#loser bitch trudging on

[professorsta]

To be The Chosen One and lose

wild play by the fates

[gutterfuuck]

bro bro hear me out

you’re like the only mark writer out there so i NEED THIS TO HAPPEN PLS.

frat boy mark x sorority girl reader.

PLLLLLEAAAAAAAASEEEEEEEEEEE.

enough — !

this idea was so good, i had to start writing before i lost my mind and forgot!! you are such genius. this is probably a little off topic(?) as what you were thinking!! sorry if it is not what you expected, however, i will be using this idea in future so if you do not enjoy this, i will be writing another that is more enjoyable to you!! (with credit to you of course as the original anon!!) the frat name is an abbreviation because i couldn’t come up with one 😭😭

cw: reader is like 2 years older than mark? idk they’re both in their 20s, no superheroes/abilities au!!, william is in here for a bit i love william #williamforpresident2024, alcohol, typical college frat/sorority type parties, the start is quite long sorry i got carried away 😭, dubcon(?), reader is a bitch lowkey, mark gets mean, smut, headlock, piv, degradation, mark gets really mean ouh, creampie hehe, typical sparkie fic it’s evil and hiding under your bed like the babadook or something, aftercare at the end cuz i got soft

a/n: i was supposed to release this yesterday night though have had to edit and spellcheck this myself!! i am quite proud as this is probably the longest fic i have written without any editing from my friend!! if you notice small mistakes no you didn’t

he’s had it with you.

it’s only been a few months since he’s started college and he’s already way behind everyone else. you didn’t have a care in the world, you’d already completed college!! yet you still stay in your old dorm room, bunking with someone who had gotten lucky and left without a roommate, you payed whatever rent you felt like. you just enjoyed the college scenery, the lifestyle, you never wanted it to end… most of all, you loved your sorority. you were well aware that you might’ve looked a little bit like a loser, still hanging out with the sorority with ever changing members. you didn’t care, you were practically in charge, their leader - the queen bee. and that’s what got on his nerves.

you see, you’ve been handed life on a silver platter. a sweet 16th birthday party with a car bought just for you, spoiled absolutely rotten. mark couldn’t really talk, but at least his family came from humble beginnings, you’ve always had your money and status. you’ve always gotten what you want, even if you had to play the long game. the long, hard, boring game... which people could only stand for five minutes or less, what with your constant whining sounds and your foot stomping on the ground, pouting with your arms crossed over your chest. whatever you wanted, people just gave to you. handed themselves on a silver platter… not him. never him.

mark had a love-hate relationship with you. on one hand, you were hot, stunning… he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about you some nights, just like the other guys he hung around with.. on the other hand, you were nothing but a spoiled brat. he remembered the first time you’d come bolting at him as he stood at the doorstep of your sorority house, confusing it with the other one he’d supposed to have showed up at on his first day. you threw your arms around him as your head pounded from last night’s heavy drinking, your only sober thought being “i hope the other girls don’t get to him first.”

“fresh meat huhhh… i *hic* always like the newer ones… you like to party..?” you ask, swaying around with your arm around his like you’d known him for years let alone five seconds. mark tensed, expression shifting to slight annoyance as you almost crumpled over, dragging you back up by your shoulder gently. “no. do you know where house 242 is?” you pout at him, wavy finger pressing to his cheek and wobbling a line down his face before he smacked your hand away, tutting at you and looking around the front porch of your sorority house. bingo. mark shook you away, trudging towards the folded up lawn chair he had spotted, bringing it back and unfolding it for you. you’d annoyed him, sure, but his mother had taught him to be nice to girls.

actually, he pitied you. mark thought he could read between the lines, thought you being drunk at 11am on a wednesday morning must’ve been because you were hurting about something, someone, someplace… debbie’s words before she dropped him off in the car two days prior played in his head, ‘you never know what people could be going through, so be kind.’ as much as you’d bothered him so far, he was still inclined to make sure you were at least sat down to minimize risking an injury. you flopped down into the chair, groaning when you bumped your spine against the metal frame of it, tilting your head back to look up at him. he stared down at you with tired brown eyes, stoic expression not registering to you in your drunken state. at least you were pretty.

he clears his throat before he talks again, unfolding a piece of paper from his pocket, “house 242. do you know how to get there?” your eyes widen, mouth falling open with an excited gasp, “shut up! you are not in OOA!” you slur loudly, attempting to get up from your seat but dropping back into it as your socked feet slipped on the grassy ground below. mark gave a sideways smile and nodded slowly, he hadn’t been given the frat name yet, only the house number. mark didn’t want to have to walk around campus with a drunk sorority girl, you were only dressed in a night dress and a loose jacket, people would get the wrong idea! but, if he had no choice (and he didn’t really feel like walking around campus and looking for the house for the third time today) he’d have to have you as his temporary guide of sorts. this was so embarrassing, he really hoped nobody would think of him as a scumbag.

after watching you flap your arms and get all excited about his frat, you wobble towards the house, rushing to put on a pair of shorts and a tank top, slipping your feet into your fluffy pink slippers, a staple. because of you, no other girls apart from your sorority would wear pink shoes around campus. and you wondered why people had branded you, and your little minions who wanted to be like you, as a bully of sorts. actually, if you thought for more than twenty seconds about it, you’d know people’d rather stay on your good side: you were rich, pretty, stole people’s boyfriends on the regular, confronted those who you thought were competition and you were allowed to basically do as you wanted. because daddykins’ best friends with the dean and the dean makes wayyyy less than your dear old dad and your father bends over backwards for you so if you wanted to waste your degree you fucked and paid yourself to, then you absolutely could.

when you both start walking, you attempt to interlock your arm with his, twisting your face up in disbelief when he rejected your advances. nobody had ever, ever, in the history of ever, done that to you. you want to stamp your foot on the ground but you resist, awkwardly crossing your arms over your chest. maybe he was just shy, you’d met guys like this before. new, shy, never had a pretty girl at his side like this… you got it, you really did. you’d take this as a loss, you’d soften him down later, OOA liked to party and you hadn’t seen a new member who hadn’t drank on their first night yet. you’d know, you’d been doing this same routine for almost three years. fresh meat, lost little lamb, needs the drunk pretty girl’s help ‘cause OOA was pretty hidden away, slipping your arm into theirs to tease them, walking them to their new hangout… coming back before seven on the evening and flirting your way into the new guy’s pants, blocking them when they try to contact you before moving on to the next one… one step had already gone south in your plan. you’d take it on the chin this time. he was cute and you’d already claimed him as yours, the other girls would know as soon as they saw him.

the path you both walked on faded into the concrete, a grassy path appearing as you spotted some guys outside of the house, a keg of beer already being set up this early in the day. mark thought maybe he’d made a mistake jointing the same frat his father had during his own college days, the promise of the frat being quite calm and collected faded away from almost three decades ago, the newer generation of young adults poisoning the good name his father had gone on and on about. sure, nolan had drank during his college years but parties and alcohol were never kept at OOA.

you see, mark wasn’t the average frat guy type: not loud, not obnoxious, actually wanted to learn and grow from his college experience and make some new friends. good friends, not meatheads who didn’t know their asses from their elbows. he hoped at least one person in that house was capable, sighing quietly to himself as he unenthusiastically approached the house with you. a guy waved at you, you waved back with a giggle as another set his drink down, announcing to the other guys that “y/n was here”. oh, so you were just a slut then. you don’t know what people could be going through, so be nice. he rolled his eyes internally, feeling slightly guilty with his thoughts as a red plastic cup is thrust into his chest by someone he’d found familiar, looking up to meet william’s eyes, his stone face cracking into a smile. he hadn’t even noticed the way you’d slipped away from him, chatting with some guy who stood shirtless with a concoction of different liquors that made him blink too slowly, constantly shifting from foot to foot to maintain his balance.

“what happened to not wanting to join us?” his friend asks as mark takes the cup into his hand, smelling the contents of the drink before he decides not to put it to his lips. it was way too early to day drink, he hadn’t even put his backpack down yet, “changed my mind, dad was on my ass about it, i just didn’t want the headache when i go visit.” he shrugged, eyes wondering over to you, watching as you let that guy hug you from behind, a strange feeling bubbling up in his gut. he wasn’t sure if he felt shame or disappointment that you hadn’t stayed with him, no longer worried about how weird it would have looked to walk around with you intoxicated. he looks away before your eyes meet his again, attention shifting back to william and whatever he had been babbling on about before he’d started daydreaming. “…and that’s why- mark? are you listening?” william snapped his fingers at him, shaking him out of his absent looking gaze. william looks behind him, in the direction mark had been staring in, slowly nodding his head with an eyebrow lifted when he looks back at mark again, “oh, right. i get it.” he smirks, mark’s red tinted cheeks being confirmation. “shut up, she only bought me here ‘cause you weren’t answering your texts.” he retorts, shaking his head when william gives him a knowing look.

that was the first day he’d met you. mark didn’t go to the party that night, much to your disappointment. instead, you spent the night in the lap of one of the jocks you’d settled on as a compromise, swigging back shots of vodka and rejecting his advances. he had a tiny cock anyway, you’d seen it before when one of the girls in your sorority received a picture of his dick and squealed about how gross the foreskin looked. you weren’t gonna fuck this guy, partly because you didn’t feel like it and partly because you were disappointed that you hadn’t gotten to see more of mark. you’d see him around campus, catch him staring at you outside sometimes. every interaction was short lived, always being shut down by him. hard to get was by far your least favourite game and there was no way mark would be able to resist someone like you! this had to be the twilight zone or something.

you’d tried everything at this point, low cut shirts with short skirts that exposed the bottom of your butt, shorts that should class as panties with how they barely classed as shorts, bikinis, standing outside his frat house while he was in it and being sprayed by beer in a wet t shirt contest, the works!! you had never been so offended, he just acted as if he didn’t even see you! it’s been four months now, four months of being basically celibate due to your petty “if he cant take me, nobody will have me” mentality. god, you were acting desperate. it embarrassed you, you hated working hard for things that should come as easy as one, two and three. while you thought your attention seeking streak was getting you nowhere, mark’s brain was going into overdrive.

“i just don’t get why you’re so… worked up about it.” william says as he sips from his mug that held coffee - the irish kind since he had a migraine from yesterday’s party and felt the only way to recover was to drink more - sitting with his leg crossed over the other on the sofa with mark who typed away on his laptop, “worked up? worked up?” mark repeated, never looking up from his screen, “come on. i’m sure she didn’t mean it-“ william began, sentence cut short by mark slamming his laptop down, getting up from the couch to put it on the kitchen isle, eyebrows furrowed. he was talking about how you’d ‘accidentally’ taken his jacket instead of yours and when he’d asked for it the morning after, you’d sent one of your sorority minions outside to tell him that they had no clue where the jacket or you was- only to see you walking around campus in it like it belonged to you a minute later, returning to the sorority house with drinks in a little black plastic bag. he had to walk back in the rain, his shirt soaked and blood boiling. yes, the jacket wasn’t a big deal. what william didn’t know was that he was mad because for the last few weeks, you’d been at the parties he’d been at. not only that but you’d always have a different guy all over you, always looking over to him, almost like you were doing it on purpose.

“yeah sure, i’m sure she didn’t mean to spill her drink all over me last week and steal my jacket yesterday, y’know, the one i needed to get home in the rain… oh, i’m sure she didn’t mean to break the fucking tv- the only one we have, when she came over for beer-pong.” mark spits back, pinching the space between his eyes with his index and thumb. william rolls his eyes, sipping away at his coffee without a care in the world. “and i’m sure she didn’t mean to make me miss nearly all of my classes.” he finishes, which makes william turn his head towards him with a smile, “oh, i’m sure y/n physically kept you from going to class.” william tuts, standing up and walking out of the room, “last time i checked, she doesn’t even go here…!” he said as he walked off, refusing to argue with mark. william was right, you hadn’t stopped him from attending classes. he’d just become a little obsessed maybe, wanted to keep an eye on you just in case. mark could only think back to the first day he’d met you, how you’d been drunk from before noon and how you looked like you needed help, how his mother’s words buzzed around in his head… he still hung onto that, taking himself up as your personal guardian angel without your knowledge.

you open your phone when you leave the shower, whatever music that had been playing through it stopping as you pressed pause to focus on the words on your screen:

william🤞

prty @ 242 6pm. bring back his jacket 🙄

you tilt your head slightly before you remember what he’s talking about. you dry your hands, opening your phone to respond,

y/n

omw ❤️

is all you type, not bothering to look at the notification that made your phone buzz before you rush to your little vanity, ready to doll yourself up for the evening and throw on some clothes, pairing them with the jacket you’d now have to return. you get an influx of messages on your phone suddenly, the group chat of the girls in your sorority letting you know that they’d also be attending, emojis and gifs and reaction images galore as you scroll through your phone. the girls wanted to go colour coordinated, all in the same pink miniskirts and black tank tops. you, however, wore a black miniskirt with a pink tank top, just to differentiate yourself from the rest of your hive. you didn’t remember exactly when you’d gotten william’s number but he was useful at times. plus, you thought he was pretty fun to hang around with! that, and the fact that he was mark’s best friend.

when you get to the OOA house music is already blaring and some of the boys are already sat out on the porch, some members of your sorority had shown up a few minutes prior. probably the new girls, you think, knowing the other girls wouldn’t make a mistake as grave as showing up earlier than you. for once, you’re gonna let it go. you were in a good mood today, felt like you were finally going to get your hands all over that slippery prick. you didn’t know why you had your sights set on him, you could be with literally anyone else. you told yourself it was pride, he’d offended you by rejecting you. pretty girls never knew when to quit, especially the rich and spoiled ones like yourself. you made heads turn towards you, as per usual. compliments flooded into your ears, dry “thank you”’s and “aww you’re so cute”’s leaving your mouth, hiding the scowl you had plastered under your perfect demeanour.

you scanned the room, looking for one person in particular, pushing away drinks that had been offered to you before you decided to just give up, plopping yourself down on the same sofa mark had been typing his essay on hours prior, finally giving in when william approaches you, swaying a little as he walked, already wasted by the looks of it. you put on a fake smile, trying to stop yourself from having a full on temper tantrum over not being able to find the guy you’d gotten all dressed up for, wearing his jacket, having no fun at the party his frat house was throwing. william opens his mouth before closing it again like a fish, trying to find his words, “y-you came..!” he speaks loudly, placing his cup on the coffee table in front of you, already littered with other people’s drinks as he throws his arms around you in a hug, “duh, it’s not a party til i’m here.” you say, your friendly tone threatening to falter as you looked down at your nails, observing them as if they had better things going on. you return his drunken embrace, giggling when he accidentally spills his drink on himself.

“you bought it, good..! you wouldn’t believe his b-..b-bitching- earlier-“ he covers his mouth with his hand to stop himself from burping at the last part of his sentence, gesturing towards the jacket you had draped over your shoulders to which you nod and smile, patience wearing thin. if william was here then where the fuck was mark? you wanted to ask him where the rest of him was, though didn’t think he’d understand as fast in his drunken state. tipsy wasn’t even the word. “it just looked so similar to mine, ha!” you lied, finally taking one of the empty cups out of the plastic sleeve and helping yourself to the bottle of vodka that stood in the middle, pouring orange juice straight into it afterwards to try and mask the sharp taste. william laughs, you drink.

“actually- he’s upstairs. studying or whate-ever.” william points to the ceiling, brushing some of his hair out of his face, “i can go give it to him if you like-“ and just like his conversation with mark earlier, he’s cut off short again by you springing up with a no, forgetting about your drink as it spilled over the rim, the whole thing splashing over your shirt. you gasp and squeak, william tries to stifle a loud laugh that would’ve bought all of the attention to you. even while drunk he knew not to put his reputation on the line, and his reputation he did kind of value. nobody wanted to draw unnecessary attention to you, the last person who had done that had been trashed so badly they had to move out of the state after a few months of non stop rumours. you sigh, defeated as you pick up someone’s jumper - they shouldn’t have left it out in the first place if they didn’t want you to use it as a cloth - and trying to soak all of the alcohol out of the black fabric. “bathroom upstairs- mark’s in the room to the r-right— ugh, i’m gonna throw up,” william says as he retches, cheeks puffing out before he takes his leave, sprinting into the back garden to puke in a plant pot. a few more compliments, you’re flirted with by a guy for like five minutes, you take a few more swigs of someone else’s drink and you’re headed upstairs, looking for the bathroom and hoping nobody had started fucking in there so you could act out your ever developing plan.

your eyes lit up when you successfully pushed the door and it wasn’t locked, closing it behind you and twisting the latch so nobody would intrude on you. lifting your shirt over your head, you’re careful to not let the fabric ruin your makeup. the next thing that’s discarded is your bra, winking at yourself in the mirror and jiggling your boobs experimentally, making sure your girls looked their best. you then put mark’s jacket on, sleeves coming past your hands as the hem just barely missed your knees. you didn’t hang out or interact with him often, you never get the chance and it’s frustrating, but you’re reminded of the potential size difference between you and him when you put on his jacket. showtime. if this didn’t get you laid tonight, you’d have to get a new name and move out of the COUNTRY out of embarrassment of coming off as desperate. to the right, a door that had large posters on the surface, some stickers peeled away and faded from years of being piled up on the door. a sock on the handle. no fucking way.

this had never happened before. nobody had ever wanted to fuck someone else before sticking it in you. you wanted to scream, rip your hair out and stomp your feet until you fell through the fucking ceiling. this wasn’t fucking happening, the boy you’d had your eyes on was not fucking another girl in this room. you saw red, the reality of not getting your way this time hitting you hard, your hand flying to the handle to twist it open, ready to have a cat fight if necessary. you felt like a steaming bull, felt like steam was coming out of your nose and ears cartoonishly. you didn’t even know what you were gonna do when you saw him and whoever the fuck that stupid bitch was, all you knew was that you hadn’t gotten what you wanted and it was time to let everyone know that.

you’re ready to bite his head off, both of them, blind rage taking over before you lay your eyes on the sight in front of you. he sat with his legs open, pants at his ankles with his head thrown back momentarily, hand going up and down between his thighs with his other hand holding up his shirt before he’s shuffling to cover himself, wide eyed and cursing with his cute face all beet red. “o-out..! get out-!” he stutters, voice cracking as he rushes to close the door, traping you behind it again. you’re stunned, never seen anything so… erotic before. you wished he wore shorts, the way his toned thighs flinched and tensed made you want to slide yourself up and down them, the small snippet of his abs you wished you’d had a longer look at before being blocked from entering… why’d he hide his body away for so long you’d never know. oh how you wished you’d seen his dick, imagining it made your mouth water. you shake your head, clearing your mind to prevent it from clouding with thoughts of lust, you couldn’t have your pussy leaking just yet. were you really so desperate for dick that you’d get wet without even seeing it? just the mental image of him, lip tugged between his teeth, pleasured expression barely visible? get your act together, you thought, breathing heavily before steadying yourself, standing up straight and knocking on his door.

“maaaarrrrkk…” you whine loudly, fist slamming against the posters, “i didn’t see anything, i swear..! but… i also won’t tell anyone if you let me in.” you offer teasingly, smiling wide when you heard a loud groan from the other side, followed by loud footsteps, followed by the door swinging open, mark avoiding your gaze with gritted teeth. he also wasn’t stupid, also had a reputation to keep squeaky clean. he’d had enough of you. for real, this time. he had enough of how you were the bitch who could make or break him if he ever slighted you in any way, had enough of the way you taunted him from afar, had enough of your complete and utter rudeness - who the hell even barges in when there’s a sock on the door? - he’d just had enough. he stood there, arms crossed as you took in your surroundings, blue and yellow scheme familiar to the clothes he wore... then it hit you, this was mark’s room. it wasn’t weird to have people living at a frat house, some people owned them. you wondered how he felt having to listen to music and people yelling and drinking all night, though that thought was quickly brushed away by mark’s voice,

“that’s mine.” he says bluntly, cheeks still pink as he points to his jacket that you wore, still standing at the door like some sort of bouncer. you nod, closing the door behind you and ignoring his words, “nice room y’got… seance dog? how old are you?” you joke, helping yourself to the shelf where stacked comic books stood, picking one up and flicking through it. mark walked towards you, snatching it out of your hands and putting it back, “again, that’s mine. i want my jacket back, y/n. then you should leave.” he spoke matter-of-factly, glaring at you for a second as you rolled your eyes, sitting on his bed and making yourself at home. “ugh, you’re still mad about it? i’m sorry we have the same jacket. i was drunk! fuck, man.” you shoot a glare back, yours with a grin. he’s had enough. he was at his boiling point, red hot rage was about to start bubbling over and you were the person he didn’t really want to take it out on. “y/n, i’m not gonna tell you again.” he warns, scowling at you as he approaches, fists balled up into his hands. this was probably the part of him people could most see his father in, his expression when he got angry. it didn’t scare you, it made you want to tease him more. so he thought he could intimidate you? he had another thing coming.

“you can’t make me. i’ll scream, you want everyone to come rushing up here?” you wouldn’t, you were only teasing. like a bolt of lightning, he’s tugging the zip of his jacket down, attempting to take it off of you and kick you out himself. you grabbed onto the zipper, trying to block his hands away from zipping it down any further, “taking back my shit and you can get the fuck out of here-“ he muttered, ignoring your sounds of protest, “mark— stop it, i’ll go i just-“ he doesn’t care, he’s trying to force your hands away, slapping at them and trying to restrain them to your sides, “shut up, shut the fuck up, give me back my fucking jacket, now—! you’re a liar, your jacket is hot-fucking-pink!” he’s more violent, grabbing the front and damn near shaking you around, your legs trying to kick him away, “m-mark, please-! stop, stop it!” there’s almost tears in your ears as you try to fight him off, remembering how you’d taken off your shirt and left it in the bathroom, with your bra.

mark couldn’t care less about his jacket or if it would be ruined, it was about the principle. more pulling, more trying to hold your hands away, more grabbing the jacket and trying to pull it off before— schzzzzt. fuck. the zipper popped, your protests stopped and mark’s huffs calmed down, eyes settling on your bare chest. tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked up at him, not expecting to have his eyes meet yours. he looks pissed, he’s had enough of you. right now, mark didn’t give a shit about what you were going through, didn’t care about being nice. you’d tipped him over, now he’s really annoyed with you. “mark,” you shuffle away, jumping with a surprised gasp when you feel his hands wrap around your ankles and pull you back to your place, the action making your skirt and his duvet catch on each other, hiking your skirt up to expose your underwear. it was like he wasn’t even looking at your body, keeping his eyes on yours at all times. you open your mouth again and his hand flies to your face, covering your mouth to prevent you from talking at all. now you’re scared, now you’re intimidated. so scared, yet your stomach flipped and your cunt fluttered around nothing when he silenced you with his palm.

“shut up, you bitch.” he snarled, tightening his grip on your face by pushing your cheeks together. it almost hurt, almost. mark shook his head, “what’s wrong with you? you wanna make me mad? for fucks sake—“ his words make your clit throb, your thighs slowly shifting to meet each other so you could move your hips around and get yourself off a little. this was hot, mark was serious. “you’re gonna scream? what the fuck, y/n, what the fuck is your problem!?” you’re wet. fuck, you’re wet and you’re being yelled at. this was the shit you’d see in porn, but for real. no acting, just a coincidence. when he lets you go to get off of you, he finally lets himself catch a glimpse of the wet spot that’s forming in your panties. he should’ve never looked, now he’s caught a sneak of your tits. the noise he makes is halfway between a groan and a sarcastic chuckle, pushing his hair back with the same hand he used to cover your mouth, “now you’re gonna go and leak all over my bed? after trying to go through my stuff?” mark can’t ignore the way his cock strains in his pants, the way it twitches as he glances over you again. any normal person would’ve ran out of his room, trying to cover themselves with the broken jacket and probably never speak to him again. then again, you weren’t a normal person, you were rich. hadn’t ever been told no or been scolded like this before or at all for that matter. you were truly stunned, felt like a deer in headlights.

“m’sorry, sorry..” you finally peep, sniffing as tears dripped down your face. he groaned, clearly annoyed by your antics now, “now you’re gonna cry? now you’re crying, you did this. stop crying, they’re not real tears.” he spits and you obey, quickly wiping your face, black streaks of mascara on your hands as well as your face. fuck, you looked gorgeous like this. you clearly wanted it. you didn’t look like you did, if anyone had burst through like you had earlier they’d definitely get the wrong idea - the worst idea - the kind of idea that stops you from getting a job in your desired field in the future if interpreted the wrong way. mark swallowed thickly. “y’gonna scream?” he asks and you shake your head no without even processing the question, looking up at him with big wide eyes.

you’re on your stomach, clawing at the bedsheets and messing up the way he’d made his bed this morning, face being pressed into a pillow by a heavy hand, mark’s hand. he’s thrusting into you, hips crashing violently against yours over and over again, got your legs trapped between his as he’s using you like you’re a toy, his other hand gripping onto the fat of your ass to help the momentum of his thrusts. your moans are muffled, drool seeping from the corner of your mouth and onto his pillow as you kept your head pressed into the soft cotton pillow, taking in his scent. god, he was jabbing right against your cervix and you let out a particularly loud whine which makes the brute above you lean in to you, his chest pressing against your back so he could talk into your ear meanly, “what’s that? i can’t. fucking. understand. you.” he punctuated each word with a sharp jab into your g-spot, your wrists aching from how hard you were grabbing around at the sheets. he knew you hadn’t said anything, just wanted to tease you like you’d teased him. he’d stripped you naked before you were taking his cock so deliciously right now, tearing your panties off and shaking you out of his jacket which laid beside you. now this was worth playing the hard to get game.

