like I said, avoid smelling the roses.”

She handed the clippers to me and tisked.

“Dumbass.”

“Like, roses specifically or–.”

“Get to steppin’ I have work to do.”

 I eyed the clippers. They made a satisfying snipping sound when I pulled the handles.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Really.” 

In typical spider fashion, she crept back up the shelf and disappeared over the other side. If every spider is as rude as she is I don’t know if I feel quite as bad as I used to when I would bring a shoe down on them. 

I stuck the clippers in my apron, and began to head in the direction I was pretty sure was garden.

[futzingbarton]

praeparet bellum

Something cold uncoils in his chest, something sharp and thirsty. It filters through him like winter sunlight on his skin, bringing forth goosebumps. Like a man drowning, he is helpless to resist when malice, ruthless and potent and pure, begs for him to let it fill his lungs.

He takes a deep, deep breath.

“I can do this,” he says to the near-empty streets of New Vegas, ignoring Rex’s quizzical whine, and strides towards the the Tops’ multicolored doors.

--

HI YES

Chapter 2 of my Courier/Arcade fic is up!! ahhh this update brings me to just shy of 32k words and i am. delighted. the next update will be constantine and arcade’s hot date at the ultra luxe. surely nothing could go wrong there.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

Then what is the answer?- Not to be deluded by dreams.

To know that great civilizations have broken down into violence,

and their tyrants come, many times before.

When open violence appears, to avoid it with honor or choose

the least ugly faction; these evils are essential.

Amenities. Constantine knows the word, though never bothered to pay it any mind back before he sauntered his way into the Strip. At best it has just been something fancy to add to a conversation, typically to take whomever he was chatting with off guard. There had been no point to equate it to something tangible, let alone attainable. 

But now—carpet. He still isn’t used to it, this plush, high-pile rarity beneath his feet when he finally drags himself from the comfort of his bed. And the bed! Multiple blankets, and a sheet over the mattress to boot. Plus the four pillows. Four. He’d thought that staying in Goodsprings upon waking up was basically living in luxury, but this? Well, it might as well be heaven. 

How could it not be, when he steps out of his room and hears the radio playing gently from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of an already-bubbling pot of coffee? Probably Boone, or maybe Raul, getting a head start to the day. He smiles to himself, marveling in the exorbitance of it all. He makes his way to the bathroom, which, against all practicality, is also carpeted. Hopefully he’s never going to be drunk enough to miss the toilet. There’s no real way to tell if the stains decorating the porcelain base are signs of some literal piss-poor aim, courtesy of some pre-war partiers, but Tan decides upon scavenging a couple of extra boxes of Abraxo for posterity’s sake. 

He uses the bathroom (with working plumbing!) and washes his hands and face (with running water!) before brushing his teeth. It’s already been one whole week of this; one entire, peaceful week of not worrying about where to sleep or what to eat or if he stinks or if it’s safe enough to shit without having a gecko pounce on him. At this rate, he’s well on his way to embracing this newfound hedonism. 

Refreshed, he makes his way towards the kitchen and the irresistible smell of coffee. Though the others all have their own rooms throughout the hall, some choose to stay in the guest beds of the suite. The door to the main domicile is always unlocked, since it just makes more sense to store all of their supplies together, and to keep access to said storage available at all hours. Tan’s given everyone some unofficial leave—if that word even applies to their situation—hoping it would encourage the gang to see the sights of the Strip, relax, refresh, and otherwise take comfort in some momentary stagnation. So far, people have been happy to come and go as they please: Cass and Veronica have gone shopping and dancing almost every night, and even Raul and Boone were persuaded to join him for drinks a day ago. Lily keeps to the casino, satisfied to stay in with Rex and Ed-E. And Arcade…

Tan’s heart does a happy little skip. Arcade. Even thinking his name makes him stupidly giddy. He doesn’t have specifics to compare it to, this childish feeling of infatuation, but every little shiver of it reminds him that this isn’t the first time he’s felt this, and just that knowledge alone makes him feel grateful, feel human. Sometimes, looking over his bumbling assortment of friends—of family—it dawns on him that without them, he’d probably forget about that humanness entirely. They keep him rooted, keep him safe. The fact that they leave the 38 but still choose to come back to him fills him with a sense of…something. He doesn’t quite have the words for it yet, the bright and tingling thing that roosts in his heart when he sees them walk back through the doors of the suite, but it makes him grin wider than he thought he could. And just when he thinks he’s all full up on glee and purpose, there’s Arcade.

He’s already smiling just thinking about the man, so when he walks into the kitchen and sees Arcade actually standing there next to the stove, holding a steaming mug of coffee in both hands with his hair still mussed with sleep, all that joy boils over and he can’t help but laugh. 

“Hey, handsome. Good morning!” he says, and means it. It’s good. This is good. He doesn’t have many immutable constants in his memory, so this feeling of free and open affection anchors itself easily into the empty spaces of his mind. He likes to think of his situation as similar to the night sky:  a whole lot of dark  nothing, peppered with uncountable bright and shining moments. 

Arcade mumbles something resembling a hello and nods by way of greeting, still looking for all the world as if he’d rather be asleep, but Tan doesn’t miss how the edges of his lips quirk upwards ever so slightly. 

“That for me?” Tan jokes, sidling up close enough to pry the coffee out from Arcade’s tired hands. “You shouldn’t have.” 

“I didn’t,” Arcade protests, frowning, though he makes no effort to keep Tan away. Tan takes a sip before making a face and putting the coffee down on the nearby counter.

“Not bad, though…” he grins wickedly, taking advantage of Arcade’s empty arms to invade his space and plant a kiss on his cheek. “I prefer my coffee with a bit of sugar.”

Arcade groans. “It’s too early for you to be this insufferable.” 

“Oh, you suffer me well enough.”

“At the cost of my coffee, apparently.” He doesn’t let Tan pull away, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to keep him at his side. “But you’re here already, so I might as well put up with you for a bit longer.” 

Tan retrieves the coffee and takes another sip before passing it back to Arcade. “For your trouble,” he says, then reaches up to play with Arcade’s messy hair. “Why are you up this early, anyway? Would have expected you to sleep past seven.”

“I would’ve preferred that, too. No, I’m…” he sighs. “Julie asked for help at the Fort. Probably something clerical, given that my system of organization isn’t exactly the most intuitive. Or maybe there’s just been an influx of junkies needing a place to come down. To be honest, I didn’t ask.”

Tan hums in understanding. “Of course. Want an escort?” 

“I’m more than capable—”

Constantine tugs on his hair to shut him up. “I didn’t say you weren’t. I asked if you wanted me to walk with you there.”

Honesty—that is to say, true and barren honesty, seems more difficult around Arcade than anyone else. Tan wishes he could have said “I want to come with you,” or, “Let me just be around you until I can’t be anymore.” There’s nothing really stopping him from saying it, either, nothing besides this tiny pinprick of distrust that nests beneath his heart, drives itself up into his throat whenever he wants to bear himself open. He wants to, or rather, he wants to want to. Lately he’s found himself mired in more wanting than he has since as far as he remembers, and for all the pleasant sensations that desire can bring, it’s almost always as jarring as it is intriguing.

