#not giving a single fuck about him. her eyes were only on the cigar and the weapons he had

[somerandomjewelleryonthefloor]

The baddest bitch to ever antagonise. Love her.

ESPECIALLY that scene in book 2 where everyone is captured and in a lab with her & Lundgren observing everyone. And she just-

Takes his cigar out of his mouth, smokes it, and blows smoke into Jake's face.

CMON- she's the sexiest bitch to ever baddie, the baddest to ever bitch. Cmon.

Also I love how no one talks about the indirect kiss too tho-

[elysianightsss]

Mouth watering sundress

Summary: John gives you a ride home from work, and his phone number…

It was the car ride from hell.

John drove with one hand on the steering wheel and one on the clutch, his truck smelled just like him. Oak wood, cigars and spiced oranges. It had a musky undertone that made you shift in your seat, thighs clenching uncomfortably. The Chevy he drove somehow didn’t surprise you and the country music quietly playing from the radio didn’t surprise you either. 

His plaid button up shirt and loose blue jeans had you staring. You could see where the muscles were too big for his shirt when he changed gears it looked like it was going to rip. You wondered what it would feel like to have those muscular arms wrapped around your body.

You played with the hem of your floral sundress, tracing the little flowers while you scolded yourself for thinking such things about your gorgeous neighbour. 

“How was work?” John asked with gentle curiosity, his big hand moving the clutch to change gear.

“It was okay.” You shrugged glancing out of the window only to look back at him and see a frown on his face.

“Just okay?” His eyebrows rose as he watched little old Doris pull out in front of him in her mini with no indication whatsoever.

“Yeah. I mean my job consists of listening to people complain on the phone and trying to fix their issues. It was pretty boring, only gets good when you get the screamers.” You laugh, watching the forest trees pass by as he drives.

“Screamers?” He asks, a small laugh coming out himself, though you picked up the concern dithering there. Tricks of the trade.

“People who start shouting or screaming down the phone as soon as you answer. Mostly cause they haven’t got they wanted from the company yet.” You explain, saying it so casually.

“That doesn’t sound too fun.”

“Maybe not fun but definitely an interesting change. Gives me something to think about on the weekends too. Maybe if I should have responded differently. How can I better my answers for next time it happens.” Your brows furrow slightly realising how pathetic you just sounded.

“No friends to make your weekends interesting?”he cleared his throat hoping he wasn’t too obvious here, “or boyfriend.” He glanced quickly at you out of the corner of his eyes to catch you cracking a small smile making one grow on his face too. So infectious.

“Some friends but they work on the weekends. And I don’t have a boyfriend.” That had John shifting into the wrong gear the car making a loud scraping noise, he scrambled to quickly rectify the situation before the car stalled.

“Fiance? Husband?” He grimaced saying it, if felt like a dirty word on his tongue, leaving a bitter after taste that quickly disappeared when he spotted no ring on your finger.

“Nope. Completely and pathetically single.” You sighed, not dramatic, but simply a deep breath that showed how tired you were from everything. And boy you were tired. Exhausted from the emotional stress of life.

“Oh?” His interest clear, just as much as his curiosity was.

“Every time I like a guy or even think about entering into a relationship, it always fucks up in a monumental way and I always end up hurt. Every single time.” You let out another tired sigh. It was hard to be single when both your friends had partners, always the third wheel. It made you really hate life at the moment. Though you suppose you’d been in worse positions than in a Chevy with your large, handsome neighbour.

You pulled up to a traffic light, John pulling up the hand break before turning to look at you with a deep seriousness gleaming not only in his eyes but on his face, his body language, his entire demeanour had become the embodiment of seriousness.

“I would never hurt you. Ever.” He was so earnest. It made your heart ache, yearn for the kind of man you’d always wanted but never had. Always boys, never men.

The light turned green just as you let out a shaky breath, fingers lacing together in your lap picking at your nails in nervousness. Heat rising on your cheeks when his hand reached over to lay itself on top of yours for a few moments before pulling your hands apart, “Don’t do that. You’ll ruin those pretty hands.” He lets go just as he looks deep into your eyes, “and we can’t have that can we.”

You didn’t know what to say, the glint in his eyes, the way he tipped his head to the side a bit. Fuck, he looked wonderful. You steeled yourself and consumed every bit of self confidence you had, “You think my hands are pretty?” You stared at him, blinking a few times, definitely not fluttering your lashes. Your eyes flickered to where his jaw seemed to clench tightly for a few moments.

The intensity was building as he leaned in closer to you, it had a burning feeling building in your stomach, a fluttering you’d never experienced before the longer he stared into your eyes

Before he could even open his mouth in reply the beeping of horns from the cars behind started going off. You cleared your throat turning to face the front of the car, “The lights green John.”

“Mhm.” It’s short. Sweet. And so fucking sexy. His voice gravely and low, rumbling in his chest as he hums. Prolonging his gaze upon you just a few more moments before he turns back to the steering wheel and begins driving off.

You quietly let out a breath you hadn’t realised had built up, it did nothing however to ease the fluttering in your stomach. Only seemed to make the nausea worsen. You made a point of not picking at your nails, instead you lay your hands over your thighs, the feeling of your skin and the material of your sundress distracting you enough to not see smirk that graced John’s lips.

John lips, those luscious kissable lips that seemed almost hidden away by the full beard that had grown around his mouth. Like some forbidden fruit hidden just enough in the garden of Eden. He seemed like some forbidden fruit.

He stopped the car just outside your house, getting out to open the car door for you to get out. “Thank you for the ride home.”