“hey, y/n? you wanna scream?” mark said, sweat beading at his temples as he moaned when he felt your gummy walls close in on him with his words. you shake your head, an almost inaudible ‘no’ coming from the pillow before his arm is hooked around your neck, lifting you up. this new position made you arch your back, leaving you in a dreamy daze as your eyes adjusted to the light of the room again after having your head forced down for so long, “i said, you wanna scream?” he repeats, you shake your head, “n-no-! no, m’m-sorry fuck, mark, i’m sorry—!” you squeal, voice hoarse as he tightens his arm, putting you in a headlock and moving his other hand to your stomach to hold you in place. he was moving so fast, his fat dick throbbed and stretched and rubbed against allll the right places. no other boy had fucked you til your head spun, made you feel so defenceless and inferior… you’d never been filled up this good, you’d been choked, sure - but a headlock? your cunt gripped him tightly, vision dotting as your body shook violently in his grasp, his fingers now swiping over your hard little clit, making you try to stifle the loud half scream of his name somehow, biting your lip with your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

“that’s fucking nasty.” he moaned, watching as you sprayed all over his sheets with your body convulsing, hissing when your pussy started to milk him vigorously as you came. he didn’t stop, only let go of you and watched as you thumped onto the bed weakly, trying to lift yourself up before he’s drilling you with his cock again. you’re hardly responsive, body still twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, not even noticing how you’d laid in your own release until you blinked a few times, the feeling finally coming back into your body that mark had knocked numb for a second, “p-please-“ you gasped out, hand reaching down to tap at his thigh. he swiped it away, grabbing your wrist and jerking your body back to meet his, obsessed with the way your bodies made smacking sounds when he snapped his pelvis into your rear. “you gonna bother me again after this? look at you, you’re lying in your own mess- oh fuck, keep tightening like that—“ he growls into your ear, balls slapping against your sensitive clit from behind. you couldn’t think, your thoughts being fucked out of your brain with every rough jab to your cervix, words forming and failing to put them together into understandable sentences. he’s just as blissed out, his anger had faded forever ago, replaced by a carnal urge to just fuck, keep plunging himself in and out of your weeping cunt.

you whine when he pulls out with a pop, lines of your slick coating his cockhead and sticking to it before they snapped and dribbled down onto the soaked sheets below you, his hands grabbing your waist so he could flip you onto your back this time, taking you by surprise and finally waking you up out of whatever dreamy daze you’d been in. this is just how you felt earlier but better, you were scared of him sure but you’ve never been so turned on, you’d never had someone defy you before, you asked for a pony when you were younger and threatened a tantrum which got you your pony, your parents would rather give you whatever you wanted instead of saying a simple no. you stare up at him, he stares down at you. call you crazy, maybe you were finally being put in your place, but having someone hover over you like this, possessive and firm, made you feel as if you had no power at all. mark didn’t care about who you were or what you could do to ruin him anymore, especially since he’d already ruined you. mascara streaked down the sides and front of your face which made tracks in your foundation, your lipstick had been smudged from having your face pressed into the pillow for so long and you were pretty sure you were missing an eyelash (which you were; stuck to the bedsheets and twisted and ruined, you’d have to buy another pair).

mark grabs one of your legs with his hands, pulling you close to him as he leaned in, body pushing your knee up to your shoulder albeit a little painfully, eliciting an uncomfortable mewl from you in the process. you felt as if you couldn’t talk, if you opened your mouth you’d die or something. you’d taken mark for a virgin what with the way he awkwardly shuffled his feet when you spoke to him, the way he never picked up on or wanted to pursue your advances. “don’t look at me like that.” he grits, eyebrows furrowing at the way you pouted at him. you hadn’t even noticed but now you’ve made him mad so now he’s pushing into you again, spearing you open on his dick wet with your slick, your expression changing as you raised your brows, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth hanging open like you were trying to catch flies. he moves his hands, hooking them under your knees so he could pull you back and forth against himself, cock throbbing and begging for release when you start tightening again, lewd gasps and moans coming from your spit slicked and ruined lipstick lips. he can’t stand you, can’t stand the way you’re moaning and trying to say his name while having all knowledge knocked out of you over and over again with stabs repeatedly hitting that same sensitive spot with brutal thrusts, hoping your hips didn’t break every time his crashed into yours.

then, a moment of weakness, “am i pretty?” you ask between whines, small and timid like a rabbit. he’s broken out of his current demeanour, tilting his head. mark feared he’d falter, he’d already given you what you wanted by using you like you were nothing but a warm crevice to slide his cock into. you already knew you were pretty, you just needed to hear it from him. needed to hear it from the guy you’d been chasing for months since you’d stumbled upon him, needed to have confirmation that he was attracted to you. his thrusts almost slow down - almost - before he nods, biting his lip to stop the groan that wanted to respond, “y-yeah, pretty..” mark finally mumbles, hips stuttering as the warm coil that tightened in his stomach threatened to snap. you could feel it too, you could feel the way his cock throbbed, the way the head twitched when it pressed against your cervix every time mark canted his hips up into yours, stretching your pussy around him, churning up your insides so they could only think of him. “pretty, really pretty…” he babbles as he tries to keep his thrusts steady, “also p-pretty fucking mean, stupid…” he continues, trying to ignore the way a pleasured shock creeped up his spine and made his legs shake like yours had before.

you were going to cum again, you could feel it. familiar tingles and twinges picking at you before you felt it fully, the mind numbing sensation of an orgasm being fucked out of you again. mark isn’t any better, chasing his own pleasure with his head tilted back steady “hah, hah, hah”’s slipping out of his mouth. working for stuff really was fun sometimes, even if you had to wait a while to get it. you’re lost, back arching up off of the bed with your waist subtly moving in time with his, catching small hazy blinks of him before his face is closer to yours, not even waiting to kiss you. his tongue is bigger than yours, as with the rest of him, completely pushing your tongue away as he kisses into your mouth, muffling both of your sounds as his thrusts became more and more uneven. he’s cumming, hard and fast and with no consideration whether you were on birth control or not, painting your pink walls with his white cum and leaving his mark deep inside you, seeping into your womb with thick globs. you came as soon as he did, dry this time, arms flailing to grab onto his back to anchor yourself. your cunt squeezed around him, trying to milk all of his release into you. you weren’t on the pill but you didn’t care, you could always get that sorted later.

mark didn’t pull out, huffing slightly as he came back to, blinking at your shaking form below him. if it had been porn, he’d feel bad, close the tab and ignore his post nut clarity. this time, even with all of the thoughts in his head telling him that he’d just broken you down, used you like you were disposable, he couldn’t help but feel accomplished. you might’ve won by getting him to fuck you but he’s won the ice cold heart of the mean bitch that’s now laying in her own squirt on his bed, twitching every now and again to show how much you’d enjoyed it. he sighs, shaking his head and pulls out of you, watching for a second as his cum slowly starts to spill out of your aching pussy, ruining his bedsheets even further, “you still here..?” he asks, looking over at you before he’s headed back over to where he’d stripped off all of his clothes, quickly dressing himself back up as he puts his boxers back on, sliding his jeans back up his legs and looking over at your limp body on his bed. you don’t respond with words, only a faint nod, your body still swimming in the warmth that you’d been pushed into by mark. you could feel the way his cum dribbled out of you messily, leaking down your lower half and soaking up the sheets even further.

you’re pulled from your bliss with mark’s words, unexpected and apologetic, “want me to clean you up?” and you melt, nodded with a small ‘uh-huh’ as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him and knocking the sock off in the process. he’d return a moment later, towel in hand with one corner wet with warm water, patting you down gently, stark contrast to how he was just a minute ago. mark wasn’t mean but he’d tried to be nice and nice just wasn’t working for him - wasn’t working for you - so he had to show you how mean he could really be, had to counteract you somehow. you flinched when he started wiping your cunt, hissing when he bumped against your overly sensitive clit with the towel. he muttered a small sorry, drying you up and leaving once more, the sounds of the music from downstairs louder for a second before the door is closed, louder again and then muffled when he comes back with your shirt and bra, tossing it to your side. he avoided your gaze, absently fiddling around with something in the corner of his room, waiting for you to put your clothes back on. you get the memo, pulling your shirt over your head and reaching out for his jacket before you backed away from it, remembering that you’d come here to return the thing.

as you stood up to look around for your underwear and skirt, your thighs twitch as you feel his cum leaking between your legs, trickling down slowly. you could clean up properly later, sliding your panties and the skirt back to where they had left. “look,” he started, turning your attention towards him, “you can have it. just.. bring it back on saturday. there’s another party or something, ask william.” mark turns to you, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. you perk up as you clasp the strap to your heels back on, legs feeling like jelly as you moved to face him. you nod with a smile, eyes bright and sparkling like he’d just told you you’d won a billion dollars, “saturday, same time?” you ask, walking towards the door and resting your hand on the doorknob. mark hums at you, a silent yes. you take your leave, his broken jacket draped over your shoulders again as you make your way to the front door, ready to leave so you could go back to the dorm room you weren’t supposed to live in and sleep the next few days away. you couldn’t wait to party at house 242 again.

mark watched you walk away from the porch, your hands in his jacket’s pockets, the material swallowing you up to keep you warm. he shook his head, once again pinching the skin between his eyes, grabbing himself a clean towel so he could shower and fall asleep to the music that blared underneath him. mark thought he’d had enough of you.

now, he couldn’t get enough.

[shigarakislittlepet]

Swallow Your Words

Part 1

Incel!Shigaraki. Quirkless/college seniors AU.

I’m doing this as a series not a one shot because in the process of writing it I got attached to the characters and the plot QnQ this will have a positive character arch for Shiggy. This first part ends on a bit of a climactic spot, but hang in there I’m already writing the next part that will have some spice ♡

tw: HEAVY misogyny; like upsettingly so; I read Reddit threads and instagram comments to get into the headspace of an incel for this; yes it did hurt my brain; that’s all for now I think. Future parts will have heavy smut.

———————————————————————————

Okay, so maybe going out on your third date this week with another brand new guy right after your shift at work wasn’t the brightest idea considering you still had abnormal psych homework to finish. You blearily trudged into your campus library, thankfully open 24 hours, and shuffled into the computer lab. Taking out your textbook, you set to work on the writing assignment due in approximately 6 hours. You got this.

As you were furiously typing up your mock evaluation of patient number 3, you heard someone cough. It made you jump, it was nearly 11pm and you could’ve sworn you were in here alone. You looked around the room as calmly as you could and spotted him sitting two rows of computers down, you were facing each other so he caught you looking. Damn it, not him.

Tomura Shigaraki, AKA rich asshole misogynist lives off daddy’s money motherfucker. He caught sight of your decidedly slutty outfit (a tank top push up bra miniskirt combo that never failed to get your dinner covered and a super oversized zip up hoody) and unmistakably doneforadate hair and makeup when you’d walked in, paying him no mind.

-What a bitch, he thought. She probably came here straight from getting fucked over some loser’s coffee table and was so disappointed at how shit he was that she decided maybe she didn’t wanna flunk out senior year and came here to finish her homework.- He rolled his eyes.

He’d had a crush on you since he first saw you freshman year. And he hated himself for it. Just like he hated how soft your hair looked, or how good you smelled sitting at the desk in front of him, or how your eyes sparkled when you laughed at something your friends said. He hated it all. Women were good for nothing cheaters and gold-digging sluts, just like his first stepmother. And the second. And the last. And the current. He’d watched these women sneak around his father after he’d given them everything and it was never enough for them. His father, ever pragmatic, would just get rid of them and find a new one when he finally caught them. Watching this happen over and over again taught him two things. 1) Women are worthless and 2) Women are replaceable. But not you. It didn’t matter how many girls Touya set him up with, he couldn’t get you out of his head. It pissed him off. He should be able to just fuck any bitch and get it out of his system. But he couldn’t. It was torture. And it made him hate you more.

You rolled your eyes, breaking eye contact and he chuckled. You tried your hardest to ignore him, fuck that guy. You could practically hear his internal obnoxious comments from here. He had been in at least one of your classes every semester since freshman year of college. He totally wasn’t stalking you. You had the same major, Forensic Psychology, so you told yourself it made sense you’d be taking similar classes. He’d managed to piss you off for the last four years almost every single day. He and his friend Touya, another trust fund kid that shared your major, would often make crude remarks back and forth to each other during class. Because their fathers donate so much money to the college, the professors can’t say anything without fear of retaliation. You could though, and often did when you couldn’t stand ignoring them any longer. Usually embarrassing them into shutting the fuck up for the day. The blissful peace never lasted long however.

“You get all dressed up like that just for me? I’m touched, but I think I’ll pass. I don’t know where you’ve been.” He sneered, finally deciding to break the silence. You raised an eyebrow at him and took in his relaxed posture. Leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, shit eating grin splitting his infuriatingly pretty face. You scoffed at him, eyebrow still raised, and went back to doing your homework. “What, no snotty retort? I’m almost offended. Cat got your tongue? Or is that tongue too tired from what it got up to tonight?” He mimed sucking a dick and you sighed deeply. “Oh please, as if I’d get this dressed up just to impress you. All it would take is a T-shirt and jeans anyway, since we both know the last woman you saw in a mini skirt only talked to you cause you paid her.” You snarked back.

He visibly tensed. “I don’t pay whores to spend time with me, so if you’re searching for a summer job keep looking.” You actually laughed. Out loud. “You silly little rich boy, no amount of money is worth stooping low enough to fuck an incel like you.”

Your laugh caught him off guard. It was long and loud and almost musical. It pissed him off. So did everything about you. You were too good at reading people, at reading him. He wanted to listen to you laugh more. Almost as much as he wanted to fuck that stupid beautiful grin off your face. Instead, he just huffed and deflated slightly. “What makes you think I’m an incel? Is it cause I don’t go on 10 dates a week? Not all of us are that desperate, honey.” He threw back at you. Without even looking up, you shot back, “It was only 3, fyi, and don’t call me that. Also, no it’s not that. It’s everything about you. You have never, in 4 years of being unfortunately aware of your existence, ever shown that you hold even a modicum of respect for women. Any woman. And you and your jerk bff do nothing in class but talk over and make sexual comments about the girls sitting around you while making assumptions about their personal lives. God forbid we have a female professor! You dont go on dates because every woman in a 10 mile radius of you knows what a disgusting shitbag you are. You make it exceptionally clear that you don’t want us around other than to occasionally stoke your micro dick while you get off to cartoon porn. Now shut the fuck up and let me finish my homework.” You glanced at the clock, 11:30. Ugh, tomorrow is going to suck.

He seethed. No one spoke to him like that ever. It pissed him off that some dumb slut like you thought you could get away with it. He was going to get even. He was going to find a way to make you his. He was going to be the one to bend you over his coffee table. And his desk. And his car. And anything else he felt like bending you over. He would get you to submit to him. And he would make it painful and humiliating for you, just to prove a point. Let’s see you call him an incel shitbag after that.

He contemplated how he was going to do this for a few minutes. He decided he would start by just playing it cool. Sighing long and loud, he started, “Hey, are you working on the Abnormal or the Physio homework?” He asked, putting effort into making himself sound exasperated. -There is no way this is going to work, he thought.- You raised your brow again, “Abnormal, already did the physio. Why?” You were immediately skeptical. “I missed class yesterday, and this really sucks but I’m stuck on this bullshit.” He wasn’t. “You think you might deign to help me? And let me copy your notes?” He looked at you almost… hopefully. What the fuck? “Uh, are you sure you’d want such a ‘dumb worthless bitch’ to help you with your homework? I’d hate to drop your IQ by breathing the same air as you.” You said flatly, throwing some of his more common insults back in his face. “Oh come on, we both know your GPA is like a 4.2-” “4.5.” You corrected. He sighed in irritation. “Look, will you please just come over here and help me? I’ll even call it tutoring, I’ll pay you.” You regarded him skeptically. Damn it, if you didn’t really really need the cash. “Hmm. Okay, fine. I’ll help you. But only if you promise to leave me alone in class from now on. Stop snapping my bra straps and making gross comments about me to Touya, I mean it. And it’s gonna be 100$ bucks to help you with two classes at midnight the night before the homework is due.”

-Pocket change, he thought.-

-Easy money, you thought.-

That was… shockingly easy. He hadn’t expected you to actually agree to help him. Or to gather your things and gracefully float over to the chair and computer next to his. You pulled up her homework again, continuing to work on it. “So, what did you need help…with…” you trailed off as you looked to his computer to see what he was stuck on. He was watching cartoon porn. On a school computer. He quickly clicked out of it and his homework came into view. Well, you thought, at least he was actually doing his homework. At some point. You gazed at him from the corner of her eye. He really is an incel. He grinned at you almost evilly. Although man, ok, getting caught watching porn on a school computer totally does nothing to refute your incel accusation. But it did make you flush satisfyingly. You held out your hand expectantly. He rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet, handing you a crisp 100$ bill. You gawked at it, “It’s a wonder no one has ever mugged you I swear.” You said, shaking your head. The motion caused your hair to swish prettily, he could smell your shampoo. He pulled his backpack into his lap.

You spent the petter part of the next hour doing your homework together, you “helping” him as you went. He was surprised you actually knew what you were talking about. He was surprised you could retain any information in that wind tunnel you called a skull, even knowing your GPA was as high as it was. You were actually…smart? You didn’t look smart, you looked like every other college whore with dyed hair and winged eyeliner. It made him angrier, for some reason. It made him want to crush you beneath him even more. You on the other hand were surprised that he was able to hold a conversation with you for this long without insulting you. You actually just laughed at one of his jokes. “You know, you’re actually fun to talk to when you’re not constantly putting me down.” You said, smile wide and eyes all sparkly again. Ugh. He hated how it made his stomach flip. “Am I?” He attempted a smile back. “Mhmm. You’re even a little bit funny. JUST a little bit.” You joked back while typing up the last bit of your assignment.

Funny? She thinks I’m funny? And.. ‘fun’ to talk to? Girls didn’t usually think so, even when he wasn’t insulting them. They usually couldn’t get past his face. He had eczema, and even though his father’s very expensive doctors worked hard to keep it under control so it wasn’t angry red and weeping anymore, his skin WAS chronically dry. Even his face and neck, though it was worst around his eyes. The skin there looked stretched and almost flaky, though it wasn’t NEARLY as bad as it had been when he was a child. He had a scar over one of his eyes that started above his eyebrow and fell just above his cheekbone and another scar on his mouth from when he was a kid and couldn’t stop scratching at his face. He looked… deranged maybe? Not pretty. Certainly not pretty, you told yourself over and over while sitting there talking with him like it was a normal thing you did. Certainly not pretty, with his pale shaggy hair and his big eyes that looked almost like shiny rubies this close up and the little beauty mark on his chin. Even his scar made him look… you didn’t know, edgy? Beautiful, a sick twisted part of your mind offered. Oh god no. PLEASE no.

You started packing up your things and getting ready to go. “Well, this wasn’t the worst end to a night I’ve ever had. Thanks for keeping me company, I’ll see you in class in… god, 4 hours?” You smiled at him, getting up from your chair. It was nearly 2:30 in the morning. He laughed a bit, “Ah, yeah. Thank you for helping me finish.” Even HE cringed a bit and that double entendre. “But uh, hey, you live off campus right? Just come crash on my couch, I’ll take you to class after we both get a power nap. That way you don’t have to wake up even earlier just to come back.” He casually suggested way more confidently than he felt. (Now listen, if you’ve never pulled an all nighter right before a 6am class, you might think this is insane. But this… this was like the dove and the olive branch.)

-Thank god, you thought. And he’s really not so bad honestly, maybe you just had to get to know him. Famous last words. -

You practically beamed up at him, now standing at his full height, “That would be so nice actually, thank you!” You paused. “As long as you don’t try to do anything to me in my sleep.” You narrowed your eyes at him. He laughed.

You got to his dorm and your jaw dropped. It wasn’t a dorm. It was a dedicated on campus villa for his family to use when visiting or attending classes. His whole family were alumni of this college it seemed. Apparently Touya’s family had one too, right next door, which is how they’d met as freshman. It was… adorable. Landscaping clearly took care of the outside, the grass was immaculate and the garden in front was lousy with flowers and shrubbery and meticulously kept ivy that climbed latticework around the windows. Above the door was a gold plaque, “In honor of family Shigaraki for their generous donations throughout the history of this campus.” The Shigaraki was the largest thing in the plaque, written in elegant swirling cursive.

“It’s beautiful.”, you said in awe. You’d never imagined a person like him would live in a place that looked like this. How is he so miserable? You wondered. He has money and a beautiful house and his college is payed for in full. He’ll never have to worry about student loan debt or whether he’ll eat or not or his parents medical bills or his siblings needing new clothes and shoes for school. He’ll never have to go on dates just to eat because his whole paycheck goes to his family to make sure they survive until he’s making enough money to support all of them. You just… couldn’t understand. It seemed like he had everything.

He seemed surprised by your compliment of the place. “Oh, thanks. Yeah it’s pretty old now, but the school keeps it in great condition. The past four generations of Shigarakis have lived in this place. I didn’t think much of it at first, just a place to pass out and do homework. But a year ago I went into the attic and found an old picture album my grandmother made while she went here. It made it feel… more important.” He rambled on while he fumbled with the keys in the lock, not sure why he was telling you this. “Ahg, this damn thing always sticks.” He finally unlocked it and ushered you inside.

[reptilian-angel]

The Cafe' Prince & The Killer Cook Pt. 1:

Chapter One - "Egg on your Face" Mega-Omelet

ME: Blitzø, having suffered a the worst day of his life, finds an unexpected silver lining when he awakens inside some random cafe hosted by a sweet (if oddly articulate) little girl, Via and her chef daddy, Stolas (Who looks like Hell on Wheels and cooks just as good, but who gave a shit.)

Later on after this chance encounter, a completely unanticipated offer might just be what Blitzø needs to turn his trashfire of an existence into a lifetime of amazing food, exciting moments and maybe even . . . Love?

Stolitz fluff, food chain puns, good food and healthy doses of angst await you at the Stars & Stir-Ups Cafe’!!! (Yet to be named)

Inspired by Pink Lomito’s ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE Stolitz Cafe’ AU fanart and written with their blessing, so I can only hope this will live up to the hype! (Displayed Below)

Full disclosure, I DO bake as a hobby, but I am NOT a career baker so most of descriptions of any foods mentioned, cooking and otherwise, will totally be written by an author completely in the dark, so please be gentle with any criticisms regarding any of the cooking displayed here. (Also see the end of the chapters for the recipes used, or at least the closest comparisions.)

Get Your knives and forks ready, you sinners & saints, and please enjoy!! I owe nothing!!!

Normal P.O.V.

When Blitzø woke up, he was automatically confused.

He had expected to be face flat, ass up on the shitty, grime covered flour of the bar he had trudged into last night like he had only hours to live. It had been a record-breaking shitty-ass day for him and he decided, like the many, many bitchy broke losers out there who had had their dreams squashed and trampled on like gnats in Hell, to drown his sorrows. Burning $ouls like tissue paper, he had began going for broke, mooching off other patrons and drunkards, earning petty shots in impromptu contests and maybe even performed a small strip tease for a gaggle of succubi and incubi.

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure how it ended, although he did have a vague recollection of plowing his dick into one of the incubi in one of the nasty as fuck bathroom stalls and wondering if the greasy pump soap could be used as lube before fading to black.

Christ on a Pogo stick he had REALLY gotten fucked up, didn’t he?

That said, he wouldn’t have been shocked in the slightest if he had found himself upside down, half- naked and definitely robbed of his wallet and phone in some shady alley at the crack of dawn. Yeah, that would have been normal for him.

Waking up in a plush, fancy-pants booth with a soft, comfortable quilt thrown on top of him was not.

He began leaning up to try and get some sense of where the fuck he was, but everything between his ears immediately started to bitch at him with an acute, relentless thrum that felt even worse than the headaches Moxxie gave him while bitching at him. On a good day.

He gave a low groan, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes in a sorry attempt to dull the throb. He swore everything was hurting, his horns were hurting, his scars were hurting, fuck, even his brand was hurting -

“Fudge.”

That innocent correction almost made him tumble out of the booth. He barely smacked his palms against the floor to keep him from actually falling face flat on its surface. Points for highly trained trapeze instincts. Centering himself, he found a pair of big, bright pink, and admittingly cute eyes of a little owl demon looking right at his.

Even with him being upside-down, he could tell they were a girl; maybe four or six, with a messy nest of long dark hair let loose save a small ponytail tied up on the side of her head with a scrunchie covered with moons and stars and a simple pink jumper with white stars of various sizes printed all over it.