He can’t say why he keeps himself just far apart enough from everyone he cares for. There’s flashes of memories, of course—like watching someone else through the wrong side of a door’s peephole. Voices muffled. Images blurred, distant. Overlaid upon each other wrong. “I knew you’d leave,” a voice rings out. “Just like they did.” He doesn’t know if it’s the right face saying it, but the one clear image he has is of himself, younger, bag over his shoulder, staring at the younger woman with what looks like disdain. His heart hurts with the memory. Why hadn’t she gone with him? Or, he supposed, why didn’t he care enough to stay? 

“Tan?”

“Hm?” He snaps back to reality. “What’d I miss?” 

“I asked what you were up to today.”

Tan smiles, a little rueful. “Taking Rex back to the King. He hasn’t been doing so hot lately—figure I oughta talk to his real dad to see what might be going on.” 

Arcade nods. “I’ve noticed that, too. I’m not a veterinarian so I can’t exactly make a diagnosis, but hopefully it’s nothing too severe to treat.”

It’s cute, Tan thinks, how Arcade downplays his concern by involving his expertise or lack thereof. There’s always something to give him distance, to give him maneuverability instead of outright admitting he cares about someone or something or the outcome of some situation. It’s defensive, but done with compassion, like most everything else Arcade does. 

With a simple nod of agreement, Tan disentangles himself from his partner and sets about making them both a passable breakfast. Predictably, Arcade tries to insist he isn’t that hungry and that Tan shouldn’t bother, but he’s quick to stop grousing once a fresh plate of potato hash with fried corn and brahmin steak is set in front of him. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the cooking, he had explained one night over a late dinner. It’s just that it’s very good cooking, actually, and he feels a bit useless standing there the whole time it’s being prepared. When more prepwork is required, the doctor is easy enough to put to use, but in the case of more impromptu meals, Tan’s curiously practiced ease in the kitchen is most effective when leaving him to lord over the kingdom of the kitchen. 

So. Tan has since decreed the washing up to be Arcade’s sole jurisdiction, and Arcade seems happy to be helpful in a way that doesn’t require an undue amount of effort. 

Constantine pours himself his own mug of coffee and takes a seat by Arcade. 

“Maybe sometime soon we can go check out the casinos,” he says, shoving a spoonful in his mouth. “House said I oughta do something about them.”

“And you’re all for doing what House says now, are you?” Arcade takes a careful bite. “I wasn’t aware you’d decided to commit to being his lackey.”

“Hey, I haven’t—” he stops, swallows, and takes another bite. “Haven’t committed to anything. Just want to get the whole picture.”

Arcade looks between Constantine and his near-empty bowl. “At the very least, can you commit to chewing your food?”

“Nah,” Tan says through another mouthful, then tilts the bowl to shovel the remaining hash in. “Shee you downshtairs.” 

He ruffles Arcade’s hair and hurries out of the kitchen to dress up and arm himself. Nothing too flashy, just a revolver on his hip, a knife tucked in his boot, his hat hanging down his back. He taps his foot the entire elevator ride, almost skipping out the door once it dings open. His only patience manifests in holding the exit open for Rex to plod along after him, all too happy to sit at his heels once they’re outside. The heat is building under the awning of the hotel, but the air is dry and the morning has seen fit to bless the Mojave with the slightest breeze. With a deep breath, Tan closes his eyes and listens to the strangely lullying concert produced by the New Vegas Strip in daylight. The woodwind wail of the speeding monorail, the brassy booming commands from Securitrons along their rotas. A distant choir of howling dogs. The steady percussion of hammers—NCR soldiers repairing the embassy’s flimsy outer fence, accompanied by the faint pops and crackles of small-arms fire from far past Freeside. 

“You look at peace.”

Constantine grins, not bothering to turn around. “I am, I think. I like it here.” 

A scoff. “That why you’re eager to see the casinos? If you’re this easily charmed, you’ll fit right in.” 

“Your bark is worse than your bite, ‘Cade. Taking a page out of Rex’s book?” Besides, he thinks, who are you to complain about how easily charmed I am? 

“Oh har, har. Maybe they’ll let you take over for some act at the Tops.” He tugs on Tan’s sleeve and heads down the steps, out into the white hot sun. “Come on then. Fortune favors the actively moving.”

“That’s so not how it goes,” says Tan, crossing his hands behind his head as he walks. 

“How would you know?” There’s a carefree kind of tone to Arcade’s teasing, and it makes Tan’s heart stutter. So often, Arcade has this tangible kind of weight to him, like he’s lugging some hulking something behind him. Something so wrapped in snide, dry humor and cool, scientific reason that makes peering into the depths downright impossible. There’s a core there, a tiny ember burning dim but steady, and for the life of him, Tan can’t figure out what it is. It’s to do with his past, and it’s to do with something far more scientific than Tan has any reason to know about, and those tiny bits of knowledge about it make him so curious and impatient that every day is a struggle keeping his damned mouth shut instead of annoying Arcade with questions. 

He settles for annoying him in other ways. 

“It doesn’t sound right!” he laughs, and takes his hat from around his neck. “You know what? I think you and Rex deserve a little showdown. Get ‘im, Rex!” With a whoop, he plops his hat onto Arcade’s head and runs off, turning around in time to see Rex growling and nipping at the doctor’s heels. 

When Arcade finally catches up, out of breath and looking more impressed than annoyed, he shoves his hat against his chest. Rex trots calmly up behind him, not a hint of remorse to be shown in his confident swagger and lolling tongue. 

“You win this one, Becker,” he says, panting between every word. 

“Gonna have to try harder to outdo me, Gannon.” He hangs the hat back around his head and carries on like there hadn’t been any sort of interruption. “Anyway, if this—” he points at his head, “is anything to go by, then I lived in a city before. I just like the bustle, the people. Everyone’s someone, but it’s still easy to get lost if you need to. It’s nice being a face in a crowd.” 

Still recovering, Arcade lets out a deep breath and levels him with his gaze. Curiosity plays across his face, replaced soon with focused scrutiny, as though he is trying to see through Tan and into his memories. As though there is something there that he might be able to make more sense of, if only he were the one to witness those disjointed pieces of history. Arcade looks at him a second longer before straightening up and beginning to walk again. Tan falls in beside him. 

“You know, I don’t get it,” says Arcade, after a few blocks of easy silence. “I know you’re a social butterfly, but just how is it that you get along with Boone best, of all people?”

Tan sputters out a laugh. “Oh my god, are you jealous again?” 

“No!” He smacks his arm. “No, shut up. Not like that. I mean—he’s so…aloof. And you’re you. But you two, you just…work well together. It’s a weird sight to see, that’s all.” 

Tan blinks. He hasn’t really considered much about his friendship with Boone. Somehow, he and Craig fell into a wordless sort of brotherhood, and that kind of teamwork was hard to find in the wasteland. They worked well and smoothly together, evident in the calm ease they shared when cleaning out their guns or reloading their magazines, but more so in their almost instinctive, unspoken coordination on the battlefield. Boone fell into step beside Tan far quicker than any of his other companions, accepting his hand signals and commands without question. To question the nuances of a good thing seemed antithetical to its success, so Constantine never bothered to ask more of Boone than what he already gave.

“You’re not as good as Manny,” Boone had told him once, when they were sharing a beer around a dying fire. “But you’re good. You make this simple.” This had been prior to anyone else joining their wandering band of fools, before Tan had met back up with Veronica or started ogling Arcade at the Fort. In the companionable trust that comes with being two people alone in the darkness of the wasteland, Tan knew then that when Boone stood up and said “I’ll take first watch,” he was really saying “thank you.” 