“Anytime sweetheart.” He gazed down at you, his height even more daunting now that he was standing. His whole being was just large. That was the best way to describe him.

-

Honestly, you thought about him for the rest of the evening and all night. You thought about his muscles, the way they stretched the fabric of his shirt over the skin. The way his hands seemed to dwarf everything, you wondered how big they would look holding yours. You thought about the way he smirked after calling your hands pretty. You thought about the way his blue eyes glistened when he gave you his phone number.

It was all you thought about. All that was on your mind with no way to get rid of it, no sign that the brazen thoughts would ever leave you. It was like your own personal brand of torture.

Even when you finally managed to drift off, you dreamed of him. Dreamed that he would touch you the way you wanted him to. That he would kiss you desperately, achingly. You were hungry to be touched by him, so hungry that even the very thought of tasting him made you feel nauseous. It had been so long since anything had touched you, that your body had grown accustom to the emptiness that gnawed at you day in, day out.

But maybe it was just what you needed, to push past the sickness. To hold on tight to the warmth that wanted to cover you, that wanted to wrap itself around you. But you couldn’t help but push it away, say no in cruel anticipation of the inevitable. Love is a tender kiss for most people. For you she saves her sharpest axe.

Waking up was humbling, how groggy and unhinged you felt after a night of thinking and dreaming of John. Rolling over in bed you unplugged your phone and began to scroll through your notifications. Your heart jumping in your chest at the sight of a new text; from John.

John: Hey pretty girl. 7:36am. read.

Holy shit, he’d text you this morning. Was it when he first woke up? He was he thinking about you all night too? This man is something else.

John: No reply already? I thought I would’ve had to say something stupid first before you ignored me sweetheart. ;) 9:41am. read.

You: Sorry, got distracted. How’d you sleep? 9:42am. read.

John: Like a log. You? 9:42am. read.

You: Could use a couple more hours honestly. 9:43am. read.

John: What do you have planned today sweetheart? 9:45am. read.

What did you have planned today? Rolling around in bed thinking about a well built beast with thick mutton chops. So enthralled with the simple idea of John.

Fuck you’d never met a man so….well manly. His big muscles and his thick musky scent that screamed masculine in the most primal way possible. In every circumstance, in every part of the world and every century, he would be the ideal mate. To protect and provide-

The ringing makes you jump, the phone vibrating in your hand as you see the unfamiliar number only just added to your phone. You breathe in sharply for a moment, blowing out shakily, hands beginning to sweat. And it’s not even him in person, it’s just a phone call.

“It’s just a phone call. You can press the end button at any time.” You tell yourself, reassuring yourself before sliding your thumb along the screen, the answer swipe turning green. You put the cold screen to your ear. “John?”

“I got impatient.” His voice sounded so low and deep, must be that its first thing in the morning.

“Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts.” You mumble picking at the sheets surrounding you.

“Anything you wanna share? Or is it too soon to be prying into that pretty head of yours.”

“God you’re forward.” You breathe out a little laugh, a hot feeling fluttering in your stomach.

He laughed, heartily. “I’m just wired that way love.”

“I’m not sure if I like it.”

“Oh?” John voice was light and soft, if you were really leaning into it you’d notice the tinge of disappointment in the sound.

“It’s catching me off guard. I like to keep my cards close to my chest.” You swirled your finger along the pattern of the crocheted pillow in front of you.

“I’d happily let you play me.”

“John.” You breathe out another laugh, your heart skipping a beat.

“Like that,” he huffed low and wild, “like when you say my name. Sounds so nice coming from you.”

“It does?”

“Well with a pretty voice like that, I’m sure you can make anything sound nice.” He chuckled. And fuck you had to mute with how you giggled, kicking your feet with giddiness.

“So you want to go for lunch?” The rumbly bearish throaty sexy voice melted your knees until they felt like jelly.

“Again with the forwardness.” Your flushed cheeks hurt, couldn’t wipe the grin off your face, and he could hear it.

“I’m a man who knows what he wants and goes for it.” John answered without so much as a thought, the answer coming so naturally.

“I’ll consider it.” You pressed the red button and jumped in the shower, cold and brisk. It was the only way to bring your burning body temperature down.

John was unlike anybody you’d ever met, definitely better than an of your exs and you hadn’t even gotten to the deep stuff yet.

You wrapped a towel around your body and began to dry your hair with your other towel when you noticed your phone light up, a nervous grin tugging at your lips as you picked up the device and read the text.

John: Considered it yet? 10:02. read.

You shook your head, teeth biting into your smile. He was so unashamed and so bold. It made you question yourself, made you want more than you had once had. Made you want him.

You: I’d love to have lunch with you. 10:04am. read.

John: I’ll pick you up in an hour, wear that mouth watering sundress again ;) 10:04am. delivered.

Mouth watering sundress? Fuck, no one had ever said that to you before. Hell no one had ever offered so many compliments in one conversation before. He was truly a man of different breed. You giggled again falling into your bed and kicking your feet in the air, he was such a flirt. You loved it.

[cosmicjoke]

Underneath

Here's a little drabble I wrote today. I always think people misunderstand the reason Levi, presumably, killed those men that cut off Isabel's hair, so I wanted to delve into that with a short little fiction. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy it:

//

Levi finds the men easy enough.

Isabel’s “friends”, hiding away in a rat-infested shithole like the snakes they are.

He’s come to kill them. He’ll give them a single chance. A single warning. But he knows already they won’t listen. Because he knows men like these.

He’s been the victim of men like these.