It had taken a second for his hungover brain to figure out she was an owl, the white heart-shaped frame of her face like that of an owl’s a dead giveaway. The way she blinked at him only cemented that conclusion. She blinked calmly at him, despite how fucking weird he was sure he must’ve looked as a middle-aged, hungover, hot mess sleeping in what he just know fully realized was a restaurant booth.

Feeling caught off guard for a number of reasons, he could only respond with, “Sorry?”

The Little owl gave him a reproaching look, or at least as close to one as a toddler could manage. “‘Fudge’. You said it wrong.” She stated in all seriousness. “You’re supposed to say ‘fudge’ when you say the ‘F’ Word. Otherwise, it’s not polite.”

“Says who?” He asked.

“Says my daddy.” She said proudly as if she was referring to Lucifer himself. “He says ‘Politeness is the-” She paused, her face scrunching up in concentration, “- ‘Per-Ah-Get-Ive’ of sensible young demons’.”

He gave her a small smirk. “Oh yeah? And what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“Whatcha just said – Know what it means?”

He had expected her to respond with a "yes" as all little hellspawn do to prove they were just as smart as their parents who most of the time are dumber than the garbage man, and of course be all snooty and snobby about it too.

But, amazingly, she shook her head so much her hair flew in both directions. "Nope! But my daddy taught me that word. Which means it must be a smart grown-up thing to say. My daddy's all grown up and smart so it makes sense to try and apply it to my everyday 'Wing-guess-tics'."

"Uh, 'wing-guess-tics'?" He repeated with a smile.

The little owl nodded. "You know, the way you talk and how you sound to other people. Don't you ever take pride in how you sound towards others less proud of themselves?"

Blitzø sure as hell didn't. In fact, good mood or bad, he couldn't give two shits in a Gluttony Ring brand crapper what every other piece of shit thought about him or the way he talked. Which is exactly what he should tell to this innocent, sassy, too precious for words little oh satan's taint, he was too hungover for this.

Getting up at an old man's pace, he grunted, "I don't really have an answer to that, ow."

Okay, sitting up straight didn't quite stop the ache, but it wasn't harping so badly now.

The little owl made a sad sound. "That's too bad. Everything needs an answer."

"Does it?" He asked while once again pressing into his eyes to try and settle his headache. She gave an affirmative hum.

"They do. Sometimes."

Blitzø gave up trying to squeeze his eyeballs back into his brains and gave a slow roll of his neck, breathing with the small audible stream of cracks that followed. "Yeah, well, sometimes is better than no times I guess." Once his neck didn't feel so stiff, he looked down at the little owl who still was blinking up at him. "Hey kiddo?"

"Yes?"

"Can you, uh . . . Can you tell me where we are right now?" Geez, Blitzø, you need a little kid to tell your dumb, hungover ass where you crashed? Talk about hitting rock bottom.

She giggled like he had just told a funny joke. He admitted, even with a headache, the sound was nice to hear. "You're in our cafe, sir. Mine and Daddy's cafe. You've been here ever since last night."

He felt embarrassment collide with exasperation in a wave that only incensed the pounding in his skull. Grreeeaaat. Now he had to deal with a bitchy dad that could probably make a Karen more bearable. And considering his crappy luck, he could probably give Moxxie a run for his money when it came to whining and botching. Like he didn't have enough of a migraine already.

To distract himself from the imminent ass-chewing, Blitzø decided it was a good time as any to take a quick peek around. In case, things went tits up, he should know how much he could tag with horses and dongs later.

Look all over, he had to admit . . . He was pleasantly surprised.

The cafe was definitely a little ritzier than almost every other diner or bistro in Pride, at least the ones run by imps or sinners. It wasn't an 'in-your-face-so-suck-it-bitches' bourgeois nightmare that you found on the cover of rich people magazines, but it was still easy to smell the $oils that had been burned to buy the number of furniture and appliances that filled it. Pristine designer steel tables, floors tiles so clean you could eat off of them, cushy warm booths like the one he was sitting in that felt comfy enough to be small bed; yeah, this place made the local Hellbucks look like a gas station men's room (Which was also, coincidentally, one of the many places he would periodically wind up in after a bender).

He could probably make off with one of the tablecloths - Made with actual fucking linen, not rag or crappy burlap - And the money he would get for it would easily pay off his non-existent mortgage.

The walls, covered in perfectly intact, shiny wallpaper that was neither covered in mildew nor aged and peeling, colored the interior with a tasteful cream and vanilla striped pattern. Each dark strip of cream had subtle motifs of shooting stars, little crescent moons and cheery spiraling suns. The cushions seated on each chair and the fabrics of the booths were royal blue and spotted with muted violet stars, all differing sizes, each cleaner than the back seat of an Imp City taxi cab. Plus, no springs popping up to try and fuck him in his little red hole.

He then noticed the bar. A quaint but spacious counter as long as Blitzø's body and tail combined, a simple but pricey cash register at one end, with matching leather stools lined up perfectly beneath it. A large glass case half the size of his van sat at the other end, the inside holding shelves of numerous plates of decadent-looking desserts and pastries that drew an expectant grumble from his stomach.

It wasn't his fault, the last thing Blitzø remembered having that was even close to food was some outdated peanuts and the olives he wiped from some douche who had ordered nothing but martinis that were drier than Wraith in a heatwave.

And he normally hated olives, Christ, he must've been fucked up to devour those things, pit and all. Fuck, did I bang the guy who ordered then too?

Okay, not the priority right now, Blitzø. Especially with the cute little kid in front of you whose dad is definitely gonna throw you out on your ass the minute he sees you -

"Oh! Daddy's awake! Good morning, daddy!"

Fuck.

Blitzø jerked his head up at her cheerful greeting, opening his mouth if only to curse at how his head throbbed in response -

— Only for it to immediately die when he caught sight of "Daddy" coming into the cafe'.

Fuck him twice.

The demon that had stepped into his view was, hands down and pants down if his belt was loosened, one of the most gorgeous demons he had seen.

And the tallest, Jesus Christ.

The owl demon was as tall as a tree, with legs for days ending in jet black talons that clicked delicately against the immaculately clean tiles as he strode over. His body was much, much thinner than Blitzø had expected, delicate and lithe with sinfully svelte curves around his well-rounded hips that he felt an instant, barely concealed urge to wrap his legs around and squeeze. His upper body was just as long, lengthy frail arms that grew like willow branches from his shoulders with dainty but large hands and fingers that reminded him of spider legs as they moved and were just as dark as his feet. They were probably as soft as that little fluff of feathers that peeked out on his chest.

Looking at his face, he was slightly taken aback at the sight of not one but two pairs of eyes peering back, although the second pair were smaller and placed higher on his forehead, just as wide and bright as Via's, but instead of pink they shone with crimson and were as opaque as a ruby. It was obvious who this little girl got her looks from the most; the same dark spot at the tip of his beak, and the same shade of grey blue feathers, only his grew darker in hue as they climbed up his very lean throat, combed into a neat and very trim style that clearly was given a lot of attention. The only blemish to it would be the bold streak of grey that cut through the feathers which easily gave away his age, but somehow that had actually improved his looks as it contrasted the young (and pretty) features of his face.

His outfit wasn’t too extraordinary but still, Blitzø felt himself growing warm at the sight of the white button up dress shirt and the open cranberry pink waistcoat the owl was currently snapping shut dexterously and simple dark slacks that hugged his legs perfectly.

Fuck. I was once woken up with V wearing lingerie that was made pretty much just string but this guy is dressed like a fucking waiter and I wanna lay him flat on the counter.

Blitzø was suddenly that much more thankful for the blanket covering his lap, because he was sure feeling the telltale signs of a growing boner.

Oh well, he was sure it would go away once this guy started to whine about having to deal with a drunken piece of shit first thing in the morning -

The tall owl, even with the slightest of sleep still clinging to it, smiled warmly and brightly at his daughter. “Good morning, my Owlette.” Blitzø felt himself once again be knocked off guard by his chocolaty, silky tenor voice, the sound of it sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

Fuckhim three times, he sounded hot too. Satan, this sucked.

The owl’s pleasant chuckle only added to Blitzø;s horny chagrin. “I see you beat me down to the cafe’ today. I hope you slept well, my Starfire.”

The little “Starfire” nodded happily. “I slept good, Daddy! And so did our guest!” She gestured innocently at the imp, who then tensed at being put on the spot by a kid. “When I came down to check on him, he was snoozing like a kitten!”

Blitzø, of course, made a face. A kitten?

It went unnoticed by the little owl, but not by her father who gave her a stern, but still soft look. “Via,” He started. “You didn’t disturb our guest while he was sleeping, did you?”

“Via” quickly shook her head, he feathers swinging side to side in a flurry. “Mh-mm! No, Daddy, I promise I didn’t! I was real quiet until he woke up and said the bad thing wrong.”

He blinked at her. “The ‘bad’ word?”

“One of the words that Mummy used to -” He explanation was abruptly cut off by her father’s wincing and his hands waving the universal sign for stop. “O-oh, alright, alright, sweetie, I understand, no need to go further!”

Blitzø watched them quietly.

Huh. So pretty boy had post-marital troubles with the little former wifey, huh?

Yeah, that made sense. Aside from his friend’s, Blitzø had yet to see any marriage that wasn’t one step away to instating the “death do us part” vow.

This guy must have gotten out while the getting was still good. But not without a few licks dealt, judging by the signs of wariness on his face.

He mentally sighed. Alright the hottie daddy knows you’re here and first impression has clearly gone to shit so, get ready for take two, dumbass.

Blitzø, deciding that jokes was the way to go in a pinch, then said casually. “I guess ‘Mummy’ wasn’t a ‘fudge’ kinda girl.” He then put on his best smile as he looked straight on at the pretty owl. “Me, personally, always liked the mine with plenty of nuts.”

As smooth as it sounded, he still cringed on the inside. Oof, Blitzø, how lame do you sound right now?

However, to Blitzø’s surprise and relief, the innuendo did not go unnoticed by the only other adult in the cafe’. Both sets of eyes went wide and the haggardness on his face was instantly washed away with a swift, prominent pink flush that Blitzø definitely liked seeing. Next to Via, it was probably the cutest thing he saw this morning. It certainly took the edge off the ass-chewing he was sure to get.

Usually, anytime he cracked any sex jokes around others, he was almost immediately told off by whatever prude or asshole or Karen was in the vicinity (i.e. Moxxie) and who clearly had no sense of good humor. (Like they didn’t start humping on each other’s earlobes the second every one’s back was turned like the hypocrites they were.)

Anybody else who didn’t was either not giving two shits or just as eager to talk dirty after a line up of shots.

But this bird seem reasonably sober. But then again, judging by his frame, he was probably the type of demon to go for light drinks like martinis or cocktails rather than tequila or beezlejuice. Considering the little girl now running up to him and hugging his shins, it was more than likely. He had the bitter experience of always dealing with a parent more often found nursing a hangover rather than an infant and it was an all around shitty experience he had no wish to repeat.

However, right now, he wouldn’t mind getting another peek of that cute ass blush as the bird briefly ducked down to scoop up into his arms. “W-well,” He started, “It’s certainly good to see you awake, Mister . . . ?”

“Name’s Blitzø. The “O” is silent.” Blitzø stated without missing a beat.

The owl blinked. “What ‘o’?”

“Exactly.” Blitzø nodded without thinking and once again, groaned in pain as everything from the neck up throbbed.

“Oh dear, hangover not quite remedied yet?”

Blitzø hissed out a breath. “Yeah, that’s a big fat fff-fudgin’ no.” He smirked weakly at Via’s approving nod. “I feel like I decided to go dumpster-diving outside the nearest Sinnabon’s for a midnight snack-run.” His empty stomach than made itself known by giving an impatient grumble. “And it looks like I’m up for round two so I think it’s about time I get outta here.”

The owl blinked again. “I’m sorry?”

Blitzø carefully climbed out of his improvised bed and unsure of what to do, opted to take apart the bedding and fold it as neatly as he could. “Yeah, I know, I know, I should’ve been out of here hours ago, I get it. Satan knows no-one wants to deal with a hungover dumb-a first thing in the morning. I know I wouldn’t, plus you gotta kid here and I can’t imagine you want some strange weirdo around your baby-girl so I better clear out before -”

The quilt literally rising out of his hands cut him off like a record scratch. The fuck-?

He watched cow-eyed as some kind of blue sparkly whatsit energy surrounded the quilt and untangled the lump he had been making a mess out of. It than began folding itself in a much more professional fashion than his was and as soon as it finished, it levitated right over his head and towards the guys who, judging by the ethereal sheen wrapped around his talons, was making it.

“Mr. Blitzø,” He started calmly. “As the owner of a cafe’, I have often had ‘strange weirdos’ coming in and going out from here every day. Thankfully, most of them are courteous enough to show up around working hours, but I am no stranger to any who who wander in from the late-night crowd, which I’m assuming is where you come from.” His tone wasn’t accusing but Blitzø still frowned at the teasing lilt he definitely heard.

“As for my little Starfire,” The bird continued, nuzzling his daughter on the cheek which earned a giggle. “Via, I like to think at least, is an excellent judge of character, especially more so with strangers. So, if she thinks that you’re trustworthy then that’s more than enough reason to let you stay.” With a twirl of his talon, he sent the quilt through the door leading upstairs to, whatever the fuck it led to as he set Via down on one of the stools after a quick, dramatic spin that earned him another giggle. “At least, long enough for us to feed you a decent breakfast.”

That last bit was definitely NOT what Blitzø thought he’d hear. “Uh, excuse me?”

“Oh certainly, after you’ve been given food of actual substance to eat instead of the leftover, surely bacteria-ridden remains scrounged from a random dumpster.” The big bastard responded blithely as he made his way around the counter, to where Blitzø finally noticed the fancy-looking coffeemaker that made him feel more broke-ass than he already was. “But first, I believe refreshments are in order. Would you prefer coffee or tea?”

The asshole part of him wanted to deliver a pissy comeback at the offer. He was a grown-ass man, more than capable of getting his own food, fuck you very much and no trust-fund, (sexy) long-legged prick had the right to tell him what was okay for him to eat or not – Moxxie already got his ass enough about that, he didn’t need anyone else doing that shit.

Big bitch was probably trying to keep him here long enough to call the cops on him the minute his back was turned so he could stick him with some BS robbery charges just for shits and giggles. Which had happened to him before due to more than one nut-job Karen and/or Kevin.

And of course, since it was fucking Hell, there was only a certain amount of times that you could get arrested and get bailed out before the taxpayers think to simply say “Fuck it” and just take your money and never bother to find your cell keys.

That in mind, he was so not in the mood to bust out of prison again, that one stint in Greed was enough for the next five years.

Well, fuck this bird. The front door was right there and he was not gonna have to put up with whatever bullshit this guy was -

His stomach halted his would-be flipping-the-bird-at-the-bird-on-the-way-out escape with a rumble even louder and more impatient than before. The tell-tale smell of brewing coffee didn’t do anything to help quell it. And damn, did it smell good . . .

. . . . . . Oh, forget it, they dump that dumpster every other day and he was too hungover to spare the effort to drive. Or Look for his van. Or try to remember the name of the club he was at.

“. . . I usually have iced coffee. But right now, I’ll take a regular coffee, as black as blood.”

That request was responded to with a humored smile. “I myself usually take it black as sin, but I’m always up for a challenge.” Turning to the way too complicated than should be normal looking, coffee-making monstrosity, he also added, “Also, forgive me.”

“For what?” Blitzø asked as he came closer to the bar. This close, he could now spot a simplistic yet obviously custom-designed hotplate big enough to fit enough food for five people, flat black surface on one side and a classic stove-top on the other.

“For not introducing myself properly earlier.” A clean, see-through glass coffee pot that Blitzø didn’t even see him pull out appeared in his hand as he whipped out a coffee filter so finely made it looked more like a hankie, bypassing the coffee maker completely. “I’m Stolas, owner of this cafe’ as well as Chef and Barista. You’ve already had the pleasure of meeting my daughter, Octavia, my darling little helper.”

“Daddy says I’m his ‘Suzy Chef’!” Via, also now known as “Octavia”, chirped proudly. Before Blitzø took a seat on one of the stools, he moved as to help her up but she shook her head. Gripping the crank under the seat, she pulled it up and down like a desk chair’s until the seat was low enough for her to climb up. He watched in bemusement as she then adjusted the seat back up. Clearly, they were built with the varying heights of Hell’s diverse demographic in mind.

Not bad thinking, Blitzø had to admit.

“Indeed you are, my Owlette.” Stolas chuckled. Having placed the filter inside a clenex wrapped around a chic-looking coffee pot, he placed a silver carafe onto the stove-top side of the hotplate and flipping the switch. Taking out a bag of coffee grounds that smelled fucking fantastic. “She and I have been running this little cafe’ for about four months now. And if I may so, we’re doing rather well. Granted, we’re not millionaires but I’m certainly not complaining.”

In almost no time at all, the carafe’ started whistling sharply. Stolas took it off and replaced it with a small skillet that Blitzø didn’t see being pulled out either, only to stare unabashedly at the medley of cheeses, meats, veggies and eggs that literally flew in from the entry to what he guessed was the kitchen like it was something of out of a kid’s movie. He knew Via giggling at his face but he forgoed responding to that, as while Stolas attended to the coffee pot, a bottle of oil floated over to the skillet and poured a delicate amount inside with two slices of butter following suite. “. . . Uh, yeah, if you’re good at something, you should capitalize.”

“Perhaps, but it’s not really so much about the money as it is the business of cooking itself.” Stolas said earnestly as he dumped the grounds into the filter and sweeped up the carafe to pour in the hot water in one fluid motion. “I find that this line of work gives me much more gratification than that of my previous occupation.”

“Oh, what was that? Real estate spokesman? Attorney? Phone seee-” Blitzø was instantly reminded of Via’s presence as the little girl hummed happily while folding and unfolding a napkin she plucked from the napkin holder closest to them. “-eeecrecy operator?”

If Stolas noticed the near slip-up, he didn’t comment on it. “No, I’m afraid. Simply one of the cogs of the crumbling, over-heated machine that is known as Hell’s government.” While the skillet started to pop and sizzle, the owl than summoned a sizable knife to finely chop one onion to join the oil and butter. As the coffee grounds were left to bloom, Stolas made quite a show of crumbling up a thick sausage into bits with one hand while simultaneously conjuring an actual clutch of flames in the other hand, selecting a few strips of bacon to cook and crisp in a matter of seconds. Most likely to show off for Blitzø and his daughter who “oohed” at the sight.

Admittedly, Blitzø was a little impressed too, but he’d be fucked by a mime before he ever let on. “Geez, playin’ it up a bit, don’t ya think?”

“Perhaps a bit.” Stolas admitted, not so sorry in the slightest. “But compared to how stoic and quiet I had used to be, I relish any chance to ‘play it up’.” Having deemed the bacon thoroughly cooked, which it definitely was going by the smell, he extinguished the flames and set the crispy strips onto a cutting board for a magicked knife to chop up. Washing his hands in a small sink set by the hotplate, he gestured towards the enchanted parade of flying ingredients, allowing three eggs to gently land on the counter.

Blitzø, at this point, had taken his eyes away from the free magic show in front of him, cool as it was, to quietly observe Stolas’s shapely ass as he bent over to retrieve something from one of the lower cabinet.

Hmm. He could feel the tip of his tail flicking in appreciation. Guess the cake wasn’t only in good in the cases.

He tried to keep ogling as unnoticeable as possible as he asked. “Old job sucked that bad, huh?”

“Oh, abominably so.” Stolas groaned as he fished around in the cabinet obliviously. Eventually, he made a small sound of triumph as he located his prize; a small mixing bowl which he then set on the counter next to the eggs. A crooked finger brought a whisk right into his hand just as all three eggs were lifted and cracked into the bowl and the shells were tossed away. “And all I can say is that I’m bloody well glad that it’s behind me.”

“And now Daddy gets to be the bestest chef in all of Hell!” Via proclaimed, which was rewarded with a loving smile.

“Well, I certainly try my best.” He said cheerfully. He made sure to keep close attention to the carafe’ as it poured more water into the now ready coffee grounds as he beat the eggs thoroughly. As dark, fresh coffee began to drip into the pot, he set the bowl aside to neatly dish the sausage and bacon into the skillet. “I don’t know if anything I make will win any awards, but I wouldn’t mind if they didn’t. As long as I have my Via and this cafe’, I’ll be happy.”

Those words, despite himself, left a deep pit in Blitzø’s stomach.

He was all too familiar with the feeling to know that it wasn’t hunger.

And the cause of it was the warm translucent air wafting around in the little cafe’ that was more potent than the coffee.

And more pointedly, how out of place he felt to even be watching it.

He felt his claws clench the leather of his seat, the fabric creaking softly in response to his tightening grip. The pit felt like it was growing larger, making his shoulders tense. He found himself staring full-on at the clean surface of the bartop and tried to ignore the itch of his spines going erect. For the next few minutes, all that was heard was the sizzling and firecracker-like popping of the skillet as the eggs were poured in, the repetitive sound of coffee dripping and Via humming as she tried to fold her napkin into something other than a lopsided square.

Blitzø took a deep breath through his nose, his lips sputtering a bit like a horse’s (Didn’t he wish) as he exhaled.

“. . . Look, I’m . . . ” He paused a moment to think his words over carefully. The last thing he felt like doing right now was to sound an utter dickhead to the guy who was making him a hot meal for a total stranger.

No telling if he was the type to spit in on the plates of assholes who deserved it.

“. . . I’m sorry for, uhm, for having you make deal with me first thing in the morning.” He managed to get out rather lamely.

He wasn’t sure if the bird heard him. But that didn’t stop him from continuing. “I . . . I had a really, really real sh- crappy day yesterday, and – And I just needed to blow off a little steam.”

Images started to flash unbidden in his head. Of zeroes, of bottles, of bitter looks and smashed frames only made everything in Blitzø had been able to blissfully ignore up until that moment, then chose to rear its ugly head making him let out a barely concealed grunt. “. . . Point is, I-I’m sorry for screwing up your day and -”

He was interrupted by a good-sized mug being set calmly before him. He started as the smell of the dark roast curling in soft puffs and into his nostrils, the scent heavenly and already mending the throb of his head – only to be taken aback at the feel of a large, plush-soft hand petting the space between his horns in a comforting rub.

It took every single inch of Blitzø not to either smack the hand away or bite it off on sheer impulse.

He looked up and instead of what he thought for damn sure was going to be a patronizing sneer, – Because how else would any prick look after patting an imp’s head like a puppy’s? - Stolas’s face was as soft and reassuring as the smile on his beak.

A smile filled with nothing but understanding and warmth.

Sweet Lucifer, when was the last tim anyone had smiled at him like that?

“No apologies are need here, Mister Blitzø.” Stolas said simply. No hint of bullshit. “Nothing’s been broken, nothing’s been ruined. So please, don’t worry. I’m not a demon so easily rattled. Especially by lovely surprises such as yourself.”

. . . . Blitzø blamed the warmth he felt tingling on his cheeks on the steam coming from the mug.

Stolas didn’t comment on it, but he was sure that he heard some not very subtle amusement in his voice as he turned back to his cooking. “Would you like for me to add some peppers to dish? They were freshly picked this morning and I’m sure that they’ll taste wonderfully with the eggs.”

“UH-” Blitzø grabbed the mug and pretended to study it to keep himself from doing anything else dumb. “Y-yeah, sure, whatever, go nuts. I’m good with whatever.”

“Marvelous! I’ll add some as soon as the eggs have cooked for a bit.” Stolas said cheerfully. Blitzø muttered a “yeah, whatever” to his back as the owl reached from some green and red peppers big enough for Via to hold in both of her hands. He then made a small hoot that Blitzø, even with how off-kilter he felt at the moment, found cute. “Oh, and let me know how the coffee is, please. I’m trying a new blend I finally managed to put together a few days ago and I’d love to hear your opinion.”

Blitzø blinked at that. “Wha-? You mean this isn’t instant?”

Stolas shook his head. “Oh no. I try my best to use fresh items whenever I cook. Not that I have anything against instant or frozen food, but, as a chef, I find it almost like cheating if I’m not as authentic for my customers. The last thing I want is to have our cafe’ be mistaken for another Twink Trip or Hexxan.”

Blitzø would have taken a shot at that remark. Namely how if you loaded up gas station coffee with a fuckton of sugar, cream, and booze, it didn’t matter about the quality ‘cause who would give that much of a damn about dirty bean water -

That is, had he not taken a sip out of his mug.

It took a moment of peering down at his “coffee” to think up a much more direct response. “. . . . This is the best damn cup of coffee I ever had.”

“Thank you!” Stolas accepted the compliment cheerily. I admit it took much longer to properly cultivate and grow the beans for it than I had originally anticipated. I mean, I already knew the process was intricate but it’s a whole other experience when you actually attempt it yourself.” Stolas gave a weak chuckle as he prodded at the eggs simmering in the skillet. “I’ve lost count of the amount of times I almost blew up my grinder or ruined my insides.”

Blitzø, taking a much larger sip of his coffee hummed appreciatively. “Yeah, bad coffee can f- trip you up.” He knew that to be true. He once had to get his stomach pumped from drinking brew made by some dumbshit in his RV. That experience wasn’t really as painful as the telling-off Moxxie gave him afterwards. Little bitch always had act like he was right.