Explaining this to Arcade seemed…not impossible, but certainly pointless. What could he say? I think I remind him of Carla, and when he has someone big and bright and loud, he doesn’t have to work to exist. I speak up for him, and he watches my back. We both know a dance we never want to speak of again, but fall into like it’s second nature. I’ve sat next to him in the dead of night when he woke up crying, and he’s held back my hair when I tried drinking to remember. He knows me and knows of me without me having to say it. Nothing I remember will add or take away from that.

So instead, he settles for the easier kind of truth. “I’m an NCR brat,” he admits. “I think. I’m sure you’ve guessed that by now. My hand signals, the whole way I communicate out there, it’s all from being in the military. Before anyone else joined up with us, it was just me and Boone. He helped me figure that out, and we make a good sniper team.” He shrugs. To anyone else, there really isn’t more to it than that. 

To Arcade, it’s almost enough. Constantine can tell by the raised eyebrow, the quizzical expression, that he wants to pry further…but to his credit, he lets it drop. 

“Just interesting,” he says with finality, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. 

They’re almost at the Fort, just a few blocks away, when Tan remembers he still has to check back in with the Van Graffs. He weaves in front of Arcade to walk along his right side, putting the man between him and his responsibilities. 

Ever the quick study, Arcade glances between Tan and the distant silhouette of Simon standing guard. He stiffens up for just a moment before returning to his usual slouch. 

“I doubt they can see you from here, Constantine,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Rifles have scopes,” Tan notes, and pulls up the collar around his duster. “I don’t want to get into a shootout today, alright?”

He is so, so close to letting the whole thing go. It’s not supposed to be a tug-of-war, this thing between them. If this were some other street on some other day, and if he felt a little less like a mirelurk with its shell half-peeled off at every line of questioning from Arcade, he would have.  But…no.

“What’s your deal with that place, anyway? You always freak out when energy weapons are involved.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Shudders. Panic. Hilariously unconvincing lies. Freak outs.”

Arcade almost trips over a pebble, and, shit. Constantine knows he’s fucked up. In any other instance it would be simpler to backpedal or redirect, but in a bout of sudden selfishness, he wants the moment to drag on for just a little longer.  Their footsteps crunch against the crumbling road as they walk on.

All the things he has to leave unspoken gnaw at him, desperate to break out. I want to know you, Tan wants to say. I want to know why you freeze when you look at the guns in that store. I want to know what the NCR has done to you to make you distrust them in ways that have nothing to do with their governing. There is something there, hiding underneath your surface, and you keep peeling away at me but don’t give anything back. I want to know you, Arcade, in the ways you want to know me. 

Distrust isn’t quite the right word for it, but it’s close. Maybe it’s more like concern, or perhaps fascination, that drives Tan to dig deeper when he has found, time and again, that the further he presses Arcade, the further he closes up. He’s optimistic, not naive; he can’t imagine anything hidden in Arcade’s history that might change his perception of the man, let alone his attraction to him. He isn’t expecting a clean slate or a lack of complications. More than anything, Tan just wishes he could help. 

Instead, he sighs. Nothing here is going to give. With an awkward laugh, he breaks the moment.. 

“You know, I could never really get into energy weapons. I’ve tried—I mean, you’ve seen my shitty attempts—but the lowered recoil really throws me off. How am I even supposed to be able to tell I’ve shot something?” 

Arcade scoffs. “Well, the green puddle or pile of ashes is a good indicator.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tan says, smacking him on the arm. “I mean it! And if it jams, what am I supposed to do, hotwire the damn gun? Do a little on-the-fly soldering? I’ll just ask a feral to wait a minute while I get that taken care of.” 

“I don’t doubt that you’d be able to convince one, honestly,” says Arcade. He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Only you would be presented with a perfectly serviceable, easy to handle weapon and complain that it’s not complicated enough.”

They come to a stop outside the wooden gates of the Fort, the white flag of the Followers flapping in the wind. A stray cloud passes in front of the sun. Before Arcade has the opportunity, Constantine pulls open the door and gestures at the entrance with playful grandiosity. 

“After you, dear sir,” he drawls, grinning when Arcade rolls his eyes. Before the doctor can stride past him, Tan catches his sleeve and pulls him back. He takes Arcade’s hand in his own. 

“See you back at the 38 for dinner?” 

Ears turning red, Arcade glances down at their hands, then back up at Tan. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” 

“Perfect.” He lifts Arcade’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “See you, gorgeous.” 

He waves to the guards sitting just inside the door and turns to leave, satisfied with his display. Perhaps if he had known just how soon he would be back at the Fort, he would have put on a slightly less gallant goodbye. 

The walk over to the King’s was uneventful, as was his conversation with the man himself. Rex’s condition is indeed deteriorating, and the King requested a second opinion from the nearest medical specialist in the area: Julie Farkas. Tan steels himself as he walks back through the doors of the Fort not thirty minutes later, trying his best to not give his anxiety too long of a leash. Worries circle him like vultures, thoughts worming their way in past his carefully constructed nonchalance. What if Arcade thought he was being too clingy? What if Julie wasn’t able to help Rex in any way? 

They’re unproductive concerns with convenient solutions, but they gnaw at him all the same. If Arcade thought he was incapable of leaving him alone, well, he’d just explain why he was back. If Julie wasn’t able to help with Rex’s predicament, then he would pester other doctors across the wasteland until he found some lead to follow. Still, as he checks each tent looking for Julie’s signature mohawk, he wipes his sweaty palms against his pants. It’s too early to drink, so he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, just to stop himself from chewing on his lower lip. Something pulls at him, something deeper, that tells him his anxiety is not without cause—that perhaps, in some foreign life, this is something he had to deal with often. 

“Hi again, stranger.” 

Arcade sounds more amused than anything. It’s enough to make Constantine huff out a breath of relief, though not quite enough to make him put out the cigarette. 

“Hey,” he says, turning around. “I swear I’m not stalking you.” 

“To be honest, I don’t think I’d mind too much if you were.”  Arcade walks past him into a nearby tent, holding a pile of blankets. Tan doesn’t miss the smirk on his face. “What brings you back my way?” 

Tan’s heart stops pounding quite so much upon seeing Arcade’s nonchalance. He takes a drag of his cigarette and turns to blow the smoke away. “Well, Rex ain’t doing so hot by the King’s standards, either. He said to go talk to Julie about it, thought I might have better luck asking her since the last time he was here she refused to help him.” 

“Bullshit,” Julie butts in, walking out of the tent Arcade just entered. “I didn’t refuse care, Rex just needs a specialist. Hi, Constantine.”

Tan laughs. “Hey, Jules. Need any help?” 

“No, I think I’ve managed to burden Arcade with all the menial tasks I can think of, at the moment. Thanks, though.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Arcade says, tying the tent flaps open. “Glad to know I’m so irreplaceable.” 

Julie rolls her eyes. “Anyway,” she continues, “the King came by a few months ago, and we had to tell him there was nothing we could do. Rex’s condition is way beyond anything we can handle. He requires brain surgery, and some sophisticated cybernetics work, too.”

Tan looks over at where Rex is rolling around in some dust. “So there’s no chance he’ll ever get better? You can’t heal him?”