He’ll need to kill them.

He’d known that the moment Isabel came back, her face bloody and hair shorn. A prelude to something much worse.

Furlan wouldn’t understand. Isabel either. Because they don’t know like he knows.

Men like these…

Levi had grown up with men like these.

His mothers' men. Men who took and took and were never satisfied. Men who saw every woman and child as a doll to do with as they pleased.

Furlan had given him that look before he’d left. Had asked him where he was going. Levi simply told him “out”. But Furlan knew, and he didn’t understand.

Furlan had never killed a man.

Levi had killed many.

What these men had done was a violation. They’d taken from Isabel. And now they would want more. More of her.

They would rape Isabel. Because that’s what this kind of thing always led to.

Furlan didn’t understand, and neither did Isabel, and Levi would make sure they didn’t need to understand, because he would take care of it for them. He would take care of them.

He kicks the door in to announce himself, the thing splintering into pieces.

The men are stationed around a wooden table, playing cards. Five of them. They startle badly at Levi’s intrusion, standing with wide eyes and half-shouts.

“Who the fuck are you?” One of them sneers after a moment, regaining himself.

Levi steps into the room. It stinks like piss and cigars, and Levi frowns, disgusted.

He looks around. Assesses what they have. There’s a gun on the table. A single-shot pistol. A cheap pool table pressed up against the back wall, wooden cues laid out on the green. They’ll likely have blades on them. Nothing to worry over.

Finally be brings his eyes back to them, and steps nearer.

“Leave Isabel alone. You don’t talk to her, you don’t touch her. You don’t even look at her. Understand?” He says.

One of the men scowls, and then laughs.

“Isabel? You mean that cute little red-head that keeps comin’ round?”

“Stay away from her. Yeah?” Levi presses again, ignoring the sickness of the man’s words.

“Or what?” He says. “What are ya gonna’ do about it?”

“If she wants it, she’s gonna’ get it.” Another of the men leers. “Ain’t nothin’ a midget like you can do about it.”

Levi feels his eyes shutter, a cold certainty in his chest.

“I’ll kill you.” He tells them, voice flat.

They all start laughing then. They think it’s funny. They don’t believe him. They don’t understand, either.

“How about instead, next time Isabel comes ‘round, we make sure to show her your severed head as we fuck her raw? How about that, you little freak?”

Levi doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t show anything. Only slips the knife from the sleeve of his shirt, letting the dim glow from the oil lamps glint off the blade as he twirls it, letting them all see.

It gets them good and mad, just like Levi knew it would.

“You runt bastard.”

The first one comes at him, pulling a knife. Levi’s too quick for him. He’s too quick for everyone. The sonofabitch doesn’t know what’s hit him as Levi parries his blade. Doesn’t realize he’s already dead as Levi slices his gut from end to end, his insides spilling out, steaming onto the floor. He’s down on his knees just as another comes up on Levi from behind, trying to pull his arms behind his back.

Levi flips him over his shoulder, sending him crashing down on the wooden table, the thing shattering to splinters. And then there’s a third, coming at Levi from the side, wielding one of those pool cues.

Levi ducks under his swing, and comes up, sinking his blade into the man’s exposed neck, twisting and tearing down, ripping the man’s jugular clean from his throat. He’s dead before he hits the floor.

Two more on their feet, and they’re hesitating now, but they still try him. Still come at him, sloppy and slow. One goes for the gun which had been on the table, lying now on the floor.

Levi doesn’t give him a chance to put his hands on it. Puts his blade into his heart before he can can reach it, and into the eye of the other, to the hilt. They’re both dead in seconds. Just leaves the man on the table, groaning and struggling to sit up, too dazed to realize he’s alone now.

Levi thinks he might let this one go. He thinks he might. Only he’s the one who made the threat against Isabel, and he won’t take that chance.

He slits the bastards throat before he can recover.

He stares at them after. There’s blood everywhere, including his clothes and hands. He’ll wash them off at one of the street pumps. Furlan will know what’s happened. He’ll be disappointed. That was fine. As long as he and Isabel were safe. He could take Furlan’s disappointment. He could take his hate, even.

Isabel still had her innocence. One of the few people in this godforsaken hellhole who did. Levi’s was long gone. Gone since he was a boy, a decade younger than Isabel now. He didn’t matter. She did.

Levi takes what he finds. A couple bags of coin scattered among the debris of the table, some bills of cash. He rifles through the men’s pockets. Not much there. Some cheap knickknacks. An alright looking watch that might fetch something with one of the pawn shops.

He leaves quickly and tries not to dwell on the unhappiness in his gut.

He hated killing.

He doesn’t think Furlan understands that either. He thought it came easy for Levi. But it never did.

Being good at it didn’t ever mean it came easy.

//

Furlan is there, waiting, when Levi comes in.

He’s looking at Levi, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing. Isabel is nowhere in sight. Still in her room, probably.

Levi had washed the blood out of his shirt the best he could. But blood never came out completely. It stained pink against the white fabric.

“Did you kill them?” Furlan asks.

Levi only looks at him.

Furlan knows. He’s only asking to shame Levi. Levi lets him see his knife. And then he turns, and heads into his own room, closing the door behind.

He doesn’t know how to explain to Furlan. Doesn’t know how to make him understand.

Those men would have raped Isabel. They would have killed her, eventually. Or sold her into trafficking.

Levi knows, because he knows men like that.

Like his mother’s men.

Like the men who once had him. Who once tried to sell him into the same kind of life.