He took another big gulp. “You did good, though. Five stars.”

It wasn’t blind praise. Blitzø never bullshitted how he felt about what he drank and ate, (Much to Moxxie’s, Fizz’s, his Sunday Barista or, really, anyone’s annoyance) and the coffee was no exception; heavy and crisp with a balanced pairing of earthy and floral notes, the acidity like berries that left plenty of room for flavor instead of just tang. And the aftertaste didn’t linger like secondhand smoke, it left gradually with a mellow sheen that he didn’t mind in the slightest. Even though he was more an iced coffee guy, this was a kind of coffee Blitzø could see himself drinking again. When he wasn’t hungover, that is.

“Well, I’m thrilled to hear that, Mister Blitzø. Thank you.” Stolas responded gratefully.

By now, he had placed a lid over the eggs to let them simmer which allowed him to focus on chopping up the peppers. The imp assumed that had all he had been cutting up before Stolas turned to delicately slide a plate baring an apple that had been sliced in a way that the core stood erect as a tower with the slices spread open like a flower bloom. Before he can ask how the hell he did that so fast, Via chirped happily before plucking one slice and biting into it with a thank you.

Blitzø found her delight over the piece of fruit adorable, which the baby owl took as an invitation to pluck another slice and offer it to him with a smile. Satan, could this kid get any cuter?

He took the offered slice with a cheeky grin. Only to quickly toss it in the air and catch it with his tongue like an iguana’s, adding a “Bleh!” just for laughs, for which he earned a round of giggles from Via. He had almost missed by being blindsided by the cinnamon and spice flavor that had been baked into it. It had to have been made that very morning if the warmth and freshness of the slice was anything to go by, allowing the fruit to melt orgasmically well into his taste-buds. Wow.

He and Via had had unanimously agreed to split the apple between them, with no objections from Stolas as he busied himself with divvying up the vegetables and summoning other ingredients from the kitchen to prepare accordingly. Via filled up most of the time with chattering on innocently about little things, how funny her dream was last night, how home-school was “five times better than private school as there were less big dummy poop-heads” - Blitzø almost choked on a slice while Stolas lightly admonished her about “language” - And how her daddy once made her the bestest cake ever in the in the whole wide world for her fifth birthday. Blitzø, for as sweet as he found her daughterly praise, had to swallow the gag when she started going on about the “tasty” mouse chunks Stolas had added.

Bird or no, eating mice for Blitzø was a flat out no.

A sudden, horrifying though than popped into his head. Was Stolas going to add mice to his food?

Like mouse sausage? Mice bacon? Rat peppers? Was that a thing?! Or was he just pulling a Moxxie and asking dumbass question?

. . . Probably just being a Moxxie.

His internal debate was cut short by something else being set before him. A damn good-looking something.

An omelet the size of Blitzø’s fist lay before him, hot and steaming and straight from the hot plate. Yellow as can be with spots of golden brown, there were no signs of tears of breakage, with a perfect fluffy layer peeking from the folds stuffed with meat, veggies and oozing cheeses. The artsy fucker had even gone the extra mile and draped the top of it with a thin sheet of mozzarella, some garnish and a couple slices of baby tomatoes. Talk about extra.

“There you are, this morning’s special - ‘Egg On Your Face’ Mega-Omelet, with all the fixings and extra cheese for those unwelcome aches and pains. If I’ve done my job right, it should fix you right up.”

“Like magic!” Via dded with a bright smile. Both men chuckled at her.

“Like magic, huh?” Blitzø smirked. Well, I’ll just have to see about that.

Sure, the eggs may have looked good, but Blitzø had learned all too well that food looking good and tasting good were two totally different things.

What looked like a pile of slop to the naked eye could taste just as good as a five morning star meal served Beelzebub herself. The same thing applied to a plate of fancy finger foods that cost the same as a house mortgage but tasted like cardboard in the end. And Blitzø certainly had more than enough exposure to lousy food like that, thank you and fuck you very much, with no wish to repeat it.

Which he hoped he wouldn’t with this monster-omelet before him.

Deciding not to put it off any longer, he picked up his fork and dug the prongs into the soft-cooked eggs, scooping up a decent-sized bite with plenty of pepper, meat and cheese. After a moment’s consideration, he also speared one of the baby tomato slices. He gave the loaded fork a few blows to cool it, because there was no way he was going to down a maybe-shitty breakfast with a burnt tongue.

He stuck the fork in his mouth -

And his mind was BLOWN.

If there was such a thing as a bit of paradise, than these eggs were the mother fucking proof in the pudding. Or omelet, in this case.

The eggs were cooked to perfection; nice and fluffy to where they melt on in his mouth like luscious chocolate from Lust’s first class bakeries. And the flavor was like a parade in his mouth, from the salty onions, the crisp tomato and the sweet peppers, the numerous flavors sucker-punched his sense of taste without overwhelming the presence of the eggs. The meat inside was spectacular too, the bacon was at the optimum point between chewy and crispy, and the sausage was deliciously flavorful and greasy. His kind of meat, with the right amount of salt and black pepper.

He could barely hold down the pleasurable moan, but did nothing to stop all the muscles in his body from going lax.

Man, fuck trying to go to heaven, the key to fucking Eden’s Gate was right in his head hole.

A bemused coo. “So I take it you like it?”

Blitzø taste-jizzed mind abruptly snapped back into focus. Stolas’s beak was curled into a big, smug-ass grin that made his own fault in to a frown. The owl simply looked at him expectant. Dammit, if the kid weren’t here, he would have gladly told the bird exactly where to shove that grin.

Instead, he gave a disgruntled growl. “Yea, it’s . . . okay.”

Most chefs would have promptly gotten offended by such a dry appraisal of their “masterpieces”, especially if it came from an “uncultured swine” such as him.

But once again, Stolas surprised him by delivering a pleased smile in lieu of a hissy fit. “Well, I’m glad you like it. Eat up now, or it’ll get cold.”

Blitzø chose not to shoot off a shitty comeback, despite being rankled by the “order”. He took out his bubbling frustrations out on his food, picking up the plate and bringing it close enough to begin shoveling the omelet into his mouth like a starving man.

The petty, spiteful gremlin that was roughly, meeeh, ninety percent of his overall personality hoped that such a messy personality hoped that such a messy display would earn at least, would earn a groan of disgust. Always did the trick when he wanted to annoy Moxxie.

However, much to Blitzø’s complete consternation, the owl just gave a small humored hoot and returned to the hotplate with a single crack or insult. Like he didn’t give two shits about his bad manners.

Blitzø internally growled. What an ASS.

. . . A pretty ass, but still.

“I’m glad you’re pleased by my cooking skills.” The big bastard (Yes, Blitzø was calling him that again, suck it.) said happily, busying by wiping down the skillet while beating a new batch of eggs and sliding two slices of bread into a small old-fashioned toaster. “I have to admit, my main specialty is baking and drinks, but I try my best to expand my range of cuisine when I can.”

Once the yolks and whites were thoroughly whipped, there were poured into the skillet and almost immediately they started to sizzle and bubble from the rewarmed metal. “Unfortunately, I can’t cook the kind of food necessary to run a full-fledged cafe’.”

Blitzø swallowed a sizable bite of egg and pepper before asking, “Can’t you just wiggle your fingers and hocus pocus a steak or something?”

Stolas shook his head. “Alas that’s more Lady Beelzebub’s forte than mine. Even my magic can only do so much. Now if this was a flower shop that would be another matter, but it is what it is.”

“I’m glad it isn’t.” Via piped up. “I love Daddy’s cafe’! And I love helping him cook!”

“And you do such a magnificent job, my Owlette.” Stolas’s praise was followed by a small plate of scrambled eggs encircled by toast cut into the shape of flowers and mice, covered in butter and jam. Via took it with a bright thanks, digging in right away with a sparkly pink fork also provided by Stolas. “But sadly, a cafe’ needs more than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and milk to cater to wider clientele. Not that I’m downplaying your talent as a chef, darling.”

“I’s okay, Daddy.” Via said, crumbs dotted on her beak from biting into one of her toast flowers. “I know it’s only because I’m not big enough to use the stove yet.” Blitzø mirrored her smile as she beamed up at him. “Once I can do that, Daddy said I could make even better dishes just like him.”

“Indeed I will, Starfire.” Stolas affirmed. “But for now, I’ll have to settle for looking for another cook. Sadly though -” Stolas pulled a face. “- There hasn’t been one suitable enough to help me run things here.”

“Yeah, it’s hard running the show solo.” Blitzø agreed. “Sucks even more when you don’t have a good crew to back you up. Don’t know where I’d be with M&M.”

Stolas blinked. “Uhm, ‘M&M’?”

Via blinked too. “Like the candy?”

Blitzø snickered. “Nah, Moxxie and Millie, friends of mine and my emplo-” He cut himself off with a grimace. “Well. Who were supposed to be my employees.”

The sudden downtrodden shift that overcame the imp id not go unnoticed by Stolas. “‘Supposed to be?’ What does that -”

“Don’t ask.” Blitzø said curtly. After a second, he added a little less harshly. “I-I don’t really wanna get into it right now.”

Because if I do, I KNOW I’m just going to get pissed off and do something shitty all over again.

“. . . . Alright then.”

Blitzø could hear it clear as day that the bird bastard had more questions, and would more than likely prefer to bombard him with rapid-fire questions like Moxxie would when he wanted to be particularly annoying. But thank Satan, he looked put off enough to put him off.

Small blessings.

The next few minutes passed in silence. The lull of it broken only by the sounds of silverware hitting the plates as Blitzø and Via ate, the drip of coffee as more was brewed in the pot and the subdued sounds of crunching each time either a somewhat concerned Via offered Blitzø a bite of her toast or, returning the favor, when he offered her a bite of bacon or sausage – He learned quick that she didn’t like peppers so much so he did well to avoid giving her any filled-to-the-brim bites. He could only hoped that the reason she liked it wasn’t because the meat that was in it wasn’t made from rodent.

It probably was, though, because . . . Birds.

Eventually, Blitzø had cleaned his plate, a satisfying weight settling in his stomach, he let out a contented sigh, his headache feeling miles better than almost a half hour before. “Woo, that was good. A frickin’ plus.”

The owl’s smiled chased away some of the terseness from before. “Happy to hear it. It’s always good to get good reviews on new dishes.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Quick question, though.”

“Yes?”

Blitzø pointed at the now empty plate. “Level with me – Was there any mice in that? Because, I get it, you and Via are birds, but I kinda draw the line when it comes to eating plague-carrying little turds.”

Stolas tittered at that. “No, no, I assure you, no lovely vermin of any kind was served to you. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that mice are terrible cures for hangovers.”

“What’s a hangover?” Via asked in that no-filter, childishly clueless way that all little hellspawn did.

Stolas, in a perfectly natural response to such a question, was freeze awkwardly. “O-oh, well, erm-”

Blitzø supplied the answer. “It’s like a really bad stomach bug, but for grown-ups.” Giving the little owl a conspiratorial grin, he added in a fake whisper, “Basically, if you eat too much green stuff, your poop comes out greener than Mammon’s butt.”

Via burst into a peal of little girl laughter that definitely brought an easy diffusion to Stolas’s unease, even earning a couple of barely smothered hoots that were poorly hidden by his hand.

Huh. That was twist.

Usually the parents were scolding him at this point, the usual uptight bullshit spiel about “using such vulgar language in front of their innocent little babies, you demented little firetoad!”

Not that he gave a shit because he was a comic genius, fuckyou, Moxxie.

After a bit, both birds managed to quell their laughter enough for Stolas to gently urge Via to head upstairs and get ready for the day. She agreed without protest, stopping only to allow Blitzø to ruffle her headfeathers as he added, “Gotta look cute for the suckers!” That earned him an admonishing look from Stolas that was weakened by his approving smile.

A smile that only grew bigger when Via caught the imp completely off-guard with an unexpected hug, her tiny arms wrapping swiftly and tightly around his waist, almost sending him falling off his stool. Before he could recover, Via was already heading up the staircase, humming cheerfully all the way.

Stolas’s soft chuckle drew Blitzø out of his shock. “Via has certainly taken a liking to you quickly.”

“Uh, yeah, I-I guess.” Blitzø rubbed at the back of his neck. “Last time I got hugged like that, some piece of shit nicked my wallet to buy thirty Bruiser King gift cards.”

“Oh, that’s a pity.”

“Joke was on him, though, he got food poisoning with the first card he used.”

Stolas hummed approvingly as he poured them both a fresh cup of coffee. “Well, I suppose there is such a thing as karma.”

Blitzø barked out a laugh. “Ha! Yeah, and maybe there’s a God.” He accepted the refilled mug, along with the offered sugar and creamers, and dumped almost each one in like an alcoholic adding liqueur. “Uh, speakin’ of, what do I owe ya?”

Stolas, who had added his own preferred condiments to his coffee in much more moderate manner, paused in his blowing at the steam rising from his mug. “Pardon?”

“What do I owe ya? For the food and coffee.” After a moment, he also added with only a tiny wince of guilt. “And whatever else my drunk ass did to your place before I blacked out.”

By emotionally-traumatized principle, he wouldn’t have asked outright. Often times, being the victim of a classist system that shat on those on the bottom rung, he had been subjected to grossly padded bills and unexpected expenses issued by a good percentage of the “well-to-do” owners of “upstanding establishments” where he wound up spending half the night washing up dishes. Once he got fast enough, and only if neither the food nor the service was worth the lightening of his wallet. Blitzø didn’t hesitate to pull a dine and dash; making escapes either through the bathroom window, the vent, or once through riding one of those fancy dining carts into the kitchen and out the employee entrance that admittingly had been fun to ride . . .

. . . Right up until he learned too late that the entrance opened right up to a three-story staircase with no handrail.

Needless to say, that had been one shitty ride to the hospital, Moxxie lecturing him the whole damn eight miles.

After everything – And he meant everything – in his lower body healed, he opted to hold out on anymore dashing. At least until the little baby-dick whineypuss would get off his fucking back about paying.

That aside, he saw no reason to be the deadbeat bun right now. Not when Stolas had been nothing but polite towards him. Even though he certainly didn’t deserve such kindness . . .

He braced himself for the amount as he took a long sip of his sweetened coffee -

“Oh, you needn’t worry – You don’t owe me a sint.”

Blitzø sputtered into his mug, nearly choking on the brew as he processed the owl’s words. “*Cough* *Cough* *Hack* Blegh! Excuse me?”

“You don’t need to pay me.” Stolas restated. “Like I said, you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been nothing but civil, you are obviously sorry for any offense you think you’ve given – Not that you have, don’t make that face – And more importantly, Via likes you. So I see no reason to change you.”

Blitzø frowned at him. “You’re screwing with me.” He stated flatly.

“I assure you, I am not. Honestly, your praise over your breakfast was payment enough. In all honesty, you were doing me a favor.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t get a chance to try out new recipes on new faces very often, so any new opinions are always appreciated.” Blitzø felt his face fault at the slow, awfully sensual smile the owl sent him. “Especially ones as sublime as yours.”

Blitzø forgoed looking him in the eye, each cerise eye of his hooded and looking at him like he was going to be the next dish for him to devour, choosing instead to chug down half the contents of his mug. Gulping audibly, he mumbled back, “Glad I was such a good guinea pig for you.”

“I prefer the term ‘freelanced taste-taster’, personally.” Stolas retorted politely.

“I don’t want your charity.” Blitzø bit at him.

“Nor am I giving it to you. Like I said, you did me a favor.”

“How do you know I’m not some thieving bastard taking adventure of goody-two-shoes shop owners like you?”

“I have measures set to prevent such an occurrence.”

“I’m an undercover health inspector and you just failed.”

“Now you’re just grasping, dear.”

Blitzø rubbed a hand over his face. “You can’t just -” He let out a frustrated breath. “Look, I get you’re an . . . Okay guy and you are obviously trying to set a good example for your kid. I get that, but I don’t want to be the lasting impression of what to expect when giving out freebies to poor drunken bitches like me. No one should have to deal with that without getting paid, -”

“Mister Blitzø.”

Stolas’s firm tone stopped him with the sharpness of a smacked ruler. His face was stern, but not completely harsh as he eyes were looking at him with a softness that pricked at his chest.

“You. Do. Not. Me. Anything. And when I say something like that, it’s because I mean it with all the sincerity that is implied. It is not just for the sake of looking good in front of Via and certainly not some sort of dastardly ruse to get you to lower your guard. You’ve apologized and you meant it, you’ve been kind towards my daughter and enjoyed my cooking without bias or sarcasm. That said, believe me when I tell that is something I care for much more than any check or bill.”

Stolas sipped at his coffee calmly, making no comment about the for certain mollified expression on his face. “So, please, no more apologies. They are appreciated, but to be honest, after twenty-two of them, it just feels repetitive.”

Blitzø gave him a look. “Sorry what now?”

“Mister Blitzø -”

“Nah, nah, what you just said, the fuck you mean I said sorry twenty-two times?”

Stolas’s beak dropped into a thin line, taking a moment to maybe think his words over before formulating a response, “When Via and I found you last night, you were in a . . . A great deal of distress.” He was clearly trying to more emphatic than judgmental. “You were greatly intoxicated and horridly incoherent. Once I was close enough, all I could hear was you saying sorry over and over.”

Blitzø could feel himself growing hot from the neck up in embarrassment. The apprehensive caution in Stolas’s voice was doing fuck all to help the crashing wave of shame following up like a speeding train.

He didn’t need Stolas to tell him what he was bawling like a baby over.

But, ever the bottom bitch for punishment, asked anyway. “. . . I say what for?”

Stolas then turned sheepish. “O-Oh well, uh-uhm, I don’t quite recall -”

“Bird, I don’t do any of that hee-haw Shit, it’s too early and I’m still hungover and all I’m gonna do is get pissed off now WHAT did I SAY?”

With two sets of eyes, it was easy to see that Blitzø was not going to give up on getting an answer. Stolas sighed softly.

“You made a great deal of apologies to a great deal of people. I didn’t catch every name but, erm, you had quite the list.” He sipped at his mug, stalling for only a minute before continuing.

“You apologized to a miss Mistly for dinging her car door while trying parallel park by a Wacdonald’s, a miss Queen for breaking smashing her one of a kind pirate ship in a bottle instead of the pinata by accident on her birthday, a miss Millie for chipping her favorite ax, a mister Moxxie for making him run all the way to Greed for a single battery for your TV remote, dropping his guitar fourteen times, borrowing his wallet, or more accurately, pinching his wallet to pay for Voxflix twice, a miss Barbie for stealing one of her skirts and ripping it whilst performing a split, I couldn’t really make out what exactly you were apologizing to a “Vee” and a “Fizz” for -”

“Okay!” Blitzø blurted out. “Okay! I get it! I get it! I was a hot mess, no more shit needed, I got it!” He cringed at the indignant crack in his voice. Christ, like he didn’t look enough like a pathetic shit already. He might as well plan to fake his own death again.

You know what they say, fifth time’s the charm.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Stolas’s weak attempt to reassure him only bounced off of the imp like a ping-pong ball. “It really wasn’t. Really, you should have seen me afterwards when I was binge-drinking.”

Blitzø scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you got real frisky from all those white wine spritzers.”

“Actually, I tended to lean more towards absinthe.” Stolas retorted, with no little bit of sass, taking a small bit of gratification from Blitzø’s surprised. “Of course, with how I was knocking back each bottle, you’d almost believe they were Purgerade drinks.”

Blitzø lifted his head from where he had been pressing it into the bartop. “Damn, how many we talkin’?”

“At least two to three on a good night, or whatever was close to that.”

The imp gave a low whistle. “”Fuck me, bird. I get shit-faced after half a bottle, how the fuck are you still standing?”

“At this point, stubbornness and sheer dumb luck, I believe.” Stolas quipped.

That startled enough mirth in Blitzø to actually make him laugh. “Join the club, pal.”

“I fear I cannot, as I have cut back my vigorous drinking to properly attend to Octavia. Leaving my former occupation did wonders for helping me cub the habit.”

“Bosses sucked that bad, huh?”

“Doubly so, considering it was a family business, sort to speak, although, I can assure they were family in name only.”

“Ugh. Preachin’ to the fuckin’ choir – there’s only so much shitty family a bitch could take in one day.”

“That, Mister Blitzø, I can wholeheartedly agree on.”

There were getting off-track. Blitzø bit his lip. “. . . I’m sorry for my shit.”

“For the final time, no more apologizes are necessary.”

He angled his head towards the staircase door. “I probably scared your kid.”

“Via has seen far worse, I assure you. Even when off your cups, you weren’t untoward her in any way, so you can save any of the claims of indecency that you’ve half-heartedly concocted in that crafty little mind of yours.”

“Just let me fuckin’ pay you.”

“I neither require nor want your money and I promise you, should you try to force any $ouls on me, I will promptly set it to aflame.”

“Lilith’s titties, you’re a stubborn bitch.”

“And you are an equally stubborn spendthrift.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not without dinner, if you please.”

Blitzø groaned. “God, we’re gonna keep talking in circles if you don’t just charge me and get it over with. I’m not fucking broke, I have the $ouls, just let me pay you.”

Stolas’s counter remark definitely caught Blitzø unawares. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s done something genuinely kind for you, hasn’t it?”

Blitzø’s hackles rose instantly at the “innocent” statement. “You trying to say something?”

Stolas merely sipped at his coffee. “Just an assessment.”

“Or you being a dickhead.”

“I made you a free breakfast for which I expect nothing in return. I am being absolutely forthright whereas you are choosing not to believe that I have no ulterior motives. Who, might I ask, is being the dickhead here?”

Oh, this smug bitch.

He had wanted to let loose a snarl that would make the owl falter in his not requested charity streak. He felt the urge already rising in his throat, ready to finally tell off this prick who was seriously starting to piss him off . . .

. . . But could only let out a low whine at the exhaustion of prolonging the one-sided argument, the fatigue of a bad night, getting totally smashed and crashing just as hard setting in. Being still half hungover sure as shit was not helping to keep the spark of pride burning.

If anything, Blitzø felt even more tired.

He wanted nothing more than to lay everything out, pay whatever the fucking bird deserved and drag his broke-back ass back home and lick his wounds from last night. And the only thing that was stopping him was getting through to this royally stubborn and feathery (Not to mention pretty soft-looking) bastard of a demon.

“Alright, look – I want to pay you back, but for some weird ass reason, you won’t let me.”

“I think we have perfectly established that.”

“So we got a problem.”

“Which could be solved by you accepting my putting your breakfast on the house.”

“And it should be clear as fuck that ain’t happening.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

Blitzø blew a breath of air out of his nose. “I’m not just being an asshole here – I don’t like owing people anything. I’ve been dipping in and out of debts for years, financial and personal. And just that fucking recently I finally managed to pay off a good chunk of them only to literally be screwed over again almost the same fucking day. So now I’m once again edging too damn close to bankruptcy for my liking.”

He gave the owl a flat look. “Meaning I can’t take any chances, such as freebies or random handouts, cuz Charity was just as easily turn into high-interest loans with zero time frames for return payments, unless you want to set up an installment plan that involves cutting out pounds of flesh ever week. Obviously, a guy like me can’t afford to look any more fucked up than he is with a chunk of anything missing.

“All that said, do you see what I’m gettin’ at?”

“. . . . I’m starting to.” Stolas said with a considerate look.

“Satisfaction eased through Blitzø’s frame. “Great. Glad we finally got that -”

“All the same, you needn’t pay me.”

And just like that it was gone.

He growled so sharply it would have destroyed eardrums had he done it inside of headphone speakers. “You fuckin’-”

“But since you won’t accept the gesture,” Stolas interrupted calmly. “How about just doing me a special favor?”

“‘Special favor’?” Blitzø blinked. “What kinda -”

A sound not unlike a light bulb dinged in his thank full-no-longer-as-sore cranium.

Oh.

Oh okay.

He gave a resigned sigh. “Hooookay, look, tootsie hootsie, if you just wanted a quick shag in the back all you had to do was ask. But I gotta warn ya, the place I’ve fucked in was a public bathroom that probably wasn’t cleaned in the last year or two, so I’ll probably need to wipe down the goods with something. Baby wipes would be good if got’em -”

“NO!” A spluttered hoot brought his attention back to Stolas, whose heart-shaped features had turned an almost violent shade of crimson in the span of half a minute. “No! No, no! Not that kind of favor, no! I mean I need your mouth!”

Blitzø gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, I got that much, relax.”

“No! No! I mean -” Stolas let out a shaky warble before planting his face into his hands while muttering to himself in fit of bashfulness.

Blitzø just sipped at his coffee, waiting for him to spit whatever he wanted to say out. To his credit, he didn’t stare, knowing from his own share of verbal vomiting moments that doing that would just make his embarrassment worse.

Even though he no clue what the fuck he was suddenly so damn worked up about.

I mean, fuck, if I had a sint for each time I said the “wrong” things, I’d be raking in more money more green than Mammon.

A deep breath. “Forgive me, I’m doing this all wrong. I’m trying to offer you a deal. Something, I hope, will mutually beneficial to the both of us.”

