#its been so hole since i got to describe any damn holes

[inkyquince]

Great, now I'm thinking about hole ffs

[undertheopensky]

Forging Tired

Whumptober Day 26: Working To Exhaustion

Characters: Four, Blue, Sky

Trigger warnings: None

Read on Ao3!

---

Sky doesn’t realise it until after dinner, but Four hasn’t banked the forge fires.

“I’m not done yet,” Four waves at the admittedly intimidating pile of repair work yet to be done. A couple of plates from Time’s armour probably need to be replaced entirely, they have such large holes in them.

“It’s getting real late. Don’t stay up too much longer, you need to get some sleep.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Body’s not tired.” Four flexes one arm and gives him a grin that looks so much like Wind Sky’s eyes cross.

“Maybe not,” they sure hadn’t done much physical stuff today, just run around the village resupplying and gathering information, “but your brain still needs rest.”

This time Four snorts. “The brain is fast asleep, but that’s okay, we don’t need it for this.”

No one asks any more why Four sometimes refers to himself in the third person or plural. At best, he’ll pretend you didn’t say anything, and at worst, he’ll look at you like you’re the strange one. The closest they’ve gotten to an explanation is an offhanded, sympathetic “Yeah, we get it,” when Time first told them to stop asking about his timekeeping, because it was a holdover from a quest too traumatic to describe.

So, slightly weird, probably a Quest Thing, doesn’t seem to affect him day-to-day.

That said Sky’s a little concerned about him working with hot metal with his brain asleep.

“Are you sure? We can wait another day or two before setting out, I’m sure Time won’t mind. We don’t want you exhausting yourself over this.”

Four makes a rude noise, which is out of character enough Sky blinks. “I think I know my limits well enough, featherhead. Besides, forging’s not that hard. I wanna take advantage of actually having all my damn equipment for once, and goddess knows we probably won’t be here long. Our shit needs a lot of maintenance done. Don’t worry about the noise. The forge’s been soundproofed since we were little. Go away and sleep, featherhead, you need it more than us.”

He shoos Sky from the forge, polite but implacably firm.

Sky can’t exactly argue. Four is the smith here, and he knows himself best. If he says it’s fine, Sky will just have to believe him.

And as promised, as soon as the heavy door swings closed, the sounds of the forge muffle to almost nothing.

---

With Sky finally gone, Blue feels the tension ease out of him. Finally, some peace and quiet. He loves his brothers, and he supposes the heroes they’re travelling with aren’t TOO bad, but sometimes he just needs time alone in the quiet with his own thoughts and his own projects. There’s not a lot of privacy on the open road, or in a head crammed full of four distinct people.

Vio struggles with it, too, Blue knows, as he sets up the next few pieces of metal to heat and shovels fresh coke into the fire. But unlike Blue, the nerd is soothed by late nights spent reading or taking the darkest hours of watch, where Blue needs to do things to calm the itch in his brain. Armour and weapons maintenance is great for that - but it’s not always quiet. And waking everyone up with his activities would very much defeat the point.

Then, once he’s got things set up, Blue sits down at the bench with pliers and wire.

The worst thing about Sky’s mail is that the links are an eighth of an inch larger than standard - than literally everyone else’s. Blue had had to make a winding rod specifically for his damn mail, and has to double check every time before starting repairs to make sure he’s pulling from the right patch of spares.

If he had more time, he’d just make him a mail shirt from normal links. Standardise them across the board, and improve Sky’s resistance to piercing claws. But he doesn’t - they don’t - and besides that when this is all over Sky will be going back to his home in the clouds with its stupid mail measurements and its barely-there monster attacks and he’ll have no use for the close-set rings of modern mail and they’ll never see him again -

The forge fires burn hot enough that Blue can pretend it’s the air making his eyes sting.

Mending mail is busywork, stuff to keep his hands occupied while he waits for things to heat. It needs doing, and if he does it here then he can rivet the rings shut properly instead of the temporary road fixes (shit he needs to check Twilight’s mail he knows he put in a patch at one point but doesn’t remember riveting it in, need to do that before they leave) but some things can only be done at the forge. Like the plates of steel he’s got resting to the side, waiting to be turned into a new piece of Time’s armour.

He should probably get started on that actually so Blue puts aside the mail and reaches for his tongs. A lot of this is just shaping, forming the metal to the exact dimensions and curvature of Time’s body, and then adding buckle straps and point anchors so it can actually be attached. This is the loud part, metal-on-metal ringing and echoing in the enclosed stone room and making his vision swim just a little. He has to pause to blink it away. Does his head actually hurt, or is it just more echoes from the hammer?

Doesn’t matter; he’s got work to do. Blue checks the first piece for fit and moves on to the second; best to get this heavy work done before he gets tired. Working the steel cold takes more effort, but makes it less brittle in the end. Kind of important, that the metal sheets guarding someone’s body don’t shatter under a stiff blow, turning them from a defense into a hazard. You can get away with working horseshoes and stuff like metal fittings hot and then quenching them down, but it’s not worth it with plate armour.

Once he’s got the base curve in place, he checks the lines he drew earlier before his vision started to wobble, then hunts down the blunted chisel he needs. This is the fiddly bit. Blue sets the metal down on the wooden block with the groove specifically for this task, lining it up with the drawn lines, and starts hammering out the ridges.

It’s time-consuming, but the raised metal redirects weapons to less vulnerable points. Blue’s seen a sword swing into an arm then slide off into empty air, instead of an armpit or elbow, because of these ridges. They’re useful.

Time didn’t have any, originally. And while he can’t say for sure - Blue suspects that if he’d had them on his armour that first time a moblin got the jump on him, its spear wouldn’t have slid past the plates into his side quite so easily.

Four’s been quietly upgrading it piece by piece ever since.

The vambrace is harder, more of a curve to force the steel into, but he’s long practised at getting stubborn materials to cooperate. Once it’s done, and added to the pile he’s making of Time’s shit, he pulls the pattern steel Red had spent all day folding and forge welding from the fire. Already the basic shape of it is there: the tapered tip, the length of the blade, the narrow throat and tang. Once it’s finished, it’ll be a dagger for Hyrule. His current one has been sharpened so many times it’s thin enough to use as a lockpick, and they want him to have something good-quality to replace it, something that will last him.

(Will last him beyond this time of portals and black blood, because getting new equipment in his time is so, so difficult and they never want him to go without ever again, and one knife isn’t much in the grand scheme of things but it’s something they can do, and they’ll do their goddess-damn best work on it for him.)

It still needs some more shaping before it’s ready to go under the whetstone, though, so Blue tucks it back in the fire and picks up Wind’s knife, the one with the loose hilt. How the sailor expects to get anything done when he has to hold his entire hand at right angles to keep the thing straight Blue doesn’t know. Apparently he’d been stuffing it with fabric scraps to stabilise it, which, great, now Blue has to dig them all out before he can decide if the hilt is at all salvageable.

It doesn’t help that his fingers are a little shaky. Shit. Maybe he needs a water break.

He sets the dubiously-fixable knife aside while he drinks. He doesn’t feel thirsty. Dry-eyed, maybe, and his throat aches from the forge air, but the water doesn’t really help. Still, hydration’s important.

A sudden clank makes Blue drop his cup, water scattering on the floor as he spins. The fire flares - oh. A coal had - split, or settled, and the still-dull blade of Hyrule’s dagger had shifted and struck the edge. It looks about ready to go again anyway, so Blue grabs it - with tongs! He’s not an idiot! - and starts hammering an edge into it.

As the blade flattens out and becomes more knife than bar of metal Blue takes care to bevel off both edges neatly. He flips it, to make sure he gets both sides, then flips it again to even it out. He wants the balance on this thing perfect, and if it takes a bit of fiddling, all the better. That way he knows it’s good. Blue holds it up, eyeing the straightness of the blade from the side, and then down the length of it, and nods to himself, moving to set it. Good. He’ll let it cool a little before heating it again, and -

Blue stumbles. The blade clangs down on the bench he’d meant to set it on gently, spinning away from the tongs and fortunately not hitting any part of him with the still red-hot metal. Fuck, he’d forgotten to pick up his cup. It’s a good thing it’s so hot in here that all the water evaporated off or he might have slipped. Fuck.

He checks the blade - fuck, he dinged it - puts it back in the fire, then picks up his cup to set it back beside the water barrel. The metal handle is painfully hot under his fingers. Although - he could do with more water. His eyes are stinging again.

Blue drinks, long and slow. The water tastes metallic, or maybe that’s just the forge air coating his tongue. It settles uneasily. Doesn’t matter - his stomach will get over it.

He fixes the dent made when he dropped the half-made dagger, hammering until metal fills the gap and then hammering it out even again to repair the edge. He also spends more time carefully squinting at it to make sure it’s still straight, so long that the metal goes dark and cold.

Then back in the fire it goes.

Blue gets back to mail repairs, working rings into place, then riveting them shut with scraps from broken links. He considers, as he works, if the long-handled riveting pliers could be made to fit into their tool pouch. They can’t bring along the whole forge, that would be silly, but this one thing? They already carry the cutting pliers to make links with so it’s not like they need anything else for the rivets, and it doesn’t need heat treatment -

He pinches a fingertip with the pliers and swears loudly, shaking it and resisting the urge to shove it in his mouth - his hands are covered in oil and coal dust. Squinting at it - no real damage - he shakes it one more time and picks up the mail patch he dropped. It stings a little, to apply enough pressure to hold the metal fabric. Actually -

Checking the dagger, he pulls it from the fire and rests it on the anvil to cool. This is always time consuming, heating and cooling the steel to normalise it before the final edge can be put on. Heat it, then cool it, then heat it again; all part of ensuring the blade isn’t brittle and will hold its shape and its edge for as long as possible. It’s familiar in a way so ingrained he can almost touch it, watching the metal change colour. Fading from yellow, through red, down to the still blisteringly-hot but normal appearance of steel.

Blue blinks, and finds himself sitting on his preferred stool, metal still cooling in his tongs. Shit. When did he sit down? He’s wasting time, here. Back in the fire, back to work, fingertip still throbbing faintly.

Half the plates on Time’s tassets got ripped off during the fight with the iron knuckle, which are fiddly and annoying but not hard to replace. Once he’s got them shaped and punched Blue is tempted to just hand the lot off to Time for the old man to stitch them in place. Teach him to get distracted watching Twilight’s sword form. Shit, there’s so many of them, too. Time’s lucky his leg was in few enough pieces that Hyrule and Warriors could put it back together.

Blue hammers out scale after scale. Get the curve right; adjust the tongs, hammer out the part they’d hidden; set the edge, set the ridge, set it aside, and grab the next one. He piles them up on the metal workbench; they’d be less annoying to work with if he could just pile them in a coal shovel and dunk them in the fire to soften them, but even if they’re small they’re still armour and he needs to keep them as supple as possible.

And speaking of it’s time to pull the dagger again. The tongs grab it, fumble it, dump it back in the coals, then grab it agin. Blue is very careful as he sets it on the bench. He has no desire to set his own boots alight. This is the last cooling phase, though, so he can let the forge fire die down. Finally. His eyes itch and ache in the hot, dry air. He’d rub them if he wasn’t - still - covered in forge leavings.

Punch the holes for Time’s tasset scales; set them in his pile to deal with in the morning. Finally get the hilt off Wind’s knife and decide it is salvageable, actually, if he glues in a wedge of cedar to fill in the split that was letting it get loose in the first place. How did Wind even do that? Rewrap it in leather strips and it’ll be done; another job for the morning. When his hands aren’t so shaky. He’s getting glue everywhere, ugh.

…does he need to pull the dagger again? No, wait, it’s already on the bench. Does it need to go back in the fire? …no, he already decided it was done. He reaches to grab it, half-intending to measure it up for the hilt and crossguard, but hesitates at the heat radiating off it. Right. Fresh from the forge. Doesn’t look hot, but definitely is. He’ll leave it for an hour or so.

Blue shakes himself, hard, feeling the pull of it in his neck and his forehead. His head aches, behind his eyes. There’s a fine grey fuzz at the edges of his vision. Right, with the forge fire dying, he needs a bit more light. Where’s Vio’s lantern…?

By the too-pale magical light, Blue works, and works, until there’s nothing left to do but wind more wire into chainmail rings and weave them into the cuts and gashes left by enemy claws and weapons, tamp down rivets and move to the next section until he needs to wind out more rings -

It’s endless and monotonous and he can feel the screaming under his skin finally starting to cool, as the fire burns itself out.

Something they do need, he thinks as he pulls out the temporary patch he’d put in Twilight’s mail tunic, is a store of fully-finished rings. Hammering out their linking points and punching rivet holes is best done on an anvil. Then, as long as they have a stock of scrap wire for rivets (inevitable, they’re constantly damaging mail), the cutters and the riveting pliers, they can do repairs that are just as strong as the original work itself. Once they run out of wire, well, that’s more of an issue. The drawing plate is much too heavy to bring along with them.

Blue seals up the last ring in Twilight’s mail and sets it aside, then hops off the stool to go in search of the metal rods he needs to make wire. He knows they left a whole stack of them somewhere.

In truth, most forging doesn’t require a lot of raw strength. The weight of the hammer and the drag of gravity does a lot of the work, and all you need to do is direct it. Blue’s got more muscle from wielding a warhammer, honestly. The exception, he thinks distastefully, is wire drawing. That does need some force, since you’re dragging a piece of metal through smaller and smaller holes, not stretching it so much as drawing it out longer and longer and thinner and thinner, and of course it’s metal, it doesn’t want to do that.

Blue finally finds the basket of rods on a low shelf behind a huge box of half-finished nails - Red’s doing, surely - and carries it to the draw plate. There’s certainly no moving the thing to anywhere else. It weighs more than he does at least twice over, solid iron plate set into a heavy stone base.

Choosing a rod, Blue hammers out a quick point, feeds it through a hole that’s just a little smaller than its current size, clamps it, and starts to pull.

His eyes burn. His head aches. His fingers sting, all the little places where slips and cuts and burns have piled up over long hours. Without his mind keeping track of eight timers at once, it’s free to focus on the physical, and oh, he feels so heavy -

Blue breathes deep, metal and coal dust and ash, and feeds the wire into the next hole.

---

Sky is unhappy but unsurprised to find the patch of floor allocated to Four empty.

Weak morning light streams through the curtains. It’s just enough to see by as Sky checks that Legend’s unmoving form on the bed is just due to stiffness and exhaustion, not something more worrying, and tiptoes around scattered bedrolls. Twilight cracks an eye as he’s stepped over.

“A’right there?” he checks, voice low.

Sky smiles. “Just seein’ who’s up.”

Twilight grunts and to all appearances goes straight back to sleep. For all he wakes with the dawn on the ranch, he does enjoy his sleep, when he can get it.

Sky empathises but he’s got a mission.

Through the shop windows he spots Wild outside, running through the carefully prescribed stretches that kept his scars limber. Once he was done with those, he’d be all up in Four’s kitchen, eager to make food more complex than could be managed over a simple campfire. Four even had an oven, which Wild had been very excited about.

Still, breakfast will come later. The forge door still stands closed, just as it had last night after Four kicked him out. Moving slow, Sky eases the heavy door open, hoping to find him passed out in a corner somewhere.

Instead Four is sitting upright at the workbench. The winding rod in his hands is familiar, though he’s moving far slower than usual, and his hands shake when he reaches for the pliers.

“Four, have you slept at all?” Sky asks, disappointed.

“Huh?” Four turns to look at him, and there’s a distinct pause before recognition flickers. “Oh, Sky. I’m nearly done with your mail. Or…” He squints at the links on the table. “No, mail’s finished. Spare rings. We’re always running out.”

“Sleep, Four,” Sky stresses. “Goddess - have you been working all night?” He eyes up the frankly ludicrous pile of mending that now sits on the other side of the bench from where it started, separated into neat piles by owner. And Four is still going - slowly cutting rings off the spiral, one by one.

“‘M fine.”

He changes tacks. “Four, c’mon. It’s time for breakfast. Wild will sulk if it gets cold, you know he will.”

Four blinks at him, visibly hazy with exhaustion, and finally, slowly, drags himself to his feet. He looks worse, upright. He’s pale and a little haggard, swaying slightly just standing in place. Goddess. He’s going to be an utter wreck today, and they’re supposed to head out for the Castor Wilds later. Maybe Sky can convince Time to wait until after lunch and Four will revive some after a nap -

The smith’s feet tangle. Sky lunges to catch him -

Four catches himself with a quick shake of the head. “Phew, close one,” he mutters. He brushes past Sky into the rest of the house, steps suddenly quick and sure. “C’mon, Sky,” he calls over his shoulder, “help me keep Wild from dirtying every pan I own, I do not want to do dishes today.”

He still looks distinctly unwell over breakfast, but the shake in his hands, the sway in his step, the dull slowness of his eyes and responses - all that is gone like it was never there. He even smiles and keeps up with the conversation. Sky doesn’t know what to make of it.