Furlan thinks Levi is becoming like those men. He knows. He sees it in the concerned glances of his first, real friend. Sees it in his worried frown.

Levi wishes he could explain. Wishes Furlan could understand.

But Levi’s never been any good with words.

[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (136-137)

I love it when a plan comes together. Especially when, as in this case, the plan has been in motion for years (on my part, at least. More of a day-to-day thing on theirs)

If you want to follow along, you can here.

136. Hostage Negotiations

Fans howling or not: he’s a star player and you do not hand a star player to your divisional rival. You just don’t. Unless you’re like, the Leafs back in the day, but Lapointe had a bad season before that, and Jared suspects that deal was made on the winged feet of homophobia. The former GM of the Leafs and Deslauriers are probably poker buddies or something.

I like to picture the Old Boy’s Club as a real thing sometimes. It’s at a golf course, naturally. The only women are decorative. Scotch and cigars and toxic masculinity and white privilege and unearned cockiness. Random deer skulls because they like to mount their trophies. Etc.

“I mean, I hope I’m staying in the West,” Bryce says. “Calgary’s probably going to start reaching out, seeing who’s interested, ship me off before the NTC kicks in.

That would certainly be the clever thing to do, considering how few options they’ll have come July 1st. But then, when have the Flames done the clever thing in this universe?

The Senators beat the Scouts in a massive upset.

Scratch and Money become ScratchnMoney. And a Cup for Dan and the boys!

Greg goes back and forth with the Canucks. They ask for 5.5, even though Jared would have been content with the initial 4.5 offer, told him that, Greg exasperated with him on the other side of the phone. The Canucks agree to 5. He knows the two years combined are less than Bryce makes in a single year, but it’s — huge to him. They send him the papers, and Jared doesn’t know whether to sign them or not.

That’s 2.5 AAV on a two year deal, which is pretty fair as far as bridge deals go for a middle-sixer you use heavily on special teams. Jared could have, but didn’t want to sign for longer, with no idea where Bryce was going to be in two months, let alone two years.

“Still,” Jared says. “Foster’s like — he seems like a genuinely nice guy, maybe he’d—”

“He’s a GM, babe,” Bryce says. “He’s not going to just let you like, go because of love or whatever. It’s a business.”

If any GM would…

Jared signs everywhere he’s supposed to sign it, and that’s it. He’s a Canuck for two more years. Bryce has two more years on his contract, so — maybe in two years they’ll figure it out, manage to get to the same place together. It’s hard to be happy about that when two years sounds like, well, two years, when Bryce is already frayed close to snapping.

Obviously the situation is vastly improved very shortly, but I think Bryce going just about anywhere would have probably improved his mental state, though being in the East would be undoubtedly hard on them as a couple.

They crack open a nice bottle of wine, eat good dad cooking, and Jared gets his hair ruffled by his parents like, a billion times, like being a millionaire means they get to treat him like a kid again.

Jared gets so huffy when people fuck with his hair. Which of course both parents are aware of. Gotta keep him humble. (They’re also, you know, proud of their boy!)

“You were already a millionaire,” Erin says, her hand outstretched. Jared eyes it.

“What was your signing bonus, Jared?” Erin asks sweetly.

“Nothing,” Jared says. “Not a cent.”

“Jared,” Erin says, hand still outstretched. “The internet exists. It is literally public knowledge.”

Money please.

It was a quarter of a million dollars of his contract up front and Jared isn’t going to give her any of it. He already offered his parents a cheque and was rebuked and then offered again, citing financial support being the reason he had a hockey career, and had it very grudgingly accepted.

They both have well-paying middle-class jobs and aren’t hurting for money, but they are currently paying for Erin’s schooling and expenses, so it is eventually accepted (very grudgingly).

“Am I boring?” Jared says.

“You are the most exciting person in the world,” Bryce tells him, all earnestness, and takes his hand at the next red light.

Jared squeezes, then lets go. “Both hands on the wheel, babe,” he says.

“You can sometimes be a little boring,” Bryce says.

I mean —

Free-agency comes Bryce is still a Flame, which means all the leverage is his now.

Dropped a punctuation mark and/or word, whoops.

“Who’re your three?” Jared asks that night, fingers running through Bryce’s hair as Bryce drowses beside him.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Bryce says. “Like, I’m going to put Vancouver on it, obviously, but it’s just going to be a flat out no from them.”

“I know,” Jared says.

“If they gave in they’d ask Vancouver for way too much in return and they’d say no,” Bryce says.

“I know,” Jared repeats.

Bryce blows out a breath. “I wanna go so bad,” he says. “I just—”

The scheming is underway.

“I trust you in absolutely everything,” Bryce says solemnly, which automatically puts Jared on guard.

“Except?” Jared says.

“Be patient with me during the negotiations?” Bryce says.

Dave’s now involved in the scheming.

“Are you going to be booed the next time you play in the Saddledome?” Jared says.

Bryce smiles, and Jared doesn’t care if that means Bryce is playing further from him, that they may give up the apartment that’s felt like home since Jared was seventeen. He doesn’t care. Bryce smiled.

Jared really would light the Saddledome on fire for him. And not figuratively speaking.

137. Culmination

It’s all of twenty four hours after Summers comes to town that Bryce literally comes jogging in the door, yelling, “J?” like Jared isn’t sitting on the couch ten feet away from him half-watching the news. One nice thing about living in Vancouver is he doesn’t have to listen to the fucking UCP. “J, turn off your phone.”

He ran the entire way home. It was not a long run — partly due to distance, partly due to speed. He wanted Jared to hear it from him, especially if the ‘Bryce Marcus to Tampa’ came separate from the follow up ‘and then to Vancouver’.