The incredulous look on Blitzø’s face was quickly addressed. “Nothing vulgar or dramatic involved, you needn’t worry. Nothing of the sort.” He took another deep breath. “I would like for to come in again, and try my cooking.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Say what now?”

Stolas made a small noise of exasperation. “As I said, I’m still relatively new to running a business dealing with dining and catering and the like. I’m often pushed into having to spontaneously expand my range of techniques and specialties depending on my success. I know I’m capable, but I know that I can’t just rely on my own opinion and preferences alone. Even more so when I’m attempting new dishes. As such, I need an outside opinion.”

The imp blinked. “And yooouuu think that’s me?”

Stolas nodded. “Very much so.”

“Some fucking rando off the street who broke into your private property, was wasted out of his mind and could just as easily rob you blind despite these so-called ‘measures’ you said you have?”

“Not as ‘so-called’ as you say, but yes.”

“Rrrright.” Blitzø rolled his eyes. “Don’tcha have, I dunno other foodie friends, you can ask? Or maybe just wait for some famous food blogger critic douchebag to to come in and give you a rating?”

“None that would trust to be fair or take seriously, or assume my want for approval is really a want for cheap compliments – that I’m desperate enough to give someone license to either be obnoxiously petty or to deliver the best shallow review that procures them a not so low-key invitation to my bedroom.”

Blitzø grunted. “Asshats.”

“You should see how quickly they recoil as soon as they learn of Via.”

“Fuckin’ asshats.”

“Quite.” Stolas affirmed. “And to answer your other question, yes, I do have others whose say I do value, but I’ve heard relying on the biased does not help one’s credibility. I do appreciate the precious few whom I’m fortunate enough to have as friends, but I need a healthy dose of honesty from outside sources to provoke me to experiment and expand myself.”

“And you think that guy is me?” Blitzø repeated, gesturing to himself crudely.

“Of course.”

“Bullshit.”

“Good gracious, and you call me stubborn.”

“It’s not -” He let out a small snarl.

Seriously? He was still keeping this up? Enough was enough.

“Look, I get you’re trying to be nice, I get that. But, trust me, I’m the last fucking guy you want to be nice to let alone have around. Seriously, ask fucking anyone in hearing distance – I’m a right bastard on a good day and a pushy dickhead on a bad one, I’ve fucked up more people than I’ve actually helped and you would have more sense to shoot me rather than invite me over again. I mean, you gotta kid to think about, and -”

Blitzø shook his head. “And you don’t want me messin’ with your business. The one I tried starting flopped before I even got my feet off the ground. Pretty sure that speaks a fuckton for how helpful I can be towards you.”

He could barely ignore the burning sting of truth in that statement.

Saying all the shit that was a constant boiling inside him all out loud sucked.

It sucked balls.

He knew it was better than letting it all rot and fester like he let everything else – But it still sucked.

Fuck what his therapist said about it being being cathartic. He should quit that bitch.

It’s not like he would be able to pay them for much longer anyway.

Blitzø knew he was not the kind of person to be asked to come back. Even the scraps of friends he had managed to hang on to could barely wait for him to leave as soon as he said hello.

Moxxie was the leading example of proving him right. Even when Blitzø actually adhered to his demands of privacy and properly asking for invites to visit, (That Blitzø still found completely anal of him although he bit his lip) Moxxie was adamant to get him out the door before he could even get two fucks in.

Even Millie, Moxxie’s blast and a half of a wife, who was far more accommodating than her whore-back husband, drew the line when it came to his company being longer than necessary.

That was to say fucking nothing about his own flesh and blood.

Barbie Wire, his twin sister, his other half, would sooner see him six feet under before seeing him again.

Cash Buckzo, his father, never asked for him, never wanted him, and made it a point of telling him so straight to his face more than once.

His mother, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . She sure as fuck would have been better off without him.

And his exes? Those who he didn’t remember or couldn’t care to remember, those he never took a chance on because of him being too much of a pussy to try?”

Verosika? It was pretty fucking clear on how that went.

Fizz?

He was never wanted.

He was never missed.

He was never asked to come back.

Not for a visit.

Not for a drink.

Never just to hang and shoot the shit.

He was always tossed away as soon as necessary.

He was always left behind, pushed aside, shoved into the background.

Forgotten.

Dead for all those concerned.

Dead, except in the way he wanted when he was at the lowest he could be.

No one ever missed him.

No one ever wanted him back.

Nobody.

“. . . . I fuck things up more often than I get them right. There’s a pretty good chance if you get involved with me, shit’s gonna go sideways for you too.”

He wasn’t sure if he had muttered that part aloud or not. Not that he gave a shit.

He halfway expected to be asked to repeat himself.

Or maybe Stolas would curse him under his breath for being such a dramatic bitch.

Maybe he would finally cut the bullshit and be real about what the fuck that he really wanted from him.

However, all Blitzø got in response, was a soft touch at his wrist, soft as silk and just as gentle.

Along with two sets of big cerise rose eyes that crinkled gently at the corners as they held his gaze with calmness and sympathy.

And maybe something else, but that could’ve been that whiny, fractured part of himself making up what wasn’t actually there.

“I’ve taken far riskier gambles than trusting a stranger out of the blue, Mister Blitzø.” Stolas spoke in such a comforting voice. “And I have yet to lose from any of them. Perhaps it’s rather cocky to say so, but since my winning streak has yet to be broken, I think you’re a rather good bet to take a chance on.”

The tender smile, that was nothing short of dazzling, he gave Blitzø at the end such a declaration was a damn good seller.

Satan forbid this man ever works for Vox – cause with that smile, he could sell gas station keys like they were the keys to gates of Eden itself. I mean, if his touch alone could send sparks up my arm like he was doing right now. . .

Fuck him if he knew.

The hand causing such a feeling than gave two soft pats to his wrist before lifting away to grab the coffee pot once more, refilling Blitzø’s mug with still steaming java and the exact number of sugars and creams he had diluted it with before.

“So, how does coming in twice, three times a week sound? I usually close the cafe’ around seven since I try to get Octavia in bed by eight thirty on weeknights. If you like to come by over the weekend, I close around six thirty to seven o’clock depending on how busy I get. Except any catering orders or special events, I’m not fussy over whenever you come over. All I ask is that you let me know when you’re coming by in advance so I can have something ready for you. A day or two ahead would be just fine.”

Blitzø, this time, could not find in him to groan loudly in protest to the blatant hardheaded dismissal of the what seemed like hours long argument. The argument he bitterly realized that he couldn’t fight against.

That did nothing to stop him from throwing his head back and scowling at the annoying as shit clean ceiling tiles above them.

“. . . . . . . You really aren’t gonna give this up, are you?” He said after a while.

“I suppose I’m about as bull-headed as you are.”

Blitzø gave a chuffing laugh at that.

Well, fuck.

What was he supposed to do with that?

What could he do with that?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fuck it, if the worst happened, he could just disappear again, right?

Not likely Stolas would look for him just for a review, right?

. . . . Right.

“. . . . . . . . . . The peppers and onions were both sweet.”

Stolas blinked at him like the owl he was.

Heh. Cute.

“The omelet was good, but it was kinda over-sweetened; I don’t know what kinda onions you added but personally I would use a more subtle kind of onion to help round out the sweetness of the peppers.”

He let this sink in for a moment before continuing, “I remember seeing you add a green pepper so next time I would recommend using a shallot, maybe about half a tablespoon’s worth should be right. A regular tablespoon’s good too if you don’t use too much of the peppers.”

He sipped at his refreshed coffee. “I personally, like some spice in my eggs to help me wake up, so don’t be afraid to throw some in the mix in the future. Like oregano or basil. You don’t have to go crazy with the amount, though, - just about when you’re making the bowl and a few dashes of it on top when ya put it on the plate. It’ll pair well with the tomatoes and not distract you too much from the rest of the food.”

He took a breath. “Coffee’s good, strong enough to double as a chemical peel, everything any caffeine addict is looking for. The aftertaste doesn’t turn me off from drinking the rest and from how it feels going down I am a hundred and fifteen percent sure you’re a nit-pick bitch cuz I taste how finely you ground the beans without turning them to powder. It’s good ya didn’t because that shit’s only good foe about half hour before fighting to keep your eyes open by either shooting up some dope or knocking back enough 66-Hour-Energy drinks to give the Big B a heart attack.”

Shouldn’t he stop? Maybe he was saying too much. Stolas had asked for honesty and Blitzø was doing his best to deliver it with as little jackassery as possible.

Problem was, for Blitzø, jackassery was his default language, according to practically everyone and their fat mom’s. And, most of the time, he didn’t even realize how much he let slip out before he got a sharp crack across the face. Or a knee to the balls.

He chanced a look at Stolas. If he looked upset, he could take it all back. It wasn’t too late, he could still backtrack -

Tiny stars sparked in Stolas’s wide eyes. Small and bright and beautiful, looking every bit like the twinkling little lights his mom would tell stories to him and Barbie back in their childhood. After the circus ring was cleared of trash and the last Hellhorse was tucked in their stall. Back when, even thought hings weren’t easy, everything was okay.

Before everything suddenly wasn’t.

Stolas, upon noticing Blitzø looking at him, instantly grew more flustered in some odd cacophony of joy and mortification, his plumage fluffing up from the top of his crown to the little floof of feathers on his chest. His hands belated came up to smooth them back into place, unfortunately they did little to quell them along with the rosy blush that tinted his face plate into an eye-catching pink.

Damn, this bird was so cute it was unfair.

The anxious itch in his chest was put to ease right there and then.

This couldn’t actually work, could it?

. . . Could it?

. . . . . . Maybe. Just maybe.

Emboldened, Blitzø sent the owl a lazy smile that easily darkened the pink on his face, matching the warmth the imp felt on his own face. “The apple was like a fucking angel feather, so soft and tasty. You have got to show me how the ever-loving fuck you made it turning to to applesauce ‘cause that shit was better than fuckin’ crack.”

Stolas looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be elated or overwhelmed.

After an awkwardly long amount of time, he clearly had settled on elation. His upper set of eyes turned upward in little crescents as his beak returned the smile with a brightness that Blitzø felt proud of bring out.

“I’d be happy to, darling.”

To be continued . . .

ME: Hey all you sinners & saints! Who’s excited for HAZBIN HOTEL coming out this friday?!?!?!? (Or Thursday if you actually watch it at it’s appointed time) I know I am!

I am SO EXCITED AND DESPERATELY TRYING TO IGNORE THE FACT THIS STORY IS LITTERALLY GOING TO LOST IN HAZBIN HIGH THAT I KNOW IS COMING FOR THE PAST WEEK. AND THE WEEK AFTER THAT. And the week after that . . .

ANYWAYSO, here is the recipe for the Mega-Omelet, which let me tell, just reading the ingredients alone mad me feel full! Also, what do you do for your respective hangovers? Let me know in the comments!

I’ll have the next (& FINAL chapter of this installment) written and posted as soon as I can, so until then, eat hearty, everyone!

Oh, and enjoy your stay at the Hazbin Hotel . . .

[egotistival]

hi pals! i'm sun and i'm currently 29 y/o and am looking for new writing partners to interact with on tumblr only! below is my current muse list (though i can and will make up characters for any such plots we come up with), and some descriptions of my characters. if you'd like to plot and write with me, feel free to give this a like, me a follow, and i'll come to you (but only if you're 21+)!

jenna ortega fc. soledad ramirez. she/they. writer of the bestelling series “trailblazer.” think wednesday addams meets jo march from little women. has a big mouth, never stops talking, will voice whatever is going on in their head but means well most of the time. sapphic/queer.

kristen stewart fc. micah chase. she/they. a loser, just can’t seem to get it together but has a heart of gold. also kind of involved in some shady dealings around town with drugs, and appears beaten up a lot of the time but no ones really stuck around long enough to voice their concern for them. sapphic/queer.

melissa barrera. lauren martinez. she/her. is she a bitch, or is she just misunderstood? the ever present question. single survivor of a murder/suicide at the hands of her father, but she's still trudging on despite the horror and trauma. sapphic/queer.

emma d’arcy fc. clay nichols. they/them. activist, scientist, and overall golden retriever whose had a string of heartbreaks and broke hearts behind them. think shane mccutcheon from the l word. queer. 

jeffrey dean morgan fc. cyrus dunn. he/him. shady preacher with an even shadier past? is he really a preacher or is he just smuggling in drugs, guns, and other such things in the church for the local biker gang in town like everyone says? unconfirmed. heterosexual. 

mike faist fc. nathan mccintosh. he/him. an awkward geek whose entirely too horny for his own good, but harmless enough. got a scholarship for track and tennis, now on his way to the olympics for competitive sports. spent his whole life trying to live up to his parents expectations and done nothing else. heterosexual. 

charles melton fc. rafe yoo. he/him. stuck up, mean, and incredibly well-off monetarily, he comes from an old money family in town known for shady dealings. best to stay away from him. closeted pansexual.

[cadybear420]

Cadybear's Reviews- A Courtesan of Rome

Welcome to the fifteenth official Cadybear's Reviews post! Ironic that this is the fifteenth. Unfortunately this is about 10 days late for Ides of March this year. Today I'll be talking about A Courtesan of Rome, which I have ranked on the "Platinum Tier" at 9 stars out of a possible 10. My last playthrough of this story was around November-December 2021.

I’m rather fond of this one. 

This is one of the few MCs where it makes sense for them to have a lot of pre-set aspects about them, and for the record they did do a fantastic job establishing it via the flashbacks. And even then, they also manage to give us enough player agency by allowing us to choose her motives, methods, and goals. So it’s a very neat and fair balance between pre-set and flexible. 

This is also one of the few pointfully genderlocked books– while male courtesans did indeed exist in Ancient Rome, they’d likely have had vastly different experiences to that of female courtesans. Chances are, the male MC version would have so many dialogue changes that it’d basically be an entirely new book. Don’t get me wrong, I’d definitely love to see a male MC version of this story, but I can understand why PB would genderlock it. 

Admittedly the story can drag at times, and the “8 years ago in Gaul” flashbacks can be a bit of a trudge (granted they do set up the story well), but it is worth it. My only real problem is that according to some fans who are history experts, this story does stray a lot from historical accuracy. But I guess not every periodical story is gonna be perfectly historically accurate. 

That, and also the way they handled Xanthe is just… not good. Other people have explained it better, but basically, in a general sense, Xanthe isn’t much different from MC. Both are courtesans as per being victims of human trafficking, both are forced to rely on seduction to survive and overpower men– but the story villainizes Xanthe, while MC is pushed as heroic and morally grey/complex for the exact same shit. All because… Xanthe is kind of catty towards MC?

I didn’t think much of it in either of my two playthroughs, but I’ve seen other people bring it up and looking back… it’s too major to ignore. It’s hypocritical at best, and has some very troubling (racist) implications at worst. Especially in a book that’s meant to be an empowering periodical womanhood story. So it did end up bringing the book down a tier. 

We rightfully bitch about the cheap “straw loser villain woman who exists solely to have exaggeratedly bad behaviors solely to make the MC seem better” and “pitting women against each other just because they want/do the same thing” tropes all the time in Choices stories like TNA, FCL, and TBB; and while I do still rank those books much lower due to having more objective problems overall, the trope is much more unforgivable in this book given the context. 

However, while the story does have some pretty major problems, it does also have a lot of good aspects going for it that did make me mostly enjoy it. But who knows, my opinion might change after a replay. 

I will also say, it’s really fun to diamond mine this one for OG HSS Book 2. Getting to stab Caesar and then taking down Principal Isa right after. So I do have a bit of a soft spot for the book in that regard. 

[dangerous-disposition]

WIP wordsearch game!

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

tagged by the bestest @scarcrossdlvrs

All of my snippets are gonna be coming from my modern AU stuff which I've shared a lot of already but WHATEVER i typically can't have several projects running at the same time lmao

First

In a bunk bed on a tour bus on the other side of the country, Eddie Munson stared at the phone in his hand with a little smile tugging at his mouth.

It was a short conversation but there was something really nice about having a conversation with someone who treated him like a normal human being. It had been years since Eddie could talk to someone other than his band mates, manager, and uncle without it being either drenched in starstruck hero-worship or stilted professionalism.

At first, that had been exciting. They finally made it. After all of their hard work and grinding and sleepless, penniless weeks of driving themselves to gigs, they did it. Eddie wasn’t the local drug dealing deadbeat loser every high school teacher believed he would be forever. He was somebody, and people either worshiped him or at least respected him.

He just never expected stardom to become so lonely.

Blank

Sitting back down at his desk, Steve pulled up the details for the block and opened the rooming list the tour manager sent.

He was startled, but appreciative of the fact that the riders were included in the same document, even if that meant that the rooming list was given to him in the worst possible format. A goddamn PDF.

Grumbling to himself, Steve did what he did best; tucked himself in to read the contract from top to bottom, then back again, then did the same with the riders. Then came all the technical stuff of building the room block, then struggling through getting the names off the PDF and into a spreadsheet to book the rooms.

“They could’ve sent this when it was still a Word document but no,” Steve grumbled bitchily, shoving his glasses back up his nose. “They had to be all fancy and important and send it as a fucking PDF.”

Finally, when that was all done and the rooms were confirmed, Steve pulled up a blank email and the tour manager’s contact details in their system.

The manager’s name was Chris Cunningham, according to the information the above-property sales manager input, and something about that name did sound familiar. Steve couldn’t place it right away, so he gave up trying and went back to starting his email.

Under

Steve sat at his desk typing up an email to one of the event managers’ clients, quietly grumbling to himself about why he had to email them without any real heat. The managers were busy, and sometimes it just made more sense for Steve to email them outright. He would do it, he would just bitch about it while he did it.

“Steve.”

Looking up, he met Joyce’s eyes and cringed under her stern face.

“Yes, Joyce?” he asked, but he already knew what this was about.

“I was looking through the turnovers. Did Nancy give you a group the other day?” she asked and Steve looked at his computer.

“It’s just a band and film crew. I’ve already made contact with the client,” Steve said, his ears heating up when Joyce sighed.

“I’d like to speak to you in my office, please,” she said and walked away.

Sighing heavily, Steve finished the email he was working on, sent it, and locked his computer. When he got up and turned, Nancy was hovering at her cubicle and chewing her lip.

“Sorry,” she mouthed and Steve just rolled his eyes and trudged across the room to Joyce’s office and shut the door.

Lips

“Nancy seems to think that if she turned it over properly and asked for you to assign it to me, you would assign it to one of the other managers,” Steve said with a knowing raise of his eyebrows when Joyce looked away and cleared her throat. “C’mon, she has a point, Joyce.”

“That’s because if I agreed to assign every group she wants given to you, you would be back in the same mess as you were last summer,” Joyce said a bit defensively. “Tell me about the group, and I’ll decide if you can keep it.”

“I already made contact with the client!” Steve said.

“And you were not actually assigned this group properly. If I decide I want to take the group from you and reassign it, that is my decision to make as Director of Events,” Joyce said, standing her ground.

Steve sat up straighter and narrowed his eyes. “You would undermine your team like that in the eyes of the client?” he asked and Joyce pursed her lips.

“And Nancy didn’t undermine me by going over me to assign you a group?” she challenged and Steve sighed heavily.

Deep

“Whatever, the point is Chrissy knows I always have her phone when she can’t find it. Her freaking out is just silly,” Eddie said with a sniff, glaring down at the Sudoku puzzle he was making zero progress with.

“Edward Munson!”

Jeff peered over the edge of his bunk to smirk at Eddie’s wide-eyed stare. “Uh oh,” he teased as Chrissy stormed into the room.

“You!” she practically shrieked, pointing at him as he shoved the phone between his body and the mattress as if she hadn’t already seen it in his hands.

“What?” he asked innocently, and he screamed as she dove into his bunk to wrestle the phone out from under him.

They tussled for a while, Chrissy yelling all sorts of expletives at him that were honestly still a shock coming from her sweet face. She was also a dirty fighter.

“Ow, shit! Did you just bite me?” Eddie hissed, grabbing Chrissy’s whole face and pushing her away as he looked at the distinctly teeth-shaped indents on his arm. They were deep, just barely not breaking skin and would definitely bruise.

Then Chrissy licked his palm like an animal, and he recoiled enough that he rolled off of her phone.

Okay! Now my no pressure tags: @pizzaqueen, @patchworkgargoyle, @scoops-stevie, @steddieas-shegoes, @afewproblems

And your words are: wish, falter, teeth, little, breath

[contaiinedarmageddon2]

❌ Sollux accidentally revealing his hyper cock to one of the girl trolls. Preferably one of the less common pairings.

NSFWish below cut

"fuckin Pyrope bitches keeping a gill up all coddamn morning fucking glubbin. I mean. glubbin fucking? I hate this." Meenah trudged through the dreamscape path, a mishmash of who know's memories, muttering to herself angrily, trident across her shoulders. She liked Latula, after a fashion, she was r4d as hell it would be stupid to deny it. She didn't mind Mituna either, in the way one didn't mind a harmless lost lusus at least. But the two had been getting on her last nerve. For whatever reason, perhaps a shift in the bubbles, the two's little secret rendezvous spot for their flushed trysts, and they were fucking loud. Mituna didn't have volume control at the best of times but whatever that yellow weirdo was doing was making Latula compete with him in decibels. To say nothing of the noises. It made Meenah shudder. She had tried to casually, politely( something she was totally capable of doing) let Latula know that perhaps she should move somewhere else with whatever she was doing, but the finsufferable bitch seemed to take it as an invitation for her to brag about Mituna's supposed "prowess". Meenah left in a hurry, but the details she couldn't block out were swimming around her head rent free.

Maybe that was why when she spotted an unfamiliar pair of bicolored spectacles, she stopped to watch awhile instead of just ignoring one of the random losers getting the benefit of all her hard work in the alpha session. Just what was he up to in that clearing? By the flash of red skirts moving the other direction he must've been meeting with Porrim's little protege but why out here? Grumbling to herself about how stupid this was she pushed forward toward him, a half baked idea about interrogating him about Captors and their own timeline's Pyrope coming to mind.

"Hey! Shorty! Yeah you double dutch, don't you take off!" She yelled out as she emerged from the bushes, 2x3dent swinging off her shoulders.

"oh 2hiit you're that angry ver2iion of ff aren't you." The mustard said, already starting to backpedal.

"Who the fuck you callin' angry? Your lil goody-gills is a version of ME." Meenah declared with utmost calm and a grip on her strifekind that grew white knuckled as her instincts kicked in at the mention of a competitor heiress.

It had been a long time since she'd seen proper psionics from anyone but Damara, and she avoided that crazy witch anyways. The other Captor started flickering alight with blue-red light though, feet starting to pick off the ground as he must've planned to flee her gracious welcome. However, nobody was faster than the REAL Peixes. The prongs of her trident flashed out and down as she moved to pin him between the tines to the ground and prevent an escape. But it seems she misjudged how much power output the shrimp had, and her downward stab didn't quite hit on target. One of the razor edged tips caught the waistband of his pants perfectly and seemed to glide right through the fabric. There was a brief sparking noise, and then things got very dark and very heavy.

In an instant Meenah found herself pinned to the ground, something oddly soft yet so weighty even her vaunted seadweller strength was having trouble shifting the burden off her body, and her legs felt as though they were pinned under some ultra dense beanbag. With a final heave and a lot of swearing she managed to wrestle the warm pillar holding her down off to the side. Pupil-less eyes went wide. A veritable column of turgid gray lay atop her, thicker around than her torso and extending off past her head. Her eyes traced it to the base where a set of tremendous orbs had her legs buried. It was only at that point she felt the sheer heat coming off it, the very air felt thick, she wanted to gasp, not out of having the wind knocked out of her but take in more of the strange tasting aura. Without even realizing it her arms had locked around what amount of the spongy surface they could encompass, less than half of it, now holding it against her very sensitive feeling body rather than it pinning her. And this veritable monument to virility terminated in the disoriented, slowly stirring form of that Captor.

She was going to fucking kill Latula for hiding this. Right after she got done showing this guppy why she was the reel Empress apparent. In a few hours.

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

Daryll discovered that the streets were uneven and filled with unavailable wicked women as he trudged from bar to bar after midnight in a village where once he was known but now forgotten.

Daryll's footsteps echoed through the dimly lit streets, each uneven cobblestone reminding him of the predictable path his life had taken. The village, once a haven off riendlyfaces and fond memories, now seemed to have transformed into a labyrinth of unfamiliarity and shadows.

As he passed each bar, the laughter and chatter from within only served to accentuate his solitude. Memories of his younger days, when he was a celebrated figure in the village, now felt like tales from another lifetime. The faces he encountered now were all strangers, their gazes cold and indifferent.

The only thing that drunken Darll knew was that he wasn't drunk goddamned it. and that every bar presented an opportunity for new love or whatever you called what he had lost. Every drive presented a screwd up opportuntiy o for new love or whatever it used to be called before he lost what he had after one too many pool tables and two too mny broken promises. As he reached he last open bar within stumbling distance, a saloon called Smokey's Daryl understood hat this was his last stop.

As he staggered into the joint, he took a moment to check the place out. Not a lot to see. Two old farts arguing about Korea and a woman trying to ignore them.