“I didn't say that. While no one here has that kind of expertise, I do know of one man who might fit the bill.” She crosses her arms. “There's an old scientist named Dr. Henry who reportedly specializes in this sort of procedure. He'd probably be your best bet. Last I heard, he was living up in Jacobstown, far to the northwest.”

Were it anyone else, Tan might have missed the subtle signs of discomfort. But it’s not just anyone else, it's Arcade, and even while Julie is talking he’s still glancing over at the man in the same way he’s been doing the past week, like some love struck teenager who can’t get enough of a crush. So when he sees Arcade stiffen up enough to stand up just a little bit straighter at the mention of Jacobstown, he frowns. 

Arcade hadn’t been with him the last time Tan had traversed out there, but Doc Henry had been fairly reasonable to interact with. He hadn’t pressed the issue of ending the tests of the Stealth Boy Mark II on Lily despite his previous research, and for that much, Tan was grateful. Surely he’d be willing to help Rex, if not out of compassion, then at the very least out of that same scientific curiosity. Why Arcade would tense up at the mention of Jacobstown and the doctor, he can’t be sure, but he files that away to deal with later.

“Sounds like that’s where I’ll head out soon, then. Thanks, Julie. Come by the 38 if you ever need anything, alright?”

Julie smiles. “Sure, Constantine. Thanks for stopping by. Bye, Rex,” she calls over to the dog, who barks at her in response. With that, she walks back into the tent and picks up a clipboard, leaving Arcade and Tan relatively alone in the entryway. 

“Guess I’ll head back out,” Tan says, taking one last drag of his cigarette. He drops the butt to the ground and stomps it out with his heel, watching Arcade all the while. He’s still in some kind of half-trance, arms crossed and head down, lost to thoughts Tan has no hope of knowing. He waits another few seconds more, in case Arcade comes back to him. 

He doesn’t. 

“Alright,” Tan relents. “See you. Come on, Rex.” He considers seeing if Arcade would respond to a kiss, just on the cheek, but the Fort is starting to bustle with sick settlers and worried doctors, and the last thing he wants to do is provide Arcade’s colleagues with easy gossip for the remainder of the day. He’s not sure why this is something he’s concerned about, but something pricks at him, reminds him that people talk and that his displays of affection aren’t always going to be well received when he’s supposed to be some kind of public image. Something bubbles  up under the surface, some dark hint of memory. Don’t want to be the talk of the barracks, he hears in a foreign voice. Don’t give them something to talk about. Don’t embarrass me. 

He puts a hand on Arcade’s shoulder by way of goodbye, instead. That’s enough to bring the doctor out of his reverie, though not by much. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. See you, Tan,” Arcade murmurs, and goes to join Julie in the tent. 

Tan blinks. Something in him stings, as though he’d been slapped. He stands there, hand still hanging in the air where Arcade used to be.  Don’t be stupid, the voice tells him. You’re going to make a scene. 

“Right,” he sighs. He draws his hand back and shoves it in his pocket. “Let’s go, Rex.” As he makes his way through the Fort, Tan wonders how, surrounded by doctors and junkies and guards, he can feel so astronomically alone. 

It isn’t until Tan is back at the crossroad leading back towards the Silver Rush that the magnitude of whatever-it-is he’s feeling hits him, all electric and blood-boiling and impossible to control. He stops in the middle of the street, threads his fingers in his hair, turns in a tight circle and drops to the ground in a crouch. 

“He’ll tell me eventually, right, Rex?” 

He hates how desperate he sounds. Rex tilts his head with a quizzical whine, the liquid in his brain case sloshing side to side as he does. 

“You’re right,” Tan groans, sliding his hands out of his hair and over his face. “You’re right. I’m being stupid. I just wish I knew what to do with this, y’know? I feel like I’m being eaten alive.” 

It’s easy enough to put a word to the buzzing that seems to have taken up permanent residence in his chest. Anxiety. It’s harmless enough in that form, existing as a word, as four syllables that don’t even require you to open your mouth the whole way to say aloud. It’s the other ways it exists that kill him—the buzzing, chittering everything that spills out of his heart and into his ribs, keeping his pulse pounding, his leg jittering, his cuticles ever-bloody from picking. Terror is something that should be reserved for moments of real, tangible danger, not idle strolls and mildly embarrassing situations. 

So why does he still feel like he’s caught in a sniper scope, like there’s a red dot trained on him that he can’t see no matter how hard he squints? 

The prickling discomfort of being watched starts to feel like a sunburn along the side of his face. He sighs through his nose, counting down from five, before hauling himself back up to his feet. For no particular reason (besides that constant burning something) he looks down the road, over to where the Silver Rush stands tall and imposing. Simon’s definitely looking his way, with what seems like measured disdain. 

He still needs to deal with that, too. 

Working with the Van Graffs felt almost natural, almost familiar when he first arrived in Freeside. Something there reminded him of…something. Something warm and dusty and shining, something dark and deep. The energy weapons made him uneasy, almost as uneasy as Arcade was every time they stopped by and he let out some pitiful lie about not recognizing the make and model of most of the guns laid along the table. All the same, he couldn’t help but chase the familiarity, right up to the point where they asked him to kill Cass. 

He hasn’t reported back since. It’s been long enough that they’re sure to be suspicious, if not downright pissed. Nowadays it seems like every corner he turns in Vegas, there’s another person he’s avoiding. Even without his memories, he knows that he’s probably never liked confrontation. 

Rex spins around him, impatient, and Tan finally tears his eyes away. That was something to deal with another day. Today, though…

He looks at Rex. 

“Maybe if I do something about one of the people that wants me dead, I’ll feel better,” he says slowly, considering. “Whaddya say, boy?”

Rex wags his tail, following in step as Tan starts walking again, this time with more purpose.

When he stops again, staring at the blinking red wave of neon above the entrance to the Tops, it occurs to him that maybe it’s only taken him this long due to all the attention on him. 

He can turn around right now, waltz back home, go back to sleep. He could go read, or prep ingredients for lunch. Or he could practice his lockpicking, clean his guns. Maybe patch the holes in his favorite jeans. He could go grab Boone from where he’s been observing the Fiends and go take their mutual aggression out on some bounties for the NCR. Virtually anything would be smarter. Anything would be slower, smoother, quieter. Thought through. Predictable.

Everyone knows he does these things, everyone has seen him do them time and time again. He’s  dependable in that regard, in his expected goodness and blandness. It takes him so long to get anything done, he’s amazed he’s made an impact on this damn wasteland at all. Sometimes he wonders if he crawled out of his grave as a ghoul, just his skin hasn’t fallen off yet, so he can’t see the rot that eats at him and chokes his brain, making him shamble his way through decision after decision. It’s exhausting, all this thinking that he does, all of this consideration for the way every domino might fall. He’s so damn tired of all that waiting and thinking and running. So, so much running.

His friends would have gladly accompanied him if he’d bothered to ask. Hell, they would have come with him even if he hadn’t. They’ve certainly asked him about it plenty of times over the last few months. Veronica with her sweet curiosity about whether he’d made up his mind about what to do, Boone with his blunt reminders that neither Caesar nor the NCR got anywhere by being indecisive. It makes sense that they’d wonder, given that every venture out with him was a chance at something they might not be able to come back from. With non-committal mumbles and half-hearted shrugs, he had avoided the subject entirely, brushing it off until they’d all basically just expected him to drag his heels about it until war was breathing down his neck.