“Your phone was about to go crazy and I need to tell you this before someone else does,” Bryce says, kneeling in front of him like he did last night, clean pressed suit and earnest eyes. “I’ve gotta sign papers still but—”

Practically a proposal, which is fitting because Bryce just did everything in his power to be where Jared was. And yes, it’s his hometown, and his childhood team, and his mom’s there, but he would have done it wherever Jared was (would have been easier to swing, in fact, were they not divisional opponents)

“Please tell me it’s a Western Conference team,” Jared says.

“It is,” Bryce says.

“If it’s Edmonton I’m going to be—” Jared says.

Bryce kisses him. “Shut up for a second,” he says.

Jared scowls, but does.

He knows your proposal derailing ways, Matheson.

“Three teams on my list,” Bryce says. “They picked one of them.”

“They would have to if you’ve been traded, unless you waived your NTC,” Jared says. “You know I know all of this, stop being all weird and cryptic and—”

Jared let him explain his and Dave’s plan to you, he wants you to be proud of his scheming!!!

“Tampa’s over the cap,” Bryce says. “And they were desperate to shed salary so they could re-sign Tanner before someone bit and offer-sheeted him and they gave Calgary Schlitz and Barbieri and a second for me.”

Dear RL NHL GMs: use more offer sheets, you utter cowards!!!

So, deal wise, Tampa comes out of this very nicely. They get cap space they needed, they shed good but too expensive players, and they trade a second for a first (from Vancouver when they flip Bryce), and a goalie prospect when they don’t have anyone particularly promising in the prospect pool.

Calgary gets a decent if not terrific haul from Tampa, and it looks like an okay if not great deal for them, but understandable given the short trade list. Until, well. The second flip. Then they look like dupes.

“Tampa can’t afford to keep me,” Bryce says. “Which is why Vancouver offered Tampa a first, a third, and a goalie prospect because Summers told Foster, strictly off the record, I’d re-sign in a heartbeat when my term was up and I’d give them a significant hometown discount when I did as long as my husband was still in the Canucks line-up when that time came. Do not fucking tell anyone that last part, not even your parents or my mom.”

Obviously Vancouver is over the moon about getting Bryce. Hometown hero, on a sweetheart deal for two more years, going to sign for cheap as long as Jared’s by his side.

Dave Summers was in violation of NHL rules and ethics for conveying that message to Vancouver and we should all tsk and shake our heads. (But we’re not gonna)

Jared beams at Bryce.

Bryce beams back.

This is what we’re doing instead.

“I can’t believe I made you this Machiavellian,” Jared says.

He’s so proud.

He IS so proud of your scheming, Bryce!

“They weren’t really — big on moving me at first,” Bryce says. “Like, even with the media shit and all, I’m on a deal that was pretty normal then but cheap now and they figured my play was back on track so like, may as well wait, see if they could get more for me next season at the trade deadline or throw me at someone before I was a UFA. So I maybe like, held out until my NTC kicked in and then mentioned that my trade value was higher right now because I hadn’t come out yet and I was considering it.”

This isn’t technically against rules or ethics because ‘player wants to come out’ is legally protected, at least in Canada, but you know, it's probably not morally in the clear. But I think weaponizing your sexuality against bosses who have been absolute shits about it falls under ‘they have it coming’ branch of ethics, ie: karma’s a bitch and so am I.

“You’re not considering it,” Jared says. If Bryce was even remotely considering it, Jared would have caught on.

Bryce shakes his head. “Not to media,” he says.

Famous last words, though that shoe won’t drop for a year and a half.

They're both smiling too hard for the kiss to be any good but Jared doesn't give a fuck, he hauls him in, tastes Bryce’s smile against his own, feeling like he can breathe easily for the first time in months.

All of Jared’s favourite kisses with Bryce are objectively bad because they all involve them both beaming their faces off and I love that, especially since Jared isn’t much of a grinner. (Bryce increasingly is, especially after moving to Vancouver, but Jared mentions Bryce grinning so much you’d think he has a perma-grin — he doesn’t, except around Jared.)

As much as ‘actually on the same team now’ calls for some terrific celebratory sex, it’s going to have to wait. Bryce has papers to sign. They have people to talk to. They are grown ass adults who cannot have celebratory sex.

Maturity is so boring.

“Foster wants to talk to you?” Bryce says.

Jared takes the phone.

“Hi Jared,” Foster says.

There’s a bit of a laugh in Brian’s voice right there because he’s been gleefully laughing to himself all day. He did absolutely nothing to earn this deal that makes him look like a genius except be a stand up guy and I am delighted for him.

“You tell Bryce he has the biggest brass balls I’ve ever seen,” his dad says.

This is the most Don has ever liked Bryce. And really the moment Don puts down the Flames fandom. He doesn’t know what was involved, but he suspected it was complicated, and that Bryce did some shit, and that he did that shit so he could be with his son, and Don can’t not admire that. (Also the brass balls.)

“How’d he keep this a secret?” Elaine says, now sounding completely incredulous.

Bryce is way better at keeping secrets than Jared or Elaine. But only if he considers the secrets GOOD secrets. Like ‘I want to marry you, I bought a ring’ — hidden for months. ‘I have been setting up a charity’ — four months of steady work before he felt confident letting Jared know about it. And some of that is Jared being oblivious, but Bryce is perfectly good at hiding something he considers a surprise rather than a secret.