(In the back of his mind, though, he wonders.)

[butmakeitgayblog]

MBFW as parents sneaking in a quickie bc it’s been forever since they’ve gotten alone time? 🥺

It honestly felt like a page right out of their early days as a newly in love couple when they'd sneak away every single chance they could get.

A quick makeout in the third floor English department bathroom, slipping fingers beneath nudged aside underwear and breathing a sigh of relief into each other's mouth in the sorority house's coat closet during a rowdy party where they won't be missed. All the times they'd pulled at each other in desperate need for the world to wait just 10 more damn minutes, even though their schedules where constantly dragging them to the opposite ends of campus.

And having with two small children under the age of 5 certainly hasn't made things any easier this time around.

But what's exciting and exponentially better is the fact that now they have an actual bed.

A wonderful bed, with memory foam instead of cheap noisy springs, and a box frame that can handle whatever they throw at it.

Which was why they had grasped the opportunity to slip away from their house full of guests.

One look over the sea of party hat-topped toddlers and PTA moms working their way through a 3rd cup of 'Adult Juice' - that may or may not contain a healthy percentage of wine - and that was all it had taken for Lexa to fade into the shadows and slink out of the room with only fiery glance behind her. That was all it had taken for Clarke to laugh at the conversation she was no longer listening to before excusing herself with the excuse that she needed to check on something, uh... upstairs.

And Lexa had decided right in that moment that they would be rediscovering their lost art of disappearing more often in the future the second she pulled her wife into their room and latched on to that pretty mouth.

Seven years of marriage had done nothing to dull her addiction to taste of Clarke's lips. She moaned at the flavor of well salted pretzels and the triple berry punch their daughter had picked off the shelf at random for her 4th birthday bash, mixed with that flavor that she could only so elegantly describe as 'mmmm, Clarke tongue.'

Scrumptious.

Walking backward toward the bed and dragging her wife along for the ride, Lexa moaned with just how badly she'd been yearning for these few minutes alone. Between breastfeeding and diaper changes and treating a few hundred boo-boos on knees, it felt like it'd been an eternity since either could just enjoy a second to themselves without the heavy veil of exhaustion.

They smiled into their kisses, shushing each other's giggles of freedom as hands roved without restraint. The confines of time only made it all more giddy, more like a sweet rush of adrenaline as they collapsed into a graceless mess of limbs on the foot of their bed.

"What d'you think we got?" Lexa'd whispered while yanking Clarke's shirt clear from her jeans. "Fifteen minutes?"

Clarke shook her head at the hopefulness and tossed her leg over her wife's hips to straddle her. "Ten, tops, so long as the sangria holds out. Maybe five if someone starts crying."

Shoving the button through the hole and ripping down the zipper, Lexa gave Clarke a wicked grin.

"I can work with that."

"You're— ahh," Clarke cut off in a breathy gasp when Lexa raked her nails along the swell of her hipbone and slipped beneath the waist of her jeans. "You're very sure of yourself."

Dragging her fingertip along the damp strip of underwear, Lexa twitched them aside and hummed at the slick already waiting for her.

"Yes, I am."

She leaned up for another kiss, luxuriating in the tickle of dark curls as she traced the length of her wife's slit. A few passes left her fingers soaked in arousal, so thick she could almost taste it in the way it clung to her skin. She took her time smearing it around, making sure Clarke was completely ready despite the proper build up, coaxing strings up just to teasingly rub feather light circles over the clit that peeked out from its hood.

Pulling back from the kiss, she caught the darkened blue eyes and held then, soaking in the way they fluttered as she dipped down and pushed in with two fingers.

The wet heat that enveloped her was like an electric shock to her system. Every clench around her fingers made Lexa pulse in sympathy, so turned on she could barely focus on starting up a steady rhythm. It made Lexa realize just how much they had been letting this slide between them recently - neglecting this aching want that had always so powerful between them.

She had missed this feeling in the chaos of being moms. This connection and vulnerability that came from holding Clarke close while seated deep inside.

But as much as she'd have loved to lay her wife down and take her time with her, to fuck and cuddle and worship the way she'd been aching to for days, a muffled laugh from downstairs reminded her that they were indeed on a time crunch.

Shifting her wrist and shoving her thumb forward, Lexa swallowed her wifes gasp when she bumped the senstive underside of the bud. She pumped her fingers as deep the position would let her and found that deliciously spongy patch of skin that never failed to set her wife off like a rocket.

"Oh f— God, Lex," Clarke whined through clenched teeth, bucking into her palm and nearly crawling out of her skin when it rubbed Lexa's thumb firmer against her clit.

"I know, love, I know," she breathed against the fumbled slide of Clarke's kisses, ignoring the burn as her wife dripped down her wrist. "You feel so fucking good. Hold on a few more minutes. Just let me feel you a few more minutes, love, and then you can let go whenever you want to, I promise."

Lexa gave herself over to it, barely breathing as Clarke rocked against her with languid ruts of her hips as she curled her fingers against her front wall. Over, and over, and over. She threaded her fingers through blonde hair and pulled just the way Clarke liked it. Giving the illusion of her control - a hungered look of love and lust - as Lexa held her gaze and ruthlessly fucked her.

And she honestly didn't care about time or their friends or the party they'd spent two weeks planning when the liquid fire around her fingers pulsed and began to tighten.

Clarke gave a pitiful whimper. Bit her lip with a whined, "Please, baby, I want—," and that was all Lexa needed to give in. To nod for her to let go and trust her to catch her when she falls. To cup the back of her neck and pull her close, pressing her wife's mouth to the dip of her shoulder and bury her moans there, as Clarke clenched and spilled in a hot rush around her fingers.

Lexa let her ride out the waves of her orgasm. Guided her down with softened rolls of her thumb. She kissed everything within, peppered her lips along cheek and neck and temple, until her wife collapsed sated and thoroughly pliant in her arms.

In the quietening of their nesting, Lexa stretched her neck just far enough to look at the clock on her nightstand.

"Seven minutes. Three minutes to spare. Suck it."

"Fine," Clarke huffed against the collar of Lexa's shirt where she'd burrowed in to enjoy the afterglow. "So. Not out of practice then... Definitely not... out of practice."

Lexa laughed at her slurred white flag of defeat, but still felt the need to clarify, "Making you come, or making you come quickly?"

"Either. Both. I don't care, I can't feel my legs."

"That good, huh?"

"Don't gloat."

"I'm not gloating," Lexa insisted even as she preened a little inside. "Making you feel good is just second nature at this point. I know how to take care of you, love. Quick or slow... It's like riding a bike."

A finger roughly poked her in the ribs.

"Pfft, a romantic. Stop flirting with me, Woods."

Lexa grazed her thumb over the sensitive tip still within reach and grinned when her wafe gave a full body shudder.

"I don't think I will, actually."

Clarke sucked in a steadying breath and nipped a bite to Lexa's jaw. "You just wait until after bedtime. I'm going to make you regret that, sweetchee—"

The bang of metal against frame cut off the last of Clarke's words as the room suddenly exploded with a garbled,

"Oh sonofabitch."

Lexa felt all the heat disappear off of her in an instant at the spat out swear from above them as Clarke flung herself to the side... and took Lexa's wrist right along with her.

Her hiss and wince of pain as they both struggled to free her from the unyielding shackle of Clarke's jeans did nothing to drown out the enraged sounds coming from the moment-killer stood in their doorway.

"Am I in a goddamn time loop? Why does this keep happening to me?!"

Clarke groaned as she finally yanked Lexa's hand free and flopped angrily onto her back. "Maybe because you still haven't learned to knock before barging into people's bedrooms."

"Oh! Oh! Excuuuuse me," Raven whisper-shouted. "You guys only have a house full of your closest friends and their toddlers downstairs, why didn't I assume you two perverts were in here fucking."

"Shhh," Lexa immediately hissed as she rubbed at the throbbing joints in her wrist despite Raven having mouthed the swear rather than saying it out loud. "We just wanted to take a moment alone, alright? We never get actual time to ourselves, and we figured the kids would be fine with everybody—"

Raven shook her head and held a hand up. "Elgh, stop. Look at yourselves. You abandoned your children to come up here and get your jolly ranchers off."

"I... I think it's just 'get your jollies'..."

"Ah, well, thank you for your contribution, Ms. English Major." Raven grabbed the handle of the door and yanked backward out of the threshold, leaving only a slit big enough for her head to poke through. "Now will you two whores put yourselves back together, please. Some of us are waiting on birthday cake."

With a scathing look and final grunt of disgust, Raven snapped the door shut in her wake.

In the quiet that followed, Lexa let her head slump to the side, catching her wife's gaze as she smiled.

"That was embarrassing."

"Eh." Clarke flopped her hand above her belly. "She's seen us in worse positions."

"True. She's only mad about the cake anyway."

"Yeah, but she'll still never shut about this."

Lexa lifted the hand that had previously been shoved down her wife's pants and offered it up with a toothy grin. "Worth it."

Still flushed and beautifully relaxed from her orgasm, Clarke eyed her for a moment just to make sure she was serious, before laughing and slapping it in a high-five.

"Totally worth it."

[jumpingjelliefish]

Hello, I have a request! Can you write Jeff the Killer x reader where y/n tries to escape the mansion but Jeff tries to stop her from escaping the house and forest Pls🙏🙏🙏

Of course, my dear!

[Jeff the Killer x GN Reader] (SFW)

Warnings: blood, kidnapping, fear, cussing

————-<3

"Come back here you bitch!"

You heard the sounds of thunderous footsteps. You dared not to look anywhere but forward, in fear of who you would see. Your heart raced, your lungs & legs screamed for a break, and your eyes were clouded with the possibility of freedom.

You wound your way through trees and jumped over old, gnarled roots. You could feel yourself beginning to slow down due to the adrenaline leaving your body. In the distance, you could hear the crashing of branches. You spotted a dead tree stump with a large hole inside of it, you almost missed it as you ran by. You stopped a few yards away, still very on edge. You took a deep breath of air that your lungs so desperately needed and looked behind you.

Nothing. There was nothing and no one there. You whipped your head in every possible direction and were met with still and quiet woods. You tried to still your breath as you made your way to the dead tree. You kept your head on a swivel and took silent steps on the dry soil.

You ducked your head as you climbed into the large tree. Every sound you made seemed to be louder than the last. You needed to take a break before you kept running. You knew that you could never outrun him, not with his stamina. You sniffled and wiped your eyes, silently praying he hadn't seen you.

As if your thoughts alone had been spoken, you heard the silent pattering of experienced feet. He was circling the area like a predator, stalking his prey. You silently tucked yourself further into the tree and held your breath.

"Where the fuck are you?" He shouted. You let a quiet gasp leave your mouth and shut your eyes, only to get paranoid and open them again.

You held on to your knees and let your tears fall down your face in a steady stream. You kept your eyes on the opening of the tree. You could still hear him, but he seemed to be getting farther away. Then it was eerily silent.

There was nothing to hear, even the wind was holding its breath. You let out a slow breathy sigh, maybe, just maybe you're fine for the time being. You kept your legs curled into your body as you strained your ears for any subtle noises.

After ten minutes of paranoid listening, you decided it's safe enough to rest. You leaned your head back and tried to focus your mind elsewhere. You thought of where you would go after you got out of these damned woods. Who would help you? You were in the middle of nowhere, and there wasn't any sign of civilization for miles upon miles. In the midst of your thoughts, the strains from escaping hit your body. You fell into a long slumber.

You woke to a loud noise; hours had passed since you escaped. There was no longer any sunlight shining into the slit of the tree. The noise got closer and closer. It slowly stalked its way toward you. You sat up into a defensive posture, prepared to kick whatever it was that was heading toward you. You held your breath once again and listened for the noise.

Once the noise was distinguishable from the crashing of trees, you knew it was something ready to kill. Something ready to kill you. You felt your eyes widen as a figure raced its way past the tree. You heard the sound of growling and paws hitting the dirt.

The smell of what you could only describe as rotting meat was overbearing. You smelt iron and blood. You shuddered, not wanting to know what was out there. You kept listening to the strange growling. Then you heard something even more petrifying.

"Find them, find them, and bring them back to me alive. I'm not through with my new toy," you could hear the urge to laugh strain his voice.

Your eyes went wide. You could feel your joints scrapping from the uncomfortable position you'd been sitting in for the past few hours. You heard the shuffling get closer once more. Then you were left in dreadful silence.

The sliver of moonlight that once passed through the opening was blocked. A large growl escaped the animal's throat as it pounced. You kicked at the silhouette. You missed. You felt your calf get bitten as the creature started to pull you out of the trunk and you let out a yelp. You dug your nails into the wood of the tree, earning burns, scratches, and slivers.

You cry out of pain as the bite tightened, and you felt your bones shift. A sharp snap echoes through the woods. You screamed as tears fell swiftly down your face. The animal pulled you entirely out of the tree. You attempted to kick the creature's mouth again. The pain and effort proved to be too much, and your attempts were unsuccessful.

"No!" You yell, "Don't make me go back! I don't want to go back there!" You tried in vain to reason with the beast. The creature huffed and continued to drag you across the forest floor. You kept sobbing and tried to claw the dirt.

By the time your nailbeds began to bleed, you heard the creature begin to growl again. You looked at the creature and felt it drop your leg. You widen your eyes and began to shuffle backward from it. The creature began to howl and bark toward the empty woods, signaling someone over.

"No. No. No. No," You began to whimper as you tried to stand on your good leg. You fell into the dirt with each attempt. The pain became unbearable, and you decided to crawl away.

The creature turned its head to look in a distant location, its tail wagged. It began to prance on its paws in a circle. The closer the thing got, the more the creature shifted. When you had managed to get a few yards away, you heard something that made your blood run cold.

"Where do you think you're going dollface?" He chuckled, which soon turned to maniacal laughter.

"No, I'm not going back with him!" You attempted to claw yourself away once more. You sobbed as you felt something grab your foot connected to your bad leg.

"I asked you a question!" He shouted and pulled your foot and body towards him.

"No," you whispered at the sensation of his hand. You stopped moving when you felt a knife lightly digging into your throat. "I'm sorry!" you cried out.

"Oh, you sorry?" He mocked, "If you were sorry you would've come running back to me with tears in your eyes!"

He turned your body around to face him. You could only grasp the silhouette that the moonlight provided. You sniffled and looked away from him. He looked at the glistening tears in your glossy eyes.

"Yeah, almost like that." he chuckled, "except, you ran away. Not back to me!" He grabbed you by your chin and forced your eyes on him. "There's the face I love," he teased, as he admired your face full of fear and pain.

You bit your lip as he stared at you. You furrowed your brows when he blew air onto your cheeks, drying some tears. You released your lip and finally looked him in the eye. He chuckled, "Such a pretty face. Too bad you don't behave well. We are going to have to go back through all that training." With each word he inched closer to your face, "That doesn't sound too fun, now does it?"

"No," you whispered quietly, your eyes still wide with fear.

He let out a husky chuckle and pulled your face closer. He slowly exhaled onto your lips, then ensnared them with his. You felt more tears cascading down your cheeks. The more violent he got with the kiss, the more blood you could taste spilling into your mouth. The iron taste made it hard to swallow. You whimpered lightly, and with that he pulled away.

"Let's get you back home. We need to do some new forms of training," he let out a deep laugh. He slugged you over his shoulders and began the walk back home. You sobbed as you watched your chance at freedom, disappear forever.

END

I hope you all enjoyed it. If there is any way I can improve my writing don't be afraid to tell me :) {p.s. this is the first ever fanfic that I've posted. I've improved greatly}

-Jellie

[radioisnotdead]

So I've got a question and also a gift sort of for one you

My question is actually for lucifer but it's also kind off teasing charlie since I'm certain the imagery of what this question implies will probably mentally scar her 'sorry charlie I love you really it's just to much of an opportunity to pass up' so my question is lucifer how come charlie doesn't have any siblings and why did you both wait so late to actually have her? since you and lilith were together in hell since it inception and sure it may have been to dangerous at the start of hell to have kids but its been centuries and I doubt it was due to lack of passion on yours and Lilith's part heck even if you tried to have a kid once a century surely odds would make it that charlie should have a dozen older siblings so what gives?

As for my gift it's for Alastor, if you remember Rosie called you an ace in the hole when you introduced her to Charlie and you seemed very confused which I'm putting down to the era you were alive so I've attached some reading material that you may find illuminating in fact it may give you some sort of closure and peace of mind about somethings you've wondered for years about yourself

*attached to the message is reading material about asexuality*

(let's give our poor radio demon some self discovery about himself since I'm certain when he was human this wasn't all common knowledge or widely accepted, so I thought it would be sweet thing for him to know)

oh dear christ anon why would you do this

Christ isn't here to save you now, Charlie~! He can make blind people see again, but sadly cannot whisk you away from this conversation.