Something cold uncoils in his chest, something sharp and thirsty. It filters through him like winter sunlight on his skin, bringing forth goosebumps. Like a man drowning, he is helpless to resist when malice, ruthless and potent and pure, begs for him to let it fill his lungs. 

He takes a deep, deep breath. 

“I can do this,” he says to the near-empty streets of New Vegas, ignoring Rex’s quizzical whine, and strides towards the the Tops’ multicolored doors.

The boot knife he smuggles past security is his anchor, his last and brittle tether to reality. It grounds him in a way he didn’t know he needed, offering reminders of truths he can’t believe fear is enough to make him forget. He was dead. This man, Benny, killed him. He was in the ground, and he got out. A shallow grave waits for him at the end of this journey, identical to the one that started it. As above, so below. So it begins, so, too, it shall end: with him, alone, with nothing but dirt for company.

The last time he was alone—completely, utterly alone—was when he came to in the darkness outside Goodsprings, bleeding and confused. Since then, there was always someone. Veronica, first. Then Boone, then Cass, until eventually, a human wall of warmth and care and loyalty shielded him from the horrors of the wasteland. Complacency had wormed its way into his life and brought him here, striding towards his killer with a sick dog at his heels. 

He stops just long enough to tell Rex to go wait for him by the door. 

Not today, he reminds himself. I may be alone, but it won’t end today. 

Repeated as a mantra, the words smother the taste of acid and anxiety rising in his throat. Each step of his right foot feels leaden upon the gaudy carpets. Each step brings him closer to that black-and-white checkered suit standing there, oblivious to his approach. 

“Hey, Benny,” he says, careful to temper the venom that threatens to spill into his voice. 

The surprised “What in the goddamn?” fills Constantine’s chest with a flaring, burning pride, identical to the flush of glee he feels upon landing a perfect sniper shot, where the victim slumps over without so much as hearing the whizz of the bullet. 

Benny is babbling now, nonsensical slang mixed with clear confusion, and Tan can’t suppress his grin when it’s finally his turn to speak. 

“Seems you need to work on your marksmanship,” Tan says. Nightstalkers always kind of look like they’re smiling, with their upturned snake mouths, even when they’re about to strike; he can’t help feeling like one now, all easy smiles and calm words. Benny, on the other hand, looks like he’s staring down a deathclaw. It feels good, feels powerful, to not be the one playing catch-up for once. 

“I hit what I was aiming for. Guess you had brains to spare. Or are you just thick-skulled? Either way, baby, this is good news. Maybe I can finally sleep at night, knowing you didn’t die. What say you and I cash out,  go somewheres more private-like? Any questions you got, I'll answer.” 

Tan snorts. The derision in Benny’s voice is hardly disguised, though he’s not sure how good of a liar the guy would be even if he were trying. He doesn’t doubt he’d be able to hold his own even if he was stupid enough to go somewhere alone with him. “Glad I can assuage your conscience, asshole. Give me one good reason not to kill you.”

Whatever artificial pleasantness existed a moment before is quickly replaced with terse, tense annoyance. “You want a reason, how about four?” Benny says, tone clipped and low. “They’re called bodyguards, and every one of them is packing. Me, too—so baby makes five. Add to that every Chairman in this joint is armed, and not with some hold-out peashooter like maybe you smuggled through security.” 

Tan longs for the weight of his boot knife in his hand. It is no pea-shooter, but instead, a fang, an extension of himself, the deliverance of all his months of rage and heartbreak. For every memory lost, a long-awaited plunge of metal into flesh. He takes a very, very slow breath. 

“Try me,” he suggests, with gentle, smiling spite, “and I’ll gut you like a fish.” 

Satisfying can hardly describe the feeling of watching Benny laugh nervously and glance around the casino, reevaluating his security, looking as though his blood has been drained and replaced with curdled milk. 

“Baby, baby! You didn’t come here for vengeance, anyway, right? You came here to get clued in!” Benny feigns composure by patting his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter; Tan doesn’t miss the way his hands shake. “Like I said, we should be talking somewhere private.” 

Rolling his eyes, Tan plays along. “Yeah? Whaddya have in mind?” 

“To start, I'll comp you the Presidential - best suite in the house. You deserve a taste of the VIP lifestyle. I'll hang out down here for a while to make everything look business-as-usual, then come to you. Any questions you got, I'll answer — guaranteed.”

It’s hard to keep from guffawing. He has to hand it to the suit, he has a lot of confidence to think that he’s in any position to set the conditions of their meeting. Constantine taps his foot, feigning impatience. “Two conditions—lose the bodyguards, and we both go to the suite now.” Let Benny think he’s adjusting to fit his needs. 

Benny stares at him, hard. If he focuses, Tan can practically hear the gears turning. The casino fills their uneasy silence with sounds of its own, the clinking of chips being counted, the shuffling of cards, the rattle of dice in cups. Mostly it’s dealers and Chairmen preparing for the evening, though a few sleepy patrons seem to have stayed up through the night at their various tables or slot machines. Genuine amiability flows through the morning atmosphere of the building, though Tan thinks—hell, he knows—that if Benny doesn’t budge, things could turn into a bloodbath spectacularly quickly. 

When he finally answers, it is with a resigned sigh. “If that's what it takes to win your trust, that's what it takes. Follow me.” He whispers something to his nearest guard, and then heads off around the edge of the casino floor, towards a hallway of elevators. 

As they wait for the elevator to descend, Tan takes in the grandeur of the casino around him. It doesn’t have the same opulence as the Lucky 38, probably due to actually having visitors over the years. There’s a well-worn charm to things: scuff marks on the tiled floors; fading, stained carpets and rugs; paintings bleached pastel by the sun. 

“How’s it compare?” Benny asks, sounding surprisingly genuine. 

“It’s more lived-in,” Tan shrugs, seeing no point to lying in this particular instance, “but it’s nice. Has more of a human element. It’s brighter, of course. Less dusty. Seems like you run a good show.” 

The elevator dings its arrival, and though Benny strides inside without delay, Tan doesn’t miss the smile he’s wearing. 

Perfect. Let him hold onto that thread of connection. He’ll hang himself with it soon enough. 

The presidential suite is comfortable and bright, with tall ceilings and plenty of space. Tan almost prefers it to the suite in the 38. Benny wastes no time before sliding behind the bar, arranging a variety of bottles around him and measuring equal amounts between into a cocktail shaker. Tan raises an eyebrow but says nothing and sits down on a stool opposite the man. 

“Relax, baby. If I was gonna kill you, it wouldn’t be by poisoning your drink.” 

Tan huffs a laugh. “Proved that one already.”

“See? I’m as honest as they come. It can’t hurt you to live a little, kid.”  

“Hm.” Loathe as he is to admit it, there’s something real charming about Benny’s approach to hedonism. Even in this simple pretense—sitting down to a chat with your would-be killer—he would rather be in the moment with some aspect of comfort, be it as small as a well-made refreshment. In another life, maybe they might have been allies, or even friends. 

As it stands now…his boot knife itches against his ankle. Waiting. Eager. 