He’s got a next text when he gets off the phone with her, Stephen has not stopped laughing since we found out. Legit is going to make himself puke. Imagine you’re slammed right now but give us a call when you get a minute?

Stephen is DELIGHTED by this. Gabe’s a little concerned honestly, the dude is puce coloured at this point.

“They’re going to boo you,” Jared says.

“I know,” Bryce says.

“Not just the first time,” Jared says. “They’re probably going to do it for years. They might do it for the rest of your career.”

Bryce shrugs. “I know.”

A lot of Bryce’s complete and utter exhaustion in the run up to this deal involved him coming to terms with and making peace with that fact; that he was going to leave Calgary on poor terms, that he was going to get a boo from the crowd rather than a tribute video and a standing ovation. And this was going to happen no matter where he went, but yes, going to Vancouver significantly upped the chances of that happening for the rest of his career.

Bryce shrugs again. “It’s going to suck,” he says. “I’m probably going to feel like shit. But like. I get to play for my hometown team, and live with you all year round, and be near my mom and my grandparents and it’s like — it’s worth it, so. Whatever I have to deal with, I’ll deal with. Plus like, it’s nice knowing going in that it won’t be a shitty room. Because if it was a shitty room you would have bitched about it. Hell, you bitched about the Oilers’ room being nice.”

How dare Darryl Rogers exist, being friendly and supportive to rookies.

“Well,” Jared says. Fair. Stupid Darryl Rogers being a nice guy and welcoming him kindly.

Literally Jared, tho.

“Dmitry—”

“Sounds like a totally normal dude, you just hate everyone,” Bryce says.

This is also probably fair.

“He pied my face,” Jared says. “Twice.”

“On your birthday,” Bryce says. “With shaving cream. Which is a tradition.”

“He pied my face,” Jared mutters.

God I love Jared.

“Want to rail me in your Canucks jersey?” Bryce asks.

I would suggest against this for purely Pavlovian reasons, but you do you boys.

Canucks blue really brings out Bryce’s eyes. It’s like, stunning, how beautiful they look.

“Less talk about my eyes, more getting your dick in me,” Bryce says.

The ONE time Jared tries to be romantic.

“Look at me?” Jared says, and when Bryce does, his eyes are so fucking blue.

“Vancouver,” Jared says, and tastes the grin that spills across Bryce’s face in response.

They did it!!! Took 137 parts, but they made it to the same place!

[lorenzo-zanetta]

"Your father wants to see you."

The words were enough to freeze time.

Tearing focus from the premium cigar he was about to light, Lorenzo's steely blue eyes met Eduardo's — a childhood friend, and his right-hand man. Baffled, his eyebrows furrowed. His father always texted him directly, never through Eduardo.

Unless...

Lorenzo snapped his finger and the beautiful women dancing on poles stopped at once. Barely looking at either of them, he simply waved them off before he was given immediate privacy. Pulling out his phone from his pocket, sure enough, there was one notification waiting for him: a missed call. Just the one. But it was enough. Lorenzo sighed. Leave it to his father to call on him on a pulsing Saturday night when he was trying to unwind.

"Must be important if he's—..." Eduardo started but stopped as soon as Lorenzo's dagger eyes darted at him. Did he not think he knew his father well enough?

Lorenzo was about to pocket his phone when a message came through.

"Alone," it read.

It was almost as if he was there in the club with them, listening in on the conversation in real time. A wry chuckle expelled from Lorenzo's whisky-stained lips, shaking his head as he stood tall. He would not be surprised if the man had found ways to plant more eyes and ears in Milan's newest nightclub. Nothing gets past Antonio Zanetta. Nothing.

Well, except...

A chill ran through him. What if he had found out? Should he warn Nicola? Or Gio? No, he decided not a split second later. There was no point in worrying anyone until he was sure. Besides, the less communication he had with either of them, the less there was to track.

***

It took twenty minutes in his sleek Bugatti to travel from the heart of Milan to the mansion his father had built just outside the city. 'Il Castello di Eleanora' he would call it. Eleanora's Castle. Built, designed and dedicated to the love and light of his life. But as Lorenzo climbed out of his car, he looked up at the grand architecture only to be struck with cold nostalgia; it had been years since it held the same warmth it once did when his mother was still alive.

"Papà," Lorenzo called out coolly, as he walked past his father's personal battalion of bodyguards stationed around the house, and outside his office. But the older Zanetta only spoke once the doors closed behind Lorenzo, and privacy was theirs and theirs alone.

"Have you talked to Nicky lately?"

Lorenzo felt the same chill run through him but did nothing to betray his racing heart. Antonio Zanetta was the only man Lorenzo feared; and it would do him, and his sister, best if Antonio didn't detect a single scent.

"Not really," Lorenzo replied, casually making his way to his father's mini bar as he always would. "Nothing past a hello, how are you type shit," he threw in. "You know how busy school keeps her," he reminded his father. "Why do you ask?"

Antonio said nothing for a time, his back still turned, eyes set and unwavering at his late wife's garden. He looked pensive. It was moments like these when Lorenzo wished he could read his father's mind, if only to give himself enough time to make a move should the situation call for it. But Antonio was impenetrable. It was the one and only trait Nicola had inherited from the man.

"Someone is fucking up my supply chain in Lon—..."

"I'll take c—..." But Lorenzo should've known better than to cut off his own father.

"I..." It took one word to silence the younger Zanetta. "I will take care of it," Antonio insisted in a voice that held no room for argument. But why? Lorenzo wanted to ask. His father had always sent him to deal with situations like this. "I want to see Nicola while I'm there."

That's why.