AAAAUGHJHHHSGSHHSHHHHHNNNN

Thing is, I'm technically still an angel, if fallen. Nothing other than my physical appearance and a few of my abilities changed. Angels and humans have different reproductive systems, and, typically, an angel can't get a human pregnant. However, we kept trying and trying and trying to get pregnant by-

DADDDDD I DONT WANNA HEAR THIS

You.. don't wanna hear how you were born from a wish?

wait what I was?? :D

JK WE FUCKED A LOT

GOD DAMN IT

I would, but this is getting interesting.

what-

Human technology was evolving at an incredibly fast rate, so we used a human technique! Well.. somewhat human. A little. I uh.

So y'know sperm right and how you can-

OKAYOKAY GOT IT YOU YEAH YOU DID THAT DID YOU ALTER YOUR DNA OR SOMETHING WHILE IT WAS LIKE THAT YEAH COOL AMAZING GREAT

Yeah I did actually

And that's why you have no siblings!

UGHHH I HATED EVERY MINUTE OF THAT IT WAS SO UNCOMFORTABLE

Oh! Oh, wow... This describes me perfectly actually.

yeah that's how figuring yourself out feels al :D

This is quite a nice feeling, I must say...

go lgbtq community 👏👏

I can say I'm a part of that now.

wait hang on is this not like the queerest hotel ever

isn't that our main selling point?

no????

Thank you, Anon!

[nebulousfishgills]

Part two, for Necrosis

Mona Lisa, Girl with a Pearl Earring, American Gothic, Guernica, Creation of Adam, The Last Supper

Yesssss let's do some Necrosis asks. We'll see how much I can say without giving too much of what I have planned away. >:)

Mona Lisa - Oh, it's the fanfic writer's favorite word! Do a find-and-replace on the word "smirk" and share any lines that pop up.

...this is a fucking call out.

Okay, in my defense how else do you describe this:

That's the definition of a smirk, I don't know what the fuck to tell you.

Anyways, I'll share only a few since a) I know damn well it will pop up a fair bit and b) I'm keeping any smut exclusive to AO3 and I fucking know I used 'smirk' there.

He didn't turn to look at Emily, but she could see the side of his mouth curl up into a smirk. Her lips flattened.

Emily by all rights should have been sick of it by now, but once again she started purring, leaning back against Caius' chest. She could almost hear the knowing smirk on his face. 

She seemed to become drawn even closer, gingerly resting a hand on his shoulder. Emily smirked, turning back to Eliza.

Emily's lips curled upwards into a smirk, her own smart-ass nature pushing forward.

Emily didn't miss the prideful smirk on Caius' face as he looked at her from his [throne].

(Skipped lines: 4, so far)

...as I said this was a call out. How dare you /j.

Girl with a Pearl Earring - Are there any moments in this work where a character's clothing or accessories play a major role?

For the sake of secrecy, I'll keep it short.

Pay attention whenever a character is wearing gloves. It's not meant to symbolize dishonesty like in a lot of media, but rather it represents defending against a specific action.

Always try to understand:

Who's wearing gloves

When they're wearing them

Why they're wearing them

And around whom they're wearing them.

American Gothic - What's one relationship between characters in this work that you think people wouldn't expect?

Actually I think there are several. Emily seems like she's at least on decent terms with Bella, Alice, and Nessie even if there's a history there we're choosing to bypass. Mele seems like she has a type of bond with Renesmee as well which can seem a bit like an "I could see it but I never thought about it before" moment.

The main one, though, is Emily's relationship with Mele. It's obviously not without some pushback, but whether she likes it or not, Emily is Mele's mentor. She has to guide Mele, teach her... as we know, Emily and childcare isn't always the greatest combination, but she really feels like she understands Mele to a certain degree and becomes quite close with her. It helps her to mature and grow a little bit.

(I got my first nosebleed in a very long time the second I mentioned Emily's history with childcare, so take that as you will)

Guernica - Look through a few of your imagery/descriptions in this work. Are they generally straightforward or are they more "abstract?"

"It was an old shirt, one of the very few remnants she had of her past life. The black and white baseball style t-shirt was slightly washed out with age, the hand-painted demon's head starting to fade. Long ago, it was the only shirt of its style at the local thrift shop, a size and a half too large for her. So she shortened the front with a straight line of black stitches, the holes the needle had poked starting to get larger the longer the old thread tugged against it."

"The venom's effect on Emily's own transformation hadn't exactly been perfect. It cleaned up her imperfect physical facets, removed marks and egriegous scars that had been a source of shame for years, and had taken away the more inhuman features she had gained from her previous otherworldly home. One of those traits being the monstrous wings protruding from her back. The wings were gone now, but they had left behind some unfortunate scarred ridges on her shoulderblades that the venom couldn't scrub away completely."

"Emily hadn't run outside like this in a very long time, the fresh air and woody smells mixed with the petrichor hitting her nose pleasantly. She looked behind her again, watching the trees rush past her in a blur. She heard Jane and Mele running not too far behind, also followed by the excited whoops Mele gave. Emily chuckled, continuing forward. Maybe she should take more leisurely runs in the woods, escape the confines of the Palazzo once in a while to enjoy the woods that reminded her of home. Her first home."

I'd say these are pretty straightforward. I think the reader can paint a pretty accurate picture of what's going on in their head without having to fumble with too many metaphors to understand what's happening.

I like being detailed with my descriptions. Again, there are some good descriptive paragraphs I can't reveal, so I'm sticking with only ones that have been published. I think it only gets better from here.

God I hate being coy but I also really love being coy about this.

Creation of Adam - Choose one character that is not present at the beginning of this work. How did you introduce them into the story?

Well, the obvious answer is Mele.

I feel like I need to explain who she is cause I know she's a bit of a niche character that only a handful of people know about. She's a character that's only mentioned in "Life and Death," one of Stephenie Meyer's many Twilight re-writes. This one features a gender-bent cast of characters. So now Bella is Beau, Edward is Edythe, Carlisle is Carine, and so on.

(Ms. Meyer literally picked the worst names and/or the worst spellings of names for these characters, Jessamine instead of Jasper actually causes me physical pain, what mental gymnastics is she fuckin doing? She coulda just fuckin picked Jessie or something.)

As much as I wish I could say otherwise, Meyer didn't genderbend the Volturi... which is a shame cause I think imagining the Three Stooges as women would be kinda cool. The idea of a female Caius makes my bi ass kinda... You know she's gotta be one of the most badass characters ever... with probably the stupidest fucking name Meyer could come up with.

She actually likes the Cullens and she really named Esme's male counterpart fucking Earnest. You know she's giving shit names to Aro and Caius... not Marcus, though, he'd get a nice name. He's her Favorite Child of the three by a long shot.

(Meme by yours truly)

Anyways, instead of doing that, she tagged some of them out. So now instead of Aro, Caius, and Marcus, we have Sulpicia, Athenodora, and Marcus (see, favorite child). Aro and Caius are out of the picture for... reasons, and so their wives stepped up to the plate. Mele was introduced so Meyer could keep Aro's gift in play, giving it to Sulpicia.

I'm not gonna get into the nitty gritty details, but that's Mele.

I decided after I wanted Mele in the story that I should pair her with Jane. Life and Death describes Mele as a girl rather than a woman. I feel bad that the twins are frozen so young and so close to the "immortal child" threshold that them finding mates is a low chance event... also gay, I wanted more gay.

So I figured the most realistic option was to have Mele be one of Heidi's many tour group victims.

I think that's probably the biggest difference between my take on Mele and her book counterpart since book Mele had to have been around at least three thousand years ago whereas my Mele is a modern (meaning 2012) fourteen year old.

She's a cool character.

The Last Supper - Does this fic incorporate any symbolism based on religion, theology, or mythology? If so, give an example.

If there is, it was accidental. My knowledge of religion is very limited, it usually comes from Jeopardy questions my dad always answers with an enthusiastic "JESUS!" or episodes from cartoons like Family Guy or The Simpsons that recount bible stories in a very... satirical way. You can't beat Stewie as Baby Jesus using lazers in a spaceship to kill Romans.

Mythology is more my speed, but again, I don't think there's much in Necrosis as of right now. That could change of course, it's still a work in progress.

It's kind of incorrectly answering the question, but if I had to pick sources of more symbolism and metaphors, it's probably Shakespeare.

I'll list a couple with similar themes and let you interpret that as you like: "Julius Caesar," "Richard III" (shout out to my fellow Will TNT girlies), and a little bit of "Antony and Cleopatra."

Do with that as you will :)

[crumbledcastle28]

Chapter 1: a tug

Warnings: PTSD, sadness, depression, panic attack, mentions of violence

Author’s note: this is part one of my series called “Burning Red.” This is kind of boring because it is a set up for the main storyline, but I hope you enjoy it! Any constructive criticism and support is greatly appreciated. And if I missed a warning, please let me know!!

After everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve done, everyone you’ve hurt, it felt good to just lay low.

A mechanic on tatooine was not what you imagined, but it did the trick.

No one saw you for who you truly were, and that made you happy.

Well, except for Peli.

You came to her sick and angry and alone, and she nursed you back to health. You would be rotting in the desert if it wasn’t for her, and you felt you owed her a little something.

So, you used your “uncommon” set of abilities to help her with her mechanics in any way she needed.

This included: cooking, cleaning, repairing, negotiating, and most importantly, defending.

Peli was no dummy. She knew you had more experience in that field than she did. So she recruited you, and paid you back with whatever she had laying around. A new outfit once and a while, a warm bed, a hot dinner, and a couple of credits so you could go shopping and get out of her hair.

You couldn’t blame her. You were a hell of a lot of trouble to be around.

Constant nightmares, paranoia, and regret surrounded your aura like a fog. Any normal person wouldn’t notice, but someone like Peli could. And it pissed her off a good majority of the time.

“Stop moping and help me clean this oil off my droid,” and sentences like this one, were said pretty frequently around your place.

Was it even your place? All you did was survive. Is that enough to say you lived there instead of just survived there?

You really liked Peli. She gave you a base. A “home” of sorts, and for that you were forever indebted.

But something in you always called you back to your real home, and that scared you more than Peli’s tough love. More than you could even describe.

~~*~~

It was a pretty normal day on Tatooine. The wind howled, the sand covered everything in its wake, and the heat. You would never get used to it.

You were eating your breakfast when a ship landed on the landing pad, and you could already tell it was a doosey just by the way the left engine was sputtering.

If this ship explodes, we better get a damn good pay, you think to yourself.

The ramp starts to open and you take that as your queue to start the walk to your makeshift room. It was really a storage room, but you didn’t mind.

When you get there, you squat down to the ground behind your door and grab your apron and set of tools. You knew Peli would need some help with this ship.

You hear the ship’s ramp hit he ground and you feel it.

A tug.

Not even a tug, a lurch. It felt like a rope had been tied to your soul and pulled you back into your old self.

This was a tug you hadn’t felt in so long. So long, it almost knocks you off your feet.

I closed myself off from this, you think. I shouldn’t feel this. I don’t want to feel this.

You already feel a headache coming on from the shock and ache in your bones, so you start walking back to the landing pad to tell Peli you aren’t feeling too well.

If I get recognized, we are both dead.

You’d rather get a scolding from Peli than a scolding hot gun wound in your chest.

“Hey,” you hear Peli shout at the client, and you pick up your pace. Your heart is hammering in your chest and you feel the panic ooz through your body.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt this, but you hate how it makes you feel alive.

You finally make it to Peli and you see her speaking very loudly (she doesn’t like to use the word “yelling”) at what seems to be your client.

But this is no ordinary client. This is a Mandalorian.

A very broad Mandalorian who, no offense to Peli, could knock her out in his sleep.

You had heard legends of their kind. But worst of all, you had fought them. And damn were they good.

You hadn’t seen any since the purge. You had heard rumors of them hiding under ground, but they had always been peaceful people. You hated how they got dragged into a war.

“You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it,” Peli says, and you really wish she would use a more peaceful tone.

The last thing you want to do right now is fight a very impressive looking Mandalorian covered entirely in beskar while your entire body is tingling.

Is he the one who is force sensitive?

“Just keep them away from my ship” he says, and you are surprised at how well he is taking Peli’s annoyance.

“Yeah? You think that’s a good idea?” Peli responds in a tone dripping with sarcasm and you take this as your moment to try to sneak away.

This however, was unsuccessful.

“Come on y/n. Let’s take a look at his ship,” she says and the Mandalorian turns his helmet towards you.

You probably look like an absolute mess. Your chest is heaving, you are sweating, and you are not at all prepared to do any sort of repairs. You are basically in your pajamas. The Mandalorian’s gaze has you nervous enough, but this familiar feeling in your stomach has you dizzy and nauseous.

Just hold on......

You start to follow Peli to the ship while still looking at the Mandalorian. You learned very early on in your life to never take your eyes off a predator. He follows your form and you try your best to mask his incredibly strong force connection gripping your chest.

This man isn’t even trying to hide it? It’s almost as if he is reaching for me?

You make it to Peli where you finally take your eyes off of him. You can see why Peli was so mad now.

“Oof! Look at that,” she says as she scans the ship with her eyes. “You’ve got a lot of cabron scoring up top. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in a shoot out.”

Oh my God, he was in a shoot out.

This is really not good. This man could have been followed and you could be surrounded at this very moment. You were a skilled fighter, but those kinds of odds were almost unbeatable. Especially when you were still trying to hide your identity.

You are so tense you feel like you could snap. You still feel his eyes on you, and you are praying to whatever is out there that you can just stay alive. That’s the only thing you’re good at.

“Name’s Peli Motto. That’s y/n,” she says as she points to you with her wrench.

She did not just tell him your NAME.

“This is my operation. You’re not gonna find a better mechanic on the planet,” she says as she leaned in closer to the engine.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to rotate that. You’ve got a fuel leak. Look at this, this is a mess. How did you even land?”

All you wanted to do was scream.

He is a MANDALORIAN who was just in a SHOOT OUT. He is probably being FOLLOWED and we could be dead because of ME.

“That’s gonna set you back,” she says.

She is concerned about MONEY right now?

Peli is a smart woman, but she was walking you into a trap. You didn’t want her blood on your hands. You didn’t need any more of that.

All of this is happening while you are still on the verge of a panic attack.

This Mandalorian is strong with the force. It is squeezing your lungs and your feet and your hands and your brain. All rational thinking is out the window. You had to get out of here before he manages to suffocate you.

God you hate this feeling. A few years ago you lived with this constantly. It became a part of you. Something you enjoyed. But now...

“I’ve got five hundred imperial credits,” the Mandalorian says.

Imperial credits. Great. How did he get his hands on those?

“That’s all you got? Well..” she says and looks back at you.

“What do you think,” she asks in a teasing tone.

You try to plead to her with your eyes. You are sweating beyond belief and your brain is about to explode.

She tightens her brows in confusion at your state, but continues to bargain.

“That should at least cover the hanger,” she says and you feel your jaw almost drop to the floor.

How can she not see it?

“I’ll get you your money,” the Mandalorian mumbles and you try to take a deep breath. Passing out in front of one of the fiercest warriors in the galaxy who may be here to kill you would rip off the last bit of pride you had left. If you are going down, you are going down with a fight.

“I’ve heard that before,” Peli responds and looks at you in a joking way. Like she was trying to coax you into laughing with her.

You try to chuckle back, but it just comes out in a low breath.

You sound insane.

“Just remember—,” the Mandalorian starts

“No droids. I heard ya,” Peli finishes.

“Why do you think I keep this girl around,” she says chuckling with a pat on your back.

You muster up the strength to smile and feel holes burning in your head from the Mandalorian’s gaze.

He really knows how to stare.

The Mandalorian leaves the hanger, and it takes everything in you not to pass out right there.

You thought with him leaving it would die down, but it’s only getting worse.

“Are you ok,” Peli asks and helps you lower yourself to the ground.

You are breathing frantically now and your hands are clutched to your chest.

“He has it,” you say and you know Peli knows what you mean.

She looks at you with wide eyes and you see the realization on her face.

“Oh my god.... he was in a shootout,” she says.

“Uh huh,” you breathe out. The desperate force connection is starting to fade and you feel your lungs fill up with air once more.

“He could have been followed! Or he could be here to—“

“Kill us,” you say. Peli hates when you finish her sentences, but there was no point in caring right now.

“Ok. Get inside. If I need you I will call for you,” she says and you nod, slowly getting to your feet.

You start to walk back to your room, with Peli’s arms guiding you, while taking deep breaths, but you freeze when you sense something else coming out of the ship and you snap your head to the ramp.

“What,” Peli says as she follows your gaze.

Your heart flutters. The force is slowly starting to ease its nasty grip on you.

If you didn’t sense the creature, you would miss it.

A little green baby, wrapped in what looked like a potato sack, was strolling down the ramp, looking directly at you.

“It’s him,” you say.

“He has it.”