Benny slides a cocktail glass towards him. The drink within is a light, frothy green, with a piece of what looks like mutfruit suspended over the concoction by a skewer. He retrieves his own glass and walks around to sit beside Tan.  “Now that you and me's got some privacy, I gotta ask—how is it that you're still living?”

“Call it luck and leave it at that,” he answers noncommittally, more interested in inspecting his drink. “Why’s it green? It irradiated?”

“What isn’t, these days? Nah, baby. It’s got some liqueur made out of plants, something our bartenders whipped up. You’re looking at a bonafide New Vegas Special. Anyway,” he takes a drink, “Luck is for losers, baby. Someone pulled the strings.” 

Tan sniffs at the green liquid and finds it doesn’t assault his senses. After a tentative sip, he has to hand it to Benny. It’s good. Tangy, a little sweet, a little herbal…all in all, pleasant. He chews on the skewer, considering.

Some old, dim memory claws its way through the wreckage of scar tissue that is his amygdala. Luck is what fools call laziness and despair. Luck makes good folk give themselves up to the turn of a card or the promise of fortune, and lose, and lose, and lose. 

Don’t turn to luck, boy, that voice—his father’s?—demands of him. It’ll chew you up and spit you out, wear you down faster than honest effort ever could. 

“Once you were vertical, how'd you track me down?” 

The question is enough to bring him back to the moment. He fishes in his duster pocket for the evidence, and deposits the handful of cigarette butts and the engraved metal lighter onto the bartop. Tan’s glad to feel the weight of them gone from his pocket; though small, the garbage served as a constant reminder of the shallow grave in Goodsprings, and of his last solid memories from before having been accompanied by the echoing click of the metal lighter. Still, though, he tamps down his rearing pride once more at the look of horror upon Benny’s face at seeing the items before him. 

“Look at me, a big-leaguer or so I claim, making all the mistakes of an original loser…” Though he sounds disappointed, Benny picks up the lighter with fondness, flicking it open and closed a couple of times before tucking it away. Tan tries not to flinch at the sound.

“Well,” Benny continues with a sigh, “I guess that’s enough scratching around at first base. Tell me, which way’s the wind gonna blow?” 

Tan looks up from his drink, where he’d been tracing shapes into the condensation gathered on the glass. He smiles, slow and earnest. “I’m wondering why I shouldn’t just kill you.”

Before House had come by, every one of these fancy casino families had been a separate tribe, capable of doing anything in their power to stay alive despite the harshness of the Mojave Wasteland around them. Benny had been part of that, before pressed suits and fancy cocktails had wrapped him in comfort and tempted him with the concept of more. Tan can see that now, in the way Benny matches his stare without any visible signs of distress. He thinks back to the plush carpet back at the 38 and wonders if he might be lost to it already, if the promise of a roof and water and warmth is enough to take the fight out of him and replace it with placid complacency—or if the very same animalistic rapacity shines through his eyes as well, daring Benny to make the first move, to try to pry the safety and peace of his present away from him, like he has already done with his past.

After an unblinking moment, Benny takes a drink and  looks out at the torn painting hanging across from the bar. “You’ve got a crazy drop on me here, baby, that’s for sure. If killing’s what you came for, this would be the time. But, baby..” he looks back over at Tan, a sly edge to his smile, “you’d be disappointing me. All the trouble you went through to arrange this shindig? Must be something more you’re after.” 

Tan clenches his jaw. That same voice in his head from before advises him to remember something about cats and curiosity. But after all this time, and all these miles…

“You’re right. You’re gonna tell me everything I want to know.” 

Benny hums into his drink, sounding a little too self-satisfied for Constantine’s liking. “You got it, baby. You got questions, I got answers.” 

What follows is a lesson in swallowing one’s pride, as Tan learns more about Vegas and the whole state of things than he’d ever expected to glean from someone like Benny. The guy’s articulate and focused, decisive in his scorn towards the obstacles standing between him and his schemes. Where at first he pitied the man for losing House’s favor and being tossed to the side, now Tan sees that any rough patch Benny’s come up against has been nothing more than a whetstone, sharpening and strengthening his near-obsessive resolve. His claims about the families and factions of the Strip are as spurious as anyone else’s, steeped in opinion and personal vendetta—but there is an honesty to Benny’s answers that Tan hadn’t been counting on. Even House had reserved his intentions and decisions to himself, treating Constantine as a new, slightly-shinier cog in his machine after determining Benny’s erasure from the broader picture, and refusing to shed any further light upon what he intended to use Tan for. 

Benny, on the other hand, is forthright, to an almost insulting degree. By his ruling, Tan is to be no more than an errand boy, a retainer-on-demand while Benny plans to elevate the Chairmen to ruling all of Vegas, with an army of Securitrons to back him up. Sure, he says he’s planning on paying him, but he was supposed to get paid for this courier gig, too—and look how that turned out. 

Most likely, Tan reasons, Benny’s forthcoming attitude only stems from a rational overview of the situation. Tan—undying, resurrected, energized by vengeance and despair—makes the most sense as an asset rather than an enemy, a sentiment he has come across a few times in his travels so far, even among more powerful entities like the NCR. He sees it as he asks another question, prodding further into the history of the Three Families and their intentions: a spark of something darker behind Benny’s eyes, more heated than simple curiosity or contempt. Intrigue, maybe, or fascination, drawn to so sharp a point it feels like a laser targeted at him, and makes his cheeks burn under the scrutiny. 

Somewhere along their conversation, Benny makes a second round of drinks. He’s overly generous with the gin this time, and Tan can’t quite put his finger on why. He can’t be trying to ply him for information, since there’s very little Tan knows that he’s not already aware of. It could be that he’s softening him up, forcing him to put his guard down in a show of false geniality, or just that he’s feeling something along the lines of remorse—though the latter is doubtful, since he says as much to Tan when he grumbles about the ruthlessness of quite literally shooting the messenger. 

“What I did to you was rotten, but if you think House, the NCR or Caesar won't kill to put Vegas in their pocket, I really did blow out your brains,” Benny scoffs. 

“The ruthlessness of others is no excuse,” Tan says quietly, more into his glass than directed at Benny. 

“Was a time I would've agreed with you. But this... it's too big, it affects too many people. I can't get hung up on those details,” says Benny. “C’mon, baby. What’s a little murder when a winning hand is on the line? This is the Mojave, I doubt your hands are clean and blameless.”

Tan drums his fingers on the table. Again, the guy’s not wrong. Tan’s watched the light go out of countless eyes, at this point—raiders, Fiends, legionnaires, Powder Gangers…everywhere he’s been in this wretched land, the sand is surely stained with blood he’s shed. Whatever his justifications, however legitimate the reasoning, life is life is life. Were he in Benny’s shoes, could he say that he wouldn’t have done the same thing to some poor sap kneeled in front of him? 

Something craven crawls into his heart, not unlike contempt. He cannot deny the answer: were the stakes high enough, were it someone he cared about on the line, were it any of dozens of explanations he’s come up with to warrant the very real swath of death he has carved across the Mojave, he would shoot the brains out of whatever poor sod was kneeling in front of him, too. 

He rolls the stem of the cocktail glass between his hands, scraping the glass lightly over the bar top.

“Hand over the chip, Benny.”