Then, for the first time that evening, Antonio finally turned to face his son, his own blue eyes piercing through Lorenzo, steeling him cold. "Unless there's a reason I can't?"

* All conversations are in Italian.

[fizzigigsimmer]

Mob Boss!Steve and Cop!Billy Au

Billy’s a legacy cop. His dad wore the badge and his dad before him, and he’s never really had much of a choice about it. Cause on the one hand, Neil’s a piece of shit who beat his mom while the entire precinct looked the other way; but on the other hand he can’t let Neil be right. He can hack it. He deserves the uniform. Maybe he’ll even track his mom down one day, just show up on her doorstep and not say a word. Just give her back the only thing she left him as a final fuck you - proof he didn’t need her to stay even though she should have. In the meantime he can put lowlifes and thugs like Neil behind bars, break their bones in the back seat of his cruiser with impunity because none of his brothers in blue are going to opose a little private justice. He knows first hand just how good they are at looking the other way.

Chicago is a tough beat. The mayors got the entire department busting up neighborhoods and sprinkling crack over the bodies of latin kings and small time gang members while he smokes cigars and drinks wine with the old crime families who have run this town since the days of Capone. Billy’s never been too sure where the line is between right and wrong, but it’s getting hazier by the year. This can’t be all there is. Shitty people shitting on other people, grinding each other into the dirt, and getting richer all the time off the grind.

One night he decides he’s gonna put a gun in his mouth, cause fuck it. Why not? But he wants one last drink at his favorite bar. He doesn’t know it, but someone’s been watching him. Paying attention to the young hot head who did a number on his enforcer because good talent and loyalty is hard to find and while Benny had both, here’s livings proof that he can do better. Steve Harrington always wants the best and always gets what he wants. It’s because he’s able to read people, wind them up and watch them go, and make them do what he wants. It’s laughably easy getting Billy right where he wants him, hooked on big lonely eyes, fearful confessions in the dark and soft neck kisses.

The man who offers to buy Billy a drink that night is deceptively normal looking. His suit says 9-5, and he’s got a soft nervous smile like he’s not used to trying to pick up guys in bars but he’s hopeful that Billy will be interested. He’s too soft for this world. Billy would break a guy like him in no time flat but he figures since he’s checking out anyway maybe it would be nice to have one last bite of something sweet. It’s a mistake because from the minute he and Steve touch, Billy’s sure no one has ever responded to him like that - like he’s unmaking them and putting them back together all at once. No one looks at him like he’s their entire world, like they’d let it all burn around them and keep their eyes on him the entire time. Like he’s the water of life in the dry dry desert.

Billy’s shocked when some instinct wakes him in the middle of the night and he finds Steve with his gun in his mouth, ready to take his own life. He stops him, doesn’t know much but knows one thing - he cant stomach the thought of the light going out in those doe eyes and live in a world absent of that hesitant laugh for even a single minute. Steve breaks down about how his dad is the head of the biggest crime family in Chicago and how far George Harrington is willing to go to control his life. He tells Billy the man Billy broke and put behind bars was the only one standing between Steve and his father. He’s a dead man walking and he’s tired. Tired of the bullshit. If this is all there is then it’s better to die. Isn’t it?

Billy realizes that no, it wouldn’t be. Beauty is always a terrible thing to waste, and Steve is terribly beautiful inside and out like a complex math problem without a solve. One whose numbers keep stretching into infinity, tickling the brain, whetting the appetite for what comes next.

It’s hearing words he thought himself not long ago as if they were plucked right out of his head… it’s that searing look in Steve’s eyes that peels back his skin and leaves him open like a wound… he knows this is no coincidence. Knows he has been seen. That he’s being manipulated and played with, and that Steve’s not the guy who coaches kids and admited a secret preference for girly drinks after the third beer. There’s so much more to him than that. He’s a viper. A snake poised in the grass. A dangerous man to refuse and a foolish one to love.

Billy doesn’t. Refuse him.

[wintersandthebeast]

21. Comfort

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Link to Master List

Karl stood at the parlor window smoking a cigar far longer than it took for the Hound Wolf squad to disappear down the length of the driveway.  Longer than it took to hear the beating wings of the helicopter they’d called.  He could even see the red anti-collision light, blinking like a heartbeat, of the vehicle as it hovered up and away from the land.  

The land.  Karl hadn’t considered it since he and Ethan went into town, but Miranda’s land was all privately owned.  She’d made her Lords and her congregation sign everything over, of course.  However, the clueless bank teller reminded Karl when he had approached to get money--Miranda had long legally adopted he and Alcina.  Donna and Moreau never knew this, and he didn’t have the heart to tell them, plus he was disgusted that he’d made it into that bitch’s inner circle of freaks.  Wonder how he would explain the time frame of that paperwork.  

Point being, the land was his now, as there were no contesting survivors.  

What was he going to do with a gigantic crater? 

Heisenberg did hate Chris for what he’d done.  It was personal.  He wanted to make the bastard suffer, pound his head into the ground a few feet, but in the end he knew that the American agent and he wanted very similar things.  To be fucking rid of Miranda, mostly.  The same fire burned in both their veins--he’d read all of Redfield’s reports on the Dulvey incident.  There was more; clearly, Chris wanted to protect Ethan.  Karl knew far more about Redfield than he let on, in fact, but this hadn’t stopped his righteous anger over the destruction of his home.  His creations.  His life’s work.  

All a big fuckin’ hole now.    