[witchlyboo]

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

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[rrasado]

Kinda random but what if MC/Yuu was one of Mother Miranda's children?

How would the first years react to MC not wanting to go home because of WTF is going in their world?

(i'm talking about Resident Evil 8 if you don't know who Mother Miranda is!)

Mother Loves You

First and foremost I’m with the first years here- nANI DAFU- second of all, I apologize in advance if I misinterpret the request since I don't watch nor play Resident Evil but the franchise is pretty cool in terms of art! So shall we see what it's like being a child of the catalyst of disaster in your world?

Tw: mentions of rebirth revival and world rune

When you're a child of Mother Miranda:

You've been around for a while so it's both confusing and understandable to him when he saw your initial reaction to Crowley’s ginger confession of finally finding a way back home to your world.

Like hey you and him have been together the longest out of the gang in terms of knowing each other so- wait can you repeat that for him?

you don't want to go back to you world because it's already in a state of severe rune ravaged by mutations deceases and monsters? yeah understandable- YourMotherIsWHaT?!-

Trust me when I say he'll attempt to scoff and shrug it off like hey you two joke around all the time how is this any different- but he admits deep down that the expression on your face when you finally reveal the details is just, proving to ace how much he actually doesn't know about you.

"H-hey! If that's the damned case then don't go! What type of dumbass goes back to a hell hole willingly?"

Suffice it to say, the red head would absentmindedly be more mindful with what he jokes around you, especially relating to concepts of rebirth and revival, he's cruel but not heartless.

It came across as off when you frantically shook your head in rejection of the headmaster's offer to personally escort you to the mirror chamber, he knew you made yourself home here but wouldn't you wanna go back to your true home?-

...Oh, OH- those few spurts of "Ruined" and "life crazed mother" garnered him to rethink his thoughts on your reaction, maybe even instinctively hold your shoulders because the way you trembled a bit was so familiar to him.

He may have been naïve with many things but he's pretty sure those words you said aren't what you'd associate with well- home sweet home.

So when he sat you down on a bench to ease your nervousness he didn't expect hearing the words revival and sacrifice in your sharing of your not exaggeratingly tragic backstory- wait does that mean you're a century old already?-

"Y...you don’t have to tell me anything right now...hey, wanna go grab something with ace and head to Heartslabyul?"

He takes the distraction approach but when the time comes you slowly explain everything? Let's just say he's already helping you with making settlements in Twisted Wonderland.

It happened fast, one minute you and jack were on your merry way to PE class the next thing you knew he was carefully leading you somewhere that isn't near the mirror chambers

Recap, deadbeat bird principal jumped you two looking like a child in a candy store because he finally by the great seven's graces found a way back to your home.

Like Deuce he found it odd how you froze up in numbness rather than jittering in excitement, you've been here in twst long enough why dealing with mishaps and overblots so why-

you gingerly tell him along the way, and hand to the great seven he honestly didn't know whether to believe you at first or get annoyed for telling such level of theatrical like history, but your current state snapped him out of his mental debate deeming it that this was no theatrics but rather your reality which you were damned with.

"I've got you- I've got you here alright? those things won't reach you here..."

The urge to protect you grew ever since, and he'd personally silence those who dare convince you to go home without knowing any better- of course he won't reveal why since its not his place but he'll sure as hell shut them up.

Epel unlike the others, found your refusal to go home as good news, you two can hang out more! He'll never admit it but things would be less lively without you-

Wait... you refused so why..do you look so distant? It took a bit of courage shamelessness from his end to ask because he knows how it feels to be asked about things you don't wanna speak of but he's worried-

...What-. The moment you even as so hint your true situation to him the pomefiore first year's joy relinquishes into horror, probably even have to grip the side of his seat.

But the way you told your lineage your story your world, just how much- no how long have you been keeping all this in?! How...are you sa calm?

"Y-yer not joking eh'...hey but really a-are ye..good?"

The context of the question dawned on him, you literally just explained your century conniving mother and he asks you- t-that's not what he meant! but in the end he'll make sure to give you the greatest friendship he can offer so you can forget that gorey past of yours!

Actually, it was sebek who personally escorted you to the headmaster's office when a staff said Crowley requested your presence.

The half fae decided to tag along under the excuse of keeping the young master's friend safe but really he was kinda curious what the headmaster needed from you in the middle of class.

The moment Crowely announced the news the boy immediately beams a victorious grin, the milestone of a comrade is something to share right- human ..why are you stumbling!...?

You personally ushered yourselves out of the office which to-sebek found it disrespectful but what you tell next had him rethink many things especially regarding you. Heck, what you described was probably equal to the stories Lilia would tell first hand!

"H-...Human we should go, tardiness is not acceptable!"

But really he wanted to seek Lilia's guidance right away, which ultimately ended with him not so subtly changing his behavior with you I.E. how he refers to you since you aren't 100 percent human to his understanding but, he's willing to observe to the best of his abilities.

[wonderwomanfantasy]

Kinktober day 9

Camgirl w/ Enji Todoroki

masterlist

Listen. I don’t want to fuck Endeavor, I do not! I don’t care if by the end of this fic you’re like “damn Maddie seems a tad bit horny for flame-o-hot man,” it is not true. he’s stinky. 

warnings: Sex work, cam show, masturbation, cum play, sugar daddy themes,

word count: 1,300 (about)

summary: If you ask any hero nerd they’ll tell you that Endeavor’s biggest weakness was over heating, but in reality his biggest weak spot was actually pretty girls

Enji was a rich man, which means he was allowed to be particular. He got the best of everything. Best of Food, Clothes, and Porn. God did he love some high-quality Porn.

He didn’t like the scripted stuff He preferred camgirls. He had gone through quite a few girls before settling on you. He liked how deceptively innocent you were, he almost felt dirty each time he watched you shed your innocent facade to fuck yourself stupid. Your schedule also matched his fairly well so he never had to miss a stream.

Enji got comfortable and watched the timer tick down until it finally hit zero and your face filled the screen.

Cute was the only way to describe your set up. Soft lighting and baby pink bedspread covered with stuffed animals and small throw pillows. you were dressed in white lingerie and matching stockings. He could see the outline of your nipples through the lacy white fabric, a promise of what was to come. you smiled and leaned closer to the camera letting everyone get a long look at your chest. “Hey everyone it’s been a while,” you purred sitting back on your knees. the messages came in steadily, horny men just like him waiting for you to give them a show.

I missed you, Baby girl

Is that a new set Princess? naughty

Hey Sweetie~

Enji never typed his own messages, it wasn’t worth the effort, but something was amusing about seeing others so desperate for your attention.

“Did you all miss me?” you asked cheekily pulling your full lower lip between your teeth, suddenly your face went cherry red, one of the messages catching you off guard.

“Of course I missed you all, I always cum so hard during these shows,” you mumbled squirming uncomfortably. Enji’s cock twitched hardening in his pants seeing you flush so cutely.

“What should I do first?” you asked reading the chat.

“take off your bra,” he muttered to himself. you seemed to read his mind trailed your hands up and down your chest, palming your breasts through the painfully thin fabric, your nipples hardened under your touch making Enji growl,

“tease,” he snapped, punching the donation button with one hand and pulling out his cock with the other. The comments were flooded with people begging for you to just do something. Enji stokes himself and watched as you finally reached for the clasp.  

You undid your bra letting the straps fall from your shoulders. Your arm crossed in front of your chest catching the cups before they fell. Enji waited with bated breath as you slowly pulled the clothing away revealing the perfect globes of your breasts, topped with pebbled nipples. Fuck you were gorgeous.

your eyes skimmed the comments as you pinched and tugged at your breasts. You smirked and read one a loud “Take that pink pillow and hump it,”

This time you didn’t bother teasing your audience. you fit the tiny pink pillow between your leg and slowly rolled your hips. As cute as these panties were they did nothing to stop your wetness from leaking right onto the pillow.

You moaned at the feeling and dropped your head, hunching your body over the pillow.

“F-Fuck it feels so good,” you moaned biting your lower lip arching back showing off your body as you rutted your hips back and forth.

Your tits bounced with every thrust of your hips and Enji could see a dark spot forming on the little pillow.

“Should I cum on this pillow what do you think?” you panted

If it were just him, he would have edged you longer and made you beg to orgasm, but he was overwhelmed by people telling you to cum. you did as they asked claiming the first orgasm of the night. Enji grunted squeezing tighter around his own cock you were gorgeous when you came, your skin glowing with a sheen of sweat, your breasts heaving as you caught your breath. you pulled off your soaked panties showing the camera the dripping fabric.

The message board was filled with people begging to buy those panties from you, you smirked and slide the fabric into your mouth sucking your juices and moaning at the taste. Enji’s hand move on its own faster and faster up and down his cock imagining the taste of your wetness for himself.

“what next? you asked pushing your hair out of your face.  you turned the camera a selection of toys, vibrators, but plugs and dildos but only one caught his eye

The Endeavor one

Use the Endeavor one

that big blue one

You picked up the heavy toy, easily ten inches long and as thick as a soda can with a bulge in the middle before tapering out at the base again, it was the same design as his hero costume, mostly blue with a flame design along the silicone balls. It was a special limited-time item, they had sold out in minutes, it seemed you had been lucky to get one. you slowly ran your fingers over the toy-like you were jerking it off, worshiping it with your hand.

“Big toy I don’t know if it’ll fit in me,” you whined, before reaching for a bottle of lube and slicking the cock. “You think He’s this big in real life?” you asked thoughtfully. then giggled “I’d pay for Endeavor to fuck me,” you bit your lower lip again “bet he’d fucken brake me,”

Enji gulped on the other side of the screen. the blood pounded in his ears. what a fucking coincidence. You fingered your pussy wide for the camera before lining the toy up with your hole.  

“What do you say everybody should I put it in?” you asked only to be flooded with messages and donations.

Enji slowly slid his hand down the length of his shaft timing his motions to yours pretending it was his cock being shoved inside of you instead of that hunk of plastic. You took the length so well, the toy filling you up as you screamed in pleasure.

He muttered deft praise into the camera stroking you up in time with your own thrusts. He couldn’t help but imagine how well you would take his cock.

your head lolled to the side and you read the comments. Some telling you to rub your clit or show more of your ass, but one comment caught your eye. you couldn’t help but laugh

“if I’m going to fuck an Edevour toy I should call out his name too? is that what you want you freaks?” you snorted. the chat seemed to agree,  you threw your head back and lifted your hips shoving your cunt into the camera as you fucked yourself.

“Endeavor Endeavor! Oh Fuck Endeavor,” you screamed. bucking your hips with a fever.

Enji had wanted to time his orgasm with yours but hearing you scream his name had made him cum on the spot. For a second he just looked at the sticky white substance as it dripped from his fingers. He hadn’t cum like that since he was a teenager. He cursed, the spell broken, and whipped up the spilled seed from his abdomin. He watched mesmerized as you shoved the cock, his cock, deeper and deeper into your drenched cunt until you reached your own climax. His cock was hard again, aching to be touched. He gulped and began palming his cock again.

“W-well I think that’s enough for uh for one show yeah?” you asked sounding completly wreaked before bidding your audience goodbye before shutting off the stream. Fuck, he’d never been blue balled like that. He grunted and slid into your private messages. He needed more, he needed to hear you moan for him again.

How much for a private show?

[all-about-seggs]

Dropped Façades-

Rating:❌ 18+, Explicit ❌

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x shy! female reader

Word count: 2K

Warnings: Masturbation, fingering, vaginal sex (on the rougher side)

 A/n: This is a happy!AU where everything is good and nobody dies OKAY?!ಥ_ಥ

Shining bands of morning light filled your vision making you squint from its brilliance but the sunny whether didn’t do much to deter the hazy clouds looming over your sunken heart.

   “ I’m heading off then”, the apathetic tone of your boyfriend’s voice matched his equally deadpan look as he called out to you from the front door.

 Another night of Levi staying over at your place came to a monotonous end. Ever since the beginning of your relationship, your nights have been a predictable cycle of him cooking for you, a few kisses exchanged before bed, that too if he’s feeling generous and then going your separate ways the next day.

Your shyness combined with the intimidating aura of the drill sergeant you were dating held you back everytime the sun went down and the ache in your core begged for attention.

Being an astonishingly disbalanced mix of prim and proper and foul mouthed, Levi didn’t left much to the imagination when it came to his likes and dislikes so you often ended up being what you figured he needed the most.

Be it keeping up with his mandatory cleaning or intervening everytime you know he’s on the cusp of whiplashing his subordinates, you were what placated him and brought serenity in his life.

You thought being in love with him and have it reciprocated would make the entire process as natural as breathing but the longer it went on the more harder it became to get out of your shell. Maybe it’s not the most idealistic phase of your relationship, self sacrifice was afterall, just a pretty word.

And the primary cause of your concern was completely at odds with the noble emotions of the duty you took upon as Levi’s girlfriend.

Lackluster was what the current state of your sex life could’ve been described as if it existed in the fist place. For the first three weeks of your budding relationship, not only work but your internal conflict was getting in the way of your understandable desires. And the fact that even he didn’t tried to make a move on you got you wondering if he was even interested in sex or in you physically.

Pushing the thoughts of potential sexy times with Levi away you walk over to the front door to send him off him, every second of the ten step way filled with the silence of unspoken words.

Even after he left, your stared at the empty place getting more and more annoyed by your own incompetence to speak out. Wanting to distract yourself from your current trail of thoughts you started to think of stuff to do until your laundry basket caught your eye.

There among your clothes laid your boyfriend’s shirt that he wore last light and despite your attempts at talking yourself out of the upcoming urge to play with your untouched pussy you find yourself grabbing the article out of the basket and onto your bed.

Spreading the shirt over your pillow, you take in Levi’s lingering scent. It was an embarrassing sight of considered from a second person’s point of view, creepy even. But right now this was all you had to calm your sexually frustrated self. Lying sideways on the bed you shoved your pants and underwear down your legs to get better access to your core.

As you caressed your clit you thought about how his own fingers would feel, the calloused and roughened tips of his fingers that held more strength than one cannot even imagine, just the thought of those digits entering you and stretching you out fuelled your arousal.

You were sure he could make you cum with his hands in less than half the time it takes you but gosh did you wanted his cock. You wanted to see it, touch it, suck it and choke in it if possible, how it would feel stretching your cunt and hitting that g-spot which made you shiver and scream for more. Thoughts of your pussy being filled to the brim with his girth overtook all five of your senses.

Letting your imagination run rampant your trembling body was practically making the bed creak, not even sensing Levi’s presence even when he was standing next to the bedroom door, arms crossed with a look of utter disdain.

“Have you been spending the past three weeks getting off of your hand?”, his annoyed voice overtaking your soft mewls pulled you back from the edge. Recovering from the initial shock, your naked body splayed out on the bed clammed up under his sharp eyes, thinking it’d be best to not hide your visibly throbbing pussy so you waited for him to continue, face and neck growing hotter by the second in shame and guilt.

   “ I forgot my shirt so I had to come back, but”, eyeing up the spit covered clothing he strutted towards you, “ it seems you’ve already taking a liking to it”.

Now taking a spot right next you, his one arm reached out, taking your chin in between his hand, he gave it a hard tug, to make you face him from an angle that made his callous eyes seem downright frightening.

“Look at that mess. Who do you think is going clean it up? ”, Levi’s voice was almost a hiss, an icy thread crackling along the cold air of your bedroom.

Drooling all over his shirt, you haphazardly started fixing your clothes you pushed yourself in a sitting position.

“I’m- I’m sorry! I’ll clean that up!”, You squeak, searching for some tissues or towel to wipe the fabric and making it a point to avoid eye contact. Watching you panic like he just caught you committing a crime, he heaved a sigh, half exasperated and half amused by your shyness.

His face didn’t give away his thoughts but surprisingly, his words did.

“I wanted you to feel comfortable enough to bring it up”, eyeing at the slick that covered your inner thighs he dropped his gaze to the ground before starting back up, “ but I guess I am partly at fault too for not taking any initiative either”.

“well?, it’s your turn to tell me what you want”, The stiff tone of his voice was offset by the gentle look of his eyes.

All his straightforwardness came to a halt when he saw you sitting there shell shocked. Your dazed look, induced by his unexpected words, became still for a while. Not wanting to be the only one who kept their cards closed you forced yourself to speak.

  “ Then, I want you to stay here……. And”, trailing off you meekly take a hold of his crisp dress shirt, still unable to look at him directly and hoping he’ll get the gist.

The next couple of seconds went by in a flash when your top came off and got thrown to the floor, with him pinning you down, Levi takes off the rest of your cloths and his effortlessly.

With only his boxers on he sat next to you, taking one of your thigh in his firm grip, he spread your legs open. Sharp gaze falling on your already moistened core he wordlessly slipped two of his thick digits inside, making you jolt at the contact.

“Move”, his command seemed both out of place and erotic at the same time, making you struggle a little before finding the right pace.