“No can do, baby.” His tone is lighthearted, but Benny’s mood drops. He shifts how he’s sitting on the barstool so that his jacket lifts up just a little, displaying the pistol at his hip. “The Chip belongs in the hands of someone who can use it. As in me, not you. You’ll get a piece of the action, and a sweet one at that. But…” he downs his drink and tilts his head to look over at the courier, “the Chip sticks with me.” Tan has to resist a shiver; some scared, half dead part of him knows that expression all too well. The last time he saw it, the night was cold and his hands were bound with scratchy rope.

“Look, mailman—don’t think I got your name—it’s nothing personal, really. Hell, I like your style. You’ve got the gift of gab, you’ve clearly wormed your way into the minds and hearts of whoever you’ve stumbled across on your way to find me. Think we could have something real good, here, if you put your mind to it. Just gotta let someone more wise in these things wear the crown.” 

Tan narrows his eyes. “You’ve got a lot riding on the faith that people will just want to go along with whatever you set out for them.”

Benny levels him with a stare, then chuckles. “That’s rich, coming from you. If you put that charisma towards something, baby, maybe you’d have more than a bunch of misfits on your tail. Could help me rule Vegas. If that’s not what you’re after, could be the next Ccasar, if you were feeling particularly despotic.” 

Tan grips the stem of the glass hard enough that his knuckles go white. Benny obviously notices, because he hurries along with his point like he knows he’s walking on some dangerously thin ice. 

“I’m not saying you’re the same! Just saying—you’re more similar to these bigwigs in power than you might think. Hell, maybe if you knew more about what you were dealing with you’d be sitting in my place. But you don’t. I’m the one who’s stacked the deck, who’s holding the cards. I know how these chips gotta fall.” A fierce pride edges into his voice, tinged with something else. Passion? Frustration? 

Benny has more pomp, more general know-how of this world, this much is true. He has the measured violence and all the right words, so much that he’s become enough of a threat to House that Constantine got called in to fix the problem. There’s merit to the Chairman’s plan, and yet…

Something feels off. A piece is missing, somewhere, either in Benny’s approach or in his entire being, and the guy knows it. He’s doing the best he can, which, admittedly, is better than most, but even his veneer of bravado isn’t impossible to see through, given enough time and studying. It’s in the way he starts drumming his fingers when Tan goes quiet for a while, the way he eyes the door like he’s hoping someone might come by, the way he pats down his hair to make sure every strand is still gelled into perfect place: he’s  stuck.  

Even more importantly, he’s scared. 

Tan considers his words carefully, speaking slow and watching Benny out of the corner of his eye. “You’re saying you have the winning hand, here?”

“I’m sayin’ that even if you can’t see the hands, baby, you can see who’s holdin’ ‘em. Me? Or House? Or would you rather shack up long term with the likes of the NCR or Caesar. Might be cozy for you, but living under someone’s boot ain’t exactly my style, dig? Anyway, baby, the odds may look long, but that's just ‘cause we ain't done rigging them. I won't toss the dice until we are. I've gleaned a lot, working with Mr. House. He was a good cat to swing with. I still got more to learn, but it's... it's coming together.”

God, he talks a lot. What began as concrete information morphed into floundering real quick, and if Tan were one to be easily convinced, he would have fallen for it, too. He scrapes the countertop with his knuckles, making a list in his head of everything he knows to be true. 

Benny’s scared. Benny’s got some ace up his sleeve to help him do what he wants, but he’s missing something to make that last piece click. He’s desperate enough to consider asking Tan to help him out—or he’s bluffing enough to try to tie up a loose end he wasn’t expecting. House wants him dead, so he’s on his very last stretch of rope before it tightens around his neck. Benny’s led himself out to a cliff’s edge, and though he doesn’t look like he’s in particularly dire straits, what with his slicked-back hair and casual slouch, he knows Constantine’s the one that’s either gonna shove him off or help him regain some ground.

“You make some good points,” he says, after the room has gotten so quiet that Benny’s shifting in his chair from discomfort. “But I can’t take a deal ‘til I think it over, especially considering that I sure as hell don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.” 

“Hey, I get it. You figure me for a creep, it’s your prerogative. But you done me a solid already, just by not shooting me. Tell you what, as a token of appreciation…” He fishes in his pocket for something, then slides it across the bar top to Tan. “This here's the key to the Presidential—best suite in the house. Stay as long as you like, free of charge. Give yourself a little change of scenery from being under House’s thumb. If you change your mind, come find me down on the casino floor and we'll work out the next step of this caper.”

He stands up, walks a ways towards the door, stops. He looks back at Constantine, expression unreadable—or rather, complicated in a way Tan doesn’t expect. Brow furrowed in thought, as though considering, but accompanied by a slight frown to his mouth. Like he’s come to some sort of conclusion but isn’t happy with the outcome. Tan nods by way of goodbye, Benny says “Adios,” and walks out of the suite doors, and that’s that. 

In the silence, Tan attempts to parse some of the feelings rising up in him: concern  at not knowing the extent of Benny’s plans, and frustration at his lack of involvement; disgust at the cold-bloodedness of each side involved in this damn situation; exhaustion at having learned so much more about the politicking keeping New Vegas afloat. But above all, avarice, so intertwined with hunger and want that it floods through his veins, creating in him an itching desire to do, to act, to be more than a pawn cast aside in the grand scheme of things. 

Power, and the promise of it, settles like a warm meal in his gut. He hadn’t been a man starved—far from it, truthfully—but it is like having lived so long content with eating radroach meat and blowfly guts, just to learn that a well-cooked brahmin steak is within your reach, spiced with sage and salt and honey. 

Without aiming to, Constantine has put himself in a place where he is noticed, perhaps even coveted, by those powers that surround him. House certainly needs him, to function as his eyes and hands and guns, an arbiter of all the things that a Securitron cannot do. The NCR and Legion know of him, enough to be cautious when coming upon him out on the road. And Benny—Benny might not like it, but Constantine is his biggest threat, while also being his most invaluable potential ally. It’s not that Tan disagrees with Benny’s plans—far from it—but he knows better than to trust the man, and…surely Benny thinks the same. 

Motherfucker.

Benny would be a fool to leave him unsupervised. In fact, he’d be incomprehensibly stupid to leave him alive. The man might be a poser, a liar, and a cheat, but he isn’t stupid—he’s come up with this whole damn plan to dethrone House and seize the city out from under him,  and the only mistake he’s made so far is letting his aim drift a centimeter to the left. 

Tan pushes back from the bar and sprints over to the double doors of the suite, hiding behind where they swing open. He retrieves his boot knife (with its solid weight, its hungry, serrated teeth) and readies himself to deal with the footsteps he can hear making their way down the hall.

He takes a slow, patient breath, and hears them pause outside the door, whispering strategy and deliberation.

There will be no joining Benny in his coup, no. 

When his blade plunges into the first man’s throat, he thinks, Brutus knew better than to ask Caesar for permission. 

No, there will be no more bending to another’s rigged rules. He will simply have to make his own, and change the game to fit them. 

He has just finished rinsing any remaining blood from his hands and face and is watching the last of the crimson-dyed water swirl down the drain of the kitchen sink when he vaguely registers Arcade call out to him. It’s late, almost nine at night, and Tan hadn’t realized Arcade was running late for dinner until he had already lost track of time washing the blood off his clothes—and doing what other laundry needed to be done while he was at it. Yes-Man had been as straightforward as they come, and all that unreserved and candid information had begun to assemble itself into the outlines of a plan. In the empty hush of the Lucky 38, uncaring of the predatory lights and sounds of the Vegas streets just past the walls, Tan found he could lose himself in the intoxicating freedom of potential. Hypotheticals and speculations flit through his thoughts like mosquitoes, and entertaining each one leads to more of an itch. 