He settled into a stool, the warm leather against his cold hands, he ordered another beer and tried to ignore the woman who was trying to ignore him. It was kinda funny. Compared to the old farts, Daryll felt like Ryan Gosling for a minute. In that minute the woman gave up trying to ignore him and glanced at his wasted face.

He took that as a cue to change stools. She stayed where she was. She dropped her name and he forgot it, maybe it was Joyce but probably not. He could call her whatever he wanted if he was buying which he did.

They recognized the desperation in each other's eyes and were turned off by it. They both realized that it had all come to this and this was something that neither of them wanted nor would anybody else.

Both Daryl and "Joyce" sensed the underlying currents of neediness and disillusionment that permeated their exchange; a stark reminder of the depths to which each had sunk in their search for connection and validation. The realization dawned upon them that this encounter was born not out of genuine interest, but rather out of a mutual sense of loneliness and self-doubt. Neither of them voiced their reservations, but It was clear that this was not what they wanted, nor was it what they believed they deserved. They were cordially pissing each other off. Neither could believe that they had fallen this far, this fast.

They were lost and the snow was falling. They had each been skipping from bar to bar hoping that no one would realize how broken and drunk they were. If anyone did, there would have been no more sevice. They might have been in the same bars at the same time but had failed to notice each other and for good reason.

Flip, the barkeep had observed this scene too many times. He was nearly as bored with it as the bar flys were thirsty. He had troubles of his own but not like these losers. He wanted to rsh the last call but couldn't afford to lose this shitty job if he was gonna retain the controlling contempt of the bitch was milking him.

"Joyce" finished her drink in shame that could only be momentarily relieved by yet another one. Darrel didn't give a shit. He could use another as well. Flip poured two more useless, fleeting solutions

Darrel couldn't take anymore. He slipped Flip a tip, bought the pathetic broad another drink and wondered how it had ever come to this. He headed out to his POS car where what was left of a case of Pabst still had a couple of cold ones left.

He returned to the uneven streets leading to the vacant parking lot where he would crash and tried to forget his name. He had become a stranger to himself. If this wasn't the bottom, how much lower could he go. He didn't know and he didn't give a shit.

Whatever identity he once had, whatever pride, whatever ambition was gone and when the cops came by he wanted to say help me but instead he said "No problem".

Flip closed the bar. He didn't even noticed "Joyce" when she slipped out, owing him for her last beer. Amazing how they could disappear like that. A new set of strangers would show up tomorrow night, all of them unrecognizable but all of them the same.

Just another night in a snowy village while the fortunate slept.

ChatGPT

Indeed, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the first hints of dawn began to illuminate the sky, the village prepared to greet a new day and a new cast of characters. The cycle of life in the village was relentless, a continuous ebb and flow of faces and stories that converged and diverged with each passing night.

For Flip, the anticipation of another evening at the bar loomed large, a familiar routine that offered both solace and monotony. The memories of the previous night's encounters would soon fade, replaced by the unpredictable dynamics of the new patrons who would soon grace the bar with their presence.

Each individual who walked through the door would bring with them a unique blend of hopes, dreams, and struggles, yet beneath the surface, they were all bound by a shared humanity. Their stories might differ, but the underlying themes of love, loss, and longing remained constant, weaving a complex tapestry of human experience.

As Flip prepared for the night ahead, he couldn't help but ponder the transient nature of the connections forged within the walls of the bar. The strangers who would converge upon the establishment were unknown entities, their paths destined to intersect for a fleeting moment before diverging once more.

Yet, despite the fleeting nature of their interactions, Flip recognized the profound impact that these brief encounters could have. Within the confines of the bar, amidst the clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation, bonds could be forged, and stories could unfold, offering glimpses into the rich tapestry of human experience.

As the village stirred to life and the promise of a new night beckoned, Flip braced himself for the influx of strangers who would soon become a part of his nightly routine. Each face would be a blank slate, a mystery waiting to be unraveled, as the timeless dance of connection and separation played out once more in the dimly lit bar at the heart of the village.

[taiblogcomics]

Anach’s to Grind

Hey there, durians. All right, we're in the last stretch for this volume. Six out of 18, that is something! We'll take a break from this series after this, for your sanity and mine, but first we gotta actually get through it~

Here's the cover:

All right, this one I get. It's Survivor by way of The Breakfast Club. I don't think either of those are teen murder series either, though I can't say for certain. Weird mash-up. Also, I think the Breakfast club reference is technically wrong, because while Darkhawk's pose is close, everyone else is standing up. And for issues with the internal logic of this, if Hazmat wore that little clothing, they would all have severe radiation poisoning right now! Kind of what makes her named "Hazmat", y'know? All things considered, though, an enjoyable cover. Probably the best of the lot so far.

So last episode, Arcade decided to spice things up by causing an earthquake and setting a challenge to reach a saferoom for a "first come, first served" prize. We also learned what a piece of shit Kid Briton is, and that Deathlocket is probably behind all the nighttime attacks, and that this series isn't one I'm enjoying!

So we open with Anachronism and Cullen Bloodstone hauling themselves out of the river, in which they fell last issue. Nara the fishgirl also survived her trip into the river, and she's raging and bitching about it aloud. And then suddenly she stops yelling threats after Kid Briton's retreating party, and tells the other two to grab hold of something. And without warning, an enormous flood of water bursts forth and sweeps through the canyon. The lads don't have a chance to grab something, so Nara hauls them to the surface, and the trio rides the raging rapids downstream.

So this issue's focus character is Anachronism, and we drop into one of his flashbacks. So his whole deal is that he's a teen boy who suddenly inherets the body of an immortal Celtic warlord. Same mind, new body, new urges. Kind of a Captain Marvel situation, but without the transformation and magic word. He's just kinda stuck that way, which is making school life awkward. Nara makes a pass at him now that he's beefed up, but Kid Briton shows up and knocks Anachronism around, still taunting him about being a loser despite the makeover.

Meanwhile, we drop in on Hazmat's group. Reptil's still not great, but he's at least on his feet now. He knows he's not doing great, though, and wants to take a minute to rest. Hazmat's unwilling to break up the group, though, so he trudges onward. On the way, though, Hazmat steps on some sort of mine that sprays gas into the air. No ordinary gas, though: it's the trigger scent that sets X-23 into a blood frenzy. X-23 leaps towards Hazmat, claws out, but luckily Reptil has recovered enough to turn into a pterodactyl and fly Hazmat away, leaving X-23 screaming in fury.

The Runaways and Cammi reach the supply drop location first, and... don't go for it. Cammi cryptically suggests that it might not be worth it, and opts to just sit nearby and watch. And at the same time, Anachronism's group haul themselves out of the river. Nara is still bitching about Deathlocket until Cullen points out it's obviously all Apex's doing. There's an extremely lame joke here, where they use Apex's real name, Katy, in their accusations. Who invited Deathlocket into the group and knowingly manipulated Kid Briton? Katy did.

We get a brief scene of Hazmat and Reptil reaching Safe Zone 3, before we cut over to Kid Briton's group approaching the supply drop at Safe Zone 2. And then we're over with Anachronism and friends, who have decided to head away from the supply drop and find a different safehouse. Nara explains why Kid Briton is a right shithead (he bullies because his powers work on confidence, but now that Anachronism is bulked up, he bullies out of fear of retaliation), and that Anachronism should stand up to him. He doesn't like to fight, though, and while she's explaining why that's also bullshit, the lot of them are suddenly teleported.

And they're teleported right next to the supply drop, and declared the winners just as Kid Briton's group rolls up. Anachronism, to his credit, recognises that this is obviously a setup by Arcade, but Nara decides to lean into the trap anyway. She confronts Apex, revealing she's put it all together, and Apex gives her sarcastic congrats. Kid Briton tries to play mediator, but Nara immediately punches him out, to his absolute shock. Not so confident now, I guess. Apex orders Deathlocket to blast Nara again, and as she's warming up a laser, suddenly an explosion goes off between the lot of them.

It's Cullen, who decided to raid the supply drop while everyone else was being an idiot. And inside it was a bunch of cakes and also guns. He shoulders his new bazooka, and he and Anachronism help Deathlocket up. She's no longer under Apex's control, but they're keeping an eye on her to keep her out of the fight. And what a fight it is. The girls are fightiiiiiiiing! This goes on for a while until Apex (who's losing) orders Kid Briton to help her. And Nara goads him on, taunting him for being weak.

Well, King Asshole of Child Murder Island doesn't appreciate this, and pulls out his magic glowing sword and starts fighting Nara instead. The insults start flying as much as the blades and the fists do, and it's beginning to boil over. Kid Briton is literally seeing red. But before he can land a blow on Nara, suddenly Anachronism steps in. And snicker-snack, with a flash of his axe, off goes Kid Briton's head to end the issue. And normally I decry these deaths, but A) it's not an established character, it's an OC made up for the story, and 2) he was a terrible, unlikeable person with no redeeming qualities. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving guy~

The previous issue is still worse, but I don’t really have anything positive to say about this one either. Other than the brief bits of the Runaways and Avengers Academy kids, this is all Team Braddock stuff, and it’s very hard to care about story when it’s all focused on unlikeable assholes you have no attachment to. Much like Kid Briton’s head has no attachment to his body anymore! This is originally where I left off reading back in the day. I gave it a try for one trade, and found it very hard to care about any of it, so everything after this is gonna be new to me. I know it doesn’t get any better, but maybe it’ll at least be interesting to see how bad it does get.

Later, though! I think we need a palate cleanser after all that, and I did get a new shipment in a few weeks ago... So finally we can get off Child Murder Island and go back to that magical land of Equestria for a couple months~

[daisyachain]

Thinking about ageswap Hanazawa. The idea is that without Reigen as a neutral sounding board, Mob grows up more repressed with a shorter fuse and less of a nonviolent conviction. Presumably Mob and Teru still meet at some point. Mob tries to talk it out but instead of the situation going to near-murder, Mob fights back before the knives come out. Teru being Teru would fight to the bitter end, forcing Mob to beat the hell out of him. The school doesn’t get destroyed and Mob feels bad. He doesn’t, however, have a breakdown over it. He’s just miffed.

Teru has learned nothing other than ‘don’t challenge Mob’ and stops trying to do anything at all so as not to catch his attention (Mob doesn’t care, he just feels uncomfortable about his presence). He drops out of alpha bitching and just becomes the bottom-of-the-barrel slacker getting straight 75%s and maybe psychiching his way into a part-time job where he doesn’t actually have to do work. He drifts to adulthood doing exactly the bare minimum in everything and looking over his shoulder for the ominous Mob.

Meanwhile on the other side, meeting is just another awkward and bad thing in Mob’s life rather than a traumatizing shock to his entire concept of being. Mob trudges along barely passing his classes and afraid of himself—he doesn’t want to burden his parents and he doesn’t know what to do—and snaps more often and cheats to get a good grade sometimes and feels bad about it each time. He meets other psychics in due time as he and Ritsu evict the Claw operatives that come after them in short order.

Mob VS Toichiro still happens with a lot more collateral damage since most of Claw’s organization is still intact—except it’s ageswap, instead of an indomitable foe Toichiro is the spoiled brat son of checked-out but ultimately neutral Shou, who made a cult for himself because he was bored. Teru must help out with that at some point and they make uneasy eye contact before proceeding to Not Think About It. Psychics become persona non grata after that public emergence and Mob goes through high school anonymous and self-hating while Ritsu gets a lot more resentful of literally everyone else.

Ritsu ends up in some high-performance job, Mob takes something steady, quiet, not glamorous. Teru continues on skimming cash out of people’s sofas (think the Harvest arc in Part 4) and living off of his nebulously rich and possibly dead parents’ saving accounts. They avoid each other and avoid thinking about each other fastidiously while being unable to forget about the other psychic in town. Mob’s only contact at this point is with his blood relations.

And then—! Precocious elementary schooler Reigen catches him using his powers for his menial janitorial job at school (or some such) and insists he teach him. From there he gets wayyyy overexcited and, a few months after Mob starts ‘teaching’ him (trying to get rid of him), Arataka goes around looking for other psychics (calling out random people). A couple of years later, he happens across Teru and accuses him of being a psychic, which Teru misinterprets as Arataka actually sensing his powers. Hilarity ensues as Teru (natural teacher) independently tries to take Arataka as his minion because he’s desperate for attention while Mob starts to realize that this other psychic his little tutoring student Arataka is talking about is real and is the guy he’s been avoiding for 10+ years. Oops.

Which brings us to: ageswap terumob should be the two of them awkwardly co-mentoring Arataka. Because they’re reluctant to talk, Teru remains under the impression that Arataka has psychic powers and is just not using them as a Mob-imposed challenge. Mob is starting to open up a bit and really, really wants to have any sort of friend, but he’s scared that Teru will be a bad influence. Arataka just likes to hang out with the cool older adults (losers) to forget about how unpopular he is. Teru is terrified of Mob but wants to insinuate himself into his life all the more now that he has an excuse to get the patronage of the most powerful man alive (school janitor Mob). What could go wrong!

[mellow-em]

Bittersweet Temptations

CHAPTER 3

[special dts: @bluewingedangel @siennamariia <3]

Your neighbors, Nathan and Elena, have been friends with your parents for years. Whether it’d be family gatherings or vacations, they were around; they were family. But when you return home from your final years of college, what will happen when you find that it isn't just them living in the house next door anymore?

_____________________________________

I wanted to say something.

I knew based on the long expressions plastered across their faces, that they were waiting impatiently for me to say something too.

But I physically couldn’t.

A knot cemented itself at the back of my throat, suffocating me as I tried to swallow. I could feel my mouth suffer through a drought as I did so.

All I could do was look at the three of them, internally wallowing in embarrassment with a load of questions making my head spin.

How could Nate and Elena keep something like that from me? What were they thinking? No. What was I thinking?

Suddenly, the voices of people scattered amongst the yard became too loud. Though, the stares directed towards me were louder.

“Y/n can you say something?”

Without even thinking, I felt my body turn away from them, and I carried myself away.

“Y/n?” I could hear Elena calling after me.

“I’ll just be a minute” I finally croaked back to her, relieved that I could finally get a word out.

I rushed past the deck towards the side of the house.

I knew in the back of my mind that I was being ridiculous. It wasn’t something to run away from; knowing they probably felt just as awkward telling me.

But I had to get away from Sam.

I couldn’t bear standing there while his smug grin could be seen in the corner of my eye.

It was driving me crazy.

Why does he insist on making this hard on me?

I continued to let my feet travel, not even worried about where I would end up. It felt good to step away from the chaos that my parents organized, for a while anyway.

But I soon found myself at the dead end of the street, in front of the wooded patches that lined the edges of the pavement; sectioning off the neighborhood from the forest.

Without any hesitation, I stepped past the barricading trees, and onto the trail that led to a place of sanctuary.

A small body of water sat on the indented ground, with blooming ferns and bushes fencing it. Farther away from the pond, large rocks collected together, forming makeshift seats to take in the atmosphere.

It looked like it belonged in a cheesy disney movie, or a landscape renaissance painting.

I found this place with Nate when I was little, and since then I would escape here when things become too much to handle.

I sat myself down on one of the largest slabs of rock, almost seeing the memories with Nate passing around me in the form of faded visuals; they were almost ghost-like.

I took myself into these moments one by one; succumbing to the laughter, the playfulness, the smiles, the thrill.

Even though I love my parents more than anything, the bundles of memories Nate and I shared, showed me a glimpse of adventure that my parents couldn’t give me.

The overwhelming feeling of contentment pushed a smile onto my face.

But in an instant, it all faded.

Sam.

That one moment with him feasted on my conscious mind like a ravenous vulture. It made my stomach churn in the worst possible way.

I sunk my head into my hands, huffing in frustration.

That is, until I heard a few raucous cracks of leaves and sticks not too far from me.

I fix my posture while whipping my head towards the direction of the noise, only to be met with guilty eyes.

Nathan stood there, leaning his upper body on the stiff trunk of a tree.

Perfect timing, Nate..

My lips flatlined as I scratched at the corner of my forehead, “Hey.”

He steps closer, leisurely but surely.

“Hey,” he gestures to the vacant space next to me, “can I?”

“Yeah.”

Placing both of his hands on his thighs, he plops down next to me, slightly grunting. We sat there in silence; but it wasn’t peaceful, it was impatient.

The both of us were longing to say something to one another, but neither of us preferred confrontation in the slightest. So we sat there, staring at the grove.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been here.”

I look over to him, noticing the tinge of nostalgia sketched upon his features.

“uh yeah.. yeah it really has,” I release a breath, reverting my eyes back to the pond, “almost 5 years.”

It was two days before I left for college. Screaming echoed throughout the house, and reverberated through my head, overwhelming my senses.

My parents chalked it up to being stressed over ‘my big move,’ which I can believe. But the words said that day pushed its way through me. I finally had enough of the nonsense and hollered back at them.

Big mistake. ‘you’re an absolute failure’ They said, ‘you’re never gonna go far.’

Long story short, I ran out of the house, and into the forest. I sat on this same rock, with tears planting glistening streams down my face.

Nate apparently heard the commotion, which wasn’t too surprising, and he made his way to me.

He didn’t even say a word before wrapping his arms around me; embracing me with a comforting warmth that slowly eased me back to normal.

‘Sic Parvis Magna,’ He said.

I was more than confused with those few words, until he began to speak once more.

‘Greatness from small beginnings. Now this isn’t exactly small, you know, with you leaving me here to go to college and all. But it is a new beginning- your new beginning. Don’t let anyone stop you from moving forward.’

That was the last day I saw this beautiful spot of ours, and the last time I really had a solid conversation with Nate; it made the final memory bittersweet at best.

“It really hasn’t changed a bit though.”

“Probably because change is dining elsewhere,”I tried to whisper under my breath, but unfortunately, he heard me loud and clear.

I look up at him in the corner of my eye, noticing his presence fall into a sea of guilt again.

He runs his hand through his surprisingly neatened hair, letting out a sigh that releases all of his proper posture.

“Look, y/n, I wanted to tell you. I really did. But it’s just-”

“Nate all I gotta ask is why? Why would you keep something that major from me?”

I had my body fully turned to face him now, while he still remained there; slouched with his head bowed to his fidgety hands.

I could tell he was stalling, swallowing his responses with force.

“Nate. Just tell me. Please.”

His eyes closed as he exhaled, “It’s a very long story.”

“I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Not exactly.” Roars of laughter within the distance cause both of us to look at the trail leading out of the woods, “we’ve still got a party going on, which happens to be for you, if I may add-”

“Seriously Nate, you think I care?” I was growing fretful, mentally pleading for him to just give up on excuses.

His hands raised in defense, “Fine, fine, okay..”

———

It didn’t even occur to us how long we’d been out here until the streams of sunlight disappeared from the ruptures in between the trees. The day was just replaced with the beginning of nightfall.

“So you’re telling me that Sam, your brother...who was presumed dead for 15 years, dragged you out across the globe to find Henry Avery’s treasure in 3 months because a drug lord was gonna kill him if you didn’t?”

Nate stifled a low chuckle, nodding along.

“So I take it you found it and gave the son of a bitch his cut? Well, since he’s alive and all-”

“Hey, language missy.” He attempted a scolding tone, but I could see through his thin facade.

I rolled my eyes, shoving him playfully,“Haha very funny. Now answer the question mister.”

“Well, it turns out the son of a bitch was Sam. He uh- lied about the whole thing.”

My eyes widened, “Wait what? So the drug lord- the sole purpose of the treasure hunt..”

“Yep it was all bullshit.”

I averted my wide-eyed gaze from him to the pond that was now lit with the blaring lights of fireflies,“Wow. I’m surprised no one got the chance to kick him in the face.. or balls.”

“Yeah Rafe- he pretty much took care of that one..”

The both of us laughed, causing a few birds to flutter away from the branches closest to us.

I missed this.

“Figured I’d find you two here.”

As our fit died down, we glanced over to a beaming Elena emerging from the trail with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I told your parents that you were comin’ over with us. I assumed you wanted some space from all the chaos.”

I showed my relief in the form of a warm simper, up until the realization punched me in the face.

Sam is gonna be there.

My body tensed, becoming a stiff statue in place. The lack of saliva in my mouth was back, and I felt my breath hitch silently.

I guessed the two of them noticed my change in demeanor.

“Are you okay y/n? You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Elena’s tone was gentle, as her grin faltered slightly.

“No no it’s fine it’s just- it’s nothing don’t worry,”I abruptly stood up, scratching at my forehead again, “lets go, back.”

“You sure?,” I felt Nate’s arm fall over my shoulders, giving me a faint squeeze as the three of us trudged down the path.

I needed to take my mind off of Sam, hopefully I can avoid him.

“Yeah..” my voice trailed off, “as long as I get to play a certain game that I happened to have the highest score of.” walking confidently with my head held high, I could still see Nate rolling his eyes.

“Actually, Elena has since claimed that title for herself.” Nate said frankly.

A dramatic gasp escapes my lips,“Elena, are you kidding me!”

“Hey, don’t get mad at the pregnant lady here,” she looks back at Nate and I as we continue to walk down the trail, “how about this: you two compete to try and beat my high score.”

Nate looks down at me with the same contemplative look I give him.

“And what’s the catch, hun?” Nate asks.

“Loser gets pushed or thrown into the pool.”

Well well well, Elena’s finally getting in on our shenanigans.

I smirked, “This is gonna be light work.”

“Oh really now? I just know you’re secretly afraid that I’m gonna win.”

“Sure, Nate. I’m not gonna lose, you’re all bark and no bite.”

It was his turn to let out a theatrical breath,“How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

While Nate and I went on with our child like banter, Elena laughed hysterically at our foolishness,“You two are absolutely ridiculous.”

Nate glances back at me, only this time his fist patiently waited in front of me for a fist bump, “you ready to get destroyed?”

I scoff, hitting my fist on his, “You’re on.”

[mymoonagedaydream]

Stranger’s Kiss

Summary: Heartbroken and lost, the neon city streets seemed to guide you to exactly where you needed to be.

Pairing: Bartender!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Language, smut references

Author's Note: Cheeky little oneshot, hope y’all enjoy. It’s based around lyrics from Stranger’s Kiss by Alex Cameron.

---

Don't even bother climbing out of the well That ain't no way to get out of the hell that you're in

Four years.

You’d given him four years of your life, for what?

For you to walk into your bedroom and find him balls deep in some tramp from his office.

You left without a word, but it felt like something of yours had stayed there, with them. Like they’d chipped away a piece of you and left it lying there on the carpet.

As you walked aimlessly for hours, the city started to feel like it was dying around you. 

The night was made of flickering street lights, sirens, broken glass and junkies. You thought about leaving, starting somewhere fresh, but what was the point? You'd have to take your baggage with you wherever you went.

Keeping your head down and your pace swift, you half-listened to the faded whispers of people passing you in the street, but even those were eventually drowned out by the pattering of rain against the sidewalk. 

Turning into one of the city’s many dreary backstreets, you saw a solitary neon sign bathing the uneven concrete and murky puddles in a jarring red light. 

The only place that was open this late, Stark’s Bar.

It was the end of the earth, the rock under which all the sad and lonely insects of the city crawled. You’d never been inside, never before sunk low enough to warrant a visit, but tonight it seemed to be calling your name.

As soon as you tugged the door open, the heavy scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke hit you like a wall, knocking you backwards. But inside was warm, dry and quiet. 

That’s all you wanted.

Keeping your eyes fixed on the sticky, creaking floor, you trudged towards the bar, taking the first free stool you found. A broad torso planted itself opposite you, blocking out the dim light that streamed from underneath the crooked lampshades.

‘Double scotch.’

‘You sure you’re in the right place?’

The torso’s low voice came from above your head, but you didn’t bother glancing up. You didn’t have the energy or the inclination for conversation right now.

‘Double scotch.’

The dim light returned, only interrupted again when a tumbler flecked with hard water stains and half-full of liquor was dropped in front of you.

You stared at that glass for what felt like hours, just thinking.

There was no way you could go home tonight. You’d struggle to ever set foot in that apartment again, the whole place was scattered with painful reminders of everything you’d lost. Maybe you should call your mom, ask her to pick a few things up for you.

Tomorrow.

Tonight, just find a motel and sob yourself to sleep. 

---

I know you're wondering why you wish you were dead And there's no solace in the fact that it's all in your head

That flickering red light just kept leading you back to where you knew you belonged.

You dropped yourself on the same barstool and waited for the torso to plant itself in front of you again, ordering the same drink as you had for the past however many nights you’d been here. They all seemed to blur into one.

Something different happened this time, though.

The shadow didn’t shift. You waited, eyes fixed downwards, but the dim yellow light didn’t return.

‘Are you alright?’

This was only the second time you’d heard the torso speak, but the voice was much firmer than last time.

‘Fine.’

‘So you’re depressed and a liar? Not a great combination.’

Your eyes shot up, widening a little as you took in the monolith of a man in front of you. His dark, stained t-shirt was stretched over his thick shoulders, bright pink lips trained into a slight smirk as he kept his gaze fixed on you.

‘Excuse me?’