Back unintentionally arching against the bed you lift your hips, bucking against his hand while he leaned down to bit your nipple, coaxing a cry of pleasure out of you. Your entire body trembled with the sheer amount of effort it took for you to move.

“I saw you move your hips better than this when you were fucking yourself y/n. Faster”, his every word sent pleasant shivers up your spine, making you wonder if you always had such an authority kink. Or if you  were just naturally submissive in front of your deliciously dominant boyfriend.

You rolled your hips faster, gyrating them deeper into his fingers, only for them to be abruptly pulled out, making you feel empty. But in your daze you noted Levi's own impatience when he got off the bed to reach for his pants.

The thumping of your heartbeat filled your ears as you watched him take out a condom from his pant pocket. Revelling in the fact that he too wanted this to happen sooner or later.

Rolling down the latex over his shaft, Levi didn’t wasted a single moment before sliding himself into your sopping wet hole. His length stretched you enough to make you cum on the spot but you wanted him to take you higher so you waited for him to move. Settings his own pace he started plunging in and out of you ruthlessly, filling your senses with both pain and pleasure.

“You- You’re being …Too rough!”, Voice cracking by the force of his thrusts your entire body shifted higher up the bed and for a split second you worried about the state of your bed.

“Well we did decided to be more honest with each other”, with his voice as steady as his hard thrusts, Levi rammed his cock into with an unforgiving pace right off the bat “ and this is my way of doing this”.

It didn’t take him long to hit your sweet spot, your high pitched yelps just confirming his perfect angle and he snapped his hips again and again to reach the depths of your cunt.

The constant pounding of his cock was bringing you closer to your release, the toe curling pleasure just within your reach made you impatient so you bucked your hips to match his movements.

Levi’s pulsating member inside you soon gave you the final push you needed to experience the mind numbing euphoria you wanted for so long and with a few more rolls of his hips you felt him follow right after, with some low grunts of his own.

His muscular body falling on top of your, he breathed in your raw scent, tucking his face in the crook of your sweaty neck and for the first time ever you saw the sight of a disheveled and messy Levi Ackerman.

It was undeniably sexy, the way his bangs stuck to his forehead, body gleaming with a sheen layer of clean sweat. The pleasant fatigue you were experiencing took you in a dreamlike state from which you didn’t wanted to wake up from until,

“Get your ass off of the damn bed and go shower”, abruptly rolling you off of you, Levi’s words are almost like a warning.

“I’ll clean up in here”.

“Wait- what happened to my sweet and gentle aftercare?!”, Feeling a bit dejected you whined as you watched him put on his boxers, the seriousness of his face told you it’s better to just get off the bed without any questions. Your desire to bask in the afterglow of your hot sex coming to a premature end was expected. Yet you couldn’t accept it so this time you let your hesitation go, not wanting to repeat the same cycle of frustration you had experienced a while back.

“Then……..Can I expect some action in the bathroom too?”, biting your lips to hold back your smirk you turn to look at Levi for a response to your obvious attempt to elongated your intimate time together. “what?! Can’t blame me for asking you to make up for the past dry three weeks!”.

“If you behave like a good girl then I’ll give you something in the bathroom too”, not even glancing in your direction, he spoke nonchalantly, making quick work of the dirty sheets.

“ like what, a bath?”, Sceptically eyeing his face you silently hoped you had a longer night ahead.

“You were not the only one who was waiting for this you know”, his uncharacteristically soft voice made you do a double take.

Levi was smiling. But for all his delicate features, his smile was like a knife.

And this was all the confirmation you needed to know he’s gonna wreck you good and long.

[youryanderedaddy]

Hello, dear 💛 firstly, I am congratulating you for your blog, you’re doing an amazing stuff and I’d very delighted to support ya’ 💕 so here’s mine; what about a hitman/assassin yandere who is very infamous in underworld for his reputation finally finding his darling, what would be his first encounter and the after? A little bit smutty maybe? It’s up to you, 🌹

Aww, thank you so much for the support and for the idea. I hope that you will like how it turned out. It isn’t as filthy as I wish it was, but oh well, there is always a next time lol

 Title: Stone cold 

 Tw: female reader, obssessive behavior, non-con, dub-con, veery slight knife play, slight dirty talk 

   You should have known that something was up the very moment someone knocked on your door on a Friday night – it was unusual. Especially when you take into an account the weird accidents that had been happening the last three months. People in the neighborhood went missing one by one, some of your personal items like clothes, lipsticks and even toothbrushes were stolen and you always felt a pair of eyes burning a hole through your back. But still, you didn’t want to freak yourself out and tried to stay positive, reasonable. If someone wanted to take you out, they would have already done it, right?

 While mentally encouraging yourself, you slowly got closer to the black door. By now the knocking had stopped, but you could hear the soft breathing of your visitor outside of the apartment. In a way you really wanted to stop for a second and rationalize why this unknown person was breathing so damn loud, but decided against it – what good would it do anyways? With that in mind you finally reached out to unlock the door and slowly opened it to reveal a man, covered from head to toes in black. The darkness of the corridor had swallowed  all of his recognizable features and you could only make out his eyes, while his mouth and nose were hidden away by a ski mask. And if this wasn’t alarming enough, the bulge in his right pocket looked suspiciously close to the shape of a gun.

“Caught you.” The intruder hummed, looking more than pleased with himself, and his eyes sparkled with a wild emotion you didn’t know the name of. Your body was paralyzed at the sight of the weapon and you were starting to regret moving into such a dangerous area where no trace of a police involvement could be found. Not that you would have the time to call them anyways since the next moment the man had managed to push you  to the floor with a loud „boom”, pinning your body down with his own. You finally gained the courage to scream your heart out, but your terrified cries were quickly muffled by the gloved hand, covering your mouth.

 “You scream one more time and I will drill a fucking hole into your pretty little head.” The man whispered into your ear in a dark, eerie voice. “Right here.” He gently touched your forehead in a clear warning. You broke out into a cold sweat, but remained motionless, immobile. “Do you understand me?” The hitman asked huskily and pressed his elbow into your shrinking stomach. You nodded quickly, your heart now racing so fact you could almost feel the abrupt beats against your skin. You had made a grave mistake opening the door, but it was too late now.

 “Good.” The stranger smirked like a wolf, ready to tear apart the innocent lifeless lamb in front of him. He finally raised his hand away from your mouth. As if to prove your darkest fears and theories, the man suddenly took a sharp shiny knife out of his left pocket and slowly ran it trough your exposed collarbone. He only let the very end touch your skin but its coldness, combined with the adrenaline rushing into your veins, were enough to send you over the edge with fear. “Don’t panic. I have already decided to keep you for myself, so as long as you behave, I have no reason to hurt you. ” The man finally uttered after watching you squirm helplessly for a while, the stupid teasing smile never leaving his lips. He took off his mask and dropped the knife on the ground, just a few inches away from your carotid artery, and fiddled with the first button of your thin shirt. This mere action of his made shivers run down your spine and you couldn’t help, but shut your eyes tight, just for a moment, just to put yourself together.

 “Why are you doing this?” You whimpered, cringing at the way your voice broke into a sob right at the end. You never thought that you would be violated on the cold, hard floor by an unhinged psychopath, but fate always finds a way to screw with us, they say.

 “Do you know who I am, princess?” The man asked with a smug, arrogant expression on his face. You shook your head in response. In an alternative universe you might have thought that the intruder was quite handsome – broad shoulders, dark green eyes, a well defined jaw line and a strong muscular body. But in the current situation the only word you could use to describe the dangerous fellow was insane. He had shamelessly attacked you in your own home, your supposed safe heaven, and showed no remorse whatsoever. “You might not know me, but I know you.” The man continued. “I used to work with your father. ” His gaze was now fixed on you. “I doubt that daddy dearest has ever shared with you what he does for a living, but tell you, it isn’t pretty.” The trespasser lowered his head to bite at the soft skin of your neck, making the hairs on your neck bristle due to the unexpected contact with his teeth and because of that you couldn’t even register the hurtful words he was spitting about your father. You didn’t want to believe him anyways. “But he made a mistake.” The man added, still licking your sensitive skin. “The bastard messed with the wrong people. Stole money from my boss too. Lots and lots of it.”

 “T-that can’t be true.” You moaned in discomfort against your better judgment and tried to kick at his joints out of impulse. But of course, he quickly grabbed your leg before any damage was done and pinned it back to the floor.

 “Oh, but it is, princess. And that’s where I come into the picture.” The man purred contentedly, his attention on you once again. “I am quite infamous in the underworld, ya see. ” He stopped to make air quotes with his fingers. “ My name is Edgar, I am an assassin. I would kill anyone and everyone for the right price. ” For a second the murderer stared at intensely. You could swear that his eyes turned red in a spar of moments and in them you saw a mixture of bloodlust and a desire for flesh. “So when  they asked me to hunt you down in order to mess with your dad, I obviously agreed. It started off as a way to make an easy buck, but the more I followed you around and collected private information, the more I postponed killing you.” The man sighed, seemingly frustrated with himself. “At first I thought that I wanted to plan out your disposal well ahead of time and that’s why I was wasting so much time, but soon enough I realized I was interested in you.” He smiled softly this time as if he was recalling a pleasant memory, involving you. “You were so sweet, so… normal. I wanted you.”  The assassin admitted at last and took a deep breath. His little confession had made you vivid, frantic with worry, and suddenly you were a living, breathing creature again. You scratched at the back of his neck and summoned all of your strength left to get your hand out of his grasp. You tried to punch him right in the face, but your attempts were fruitless as he easily overpowered you. Before you could strike again the ruthless killer picked up his knife from next to you and put the blade under your chin. His eyes sparkled with childlike excitement.

 “There is no point in fighting me. Everyone already thinks you’re dead, I made sure of it.” The man moved the edge down, stopping at your cleavage. He licked his lips suggestively and the alarms in your mind went crazy all over again. “Your life belongs to me – your body and your heart too. I will take you right here and there is nothing you can do to stop me.” Edgar laughed cruelly as he cut the fabric of your blouse, revealing your chest, hidden by your plain bra. With one swift move the string holding it together was ripped apart and your upper body was fully exposed to the hungry eyes of the stranger. He cupped your breasts with his palms and massaged them gently, twisting your erect nipples lightly with his fingers. You wanted to numb the unfortunately pleasurable feeling but it wasn’t going away as the intruder kept on teasing the swollen tips.

 “S-stop!” You protested, shaking your shoulders violently. Everything was starting to feel too real and you couldn’t let the savage man take away from you something so intimate and personal. In the end he paid no mind to your continuous struggles and selfishly did as he wished.  Soon enough his hand traveled down your thighs, to your crotch. Edgar slid his wrist beside the elastic waistband of your panties and wasted no time, starting to rub the sweet spot between your legs. You held back a moan, as the embarrassment washed over you.

 “Don’t hold your voice back, princess.” The assassin growled in your ear, pressing harder on your sensitive bud. You couldn’t help, but cry out due to the intense pleasure you were receiving. “Yeah, just like that, let me hear you.” The man kept fingering you, while you arched your back, and eventually you felt yourself getting damp down there. The killer chuckled, satisfied with your cute reaction and the way you were squirming around his forefinger.

 “You act like you hate all of this, but your pussy is so wet, baby.” He suddenly drew his fingers in and out of your entrance, making a lewd pop of splashing juices just to get his point across. “You might turn out to be a little slut after all, huh.” Edgar whispered in your ear and licked the trace of salty tears down your scarlet cheeks. Your face felt red and hot, your eyes were still shut tight. The way his touch made you feel was so invasive, yet ecstatic none the less

 After the man had stretched you properly, he was ready to claim his prize. The assassin had spent so much time stalking you, following you, desiring you and now he finally had you in his arms, exposed and split open for him alone. Moving down to leave wet kisses and love bites along your shoulders and collarbone, the intruder lowered himself onto your tight, sloppy hole and you felt his hard erect member rubbing onto your tight entrance. A new powerful wave of hot, choking tears fell down your cheeks as you shook your head violently.

 “Please, I am begging you, don’t do it!” You whimpered, defeated and light-headed from the fear, arousal and adrenaline, pumping in your veins. Edgar ignored your pathetic pleas and instead decided to shut you up by gently pressing his lips against yours, moaning into his little seal of love. He pushed his big throbbing cock into your heat ruthlessly, unable to wait any longer, simply using your wetness as a lube. The murderer started thrusting into you in a steady, harsh rhythm, without giving you the time to adjust to his inhuman length. In just a few minutes your mind had stopped worked and you were reduced to a mumbling mess of tiny moans and mewls.

 “S-shit, you feel so good, princess. So fucking tight.” The man exclaimed, breathing heavily and quickly moving his hips back and forth along the way. One particular move of his send you very close to the edge and your walls clenched down on his dick, which didn’t go unnoticed. “Did I hit your sweet spot?” The man smirked, running a hand trough his sweaty dark hair. The other one went straight to your nipples, twisting and rolling them once again. You couldn’t stop yourself from crying out in unwanted, but intense pleasure. “Wanna cum, baby?” Edgar teased, as he touched every part of you  – your breasts, your belly and your soft thighs. “Wanna squirt all over my cock?” The criminal kept taunting you, driving you crazy little by little. “Do it. Cum for me, princess.” Soon enough your sensitive, over stimulated body convulsed as the powerful hot orgasm washed over you. You felt dizzy, tired and lost. Unfortunately, the crazed man wasn’t finished yet – he kept thrusting and thrusting, until he finally released into your very core.

 Once his breathing calmed down, the intruder pecked your cheek tenderly, pulling you in his lap. It went better than he had imagined it would.

 “You did so well, princess. So good for me.” Edgar stroked your hair lightly, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. But you couldn’t make half of his words as exhaustion and shame overtook your tired mind, the voice in your head screaming louder than the man’s love affirmations. But maybe it was better that way – anything else would be too painful after everything that had happened. “You are mine now.” The killer spoke after a while, before hugging you even tighter. Soon enough you would realize there wasn’t an easy way out of his warm, deathly embrace.

[thewhizzyhead]

a non-filipino's guide to trese: ep 1

So some of my mutuals decided to check out Trese aka the Netflix adaptation of the Filipino horror comic book series that I keep rambling about here and then since well um most of my mutuals aren’t from the Philippines fshfs I decided to make a long-ass post that basically consists of me rambling about the cultural context present in Trese with fun little tidbits about Filipino folklore. I’m not an expert on Filipino mythology so um I just typed out the stuff that I know and the stuff that I looked up on Wikipedia so um take this with a grain of salt aaaaa I’ll save the extensive google scholar research ramble on folklore present in Trese for another day.

I’ll try to find the sites where I got some of the information from cause um yea I kinda had a bit of a hard time finding the other shit so um once again, take the stuff here with a grain of salt. Also, feel free to add more info if you guys got any!

SO ANYWAYS ENJOY ME RAMBLING ABOUT EPISODE 1 OF TRESE WOO

+ MRT and LRT (Manila Metro Rail Transit and Light Rail Transit) are train systems in NCR (the capital region) and yea them suddenly stopping and malfunctioning in the middle of the goddamn rail is a daily occurrence and we have been trying to deal with this bullshit for years but alas, corruption and negligence are sweet sweet drugs.

+ When the MRT broke down, you'd see a red bee in the flashing billboard right? Well that's Jollibee and that's probably the most well-known fast food restaurant chain here heck there are even branches of it abroad!

+ According to many youtube comments along with other social media posts that I am way too tired to link here, the opening theme is an Ifugao ethnic song called Balluha'd Bayyauhen but with modern accompaniments and I think the song is about a fruit called a balluha that the character in the song tries to it but cannot swallow. (someone please correct me if I’m wrong here fjkfs)

+ The first um monster that we see Alexandra interact with is the White Lady of Balete Drive. White Ladies or “Kaperosa” are a type of female ghosts typically dressed in ghostly white dresses or similar garments. According to legend, she died in a car accident while driving along Balete Drive (a two lane street formerly lined with Balete Trees which are said to be a home for spirits and mysterious creatures) in Quezon City while other accounts say she died waiting for the arrival of her lover; others also say that she was a teenage girl who was run over and killed by a taxi driver at night and then buried around a Balete tree while another variation of the tale claims that a student from the University of the Philippines was sexually assaulted and killed by a taxi driver nearby and so said ghost haunts the street in search of her murderer. There are many other variations but according to local rumor, the legend was fabricated by a reporter in 1953 in order to make an interesting story. What remains consistent in many variations is that apparently taxi drivers would be stopped by a beautiful lady asking for a ride and if one would look at the rear window, they would see that the white lady in question is bruised and drenched in blood.

+ There are a lot of mentions about "lakans" and stuff in reference to Alex and her father right? In precolonial times, the term is used to refer to the paramount ruler or the highest-ranking political authorities in Tagalog communities (so um NCR and some parts of Region 4). In Muslim communities, they are called sultans while communities with strong trade connecitons with Indonesia or Malaysia called them Rajah. Datu is umm the more generalized term though when it comes to discussing the leaders of the precolonial Filipinos.