By the time Arcade comes home, his thoughts are an incessant onslaught of buzzes and prickles, alleviated only by the assemblage of what has become an elaborate tapestry of every loose thread of connection, every relevant observation, all brought inwards and interwoven—an embroidery of intention and possibility in the shape of a remarkably thorough battle plan.

“Tan? Oh, you are home, good. Listen, I’m sorry about missing dinner, I just completely lost track of time. The Fort was calm until it wasn’t, and then we had a handful of overdoses that needed someone monitoring them at all times, and an entire batch of Fixer had gone missing, so it was just…” He hears him stop in the doorway of the kitchen and heave out a sigh. “It was a lot. Sorry. Have you already eaten?” 

Given how fast Arcade’s talking, he must be anxious. It takes no uncertain amount of effort for Constantine to push his ruminations aside, though he makes a mental note to ask Boone if he’s ever been to Cottonwood Cove before, and if not, if he’d be willing to scout it to compare to what he’d been told by Vulpes Inculta. 

He turns around to face Arcade and finds him the picture of contrition—wringing his hands, brows knit together in worry, and yet, ears and cheeks tinged pink. Embarrassment? 

Wait, that’s right. Tan changed when he got home; he’s clad in nothing but his briefs and an undershirt. He can’t help but laugh. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, trying to sound soothing. “It’s all good. No harm, no foul. I was busy getting caught up in every ounce of drama the Omertas had to offer, anyway. Only just got back myself. Was about to start on dinner, if you’d wanna clean up and join me?” 

Arcade nods and visibly relaxes. He shrugs off his labcoat and steps out of the room, calling back to him, “What’d you get up to today?” 

“Oh, nothing much,” Tan replies. “Just made myself a nuisance to the Omertas, digging around every corner of Gommorah that I could.”

There is the sound of running water, and when Arcade comes back to the kitchen, his hair is slightly damp and he’s cleaning his glasses. “Gross,” he says. “I’m assuming you found plenty of unsavory things?” 

“Mmhmm.” Their dance around the kitchen no longer requires rehearsal. For all his gripes about the casino, Arcade seems to be a creature of comfort, and having a large kitchen with plenty of conveniences at his disposal does wonders for his temperament as compared to cramped tent-living with fireside cooking. He rolls up the sleeves of his gray cotton shirt and takes his place at the counter. He’s as fastidious with his mise en place when it comes to cooking as he is when it comes to medicine, so when Tan returns from the food fridge with an armful of ingredients, Arcade already has the cutting boards and knives in place, and pots and pans prepped upon the stove. 

“Mashed potatoes and some meat sauce thing sound good?” Tan asks, moving the veggies over to Arcade’s side of the counter as usual.

“Heavenly.”

Later, much later, when Constantine is curled up in a dusty corner, wheezing out air that scrapes against his lungs and praying the sound isn’t loud enough to draw attention from the patrolling ghost people nearby, he’ll realize that right then would have been the perfect moment to tell him. There, in their pleasant and early affection, in the company of dim lights and gentle, joking conversation, he could have turned and outlined his plan. He could have said “I am going to do something that you might find irredeemable, because I am going to do it without asking you, without risking you. I am going to take away your chance to sway me otherwise. I am going to walk you into the very bowels of hell and demand you heel.” Maybe Arcade would have understood his reasoning, had he tried to explain it. Maybe they could have spoken about the right time and place for idealism and honor. Maybe Arcade could have helped him craft a better escape, having had time to consider and agree with the general premise behind Tan’s intentions. 

He doesn’t say anything like that, though. He doesn’t shed light on the suicidal mission he’s concocting, doesn’t mention his meeting with Benny or Yes-Man or Vulpes Inculta. He just stops stirring the stew and stares out at the wall a moment before asking, “It’s ‘brave,’ right?”

Arcade looks up from where he’s sitting at the table, having finished with his part until it is time to wash the dishes. “What?”

“Fortune favors the brave?”

“Oh. Well, yes. Though, depending on the translation, it could be ‘bold.’ Fortes Fortuna adiuvat versus audentes Fortuna adiuvat, though the meaning is essentially identical despite the differences in wording.” He pauses, bemused. “Why?”

In that moment, he thinks it might make a good tattoo, a nice reminder to live by. He never gets around to it, though. All that boldness and that bravery, those favored playthings of fortune, will end up etched upon him so deeply that they gouge into his bones. They will live upon him in the rope-thick scars around his wrists, and the endless scratching of his lungs.  Those words will haunt him and inspire him. A curse for when he hits the ground and thinks he will never get back up again; a prayer for when he inevitably does.

“No reason. Just like the saying, is all.” 

[smallfry372659]

Smallfry what are all the names you gave your non Salmon friends (a.i your sib and the others)

Sibs name posted alredy check da smallfry lore tag! Sib helped me wit these btw! Theres a LOT

Chevy calls The Captain stinke but for Salmo das a good thing! Captain is Strong Smelled King, Battle Warrior Of The Squidbeak Splatoon! Also we call evryone King even if there not a boy bc ekwality

Music is also super duper impourtent to Salmon so music people get longer names sometimes!

Miss Callie is Hopeful Joy Song, Omega Roller King Of The Squidbeak Splatoon! shes always realy hapy and shes nice and shes super strong :> i like miss Callie a lot.

Miss Marie is Shaded Heart, Omega Sharpeyed King Of The Squidbeak Splatoon! Cause shes cool as the shade and cares about evrybody even if she doesnt show us! Also she has crazy aim an she makes me nervous when she has a big splatgun 👀💧

The really old Inkling Captain knows doesnt like me so he doesnt like the name i gave himb :< but its Grizzled Wisdom Giver of the Squidbeak Splatoon. Sucks too cause wise fish very impourtent to Salmo fightin groups! How else do we win??

Polaris (4) likes their name tho >:> is Many-legged Zapfish Warrior, Defending Fang of The Squidbeak Splatoon. Lari said it "sounds tuff".

Oracle (8) said her name sounds "funy" but das jus cause they never had a name given to her out of love :< Chevy told me they didnt have a good life before us so i have her a good name! Theirs is Eight legged Underground Champion, Savior Of Life of the Squidbeak Splatoon! Ora deserve good things >:<

The lil pink shortie with the cute hat who hangs out with Ora does good music so she got good name too. Omega Master Of Ceremonies, Roaring Slayer of Inkopolis. Shes cool >:>

Then the realy tall green prety one also makes good music too and shes an octo like Chev! Omega Disk Jockey, Brilliant Peacebringer of Inkopolis. Shes nice :>

Chevy named the next 3 allllll by themself and becaws they do music, they got longer names too

The blue octo is Cold-Blooded Bandit, Steely-Eye Omega Shark Rider of Splatsville

The yellow Inkling was Sizzling-Hot Gangster, Electric-Heart Omega Eel Tamer of Splatsville

Then the big one! The Hype Manta Storm, Omega Speeding Dancer of Splatsville.

I think thats everyone....

I know other people to tho but you dont yet!