He placed his hands flat on the counter either side of you, bracing himself against the bar and bringing his face down to level with yours. ‘You been in here four nights in a row. Ordered a double scotch without even looking at me, sat for a couple hours staring at it and then left without a word. You’re telling me you’re fine? Whatever.’

'Maybe it's none of your goddamn business, asshole.'

'So drink at home.’

You watched him back away, his sharp blue eyes only breaking from yours when he eventually turned around.

He was right, you definitely weren’t fine, but you figured the only thing sadder than drinking in this place was picking up a ten dollar bottle of whiskey from a liquor store and drinking it alone in your motel room.

Besides, it made you feel a little better knowing that you probably weren’t the most tragic loser in the place.

---

Don't bother flying when we jump off the cliff Make sure it's head first if you don't want to deal with what ifs

When you arrived the next night, a double scotch was waiting on the bar above your usual stool.

You flicked your eyes up to the bartender, who gave you a nod and a knowing smile as you climbed onto your seat, your gaze slowly wandering down the length of his arms. The way they tensed and shifted as he slowly polished a glass was almost mesmerising.

It was only a minute or so before he approached.

‘Still fine?’

Maybe it was the crippling loneliness, the bottle of wine you’d had earlier in your motel room or just the fact that he was the only human being who’d smiled at you all week, but the idea of opening up and spilling all to this perfect stranger really wasn’t as unappealing as it should’ve been.

‘Been better.’

‘No shit.’ He reached a bottle of scotch from under the counter and topped up your drink, knowing full well you hadn’t so much as touched it yet. ‘I always thought we should rename this place Rock Bottom.’

A faint laugh escaped your lips. ‘Funnily enough, that doesn’t make me feel much better.’

‘Maybe not.’ He edged your drink a little closer to you. ‘But this will.’

The golden liquid rippled around the glass as you plucked it from the bar, squeezing your eyes shut and necking it down in one.

His smile widened into an astonished grin, making your face begin to heat up and your chest tighten slightly.

‘Bucky.’  

‘Y/n.’ You felt the corners of your mouth curl up slightly, a movement they’d almost forgotten.

‘Nice smile, y/n.’

Your gaze stayed on him as he went back to work, serving all the other hopeless nonentities propping themselves up on the bar. It only wavered when you felt your phone vibrate against your thigh.

It was him, your ex, asking if you could talk. He wanted to work things out.

Five days since it’d happened and this was the first time he’d tried to get in touch.

This fucking asshole had banged some random bitch in your bed, made you to live out of a duffle bag in a sleazy motel for almost a week and then expected you to come crawling back as soon as he whistled?

Fuck, he knew exactly what he was doing. 

He knew you’d be low and vulnerable. He knew you’d be tempted. He knew that, even now, you were still wrapped around his little finger.

And it hurts, and it hurts But I don't wanna talk about it

A rogue tear escaped from the corner of your eye, rolling halfway down your cheek before being quickly and firmly wiped away, its brief presence going unnoticed by most of the other figures scattered around the bar.

Most, not all. 

‘Hey, you see that dude over there?’

Bucky folded his arms on top of the bar so he was eye level with you, gesturing his head slightly towards a white-haired man in a three piece suit, sitting alone at a table in the corner behind two empty martini glasses.

You had no idea where this was going, but you were pretty glad for the distraction. ‘Mhmm.’

‘Used to be a millionaire. Invested all his money in CDs in ‘98 and lost it all when Steve Jobs invented the iPod. He was married to Claudia Schiffer for a couple months but she left him when he couldn’t afford to pay for her nose job.’

A single, full-throated guffaw escaped your lips, making you clamp your hand over your mouth before slowly lowering it and muttering. ‘That is absolute bullshit.’

‘You got me.’ He leaned in a little. ‘Fun though, right? You try.’

You bit your lip slightly, gazing at him for a few seconds before reluctantly nodding and beginning to scan the room. This place was so full of eccentrics and weirdos, it was difficult to choose just one.

'Alright. Woman over there.’

Bucky twisted slightly to look at a very broad, stern-looking woman sitting at the bar, wisps of dyed red hair clinging to the moisture on her forehead. ‘Go on.’

‘She used to work security for Bryan Adams. The two of them were best friends, but he fired her after she got hammered and told him that she was in love with him. She can’t listen to Summer of ‘69 without sobbing, he broke her heart.’

His eyes darted back to you. ‘And how did she feel about that?’

Your gaze was fixed on your subject but it felt more like you were looking straight through her, your mind wandering somewhere else entirely, words falling into your mouth spilling out involuntarily.

‘Like someone shoved their hand into her chest, grabbed a handful of anything they could feel and just ripped it out. Like all the sensations in her body had been permanently replaced with waves of fear and dread that got better and worse at seemingly random intervals. Like the last four years of her life meant nothing to-’

You stopped suddenly, eyes shooting back towards him as you realised what you'd said. He stood up straight, triumphantly folding his arms across his broad chest, smirking down at you.

‘Bingo.’

'Oh what do you think you are, a fucking shrink?'

'In this job, gotta be.'

'Cause in my dreams, I miss you Then I wake up to reality's bliss

For the first time, you decided to hang around at the bar until it closed. You weren’t sure why, you had no idea what you were hoping would happen, but every minute that passed made your motel room seem less and less appealing.

Bucky called last orders, and minutes later the few remaining dispossessed wandered out into the red-bathed side street.

You hoisted yourself onto your feet, turning to leave but stopping dead when a full bottle of whiskey was firmly planted on the bar in front of you, a very smug-looking barman smirking at you from behind it.

The two of you sequestered yourselves to a snug, dimly lit corner and began sharing the liquor straight from the bottle.

As you stared blankly out the front window, you could feel his eyes roaming over you, a sensation you were enjoying far more than you were letting on. Being this close, you could pick up his faint scent of old spice and cigarettes, you could hear his deep, slow breathing and feel his muscular thigh pressed up against yours.

‘He messed you up pretty good, huh?’ You nodded faintly, keeping your gaze fixed forward. ‘Wanna talk about it?’

‘Nothing to say, really. After four years I caught him fucking someone else. It is what it is.’

He scoffed, taking a long swig before holding the bottle out to you. ‘What a fucking asshole.’

‘Mhmm.’

‘If it helps, my last girlfriend stole my TV to buy weed.’

You almost choked on a mouthful of liquor, just about managing to swallow it as you choked back fits of laughter. ‘That does help, actually.’

‘Thought it might.’ He reached over and gently pried the bottle from your hand, placing it on the table and shifting himself to face you. ‘Seems like we’re both shit outta luck.’

‘You’re not wrong there.’

As you slowly turned towards him, the wild look in his eyes made the hard thumping in your chest quicken, your lungs tightening slightly as you rapidly pulled in shallow breaths. You to adjusted yourself as his arm slid over the back of your seat.

Letting your eyelids flutter closed, you focused on the gentle stroking of his fingertips over your shoulder, the feeling of his warm breath brushing over your lips as he leant towards you, the soft pressure of the side of his nose against yours and the muffled bump as your foreheads connected. 

Everything else melted from your mind, all the stress and misery of the last few days briefly disappearing in the distance as you just let yourself live in this moment. 

His hand moved up to cradle the side of your face, drawing it towards his and finally closing the gap between you.

Now all I ever wanted and all I ever needed is right here In the stranger's kiss.

---

Permanent Taglist: @nnuree @tcc-gizmachine @emmabarnes @somewhatasoftbaddie @juenenfeu @ddowii @rebekahdawkins @x0xchristine @maevemarethyu @thechaoticargonaut @yayrainday @linkpk88 @mcolbz14 @indigo123789 @verygraphicink (Italicised names are untaggable)

---

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Feral Fatality

(Part 2)

I'm supposed to be working on the requests but here I am. Writing nonsense. But its my nonsense so *shrugs*

Pairing: Jason Voorhees x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence (or so I think), Blood (lots of blood), Murder (as usual), Feral side of the reader coming out for a brief moment, and cursing.

—

Three harsh knocks made you flinch and woke you up from your sleep.

"Hey, loser! It's dinner time. Eloiza wants you by the campfire. Now." Layla, one of Eloiza's side girls, stressed. You sat up, rubbing your eyes before you set your book on the bedside table.

"Did you hear me?! I said—"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you alright. I'll be out." You swear the whole camp could hear her with the way she's squawking.

She stomped off, huffing loud.

You chose to stay in your baggy clothes. A black hoodie with a small yin-yang symbol on your left breast with a matching pair of black and white sweatpants, half of your ebony hair tied up in a ponytail.

It was already dark when you walked out, the moon climbing bit by bit up to the sky and subtly lighting your path. You shivered as a chilled breeze went past.

In the distance, you could see a small fire, dancing, swaying its fiery arms. It would have been a nice sight if not for the people around it.

Even from afar, you could see them engaged in a heated session, the smell of cigarettes and pot reached your senses, making you grimace.

"Yo look, it's (Y/N)," one of them said once you were close to the campfire.

Few gave you glances, before going back to their business. You remained quiet, though you noticed five people were missing in the group.

Fucking in the cabins, no doubt.

Eloiza was in the middle, her ass planted on someone's lap while she held a cigarette, both of them sharing and blowing smoke at each other.

Different. Out of place. You regretted coming out here, but if you didn't they'd only harass you in your cabin. Break down your door, and drag you out just to humiliate you. Then it fully dawned on you; no adults or teachers to protect you here, they could kill you if they wish.

You cursed as worst-case scenarios ran wild in your mind.

Damn, I'm gonna die tonight.

"Layla, why don't give her some food already, she's obviously hungry," Eloiza ordered.

"Ugh! Me again? Why can't you let Betty do it?" She was straddling Jake, vice-captain of the rugby team in your school. Layla subtly ground down her ass unto his crotch. The act was uncomfortable and disgusting to you.

Eloiza shot a glare at her, expression grim.

"Fine!" she jumped off, "I'll be right back babe," she whispered not so quietly. It was clear that they weren't in a relationship, only looking for someone to fuck. Lacking the sense of intimacy that lovers have. The air was just full of sexual tension and lust, anyone who's good at reading people would know.

And right now, you wanna vomit.

"While we wait for that hoe to come back, why don't you sit down with us for a bit (Y/N)?"

"Thank you, but I'm fine standing. I'll just take the food and eat in my cabin," you replied. Your smile was fake and your voice, monotonous. You hid your hands in your pockets.

"I insist, let's chat for a bit," she said. The rest of the group ignored you still as they were busy with their...partners.

You blinked and looked at her right in the eyes.

"No."

You refuse to submit to her, you submit to no one. You came to camp to get away from the noise people like her make. Ironically, you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her either.

"What did you just say to me?" Oh, right, Eloiza hates you as much as she hates being disobeyed. Her face turned red, and it wasn't from the fire.

"No," you repeated.

"No?" she scoffed, "I told you to sit the fuck down. I was being kind to you and you de—"

"No, I won't sit down. And no, you were not kind, you just gave me an order and I refused."

The group froze and looked at you, halting their activities. Eloiza shot up, making you raise your guard and take a step back.

Still, you did not expect her to grab a half-burning log and fling it at you.

You barely dodged, the hefty ember grazing the side of your face, burning your skin and some of your black strands. You took a sharp intake of air and staggered back, dizzy and groaning from the pain as you hover your hand on your cheek. Gasps and cheers sounded around you.

"Nobody. Disobeys. Me." she said, accentuating every word. "You're just a useless piece of shit. You think being a smartass will save you? You do realize that I can kill you right here and now, don't you?" Eloiza threatened as she approached you, her eyes burning holes into your head. A hand grabbed her arm, "Babe, you can't murder her! We'll go to jail if you—"

"Shut up, Evan. No one would know what happened here. It's so easy to say a bear attacked and ate her. And who would notice her gone anyway? Everyone knows her parents don't give a shit about her."

She's right, no one would care if I'm gone. Nobody would give two shits if I died.

"But—"

"I said shut up, didn't I?! Do you want to die too, huh?!"

"Let her have fun, Evan," Betty commented.

"What the fuck is going on here??" Layla was back, carrying a bowl of soup.

While they were preoccupied, you twisted on your heel and bolted, your vision spun but you didn't stop. While a handful of traitorous thoughts tells you to drop dead, that you should just die than prolong your suffering, your heart didn't. Yes, not a soul cares about you, but you have yourself, your books, and your art. There was no fucking chance in hell you'd let them have their way with you.

You raced to your cabin and slammed it open, closing it in the same fashion and locking it in place. Your face was throbbing, stray tears stained your cheeks as you searched for a handkerchief to wet and cool your burns.

You eventually managed to lessen the pain, thanking yourself for bringing skin ointment. Your hands were shaking as you applied it to your skin, whimpers escaped your lips as it stung a bit. You took deep breaths to calm your heart down...

In. One. Two. Three. Out. Repeat.

—

Jason Voorhees stood in the shadows as the scene took place.

A girl was telling you to sit, and you refused politely, yet she asserted.

The others ignored you until you outright said no.

Was it so surprising to hear one word from your mouth that the whole group turned to you?

The girl snapped, took a burning log by its safe edge, and threw it at you. It hit your cheek and you staggered backward.

His grip tightened around his weapon as alarms rang in his head, an overwhelming urge to protect you arose. You did nothing wrong and that woman harmed you.

She was shouting, threatening to end your life. A man stopped her but...

Jason heard what she said, the words only made his sight darken with rage. What did she mean by "your parents 'don't give a shit' about you"? Did they not love you as a parent should to their child?

He sees you dash back to the cabin in haste and silently praises you for taking the chance to escape, he wouldn't want you to see what he'd do to them. The killer watched for a little longer only to make sure they wouldn't follow and hurt you again.

With you out of the way and safe, he emerged out of hiding. He threw an ax with precision, splitting open one's head like a coconut, the blood spattering on the ones nearby. In an instant, they shrieked in terror, their faces turning pallid, terrified as they scattered in different directions.

The hunt begins.

—

You broke out of your trance when the screams reached your ears.

Oh.

You were no fool of course. You knew the legend about Jason Voorhees was true, just from looking into the cases of mass disappearances, bodies never seen again. With no evidence, no one believed it, thinking it was just an old story to scare people away, a silly myth.

Nobody, except for one little you.

Well, maybe there was somebody else but you know what I mean.

It wasn't hard to connect the dots. There were two conclusions you came up with;

Either the killer was real or the people found themselves in the stomach of a monster.

You preferred the former, honestly.

Somehow, you expected this to happen. It was part of the reason why you came with them even though you knew the possibility. Risking your life in the process just to see him with your own eyes.

Wow, what's happened to me...

You sat up on the floor and as if on cue someone pounded on your door.

"(Y/N)!! (Y/N) Let me in! Open the door and let me in!"

By the sound of it, it was Betty.

You ignored her pleas, she deserves to get torn in half for being the bitch she was...

Wait.

Why not do it yourself?

A glance at the toolbox was all it took for you to stand up and take out a screwdriver. You approached the door, Betty still pleading for her life behind it.

"Please, please! I don't wanna die yet! I'm too young to—"

She stumbled forward when the door opened. But instead of a thank you, she screeched as you tackled her to the ground and stabbed her in the eye.

Stab.

Stab.

Stab.

Her blood splattered on your clothes and skin as you drove the metal tool into her skull several times. The squelching sound of meat and bones surrounded you together with the deafening pounding of your heart.

Betty had long gone silent. Her face was unrecognizable once you stopped.

Oddly enough, you felt a familiar thrill with what you did. It was the same one when you won your first contest, received your first trophy, and made your first masterpiece. It was a first.

And it was...enthralling.

You sensed someone's eyes on you. You looked up and saw a tall and massive man with a hockey mask covering his face, standing a few meters away, his machete dripping with blood. A glint of blue flickered in his eye for a moment.

Jason Voorhees.

Not knowing what to do and still high in the moment, you waved the bloody screwdriver at him and smiled.

"H-Hey," you uttered out.

The murderer—well, you were a murderer now too— trudged towards you, stopping when a scream to your left cut through the air.

—

Jason honestly couldn't believe what he was seeing. Little you with a little tool, gouging the brains out of the one he was chasing down.

With a screwdriver.

Multiple emotions went through him that moment, he was shocked that you could kill someone with your tiny hands, proud that you just killed said someone that was his prey, and relieved that you were alright.

Wait, were you?

He was snapped out of his thoughts when you waved and greeted him. You just waved and greeted— what? Why weren't you running back inside your cabin? Why didn't you scream at the sight of him? Did you not know him? Was the blood on his clothes and the weapon he was carrying not ringing any bells?

Jason wanted answers and moved to close the distance between you, but then a shrill cry echoed.

Someone got snared in his traps.

He looked at you, your face was dirty with blood, but your eyes were wide open, not of fear, but happiness?

He'll have to finish his hunt first. He gave you one more look before he trudged to the origin of the sound. He'll visit you later, that is if you're still here. He wouldn't be surprised if you used this chance to get out of the place, and he'd let you. You were innocent...different, and the murder you just did was well-deserved, albeit shocking.

-

It was the one who injured you, the cause of your burn, miserably crawling on the ground as her foot bled through the jaws of a bear trap.

"Help! Please help me!! I'm dying! Somebody help—"

She howled as the killer gripped the source of her pain and dragged her back to the center of the camp, taking the long path on purpose.

Jason was always angry in one way or another every time people came to disturb the place, but this? Oh no, all he sees is red, not a word had been heard from his mother ever since.

He would usually kill them the instant he catches his prey, but he wants—needs— this one to suffer. He knows, more than anyone, how it feels to be an outcast, to be bullied for being different. This hideous woman is going to die slowly, the pain she gave you a hundred times more agonizing.

"Let go of me you fucking murderer!" She shouted, kicking and clawing on the dirt in hopes of stopping him. Jason paid her no mind, his eyes focused on the fire that glowed close.

This bitch will burn to ash.

He stood in front of the campfire and brought up her body over it, her long blonde tresses turned to nothing as she flailed and shrieked pathetically. The killer crushed her legs before he let go, the flames big enough to devour her entirely, scorching her alive.

A yell from behind drew his attention as another one ran towards him, an ax lifted and ready to attack.

"Die you monster!" They shouted, embedding the ax on his shoulder. Jason felt no pain from the shallow wound, only an itch.

What a lousy attack.

Jason pulled out the silly thing and bashed it on his assailant's skull with one heavy strike, crushing the bones beneath. Lifeless, he tossed the body into the fire, the cries died down moments ago, only the smell of burnt flesh filled his nose as the embers crackled remained.

The undead man stalked away, feeling better than before. There were still a few people waiting to be disposed of.

Jason Voorhees will not rest until every single one of them is dead.

[hyunsracha]

for your entertainment — han jisung

word count: 2.3k

summary: jisung panics when he sees cute people. he also stares at them.

so you work at an entertainment store right

where ppl can buy like uhhh movies and albums n merch n stuff!!

u like ur job.. it’s one of the least popular stores in the mall so u spend most of ur time organizing and reorganizing with one earbud in listening to music

u have to wear a boring grey t-shirt as uniform so u spice things up by making the rest of u look good

everyone else does the same thing i mean … ur manager lia wears purple eyeshadow ok

ur other manager chris doesn’t even try to look good! and it’s so fucking annoying u wanna knock his fuck 24/7

random girl: hehe<3 can i have ur number?

chris: only if u sign up for our rewards program<3

u, angry bc u haven’t sold any rewards programs in a week: >:(

ur other two co-workers are hyunjin and jeongin.

hyunjin has a pretty popular youtube dancer cover channel, but for Copyright Reasons it’s not paying the bills

and jeongin is a senior in high school and this is his first job and u just wanna pinch his little cheeks every time u work together

“y/n i swear to god i’m gonna punch u and get fired rn stop POKING MY CHEEKS-”

“he’s just a little baby…*to passing customer* LOOK AT THE BABY!”

“>:(((“

so it’s a tuesday night.

tuesday nights are the fucking best (worst if u love talking to ppl) bc u’ll get like … 2 customers in 4 hours?

it’s 8pm and the mall closes at 9

usually u start vacuuming at 8:30 but at like 7:50 chris was like “GET THE FUCKING VACUUM WE’RE CLOSING RN !!”

jeongin: u do it.

u: no u do it bitch.

jeongin: *sticks out his fist*

u sigh and do rock paper scissors like the baby wants.

and u lose

u fucking lose

and jeongin just cackles, sitting down on the stool behind the registers

so u trudge to the back room and the vacuum, grumbling about how ur older so jeongin should be doing this!!

but it’s fine!

so you’re vacuuming right.

and in storms Han Jisung

yes han jisung is the kinda dude to come to the mall right before closing and go on a shopping spree

he’s got his best friend lee minho in tow, who does Not look happy to be here.

“come on minho!! i need to get season 4 of naruto to finish my collection!!” jisung whines, pulling on his friend’s arm as he stands on his tiptoes to look for the anime section.

“can you keep your voice down?? i have an image, yanno.”

“minho you’re literally here to buy a kelly clarkson album.”

minho grumbles and waddles off towards the cds, where you are...vacuuming...loudly

and minho’s like -____- why are u so fucking loud

like u don’t MEAN to be loud?? but it’s a VACUUM??

so minho’s looking for his beloved kelly clarkson album right,

and jisung comes around the corner, season 4 of naruto in tow.

and he sees you

and nearly drops it

jisung gets crushes very easily okay..

he can’t help it! the boy loves to love (◕‿◕)♡

and u look so cute in ur lil t-shirt!! like a little retail angel!!

so he grabs minho’s arm and DRAGS HIM TO where the movies are

and he panics!

“THEY’RE SO CUTE AAH I WANNA GIVE THEM A BIG FAT HUG-”

“do you mean the person vacuuming -__- loud as hell”

“minho it’s a vacuum.”

so you stop vacuuming and return the vacuum to the back room (and wash ur hands in the bathroom bc the soap smells like lemons and sunshine) and come back to the floor

u have a ton of time until closing so u just. sit.. and start reorganizing the heavy metal albums.

after a while u feel … weird … like ur being watched

so u turn around and. there they are. staring like (・_・)

and ur like “HELLO?!?!” but u don’t say anything

u just give them a Customer Service Smile and a, “can i help you with anything?”

jisung just giggles and shakes his head and minho keeps fuckign staring

mr lee i will knock ur fuck is that what u want

so u shrug and go back to ur sorting, keeping an eye on the CREEPS in ur store.

at 8:55 chris is like “jeongin go close the gate.” n jeongin’s like “FUCK YEAH” bc he gets to hold a big stick

so he’s walking towards the front of the store with his Big Stick when he sees jisung and minho

“what da hell are y’all doing?” is what he thinks but he says, “(: hi! the store closes in five minutes and i’m about to close the front gate. i’m so sorry, but you have to leave now! :)”

so jisung pouts and minho rolls his eyes, dragging his friend out of the store.

jeongin uses his Big Stick to pull the gate down and he locks it at about mid calf level so y’all can get out.

so that night, u go home and do some homework, but ur still thinking about those weirdos.

but! u’ll probably never see them again!

right?

Wrong.

u see them the next day!

they’re still watching u, but they’re closer

and minho looks more irritated.

towards the end of the night, ur Upset and Confused so u go over to them like o_o. What do u want.

and jisung goes JISJSJHTIE

and minho goes, “jisung thinks you’re cute.”

u start to blush, but jisung squeaks, “NO ahah- uh- he likes to talk in third person! he’s jisung ahaha.”

“my name is not jisung i would Hate to be named jisung.”

“WH- why? there’s a soccer player named jisung. and an idol! multiple idols!”

“yeah the guy in nct is 2 years younger than you and has the same name. and what have You done successfully? Quickly-”

“HEY-”

the two boys in front of u bicker while u start zoning out at the wall behind them.

you knew that the boy with blue hair was jisung, but you didn’t know the one with brown hair. and you assumed that they were friends, judging by the .. bonding activity that is staring at an employee.

and jisung wasn’t …. ugly

like he was really … really cute

but staring at people is fucking weird, jisung!!

when u finally snap out of it, u huff, “okay losers. we are closing soon. so you have to leave. but you’re welcome to come back tomorrow if you’re going to actually talk to me and not just stand in the corner! okay?”

the boys nod, grinning at each other before dashing out of the store.

so, like u said, they’re back the next day!

and this time they actually talk to u! Wow!

you’re sitting on the floor in the back of the store, organizing the funko pops for the 70th time when you feel A Presence.

two, actually.

it’s the two boys, sitting on either side of u.

“hi,” jisung says, playing with his fingers in his lap.

“you’re jisung, right? the cute one..” u reply absentmindedly

u hear a choking sound and then Silence

miss jisung ? miss JISUNG ?

he’s alive, but jfc BARELY

u just called him the CUTE ONE?!?!?

paying no mind, u turn to the boy on ur right, “and you are?”

“lee minho. don’t worry, you won’t forget it.”

“was that supposed to be a pick-up line?”

“did it work?”

“no.”

“HAH!” and jisung’s alive again.

u spend the rest of ur shift talking to the boys, telling them all about ur life while they told u about theirs

u learned that minho was a dancer just like hyunjin! but he went to the nearby university to study.

and that’s where he met jisung, who’s a music composition major

...and a soundcloud rapper…

u could help the laugh that pushed past ur lips at his words

“WHY ARE U LAUGHING.”