+ So, Alex’s mom is a babaylan and back in the pre-colonial period, each barangay (which a native filipino term for a village or a district; said term is still used today to describe um divisions in municipalities like) had them and these are basically Philippine shamans and they specialized in communicating with the spirits of the dead. To my knowledge, the role of babaylan went to women and yea people assigned male at birth but then identified as female were also allowed to become babaylans and they would be treated with the same respect given to any woman back then (honestly I dunno much about lgbtq+ stuff back in the precolonial times but all I know is that precolonial Filipinos were much a lot more welcoming towards trans identities bUT THEN THE SPANIARDS CAME AND UM ERR RUINED THAT); also the writing Alexandra's mom did in that one scene with the dagger is in Baybayin - preHispanic Filipino script. I dunno what she wrote down though. .

+ Also I kinda find it funny that the people here esp those who were at the White Lady scene are um,,, not at all surprised? Like yea quite a number of filipinos have their own superstitions and beliefs and all that but um yea the people in Trese seem very used to the bullshit,,,which in retrospect, isn't at all inaccurate fsdfd I MEAN WE DEAL WITH UNSURMOUNTABLE AMOUNTS OF BS ON A DAILY BASIS SO I DON’T THINK DEAD GHOSTS WOULD EVEN FAZE MANY FSKJDS

+ The one that appears right before Alexandra talks with the duwende (the one in the manhole) is called Laman Lupa (which i guess translates to um "What is in the earth"? just um YEA THEY ARE DIRT CREATURES). normally this is an umbrella term for duwendes and nunos but in Trese they are servants of these aforementioned creatures.

+ Duwende (which came from the Spanish phrase "dueno de case" which means "owner of the house") or dwarves in Filipino folklore are known to be mischievous and magical environmental guardians. They are believed to reside in trees or under earth mounds (those that live in the latter are called nuno sa pundo or old man of the mount) which is why quite a lot of Filipinos say "tabi tabi po" or “excuse me” when wandering around a forest or earth mounds as a sign of respect and in the hopes the duwende won't torment them. If the person is friendly, the duwende can also be friendly in return and will bring that person good lucl; otherwise, those who destroy their homes by stepping on them will face their wrath in form of heartless curse and predictions of ominous and disastrous fates. A duwende's color also depends on their budhi or conscience: to my knowledge, white duwendes are kind, red ones give protection amulets, green ones are firnedly with children and the black ones give nothing but trouble.

+ Chocnut aka the snack Alex bribes the nuno with is a very yummy chocolate snack made of coconut milk, crushed peanuts and cocoa powder. They are umm about an inch in length and maybe half an inch in width so it's fairly small; that being said I WANT THE CHOCNUT THAT ALEXANDRA HAS CAUSE HOT DAMN THAT'S A BIG CHOCNUT

+ In Trese, the creatures in the MRT scene and in the warehouse Alexandra visits after she talks with the duwende are called "aswang". In Philippine folklore, it is an umbrella term for any kind of monster so um an aswang in Luzon would be very different from the aswang in Mindanao. According to what I saw on wikipedia, they can be classified in 5 categories: the vampire (self-explanatory um they drink blood), the viscera sucker (the manananggal, i'll get to that next time), the weredog (cats and pigs are also possible but um yea they target pregnant women), the witch (self-explanatory boom curses and stuff) and the ghoul (they gather near trees in cemeteries to feast on human corpses). Aswangs are often described to have a long, hollow tongue, sharp claws and sharp teeth, although they do also have human forms.

+ To my knowledge, Ibwa, the leader of the aswangs in the warehouse, is a creature from Tinguian or Itneg mythology (they, like the Ifugao, are an indigenous ethnic group in northwestern Luzon) though I could be wrong about this dksfsf Ibwa seems like an ethnic filipino term tho wah I can't remember where I once read that. But anyways, Ibwa often stalk sthe house of a dying person to steal its body. In order for the ibwa to NOT succeed in that, some people burn holes in the garments of the dead and put a sharp iron object on top of the grave since those are most powerful weapons against aswangs which is what Alexandra uses to subdue the Ibwa and kill all the other aswangs (the knife alex uses is named Sinag which means "ray of light".)

+ ALSO I AM SO SO GLAD THEY KEPT THE FILIPINO SWEARS IN THE ENGLISH DUB YES YES THIS IS A VERY GOOD JOB so lemme discuss the versatility of tangina-

+ Also umm Bossing is a nickname of Vic Sotto - one of the three pioneer hosts of Eat Bulaga! which is the longest running Philippine noontime variety show. Over time, most probably due to the show's popularity, the term "bossing" then became um slang for "boss" or "chief"

+ Translation of what Alex says when she's stirring the eye inside the cup: “In the eyes of others, secrets will reveal themselves.”

+ Sidenote: The English dub's pronunciation of many of the tagalog lines are um yea they r pretty good but they could use a bit of work but then again I'm really not that good in speaking in Tagalog so who am I to judge gkdkf sorry po guys conyo po ako-

+ Maria Makiling is arguably the most famous of all the diwatas (ancestral spirits, nature spirits, or deities) in Philippine Mythology; she is associated with Mount Makiling in Laguna as the guardian spirit of the mountain. Mount Makiling is said to resemble a profile of a woman and people associate the profile with Maria herself. She is also known as a goddess by the name of Dayang Masalanta and people would pray to her for safety and to stop storms and earthquakes. That's the goddess Alexandra's mother mentions right when she tells Alex to hide. (Translation to what she said there: Maria Makiling, goddess of the mountain, bless us.)

+ ALSO YEA THAT MAYOR IN THE MRT STATION IS UMMM RATHER REMINISCENT OF MAAAANY POLITICIANS AND PUBLIC SERVANTS HERE LIKE BELIEVE ME I CAN THINK OF SO MANY NAMES RN. THEY WOULD FLAUNT THEIR MACHISMO AND PROMISE THAT THEY THEMSELVES SHALL PUNISH THE PERPETRATORS HARSHLY BUT IN THE END THEY DONT MEAN SHIT AND ARE IN OFFICE TO SERVE ONLY THEMSELVES AND TO SHIT ON THE REST ESP THOSE OF THE POORER SECTORS AND *NOTHING IS DONE ABOUT IT*. WE LIVE IN HELL OKAY. also hmm how the police are represented here is umm,,,interesting,,, like i know there are sOME good police officers like the ones alexandra assists but like,,,our current sociopolitical climate + the many cases showcasing the corruption in the police force + tHE SHEER AMOUNT OF POLICE BRUTALITY HERE would ummm beg to differ. but um anyways-

+ Also Mang Inasal posters can be seen in the MRT station backdrops and um it’s a very famous restaurant chain here and they serve lots of barbecue and other filipino stuffs and i miss them a lot God their halo halo is very yummy

+ Santelmo - oki so this is the fire face thingy that Alexandra summons inside the ruined train. This is the shortened version of the term "Apoy ni Santa Elmo" or "St. Elmo's Fire" - this is a weather phenomenon wherein plasma is created from an electrical discharge from a rod like object in an atmospheric electric field. This phenomenon was used to warn of imminent lightning strikes or storms (there is a chapter in Noli Me Tangere where Pilosopo Tasyo talks about that bUT I'LL SAVE THE NOLI ME TANGERE RAMBLES FOR ANOTHER DAY). But according to Philippine folklore, santelmos - which are said to be souls of people lost as sea - are balls of fire that appear where accidents or big arguments happen. In Trese, santelmos (alex's santelmo being "The Great Spirit of the Binondo Fire") can be called to assist in supernatural investigations

+ Translation of what Alex says when she draws the circles to meet with the purple ghosts: "Souls, where are you off to? I'll be entering too, so please open the door."

+ Remember the scene at the train with all the purple ghosts and the woman in a veil? Yea the woman is an emissary of a goddess named Ibu and she is the Manobo (again, another indigenous ethnic group but this time they're from Mindanao; fun fact we have around 134 ethnic groups) goddess of deceased mortals and the queen of the underworld; she also serves as a psychopomp and guides the newly deceased souls to the other side (having an MRT be the ride to the underworld isn’t in the legends tho so fkkjsf)

+ The aswang in the top hat is called Xa Mul and according to the Isneg/Apayao people (yay another ethnic group but this time in northern Luzon - the Cordillera regions to be specific), they are an evil spirit known to swallow people whole.

+ Alex has two henchmen right? Yea they are named Crispin and Basillio and No I still don’t know who’s who and I'm really sorry about that fsfjs so anyways the names Crispin and Basillio are actually those of two brothers featured in the Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo novels (Crispin is younger and Basilio is older) which are basically the national novels here cause um yea written by national hero Jose Rizal as sociopolitical commentary about the Spanish regime here. I don't know if I want to spoil this cause I kinda want other people to read the novel too fskfs BUT ALL IN ALL, ONE OF THEM DIES IN LIKE THE 10TH OR 11TH CHAPTER OF NOLI ME TANGERE (and the novel has 64 chapters btw) AND UM YEA-

+ OKI SO TO ADD MORE CONTEXT TO THE SQUATTER STUFFS MENTIONED IN TRESE (we r gonna use the tiny font here because holy shit this rant is long): So,in the Philippines, especially in the capital region, there are lots of slum areas called squatters. These are dense urban settlements made of compact makeshift housing units that aren't really officially recognized by the government. This is um very reflective of the poverty situation here and there are maaany factors that come into play here and if i were to go into depth about this topic, that rant would probably turn into an academic paper so for the sake of brevity, let's just say that Things Are Fucked Up Here. Oftentimes the poorer sectors are being ignored and left to their own devices despite tons of campaign promises to make things better and easier for them. The communities that live here are incredibly vulnerable to floods, fires, and the like and afaik no concrete solutions have been in effect to protect these people and their settlements. There have also been many times where squatter areas are dismantled or demolished despite protests of people living in those areas and yea I understand the need to make space and the need for renovation but the people should still be offered some sort of temporary settlement or financial compensation thingy that doESN'T fuck them over but alas, we have an anti-poor government. That being said, I really like Trese Ep 1's portrayal of governmental negligence, but I also have some thoughts, especially in regards to the mayor being arrested THAT FAST which um believe me, NEVER FUCKING HAPPENS BECAUSE MANY MAYORS AND A LOT OF POLITICIANS HAVE THE POLICE IN THEIR POCKETS SO UM ERR YEA JUSTICE IS RARELY A THING HERE BUT UM ANYWAYS YEA THE GOVERNMENT LIKES TO SHIT ON THE POOR WOO LET'S SAVE THE USE OF SOCIOLOGICAL LENS ON THIS MATTER FOR ANOTHER DAY

+ The news channel reporting the arrest of the mayor is ABC-ZNN WHICH IS AN OBVIOUS REFERENCE TO ABSCBN aka the top media conglomerate here (that has been fucked over by the government so many times to the point that they had to shut down operations last year which is all sorts of unfair so seeing them being referenced here kinda made me happy gksfks)

[talonwings]

to feed a kingdom- Empires SMP Writing

in which fWhip and his subjects make questionable choices for noble reasons.

(can you tell yet that i am a c!fWhip apologist lololololol--)

It would have been easy to miss the small silhouette of the man against the giant shadows looming over the landscape.

The inky sky seemed to cling low over the Grimlands, as it had ever since the Dragon fell; the stars shone more dimly, those that still shone at all. Clouds scudded frantically across the faint crescent of the moon, pushed along by a harrying wind. The crickets all had fallen silent--indeed, all the animals had gone, hidden away in burrows and holes to shelter themselves from the threat of the corruption. No sound disturbed the stillness of the night, but for the harsh gasps of the lone figure as he raised the scythe and swung it again, and again, and again.

fWhip’s fingers had long since blistered, burst, and blistered again. He had stopped even glancing down to check his hands--the sight of the blood seeping through the fabric of his gloves had averted his gaze some time ago. The pain was a constant companion, enough so that he had become used to it, could ignore it if he gritted his teeth and focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of the tool in his grasp.

He was inelegant with the scythe. It would have been obvious to anyone observing, if there had been anyone around to observe at this ungodly hour; as it was, his lack of skill was evident enough in the ache it left behind in his forearms and shoulders, the torque that yanked at his spine every time he twisted to put his weight behind the swings. He had never been a large man, but he felt his smallness down to his bones here beneath the tower of corruption that still rose into the air above him.

Give up, the rot-red tendril seemed to hiss at him. Its veiny surface pulsated eerily, hinting at something living just beneath the fleshy exterior.

“I’ll die first,” fWhip rasped at it. “Watch me.”

He swung the scythe again. The blade was weathered steel, pocked and beaten from many years of use, but still dangerously sharp. It bit deep into the corrupted tendril, and fWhip was gratified when he swore he could hear a faint scream.

Plash was worried about the Count.

It wasn’t that her lord was acting strange, exactly. Strange, to Plash, was a relative term--she had been called ‘strange’ for most of her childhood due to her fondness for laboratory tools over the company of other children. It was a relief to finally be accepted into the service of the Grimlands’ ruler, who, by Plash’s measure, was a kindred spirit in strangeness. Many people raised their eyebrows at the Count’s eccentricities, but accepted them simply because he was the Count, and who were they to question the man who kept food on their tables and money in their coffers?

No, Plash was concerned because fWhip was acting strange, even for him. He was energetic and filled to the brim with ideas, as a rule--it was what made the Grimlands, under his rule, surge to the forefront of scientific research and discovery. Plash would have never described him as kind, necessarily, or even pleasant, but he was confident and sure and bold.

Until the Dragon fell, and everything changed.

She did not know how to make the dullness go out of his eyes, or the slant from his shoulders, or the heavy, bowing weight from his head, and it frightened her--an uncomfortable experience in itself, for someone as rarely frightened as Plash. In the hours immediately after the Dragon’s end, she had watched her beloved ruler become a person she did not recognize; and that, even before the corruption had arrived.

Plash scowled out the window of the manor at the scarlet tendril hanging ominously in the sky beyond the pane. The damn things had erupted from the ground barely a week after the Dragon’s death, while the Grimlands were still reeling from the arrival of what seemed like half of Mythland’s population. They had barely had enough time to count them all, much less figure out how they were going to feed them. Tents lined every road in Eastvale, and most of the roads immediately outside the town’s wall.

Normally, the Count would guide us, Plash thought glumly. But now…

She didn’t allow herself to finish the thought, close enough to treason as it was. Instead, she made herself continue her trek through the long, high-ceilinged halls toward the Count’s personal study, acutely feeling the weight of the smooth little scroll clutched in her hand, burning a hole through her glove.

She arrived at the tall, paneled oak door, staring for a long moment at the polished bronze knocker before summoning her strength and rapping it twice.

“Enter,” the weary voice called from within.

Plash did so, but stopped just inside the door, barely remembering to close it behind her as she gaped at her leader and mentor. He looked terrible. His eyes were ringed by bruise-purple circles, his cheeks hollow with exhaustion; more bruises were visible on the exposed skin of his wrists where his jacket sleeves rode up, and Plash swore she could see blood staining his gloves.

“Are you just going to stare?” the Count asked. The question was blunt, but his voice was weak and lacked its usual intensity.

“I…” Plash couldn’t find any words, so instead she held up the scroll. “This just arrived.”

“And they sent you instead of a raven?” fWhip gave a dry laugh. “I wasn’t aware that you were doing the job of birds now, Plash Ajax.”

Most people would have been embarrassed by the quip, but Plash shrugged. “A raven brought it, but the raven-mistress said it was too important not to be hand-delivered.”

“Mm.” fWhip eyed her for a moment before he, too, shrugged. “Bring it here.”

She obeyed, crossing the room and depositing the scroll on his desk. Up close he looked even worse than at first glance; his face and every centimeter of exposed flesh were riddled with tiny scratches, like he had been on the losing end of an encounter with a thorn bush. His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, his gingery hair utterly unkempt. Plash said nothing, only waiting in silence for him to inspect the scroll.

He took it in his hands and unrolled it, eyes scanning it for a second before he let it fall from his grip. It hit the desk with a clack, but Plash barely noticed, fixated as she was on the single tear that trailed down the Count’s cheek before being lost in the tangle of his beard.

“Um…” She chewed her lip for a moment, internally caught between wanting to comfort him and wanting to turn tail and run. She settled for asking, somewhat awkwardly, “Shall I, um...shall I leave?”

“Do what you like,” he replied in a tone thick with exhaustion. One gloved hand came up for a noncommittal wave, the fingers indeed stained scarlet with blood.

Plash stood frozen for what felt like an eternity, although it was probably no more than a minute, trying to decide what to do. Finally, she decided to be as blunt as the man she looked up to. “You look awful. Did someone break in here for a fight last night?”

She thought she had made an awful mistake when fWhip’s eyes locked onto her, his mouth agape; relief washed over her when he started to laugh, the sound hoarse and beaten, but familiar.

“So you can tell,” he said when he finally stopped laughing. “Well, I suppose I did nothing to try to clean up.”

“Wait, so there was a fight?” Plash asked in confusion.

“Of a kind,” the Count replied wryly.

“...I’m confused,” the young scientist admitted.

“Ah, I know how you hate that.” fWhip’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “All of you young researchers do, though I try my best to beat it out of you.” He stood, shaking his head and then wincing visibly at the movement. “Ack. That’s unpleasant.”

“Can I, er, help in any way?” Plash asked.

“Follow me,” the Count said, beckoning with a gesture toward the door. “I will answer your question, though you must promise to share this with no one.”

Plash followed silently, thoughts spinning through her head as they descended the several floors of the manor and exited into the gardens beyond. From down here, she had a full view of the corruption towering over the skyline of Eastvale, tendrils encircling the town as if to latch on and pull it into the earth, although for now, they remained still. It was toward one of the massive growths that fWhip led her, and as they neared, Plash could see a curious wound in the side of the tentacle. It leaked and bled crimson ooze from the gash, and its flesh seemed to have withered around the site, blackened and decaying.

“What caused this?” Plash wondered aloud. “More corruption? Some new blight?”

“I did,” the Count answered.

“You--?” Plash stared at him, aghast, her eyes dropping slowly to the scarlet-stained scythe that lay abandoned on the ground below the tendril. She hadn’t noticed it until he nudged it with his boot, but now she saw the corrupted ichor dripping from the blade, the red vines hacked to pieces and lying dead beside the tool.

“Did you know I wanted to be a farmer once?”

She was caught entirely off-guard by the question, still enthralled as she was by the sight of the scythe, so it took her a moment to fully process it. “Wh--wait, a farmer? As in…?” She mimed what she thought scything wheat might look like.

fWhip nodded tiredly. “When I was very young, I once had to accompany my parents, the old Count and Countess, on a trip to a Wither Rose Alliance summit in Mythland. They were, of course, ensconced in meetings all day, so I wandered the kingdom with my…” Here he trailed off, a flash of some unreadable feeling crossing his face for a moment before he went on. “With an old friend. We got into plenty of mischief, and one of the pranks we decided on was to unlatch the gate to a field full of cows. Luckily, the farmer caught us before we were trampled to death by the beasts, and although we were royal, he decided to teach us a lesson, and made us help him sow carrot seeds for two hours.”

Plash made a face. “That sounds horrid.”

The Count chuckled softly. “My friend thought so, but for me, there was something very rewarding in digging up the earth, placing the seeds, covering them, and knowing that they would someday become food for the citizens of Mythland.”

“...Sort of like finishing a machine that you know will be used to make life easier for people,” Plash said after a moment’s reflection. She knew the feeling--hands oil-stained, face soot-smeared, hair wild, sleep-deprived and exhausted, but overwhelmed with warmth when she gazed at the thing she had created. There was nothing like it.

fWhip nodded. “Yes. And so I told my parents when I was returned to them later that I wanted to become a farmer and grow carrots for all the people of the Grimlands. They laughed, of course, and said that a Count’s son could do more than become a simple farmer, and as it turned out, they were right. But for a long time, I had a secret dream to fill the whole world with fields, to build one every day, as far as the eye could see.”

Plash gazed at him silently for a long time. Finally, she said, “So this is your chance to use the scythe to help the Grimlands?”

His face became hard, almost unrecognizably so. “If I have to tear down every one of these damn things, I will.”

There was silence between them again, the awful, still silence that had hung over the Grimlands in all the hours that had passed since the Ender Dragon’s demise. Plash watched as the Count breathed raggedly, his fists clenched and trembling, the entire weight of their kingdom resting on his shoulders.

“I’ll help,” she said.

He blinked--it was clearly not the response he had been expecting. “What?”

“I said, I’ll help,” Plash repeated. Her resolve was growing now, ideas taking root--like seeds, like kernels that, properly watered, would grow into something that could help them all. “I’m terrible with a scythe, but I know machines and chemicals. If you give me a sample, I can turn it into something that will help us feed the Mythlanders.”

The Count’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Feed--with the corruption?”

Plash scowled at him. “Did you recruit me from university because I had boring ideas?”

He looked astonished for a moment, but only for a moment, and then his mouth formed the devious smile that she hadn’t seen in nearly eight days.

“No,” he agreed. “I did not. Very well, Plash Ajax. You will turn Xornoth’s corruption into food for the people of Mythland. But you know, I have high expectations now that you’ve even suggested such a thing.”

Plash grinned right back, cracking her knuckles, her mind already working. “I know. So do I.”

[yikesharringrove]

Show Pony

Chapter one - Big Sky

Also on Ao3

Billy doesn’t give a fuck about the rodeo. 

He doesn’t care about country music, or fancy horse riding, or the beauty queens, even the bull riders. 

What he does give a fuck about it not being in his house today. 

Not when his dad was obviously itching to pick a fight. Not when Max gave him such an easy out over breakfast. 

“I saw a flyer for a rodeo. I think it’d be kinda neat.”

It was in town for four more weeks. 

And Billy could tell the second he and Max bought tickets, he was about to be spending more time than he ever fuckin’ thought he would spend at a rodeo. 

He based that on the way Max’s eyes lit up the second she stepped inside the big fairgrounds. 

Not knowing that he was right. He was about to spend a lot of time at the rodeo. 

But not for Max. 

For himself. 

And a pretty horse rider named Steve.

He didn’t see Steve that first day. 

Was too busy shelling out his own hard-earned cash to buy Max sugary funnel cakes. Sitting next to her watching the poor suckers get bucked off their pissed-off bull. 

But when Max was in the car she turned to him, the sun setting outside, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Can we come back tomorrow?”

And the tickets were dirt cheap. And Billy hates being at home. 

So they did. 

And they watched the rodeo queens. 

And the team-roping. 

But it wasn’t until the calf roping that Billy felt his heart sink. 

Because he thinks Steve Harrington might be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

Tall and broad, smiling like sunshine at his gorgeous black quarter horse, patting her strong neck and leading her to the entry point of the arena. 

His name was loudly announced after the event name. 

Calf roping, with our very own Steve Harrington! Steve will navigate his beautiful June into the arena, trying to rope and tie down a calf as quickly as possible!

Billy had tuned out everything but his name. 

Leaning forward on his bench seat to watch him lead June up to the starting line, give her a few more pats before swinging one leg up, heaving himself up and over her back, settling into the saddle with a grace Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to describe. 

Steve appeared to shake himself out, leaning forward over June’s neck to speak quietly to the sleek horse, wiggling his hips a bit in the saddle. 

And then he sat back up, readying himself and waiting for the countdown. 

He was off like a fucking shot. 

Billy’s never seen anything fucking like it. 

June kicked up dirt as she thundered through the arena behind a small herd of a few calves, Steve ducked low against her neck as he led her forward, his lips moving as he spoke quietly to her, egging her on and forward. He was clinging to her for dear life, his legs straining as he was tossed up and down in the saddle. 

And then he let go of her reins, one hand reaching for the rope on his belt. 

And it was the most hick shit he’s ever seen. 

This flannel-wearing cowboy on his perfect fucking horse, roping a baby fucking cow. 

He slipped the knot around it from his perch on the moving horse, lassoing it easily like that was a common skill, and with a fluid practiced movement, he tossed himself off the slowing horse, getting on one knee to tip over the calf and tie it up like it was second nature. 

And maybe it was. Performing in a show like this. 

That’s all it was, a performance. Practiced and rehearsed over and over for Steve and June. 

It was over in a blink, Steve tossing his hands up to show he was finished, and the calf didn’t break its bonds. 

The whistle blew and Steve’s time was read to the arena. Nine seconds. And apparently, nine seconds was a good time, judging by the way Steve’s raised his fists in the air, and patted June’s neck so gently. 

He mounted back on his gorgeous horse as the calf he had roped was released by a few of the rodeo workers and the next guy took his position at the starting line. 

Steve did a lap around the arena of June’s back, smiling and waving to the crowd. 

And maybe Billy just has an overactive imagination. 

Maybe his stupid gay brain was looking for something not there. 

But he could’ve sworn he saw Steve grin just a little bit brighter in his direction. 

There were a few riders after him. Competing to earn a faster score on the same track. 

But Billy didn’t give a fuck about calf roping if he wasn’t watching Steve and June. 

The sun was setting as Billy finally led Max out of the fairgrounds, one hand on the top of her head, steering her towards the Camaro. 

“So, you think we can come back next weekend” Max was giving him a big shit-eating grin, powdered sugar all done her front from the final funnel cake Billy had shelled out to buy her. 

“Don’t see why not. Get’s us outta the fuckin’ house, don’t it.”

“Plus, there are lots of good-looking cowboys, just everywhere. Did you see the guy doing the cattle roping, or whatever? He was cute .” Billy rolled his eyes. Max was just touching the age when she stopped thinking of boys as gross, saw them as cute, and whatever else she said. It also made her realize that having a gay brother apparently meant talking about nothing but boys. It made Billy wanna slam his head into the steering wheel. He grunted in response as she kept going on and on about Steve. 

Like Billy didn’t see the way his thighs gripped the sides of his horse, like he didn’t watch as he hurled himself off June to tie up the fucking calf. Like he didn’t watch him take that fucking victory lap, shit-eating grin looking like home on his pretty fucking face. 

“You gotta carry your own weight, you know that, right Shitbird? I’m talking, pay for your own damn fried shit.” He bets Susan would give him money for tickets if he acts real nice this week. 

He can’t blow all his savings at the fucking rodeo of all things this summer. He’s got plans for the wad of cash burning a hole in the shoebox in the back of his closet. 

Max huffed at him. 

“What am I supposed to do? Get a job? I’m thirteen .”

“So? Babysit or some shit. Rob an ATM. Fuck if I care. Just quit stealing all ‘a my goddamn cash for your fuckin’ funnel cakes .”

“You’re just pissed off because you didn’t try one. They’re the best. You gotta have one next week.”

“I, unlike you, care about what I put in my body.”

“Yeah, because cigarettes and beer are so much better than fried dough .”

“Whatever.” The truth is, Billy’s gotta watch what he eats. Max didn’t know him when he was prepubescent and chubby. He can’t be sitting there shoving funnel cakes in his mouth and not expect it to all go to his gut. Not like her. There’s not an ounce of fucking baby fat on her. She’s positively scrawny. If anything, the funnel cake might help her out a bit. 

“Yeah, whatever .” She huffed, slumping back in her passenger seat. “But can we come back?”

“Fuck, if you keep askin’ me, the answer’s no .”

She huffed again. She does that a whole lot when they talk. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. I saw the way you were watching Steve race. You were practically drooling .” 

Billy clenched his jaw. 

“Was not .”

“Was too .” 

And Max had a knack of leading Billy into moments like this, childish little arguments that made him feel kinda weird inside. Made him feel kinda warm at how sibling it was. Like they hadn’t been forced together just a few years ago. 

For all his bitching, he really did like the little spit. If he didn’t, he’d be a bigger asshole than she’s always accusing him of being. 

“You don’t even know what I look like when I’m really eyeing a boy, if you think that was it. Just, you know. Respected his riding.”

“ Respected his riding. Yeah ‘cause you wish he was riding-”

“Finish that sentence and I’m pushing you out of the fucking car.”

“I’m right, though.”

Billy just reached forward to turn up the radio, letting Dee Snider drown out any other awful shit Max wanted to say to him. 

Which was probably showing his hand too much. No direct answer pretty much means affirmative when it comes to Billy. And yeah, Max knows that. Judging by the way she’s cackling like a goddamn gremlin over the sound of the music. 

He just pressed his foot down further on the gas pedal, letting them fly down the highway. 

And he thought about Steve and June, thought about how fast Steve could press that girl to go. Thought about him leaning forward, flattening himself to the horse’s neck, gripping onto the reins and urging her forward, urging her faster. 

And if he thought about those strong legs wrapped around him, if he thought about what Max was about to say, Steve riding Billy like he would that fucking horse, his hips flexing as he bounces up and down, well, that’s his business. 

And the next Saturday, Susan slid him a crisp twenty-dollar bill to buy Max some lunch at the rodeo. 

They took it more seriously this time, bringing water bottles, and Max slathering thick white sunscreen on her freckled skin. 

Billy even wore shorts, some old jeans he sacrificed to the summer gods when he wore holes in the thighs and chopped pretty much in half. 

And it was kinda fun. 

He knew what to expect now. Knew the barrel racing was all women, all beautiful horses winding their way along clover-shaped tracks. He knew that the bull riding was a little more fun to watch with a shot in him, and that his fake i.d. could get him an alcohol wristband from the tent at the front.

Max sneered at him when he bought himself a beer later in the day. 

“Uh, you know you have to drive me home, right? Like, and not crash your stupid car on the way home.” 

“Fuck off. It’s one beer.”

“And also that shot earlier, and I know you have a flask.”

“Okay, what are you, the cops? I’m just tryna enjoy myself in this blistering fucking heat. I don’t exactly get my rocks off to any of this shit.” Which is a lie. He’s totally sold on every stupid fucking event at the motherfucking rodeo. 

“Fine. You wanna get stupid and drunk? Then you have to take me to the pageant. I wanna watch it.”

“Since fucking when do you give a shit about the pageant .” Max glared at him. Her nose was beginning to get red. 

Maybe if Billy were less of a shithead he would tell her to put some sunscreen on. But she was really testing his patience today. 

And then her eyes went huge, and her jaw went slack, and Billy was just about to tell her to close it and quit lookin’ like a dead fuckin’ fish when he heard someone cough slightly behind him. 

And when he turned, he almost made the exact same stupid dead fish face as Max. 

Because gorgeous cowboy Steve was standing right in front of him. In another cracker of a flannel shirt, stupid blue jeans, and fucking cowboy boots, because yeah. He’s a goddamn hick that rides a horse and ties up calves in a traveling rodeo for a fucking living. 

And God save Billy, because hot damn. 

Steve had an easy smile on his face, a little bit lopsided, and perfect white teeth showing between perfect pink lips. 

“Hey there.”

“Howdy,” Billy responded before he could stop himself, his face burning up. 

He was hoping he was already sweaty enough Steve wouldn’t notice the flush. 

But thankfully, Steve’s smile went wider, and he laughed, this gorgeous bright laugh, his head tossing back, and that thick hair flowing easily. 

He had gold streaks in his hair, lighter browns tussled within the darker colors. Billy wondered if they were natural, days spent out in the sun on his horse. Part of him hoped they weren’t. Part of him hoped that Steve was that intentional with himself and his goddamn hair. 

He smiled at Billy. 

“I’m Steve.”

“We saw you. Last weekend,” Max blurted out before Billy could kick her. She looked shocked that she had even spoken when Billy turned to give her a death glare. But Steve just laughed his gorgeous laugh again. 

“And what’d you think?”

“She wouldn’t shut up about you on the way home.” And Steve was back to looking at Billy, and his eyes are so fucking big, like, who’s eyes are just. Like that. Just fuckin’. Big. 

“And what about you, uh-”

“Billy. And this is Max. My sister.”

“Well, Billy,” and fuck Billy nearly creamed himself at the sound of Steve saying his name. “Did you like my display of talents ?”

“Could say so. I don’t give too many shits about all this hick farm stuff. But I can respect it.”

“Well, that’s alright then.” And Steve reached out to pat Billy once on the shoulder. “I hope I see y’all around. I gotta head off, June needs some TLC before our time.” He smiled at Max, and her already red face flushed deeper, almost blending into the roots of her flaming hair. 

And then he doubled back. 

“You know what, I forgot why I came over here in the first place.” He was digging through his jeans, rummaging around in his back pockets. 

Billy wanted to slide his hands in there, cop a feel while he helped Steve look for whatever he was going to offer Billy. 

And then Steve brought out two white wristbands. 

“They’re for, uh, VIP seating and stuff. If you’re interested. Gets you closer to the arena. That way I can just see what you look like after I’m comin’ off a ride.”

Hoo boy. 

This little cowboy has some fucking charm. 

And he knows it too, judging by his smug little half-smile he gave Billy while he fastened the wristband around his wrist. 

He helped Max with hers, doing it faster than he had Billy’s, and with a lot less eye contact, which was a good sign. He’s not perving on his twelve-year-old sister. Which is cool. 

And then he was looking back at Billy, and brushing his long fingers over the tops of Billy’s shoulders, his arms out in his shirt, the arms torn off an old Aerosmith t-shirt he found at the Goodwill last year. 

“You should reapply sunblock. Don’t want you burning now.” And Billy’s sure if Steve was wearing a Stetson, he woulda tipped it at them. “Enjoy the pageant.”

And he was off, and Christ, those jeans. How did Steve even successfully ride his horse in those things? They were so tight, showed off his nice peachy ass as he walked through the fairgrounds. 