“a SoundCloud rapper. really, sung?”

“IT’S COOL ヾ(`ヘ´)ﾉﾞ”

u couldn’t imagine him as a ‘cool’ rapper dude

he just looked so fluffy :(

at 8:55, the boys got kicked out by jeongin again, but they stood outside the gate, waiting for u

“What do y’all want.”

“i wanna walk u to ur car:(“

“i don’t.”

“ok minho then Leave.”

“NO DON’T he’s my ride don’t say that to him.”

it’s dark outside, and a warm wind blows through ur hair.

it’s late spring, with summer (and finals) fast approaching.

“walking me to my car...what a gentleman…”

“yeah that’s why you should totally go on a date with me haha.”

“what?”

“what?”

“you said-”

“i didn’t say anything.”

minho sighs from behind u, not understanding why his best friend has to be so damn stupid all the time

u lean on ur driver’s side door, not making eye contact with the boy

u didn’t know how to say bye..no one’s ever walked u to ur car before??

“so…” jisung speaks for u, “can i … have your number? so i don’t show up at the store when you’re not working.” he holds his phone out for u to take, a sheepish smile barely visible due to the lights in the parking lot.

“oh! totally.” you take the phone from him, jolting when ur fingers graze his. u set ur contact as ‘the person sungie likes to stare at~” before giving it back to him.

he chuckles at the name, and u feel something inside of u go DOKIDOKI

when he says goodnight and walks away, minho giving u a quick nod, u lock urself in ur car so u can PANIC

u barely know this boy. he’s a weirdo. why is ur heart going dokidoki

heart STOP IT!!

it only gets worse when u hear the text notification sound from ur phone:

[ unknown ]: do u work tmrw? (^_−)☆ i already miss u

…. frick …. he texts cute

dammit jisung why couldn’t u send the laughing emoji

[ y/n ]: i do ! ^.^ i’ll see u then?

[ creeper ]: wouldn’t miss it~ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ goodnight!

u nearly slam ur head on the steering wheel.

true to his word, jisung was back the next day

and the day after that

and the day after that

the day after That, u were off, so u didn’t see him

but u guys texted nearly all day!

jisung was just … really easy to talk to :/

and really funny :/

and every time he giggled u just wanted to cry a little bit :/

and u feel like a CLOWN bc u have a CRUSH on this dude that hangs out with u at WORK

one day, ur at work, and jisung isn't there:((

u feel a little dumb being upset about it, but u were starting to get used to the little guy

“somebody looks like a sad clown.”

“hyunjin~” u whine.

“oh no. that’s the boy problems whine. uhhh suddenly i’m on break!” he tries to stand and walk away, but u pull him back down next to u.

see, u and hyunjin were pretty close.

u two are the same age and watch the same dramas.

and ur both super dramatic

which is WHY when u got ur heart broken by lee donghyuck a few months after u started working there, he was ur shoulder to cry - and complain - on.

“stop :( there was this boy who came in every day and talked to me and he’s super cute but he’s not here today and i miss him :(“

hyunjin just …. stared at u like …. wtf are u talking about

“do you have his number?”

“yes.”

“have you texted him to ask why he’s not here today?”

“...no…”

“(；￣Д￣) Y/N U FUCKIN FOOL!!! U ABSOLUTE IMBECILE!!!”

“STOP YELLING AT ME HWANG HYUNJIN I’LL DESTROY EVERYTHING YOU LOVE!”

a customer standing in front of the register, trying to buy some headphones: uh.. should i go?

u make hyunjin deal with the customer while u sneak out ur phone to text jisung

[ y/n ]: where are u . no one is here 2 annoy me today (except hyunjin but he doesn’t count)

u wait 5 minutes … no reply

10 minutes … no reply

an hour … no reply

“WAAAAA ｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д<)*ﾟﾟ･｡ HYUNJIN ｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д<)*ﾟﾟ･｡”

hyunjin, handing a poor lady her receipt: jesus fucking christ

ur sulking as u leave the store that night

u still feel dumb, but now ur too Sad to feel dumb

u press the lock button on ur car keys so the lights would come on and the horn would sound, telling u where ur car was

“OH FUCK- jesus...stupid car…”

….that’s not what ur car horn sounds like.

u slowly approach, holding ur keys in between ur fingers

ur not afraid to stab a bitch with ur mail key and that’s on wolverine.

u breathe a sigh of Relief when u see it’s just jisung leaning against ur door

wait

jisung

“jisung?” u voice ur thoughts

his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, “yeah..hi..sorry i didn’t text you back. i nearly backed out of doing this and i didn’t wanna look stupid.”

“you look stupid all the time.”

“jeez, thanks.”

u cross ur arms, stepping closer to the boy, “back out of what?”

“well i uh- do you remember how minho said i think you’re cute on the first day we talked?”

you nod.

“well...that hasn’t changed. i think you’re cute...really cute, actually.”

you blush again, just like the first time, “what does me being cute have to do with you standing in front of my car?”

“well, i don’t have a car, so i’m hoping...you can drive when we go on our first date?”

your heart nearly stops, but you start to smile.

“han jisung, are you asking me out?”

“are you saying yes?”

“yes.”

“then yeah. i am.”

your smile only gets wider as you close the gap between you two, wrapping your arms around his middle. he pats your head, a chuckle vibrating under your ear.

“also i need a ride home. minho dropped me off.”

“*sigh* jisung…”

[storiesnobodyreads]

ENDLESSLY INFURIATED [1]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Story: You hate Bucky Barnes more than anything and are not shy to let everyone know about this. Will things change when Steve convinces you to join him on a fancy night out?

There were not many things that endlessly infuriated you. Bucky Barnes, however, was definitely one of those things. His brooding, quiet self frustrated you to no end, and there was no clear explanation for this, not even to you. He had technically never done anything wrong. Always a gentleman, always polite, always oh-so-willing to sacrifice himself for his friends. Sometimes it seemed that Barnes had decided that he wasn’t supposed to be alive at this point anyway so he might as well rescue others no matter the cost.

“Want some coffee?” Barnes asked when you trudged into the kitchen of the Stark Tower early in the morning.

Unfortunately, Barnes was always the first one up and ready, so whenever you felt motivated to go for a run or workout early in the morning, this good motivation was instantly killed off by Barnes’ presence. “Ugh, no, fuck off,” you groaned.

“Good morning to you too,” said Barnes without a care, pouring some coffee into one cup for himself.

You rolled your eyes, fetching some cereal and milk and thudding down on a high chair at the bar. To your absolute dismay, Barnes joined you at the bar. You stared at him. “What the fuck?”

Barnes raised his eyebrows at you. “Didn’t realize you own this place. Last time I checked I’m free to sit wherever I want.”

You put up your ultimate bitch face. “Fine, dickwad. Just don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me.”

For some reason, it pissed you off possibly even more that Barnes never seemed to care about your blatant verbal aggression toward him. He simply slightly shook his head and took a sip of hot steaming coffee, which admittedly smelled really good. He twirled his cup in his hands, looking relaxed in his grey sweatpants and over-sized white sweater.

Cute, you thought quickly, but you soon pushed that thought very far back in your mind. You finished your breakfast as fast as you could, in absolute silence. Barnes didn’t look at you once nor did he seem to feel the need to start a conversation. In a sense that you despised, breakfast was actually quite peaceful like this. When you were done, you got up to place your used stuff in the dishwasher. 

“I can clean up,” Barnes offered, “so you can go on your run.”

You narrowed your eyes and stared at the man with as much hatred as you could gather, violently placing your bowl in the dishwasher and practically throwing the spoon in its holder. Without saying another word, you marched out of the kitchen, where you bounced into Tony. “Oh, good morning, Tony!” you said cheerfully, pressing a kiss on the man’s cheek. 

“Mornin’, lovely,” was Tony’s response. He was wiping some sleep out of his eyes, clearly having had a long night. You didn’t quite know what project he was currently working on, but it was fair to say it was robbing him of his sleep. “You’re up early,” he commented.  

You nodded, ponytail swinging. “Felt good today. Am going for a run.”

“Alright, love. Have fun.” 

“Thanks, thanks. Maybe after I could help you with your project, if you got anything to do for me?”

Tony scratched the scruff on his chin, suppressing a yawn. “Yeah, I might have some things for you to look at later. Thanks for offering. Now go run, kid.” You grinned when he sent a wink in your direction. 

Barnes spoke up from the bar, “Have fun, Y/N.”

In reaction to him, you simply raised your middle finger and strolled out of sight. 

Running had always simultaneously been your most favorite and least favorite activity. You loathed it because it was often boring, leaving you alone with your thoughts which soon turned into a mentally challenging exercise. You loved it because whenever you felt anxious, you could just run as fast as your legs could carry you and sweat all the anxiety out. Sam’s explanation for this had been that when humans get stressed, their fight or flight reaction gets triggered, because in the good old days stressors were things like wolves. After being confronted with the wolf, you would either be safe or dead, but not anxious. With the stressors of the current society, you can’t run away or fight, leaving you with an uneasy feeling. But running, sometimes, helped you get rid of that feeling.

On top of that, it was a wonderful morning. Not too hot, not too cold, not a cloud to be spotted in the bright blue sky. The nice smell of fresh bread oozing from the bakeries as birds awoke and fluttered through the air. Despite having had breakfast with Barnes, it was a good morning. And it felt like today might be a good day. 

You returned to the Stark Tower an hour or so later, when you presumed most of the Avengers had woken up. You happily greeted Elena the receptionist and said hello to some of the security guards, waving cheerfully at James from Human Resources through the glass walls of his department. After a quick stop to send your best wishes at the Youth Centers Tony had set up for children and teenagers in need of books or an internet connection or any form of help, you made your way up to the Avengers headquarters. 

Needless to say, you were relieved to find Barnes’ seat empty. 

“Y/N!” you were welcomed enthusiastically by Steve, who waved you over to the couch in the living room. All the glass walls, which according to Tony emphasized openness and honesty among the Avengers, made it easy to see whenever someone entered. You made your way over to Steve, moving past Wanda who used some of her red flaring magic to pull you closer to her so she could plant a kiss on the top of your head. Wanda spent most of her time using her magic to fly around the kitchen and living room, simply to annoy the other Avengers that they couldn’t fly. Thor had once started the argument that he could, in fact, fly, but when Wanda had dared to do so without the help of his hammer, his big mouth soon vanished. 

Having arrived at the couch, you let yourself fall down, sprawling your legs over Steve’s lap and letting your head rest on Sam’s knees. “What’s up, losers?” you smiled. 

“Ew, you stink,” Sam coughed exaggeratedly. He faked trying to push you away from him. “Take a shower before you come poison us!” 

“Steve asked me to come here!” you argued. 

Steve grinned and patted your shins. “That was before I realized what a sweaty human being you were. Disgusting, Y/N, really—anyway, the reason I asked you over here is because I kind of need you to do me a favor.”

You instantly became suspicious. “Oh no. What?”

“Well, remember that nice new girl that is working for James in Human Resources now?” Steve started with a nervous laugh. 

You shot up straight and gently hit Steve against his chest. “You didn’t!” 

Steve was laughing, “I did, I did. I asked her out on a date. We’re going out tonight.” 

“No way!” you exclaimed excitedly, throwing yourself at the man to hug him. “I’m so happy for you! Lucie is so nice, Steve! The two of you would make such a lovely couple!” 

“Alright, calm down there,” Steve lifted you up from him, smiling widely. “Thank you very much for introducing us, though. I owe you one.” 

“This is going to be amazing, Steve, I—” you realized suddenly that Steve had started out this conversation stating that he was going to ask for a favor. “Right. I’m very happy for you, but what do you want from me then?”

“Well,” Steve cleared his throat. “When I was asking Lucie out for a date tonight, I might have accidentally, you know, in the heat of the moment, I was very nervous, I might have said that it was going to be a double date... Um, to make it less awkward.” 

You stared at him. “To make it less awkward? To make it less awkward you thought it’d be a good idea to invite me?”

Steve put up a broad smile. “Yes?”

You grabbed a pillow and threw it into Captain America’s stupid face. “WHY?” you exclaimed incredulously. 

“Because she knows you and she likes you!” Steve defended himself, raising his arms to stop to downfall of more pillows on top of his head. “And somewhere in my rambling I thought it was easier to a group activity than it just being the two of us--”

You emphasized every word with a hit, “you – are – so – dumb!” 

“That’s not even all I— damn,” Steve laughed, fighting back to steal the last pillow away from you. He put up his puppy eyes. “Please tell me you’ll come with me. Please. I really like Lucie and I need your help.” 

Raising one brow, you marvelled at how Steve was usually such a strategic leader out in the field and yet here he had turned into a begging boy, nervous because he liked a girl. You shortly remembered how Steve hadn’t always been this good-looking and still had a sense of insecurity when it came to his looks and getting girls. “My god. Okay. But that means you owe me twice, Steve.” 

Steve attacked you with a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

“Gosh,” you tapped out on Steve’s back, unable to breathe with him on top of you. When he let you go, he looked so relieved you decided it might actually be worth it to help him out this way. “Right then. Where do I have to be?”

“Down at the reception, at 7? I’ll choose the restaurant and everything. It’s going to be fancy. That’s a warning.” 

You glared. “Why do you say that like I am incapable of looking fancy?”

Behind you, Sam barked out a laugh. “Because, sweetheart, you are absolutely gorgeous, but it is an odd day to see you wear anything other than gym clothes. Look at what you’re wearing right now.” 

You scoffed indignantly. “I just came back from a run!” 

Sam and Steve continued teasing you and making you laugh until you decided that it presumably was time to go for a shower. After cleaning yourself up you stepped into an old pair of jeans and shirt to join Tony in the basement to see if you could help the exhausted man out. 

You found Tony lying beneath an old car, sparks flying out of underneath the vehicle as machines were whirring loudly. You kicked Tony’s feet. “Oi!”

The man startled and bumped his head against the car. “Jesus!” he cursed, before rolling from underneath the vehicle to face you. “For fuck’s sake, can you make an entrance like a normal human being for a change?”

“Not really,” you smiled while fetching an iced pack from the fridge and tossing it in Tony’s direction. “You know me. Such a diva. Always the centre of attention.”

Tony grumbled some inaudible cursing words as he pressed the iced pack onto his forehead. “Not a bigger diva than me, you’re not. You’re too comfortable is what I’ll give you. You feel like you can be your most annoying self with the Avengers.”

You raised one eyebrow. “And can I?”

Tony shrugged. In a short burst of honesty, he said: “Of course. We all love you. Would be lost without you.” With similar ease, he barked at you: “Now will you help me out and fuck off out of my sight?” He proceeded to explain what you could do in order to help out with a small piece of his project. You were no expert in engineering like Tony, but he had taught you a fair amount over the years. Even though you weren’t gifted like Peter, you were a fast learner and possessed the power of common knowledge and google. 

Peter wasn’t present in Tony’s basement that morning, even though it was generally his favourite place to be. Tony didn’t tolerate many people in his basement, as his usual working vibes included loud AC/DC music, an excessive amount of coffee, red bull and alcohol, and as few living things to bother him as possible. You and Peter were the only Avengers that were allowed to come and go as you pleased. 

As soon as Tony had finished his instructions, he turned up the volume of his music and vanished back underneath his car. 

You twirled some tools in your hand and made your way to the back of the basement, where you wouldn’t be in Tony’s line of sight. As you moved around a high stack of apparatus to reach a free desk, you found the one person sitting there that you didn’t want to see. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?” you called out. 

Barnes didn’t even look up. Massive noise-cancelling headphones rested atop his head, seemingly so to avoid going insane thanks to an overload of AC/DC. He was wearing a simple white shirt; his back somewhat sweaty and muscles tensed as he tinkered on the machinery before him. His black hair was bundled up in a small knot in his neck. His metal arm operated smoothly, all his movements perfectly under control. 

You gawked at the man for a while. Probably a little longer than was socially acceptable. Likely a lot longer than was socially acceptable. 

There were many negative things you thought about Bucky Barnes, but you couldn’t fault him on his looks. The man was extremely good-looking and fit, and no one could deny that. 

But then you remembered his personality and instantly felt annoyance bubbling up in your chest. God, he was infuriating. You picked up some nails from a desk and tossed them softly against Barnes’ back to catch his attention. 

The man shot up straight, struggling his headphones from his head and face up to you. The temporary panic flaring in his blue eyes, the way his hands clenched to fists... Then he recognized who you were and his posture relaxed, the fear flying out of his expression. 

He breathed out. “Hey.”

Suddenly you were very aware of how you were looking. Messy bun on the top of your head, over-sized sweater that did not accentuate your shape, and small jogging pants that barely covered your butt. Compared to how good Bares was looking while engineering, you felt kind of insignificant. 

But Barnes didn’t look at you like you were insignificant. There was a sparkle in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. “You...” he seemed to have lost his tongue. “Um, you look...”

You pushed your insecurity away and felt rather annoyed with yourself that you allowed this man to throw you off guard. “I look what?”

“Good,” Barnes blurted out. “You look... You look good.” 

Staring at him, you squinted. You were feeling all kinds of feelings, which infuriated you, and you reacted to Barnes the way you wanted to react to your feelings. “Fuck off. What are you doing here anyway?” 

Barnes was blinking. “Oh, um, my arm has been malfunctioning a little lately. Stark wanted to fix it for me, but I figured it was about time to learn how to do it myself. So that’s what I’ve been trying to do.” 

“Can you do it somewhere else?” you demanded rudely. 

“Not really,” Barnes replied, unphased. “I think I need this...” He gestured toward the fiery machinery he had been working with. He proceeded to vaguely repeat the instructions Tony had given him to create a tiny chip that would solve the issues of his metal arm. Within about two seconds of hearing Barnes speak about his unfortunate invention, you realized that he had no idea what he was talking about. 

You sighed tiredly. “You are the dumbest person I have ever met. I can’t even. Move out the way. I’ll do it.” 

Barnes opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but you pushed him out of the way before he could make a noise. Remembering that Barnes had started out willing to do this on his own, you started explaining every little thing you did, including your entire thought process. Barnes listened intently to every word you said, letting out small ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s when he noted where he had gone wrong. It took hours and hours to finish Barnes’ issue, but both of you were patient and focused and time flew as you worked together. As soon as Barnes got the hang of it, you trusted him with the slightly smaller tasks as you multi-tasked and worked on Tony’s project as well. Tony showed up with sandwiches for the three of you at a certain point of time before vanishing under his car again. Barnes set you cups of coffee so that the two of you could continue tinkering with focus.

When Barnes’ new arm was completely finished, you helped attach the thing to his shoulder. He looked extremely uneasy but didn’t let out a single noise of complaint. Once it stuck, he closed his eyes to concentrate and got his fingers to move, explaining it was always a little weird to have this extension of his body. He commented it felt like a good arm, though, and within minutes he was using it as if he had used it his whole life. Somewhat exhausted, the two of you ended up sitting next to each other with your feet up the desk, silent and staring at Barnes’ old arm. It was quite peaceful. A satisfying silence, somehow.

“Alright.” You placed your hands flat on the table and got up. Barnes’ gaze followed your every move. “I’m done,” you grunted, wiping some concentration sweat from your forehead. “Can’t believe I spent so much time on your dumb ass.”

Barnes leaned back in his chair with a smile, studying you as you shook your hair out. His hands were folded in his lap. “Thank you so much. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I know,” you confirmed with a nod. “You couldn’t have. And that’s because you grew up without having electricity. And you’re old.”

Barnes’ face cracked open in a wide grin. “Can’t argue with that. You’re a lot smarter than me anyway, even if I had been born in the same time as you.”

You narrowed your eyes, not trusting these compliments. How was Barnes still nice to you after all the shit you gave him? “Absolutely.”

The man continued smiling, looking straight at you, happy. You didn’t know what to do with yourself or where to hold your hands, his warmth radiating. You cleared your throat. “What time is it anyway?”

Barnes checked his watch. “Eleven past six.”

You blinked. “In the evening?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit,” you cursed, remembering your promise to Steve to join him for a dinner to make his date with his crush Lucie less awkward, “I have a thing. I have to go.”

Barnes moved up from his chair. “Yeah, Y/N, I think—”

“For fuck’s sake, why did I spend so much time with your today?” you busted out, rapidly gathering your things. “Glad I really have to go so I don’t have to waste another minute with you. Have a horrible evening, Barnes!”

“Y/N—” Bucky tried to say, but before he could finish his sentence, you ran out of Tony’s lab. You checked your outfit and realized you were still in short jogging pants and a large sweater—after Sam’s comment of you never looking fancy, you could impossibly show up to the dinner dressed like this. You wanted to prove Sam and Steve wrong and dress up like how you had never dressed up before. And there were two people you knew to be perfect for this job. Therefore, as you were running through the Stark Tower, you texted your two best friends with a code red. And when you finally made it to your own room, you expected nothing less than to find Nat and Wanda waiting impatiently for you on your bed.

Wanda leaped up, looking worried. “What is code red?”

You let all your engineering stuff fall on the floor. “I’m going out for dinner tonight at 7. It’s supposed to be fancy.”

Both Wanda and Nat’s facial expression went from indignance that you were not dying, to absolute excitement. “Does this mean what I think it means?” Nat breathed out. “Are you going to let us dress you up?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes. Don’t be too girly about it.”

But both Wanda and Nat were already squealing like the girliest girls in the world, more than exhilarated that they got to have their girly moments in their lives filled with heavy tasks of being an Avenger. “I’m getting my stuff!” Wanda squeaked, vanishing from the room with a red flash. Nat threw her hands up in the air. “Dresses!” she yelled, and ran out of the room as well. Both of them returned within no time, arms filled with make-up and clothes and a bunch of stuff floating behind them thanks to Wanda’s red magic. “I just realized we only have half an hour!” Wanda was screaming. Nat pushed you, “Wash yourself! Hurry!”

They granted you one minute of showering before pulling you out, throwing a sexy pair of lingerie to you (“You never know where the night goes!”) and then setting you on the bed. Nat held up several outfits for you to judge while Wanda got to work on your make-up and did your hair. Nat selected a little red dress for you that wouldn’t be too revealing. When you put it on, it hugged the curves of your body nicely and made you look way hotter than you thought you actually were. Wanda had finished your face, hair and eyes, with only lips to go, when Nat started yelling: “It’s seven o’clock!”. “LIPSTICK!” Wanda shouted back, which resulted in Nat tossing a deep dark-red lipstick at Wanda and her smearing it somehow perfectly on your lips. They rushed you up in front of the mirror. You were absolutely confused, having gone through the most stressful getting-ready process ever. But when you looked into the mirror, your jaw dropped.

“I look fucking stunning, babes.”

Wanda and Nat cheered. “Yes, you do!”

They showered you with compliments as they led you downstairs to the reception, moving slowly on your heels, despite the time being way past seven. You felt powerful and beautiful, ready to confuse the hell out of Steve and make it a wonderful, hopefully not-so-awkward night. Strolling down the last set of stairs, you spotted Lucie and Steve standing arm in arm. Lucie was wearing an extremely cute, long, dark-blue dress while Steve was dressed up in suit and tie. Once Steve’s eyes fell on you, he choked on his own saliva and his eyes popped out of his skull. “Hot damn, girl!” he called out.

You laughed, throwing your hair back in your neck. “Who says I can’t look fancy, eh?” Wanda and Nat had left you to get to the reception on your own, though you could still hear them whooping and whispering compliments behind you. You cut around the corner, finally having arrived at the reception of the Stark Tower, perhaps a little past seven, but fully dressed in a fancy outfit. And then you saw that it wasn’t just Steve that had dressed up in suit and tie.

Bucky Barnes was dressed up as well, looking immaculate. His face clean, beard and hair well groomed, smelling fresh and sweet, in a pristine suit that made him look even more handsome than usual.

It was the second time today you found him in a place where he wasn’t supposed to be. It was also the second time today you stood gawking at how gorgeous this man was.

Barnes was looking at you with his eyes wide, a flicker shining that you couldn’t quite explain. His lips parted as he looked over your appearance, but he couldn’t quite seem to find his tongue.

Your cocky expression had faded, but you did find your tongue. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Steve immediately came in between the two of you. “It’s a double date, Y/N. I told you this, right?”

You tore your eyes away from Barnes to stare furiously at Steve. “You most certainly did not, Rogers.”

“Well, it is,” Steve forced a smile. He proceeded to wrap his arm around Lucie, who stood nervously eying the situation. “And we are very excited to go on the double date, aren’t we, Lucie?”

Lucie nodded, eyes big. “Yes. You, um, look really beautiful, Y/N.”

Lucie was so very obviously shitting herself that you felt bad for her. You sighed. It mustn’t be an easy position for her, ending up going on a double date with three well-known Avengers. Even though you talked to her all the time and you would consider yourselves somewhat friends, at the very least good acquaintances, it made sense she was still nervous. Were you really going to make this even more nerve-wrecking and miserable for her? Were you that much of a bitch, that just to get across your hatred for Barnes, you would ruin the night from Lucie and Steve?

You took a deep breath. “You look beautiful as well, Lucie.” You eyed Barnes, realizing you were now officially on a date with him. “Let’s go.”