“Wow,” Max said. And yeah, Billy felt the same. 

“In case it wasn’t clear, based on the way he was flirting with me, and also that he’s way too old for you, but, uh, dibs .”

“Billy, you can’t just call dibs on a person.” Billy just laughed. 

He knows that his twelve-year-old fucking sister doesn’t have a shot in Hell with Steve. Really, he doubts he even has a shot in Hell with Steve, but he also likes to spend his time making her life as difficult as possible without actually being a shitty person. So, he just riles her up. Says shit that’ll get her going. He wouldn’t be doing his brotherly duties if he didn’t say that shit. 

Max calls it even by kicking him in the shin twice and making him watch the stupid beauty pageant. 

Which, like, why the fuck are there beauty pageants at the rodeo anyway? 

Turns out it wasn’t pageant at all, but the four previous Miss Rodeo’s all lined up and looking far too glammed out for this fucking heat. 

Max faked being disgruntled by the disappointment, but Billy knows, somewhere inside that tough bitch little soul of hers, she’s glad she didn’t have to sit through a goddamn pageant just to make Billy miserable. 

Besides, Billy had whipped out his flask a few times, and he was feeling alright. Just buzzed enough that the heat had stopped making him feel quite so disgusting. 

But not too drunk to miss calf roping. 

And yeah, maybe it was a little bit lame to make their way over to the VIP seating earlier enough that they scored the front row. But when Steve came trotting out, leading June behind him, Billy was close enough he could pick out the cluster of moles on Steve’s left cheek. 

So, lame was not in Billy’s vocabulary today. 

It was pretty much the same thing as last week. Steve made everyone in the arena ooh and aah with his riding, tied up the calf in less than ten seconds once again. 

But this time, when he took that jaunty little lap around the small arena, Billy knows for a fact Steve grinned at him. Knows his stupid gay brain wasn’t making up the wink he tossed effortlessly in Billy’s direction. 

And they left, just like last weekend, as the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. 

“Just, c’mon. Mom gave you money .” Max was whining for a corn dog, of all things. When they have perfectly good, not fried food, at home. 

“Maxine, I swear to Christ, I’m fucking tired. Let’s go home so I can crash, and you can fucking drive Susan up the goddamn wall with your whining.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem too bad.” And Billy felt his insides curdling at that voice, felt himself wilting and shriveling because he would not be getting out of this day without one final, no doubt embarrassing, encounter with his gorgeous cowboy. 

Steve was leaning against a booth selling chili fries, looking like a perfect picture of a Clint Eastwood movie. 

Billy had never liked westerns. 

But he was gonna go home and spend all night watching every one he could get his grubby little hands on. 

Steve pushed off the side of the booth as Max found her words again. 

“You don’t have to live with him.”

“And you don’t have to live with my folks. I’d trade you any day.” 

And Billy nearly died. Right there. On the spot. Because. Holy shit. I’d trade you any day. 

Billy was more than happy to follow this fucking hick around America, watch him ride his pretty horse before fucking him against the stable wall. 

Or whatever. Do they have stables? Billy doesn’t know how a traveling rodeo works. 

But like, they’ve gotta have stables, right?

“Nah, you’d get sick of him. He stinks.”

“Have you ever smelled horse shit? Because that’s the fragrance I wake up to every morning.”

And Max was laughing, and Steve was laughing, and Billy was trying to keep his hands as casually as possible in front of his slight chub. 

“Will I get the privilege of seeing you two again?” And what a way to word it? The privilege. And then Steve was looking Billy up and down, and he was biting that perfect bottom lip and opening his mouth and “I could always give you my phone number. So we can. Meet up. Next time you’re here.”

“‘Course. You can give us the grand tour.”

And Steve was digging in those tight back pockets again, and shoving his phone into Billy’s hand, and he doesn’t have a passcode, but his home screen was a picture of him and his fucking horse which is, just about the sweetest thing Billy’s ever seen. 

And Billy put himself in as Billy Hargrove , and then panicked because Steve doesn’t know his fucking last name. So he settled for Billy and then for good measure shoved San Diego after it because. Billy’s a common name, okay?

And Steve took his non-password protected fuckin’ horse girl phone, and Billy was giving him as charming a smile as he could muster with sweat on his upper lip and saying-

“You better text me, Pretty Boy. So I can save your number.” Billy shrugged, looking off to his left to try and seem. Nonchalant. “In case I wanna see you again.” 

And Max was rolling her eyes, but she wasn’t stopping away. Wasn’t even whining at Billy, no doubt on her best behavior in front of hot cowboy Steve. 

But Steve had a glint in his eye, and if Max wasn’t here Billy would be playing this all different, laying on the charm a lot thicker than he was. 

But he can’t be a horny bastard in front of her. That’s just, like, gross. 

So he settles for making a real show of licking his bottom lip, and maybe flexing his bare arms just a tiny bit. 

“We should probably get goin’. Got a curfew for this one,” Billy jerked his head in Max’s direction. She huffed before she could stop herself. “See you around, Cowboy Steve.”

And Steve gave another one of his pretty ringing laughs. 

“Come again soon, Billy and Max.” And again, Billy’s sure that if Steve were wearing a hat, he would’ve flicked the brim at them as he set off back into the rodeo, dodgin off the main thoroughfare. 

“Wow. That was embarrassing for you.” 

Billy whipped his head around to stare at Max, giving her the most disgusted look he could muster. 

“The fuck you mean?”

“You were so obvious.”

“That’s the fucking point . We were flirting. It’s supposed to be obvious, you demon.” Billy shoved her once before stomping in the direction of the parking lot. 

“Yeah but you were like, making these faces at him.”

“Shut the fuck up. I know what I was doing, okay? It was all very calculated . Let him know I’m down for it, and if he texts, then I’m good to go. If not, then I move on.”

And the thought of Steve not texting was kinda, disappointing. Because Billy really wanted him to text. He wanted to stay up late giggling at his phone and the dumb things Steve texts him and pretend they don’t make him flush like a fucking school girl. 

He pointedly didn’t look at his notification when he reached the car, just shoved an old tape in and turned up Black Sabbath when Max wrinkled her nose at it. 

They were both quiet on the drive back home. Something heavy unsaid between them. 

And only as Billy was pulling into his spot in the driveway did Max suck in a big breath to actually put it out there. 

“I won’t tell. About him. Not even Mom. Not even that I think he’s cool.”

“Thanks. Easier just to. Avoid at all costs.” 

And if Billy were a better person, maybe he would hug her or something. 

But they don’t do that. Instead he sighed and didn’t hip check her violently off the porch like his instincts were telling him. So really, he’s a fucking saint. 

[dxmmymxmmywrites]

What You Do to Me

Kakashi Hatake x F!reader Smut

Warnings: oral sex, suggestive themes, lots of swearing, mention of violence/death

Cheers to the first story for the horny blog. Let’s see how this goes. Plot here follows an ANBU reader that is returning home. They are referenced as female, but could be any gender in a dress. Hope you enjoy 🖤

————————————

The leadership position was an honor— one you had fought tooth and nail for, even. You stood apart in how willing you were to climb to the top, to become the best of the best. However, it had its downsides.

You struggled making genuine friendships. You could be polite, sure, but so many people didn’t seem worth the effort anymore. It was easier to catapult all of your efforts into your training and work life.

It did make the good friends you had all the more special to you, though. You loved them dearly, and time and time again they proved their loyalty to you. Thankfully it didn’t waver whenever you were away for extended timeframes.

You had been sent away for an assassination. Somewhere nearly across the map, in a remote scavenger village where trouble had been brewing for the Hidden Leaf Village politically. It had done a number on you. You could recall the screams of the warlord’s wife when she found him in his bed with his throat cut.

As you settled into the routine of being home again, you found solace in Kurenai Yuhi. She was the friend that had been with you the longest, since the academy. You witnessed each other’s growth throughout your short lives and had been there to celebrate with and uplift the other whenever needed. That being said, she had also been quick to notice the subsequent depression that fell over you after your latest mission.

“When was the last time you went out?” She asked you flippantly.

You had come over to her home for tea the moment you had turned in the paperwork to the Hokage’s office. You shook your head.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She flicked your shoulder. “That’s not what I meant. Honestly! For fun. Something that doesn’t keep you holed up in your apartment. You know, with people.”

You gave half a laugh. “You’re scheming.”

“And if I am?”

You sighed. “You’ll rope me into it somehow. Just nothing too wild, please.”

She says it’s for your own good, and she’s probably right. Kurenai arranges dinner at a local bar with your peers, and the other jonin accept their invitations quickly.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. These are people you really loved and appreciated. It would be good to let loose for a bit. And then Kurenai comes to your door to get ready with you as promised, and she throws black fabric in your face immediately.

“WHAt the fuck—?” Scrambling, you take it off your head and your eyes bulge.

It’s a beautiful black dress. Nothing outrageously fancy, but simple and refined without looking like you were trying too hard. You snorted, and Kurenai called out to you from the bathroom.

“Kakashi’s coming, too!”

“Goddamnit... Kuri—“

“Just try it on! I promise it’s not itchy. And you look good in black.”

And as it turns out, you did. The dress hugged you in all the right places without suffocating you, and fell loosely just above your knees.

You and Kurenai looked at your body in the mirror almost surprised.

“Okay, I really like it a lot.” You admitted with a small smile, and she gave a playful smack to your ass.

“I told you!”

...

Everything falls into place accordingly, and as you both approach the bar, you can feel a familiar fire burning in your chest.

You were happy to have time with your friends, but you were itching to see one in particular. You hadn’t seen Kakashi since weeks before you left to execute the assassination.

God, how to describe how you felt for this man and where to begin? He was within your circle of true companions, many of whom you’d known since childhood. But Kakashi— he was different.

You’d admired him from afar as children, intrigued by his protege-level talent, until you had been roped into Gai’s shenanigans along the way. In truth, you think you shocked him by not being so intimidated by his prowess.

Ultimately, you could see he was lonely. You’d had your own losses yourself, but it was hard to imagine everything he had endured. You gained an honest respect for him, and you’d protected him beyond your time together in ANBU. But nothing could deny the pull you felt to him, or how much you wanted to be the person to put a smile on his face.

...Even if you couldn’t see it.

As you wait with your posse, your eyes find him first when he is (of course) the last to show up. You can’t help but observe him greedily when no one else notices, and you can’t help but stand a little taller when you notice his brows rise when he takes in your dress.

And from there, the night is history. You all pile into a cramped booth and order several rounds of drinks and food to last the night. Everyone has something to contribute, laughing, teasing, and bickering the night away. It warms your heart; finally,

you feel like you’re back home.

Your mentality becomes stronger too as you feel the warmth from the sake hit you. With precise aim you manage to toss a piece of sushi into Gai’s mouth from across the table and your audience applauds.

Yet despite your sport, you can’t ignore the looks Kakashi has been giving you even before you laughed in triumph. He’s been particularly quiet for some time, but you can’t tell if it’s the booze or the atmosphere getting to him.

When the waitress comes to gather your third round of empty drinks you can feel your mood shift. She’s a lovely girl,

thin and with pretty doe eyes. You can’t pick it up through the noise, but she makes a comment to Kakashi and you can make out a smug smile through his mask. He holds out cash between two pointed fingers to her, and she happily takes it and bats her eyelashes at him.

Something begins to boil in your blood. It wasn’t like you to get jealous— that couldn’t be it. But you swear you see his eyes dart to follow her hips as she leaves. And it irritates the living shit out of you.

You’d yearned after this man for what? Your entire adult life? How dare he. Disregard the fact you had never had the guts to confess to him.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his pretty eyes, and his stupid soft hair, and his feathery laugh—

God, you were in so deep. Your seething turns into pouting in your head. Sitting on the sidelines sucked.

And even still... something in your resolve is building. It could be impatience, or the fear you were nowhere near drunk enough to pull this off and forget about it if it went sour. But as the waitress eyes him from the bar, you excuse yourself to the restroom while the attention is on Asuma at the other side of the table.

With Kakashi on the outer seat, it’s easy to carefully but firmly hoist his vest into your hand so you can easily whisper in his ear.

“Outside in five, Hatake.”

...

He could easily find you when he got outside to see you weren’t directly by the entrance. You had snuck into the side alley to patiently wait, like a cat waiting for a mouse to show itself from the underbrush.

Your nerves are broiling over while you idle, and the heat in your gut is burning you alive. But just as you’re ready to talk yourself out of it, he sneaks around the corner.

“This is some rendezvous, don’t you—“

He can’t even finish before you’ve swiftly backed him against the wall. You hold his wrists firmly in place by his shoulders, though you’re aware he could quickly break your hold if he tried.

“What the hell’s wrong with you Kakashi?” You pitifully laugh. “Do you think I’m not paying attention to you?”

Your words are more vicious than the defeated sound of your voice.

He playfully arches an eyebrow. “So, you have been watching me?”

“Of course I’ve been watching you, jackass! How could you even— but I know we’re not— but still—!”

Your resolve is quickly dissipating while his expression becomes more amused. Damn him.

“I think that was a confession if I’ve ever heard one,” he calmly adds. You glare at him.

He thinks he’s won, and gets ready to leave, but you press your knee between his legs. He can’t move, and there’s not enough pressure beneath his crotch to hurt, but he then has your attention.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Hatake?” You dangerously whisper to him.

Now, you see him sweat. His eyes look away, and that won’t do. Not anymore.

“Every night I was away, all I could think about was you.” You breathe into his collarbone, kissing over his clothed neck until you reach his flushed ear.

“Y/N—“

“I’m tired of playing games. You know how much I want you. Only you.” You suck on the lobe of his ear and grin when you feel him inhale sharply.

Your hands fall down to his hips and grip them harshly to ground yourself. With closed eyes, you have to steady your breathing to calm yourself. “If you don’t want this, tell me. You don’t have to.”

He’s ripped out of his haze by the sincerity of your tone. In the dim light, you can see him pull his mask down with a finger to take you in fully. His smile is so breathtakingly, beautifully raw.

“I do want you, and all of this. Now kiss me already.“

And like that, your heads are tilted and your lips are locked. The fire in your belly explodes to the rest of your body and you feel it amplified every time you touch him.

He moans deeply when you begin to push against him, reveling in how this wasn’t a dream. One of his hands cradles the back of your head through your hair, and you grin when the other trails down to grope your ass.

You gently rub your knee into his crotch, and he keens while you run your hands up his toned stomach and over his tight chest. When you’re to his face, you lower your knee to push your hips together and pull his hair as you slip your tongue into his mouth.

He submits to you willingly, openly, and freely. And it drives you wild.

Your kisses become more desperate as your tongues interlock, and he feels up from your thigh to your ass when you wrap a leg around him for balance.

His grip tightens around the back of your legs. “Jump,” he says, breathlessly.

You smile. “No.”

The wild look in your eyes sends a shiver down his spine.

He goes to ask you why, but then you’re on your knees in front of him and he swears he double-takes. You pause when your hand is at his zipper and he swears he’ll scream.

“You can stop me at anytime.”

“I don’t want to! Please,” he rasps, fingers trying to find purchase at the top of your head.

His begging sends the heat within you straight to your core. So you indulge, and pull down his pants and underwear enough to let his cock bob out into the night air.

He hisses at the cold initially, but almost chokes when he feels the flat of your tongue press against his cockhead. Your eyes are dark with a sinister lust when you stare up at him, and it takes his breath away.

“Fuck, Y/N, please,” he whines, his voice catching.

You flick your pointer finger up and trail it from between his balls up his entire length, not removing it from his now fully erect shaft.

“Please what? Use your words baby.”

He bucks his hips forward trying to get close to your mouth again.

“Please Y/N, blow me,” he pants. “Fuck me with that pretty mouth of yours.”

Did you wickedly grin once more? Probably. But you close your eyes and take his entire cock down your throat at once and he nearly seizes.

You start at an agonizing pace, making him wanton and needy for you. But just as he’s tiring, you speedily lick your tongue around his shaft and deeply suck him, making him yelp in the process.

“AH!— Holy shit!” He gasps and tightens his grip on your hair.

You hum around his cock, happy with his response, and he gives you a low, drawn out groan to follow. It’s enough to distract him while your hands hook around the back of his thighs to hold him in place.

You run your nails down his thighs just as you begin to swirl your tongue over his sensitive head, and then you take him as far back into your throat as you can once more.

Kakashi’s eyes are rolling into the back of his head, completely at your mercy and enjoying every minute of it. His silver hair frames his pearlescent skin so well in the darkness, which must contrast well with the weeping cock in your mouth.

You come up for air, and give him fast, sticky pumps as you look up at him cheekily.

“How are you feeling handsome?”

“S-So good, holy fuck.” He tries to catch his air as well, but he shakes his head. “Please, let me fuck your mouth. You feel so fucking good, please let me.”

Who were you to refuse?