Karl mused out the window through several more cigars before the house grew completely silent.  The footsteps upstairs and hushed whispers stilled, the lights reflecting onto the front yard’s frost blinking off.  The home seemed to sigh a breath of relief when the helicopter’s light was out of sight over the mountains.  

Heisenberg strolled back through the manor, hammer in hand.  He passed the broken dining table, and cringed at the sight of it.  He would fix it in the morning, he decided, and his loud footfalls echoed as he made his way toward his quarters.  

But he stopped at Ethan’s door.  The engineer felt a pull and stood there, wrestling with his emotions, something he was never good at.  His golden eyes scanned the door as if it would answer his questions.  He was giving Ethan space.  That’s what the other wanted, right?  And Karl didn’t like knowing there were gaps in the other’s memory; he almost took it personally.  

Plus, Ethan was dealing with one human’s death.  How much death had Heisenberg not only dealt with, but orchestrated?  He had many dark years, taking the villagers' loyalty and stupidity out on anyone he could.  Before that, accidental death and wartime death surrounded him.  Mercy kills were still kills, and they still settled around his shoulders like a heavy load, pulling him toward the ground always.  He was like a shark, he had to keep moving, or he would sink.

But Karl wasn’t moving.  Despite his very long and death-filled life, he could still remember the pain a single death caused.  Mostly because so many of them had hurt him.  Some more than others.  His eyes moved down the hallway as though he were looking at something there.  He thought of the key in his room.  How he longed to go back to it.  Do the comfortable thing and hermit away over intricate machinery.  Alone.  Quiet.  The only world or thing that mattered, his own mind.  

Heisenberg shook his head as though he regretted his decision and slowly opened the door, propping the hammer in the frame and approaching the bed with such quiet elegance he almost didn’t seem like the same man who had stomped through a table an hour ago.

Ethan was curled away from him, sobbing into Rose’s stuffed animal.  The man didn’t make much noise, and he didn’t turn toward Karl as he entered.  Though Karl couldn’t see her, and neither could Ethan, the thin blond girl was sitting on the other side of Ethan’s bed, touching him without any apparent effect.  

The engineer sat on the near side of Ethan’s bed, crossing his legs at the ankles, propping his back on the cool wooden headboard.  To his surprise, Ethan rolled over and put his head in Karl’s lap.  The brunette took over the job of stroking Ethan’s hair from Eva, who continued to sit in silence, unseen. 

“He’s right,” Karl said after a while, having stared at the faded wallpaper in front of him until it lost all meaning.  “It’s not your fault.” Agreeing with Chris Redfield was even less likely than somehow existing after being crystallized, but here they both were.  

Ethan didn’t seem to believe this.  He’d stopped sobbing earlier, and now the tears fell silently as he stared at the same nothingness as his companion.  

“I…sensed her.  I should have said something.”

“Her mind was made up,” Karl reminded him perhaps a bit too aggressively.  “Those papers you got.  I bet I’ve seen some of ‘em, her company sent everything back to Miranda.  You asked how I knew about Eveline.”

Ethan considered this for a while, and moved out of the fetal position into a more comfortable one, where his blond hair fell next to Karl’s cheek.  He was heavy, a dead weight.  Tired.  After another silence, Heisenberg pressed, “The things that Miranda does to people....You either don’t stay human, or you end it.” 

Ethan drew back and stared with some worry at Heisenberg.  Heisenberg seemed to sense this and his yellow eyes drew away from the wall and toward Ethan’s wide green-brown eyes.  “Or you’re like me and did both.” 

“You…?”

“Didn’t want to be an experiment for her anymore,” he said casually, but in a quieter voice than he’d ever used.  His eyes floated back to nothing, glazed over, and his eyebrows lifted.  “She had us in cages.  Knew I could end it when the lab aide left the cord in my reach.  Was still sore from surgery but…” he shrugged, causing Ethan to mask the horrified look on his face and again turn away from Karl.  

“Death sometimes…it’s not the worst you can do,” Karl muttered quietly, finishing without telling his story.  “To yourself, or to others.”

“Wait,” Ethan said, closing his eyes, finally feeling some sensation that wasn’t pain or grief.  He didn’t know what it was, in fact, but he felt appalled that he was even asking.  “If you…electrocuted yourself…does that mean….”

There was a long silence.  Karl blinked tiredly.  

“That I accelerated or created some of the powers I have?”

Ethan looked back at him expectantly.  Karl shrugged again.  “If I woulda’ known what she’d put in me before that, I probably woulda’ just ate rat poison.” 

Ethan still balked, but Karl chuckled at his own dark humor.  Finally he moved to comfort the other man, draping a dark olive-skinned arm over Ethan’s pale back.  

“I’ve been through this before,” Ethan sighed, lowering his head and closing his eyes.  “With her.  Her parents wanted to have a funeral for her after the second year.  I kept pointing out all the missing persons cases that got solved after decades but finally just…let them have it.  They put up a stone without a body.  I…couldn’t go, I…” the emotions were too much to finish the sentence, and Ethan simply sat in silence.  He’d known in his heart that Mia was still out there somewhere.  Just like he’d known all along that she was lying about her job and about……everything. 

After more silence he asked, “If you either don’t stay human or end it, what the hell am I?”

“Better than human,” Karl said without so much as a pause.  “Better even when you were human, but now you’re more.”

His fingers were moving through the other man’s strands of golden hair, and Ethan closed his eyes.  

“Because I have powers?”

“Because you’re stubborn as shit, Papa,” Karl corrected, and Ethan could hear the other’s smile in his words.  A hesitant pause on Karl’s part, and he added in that same uncharacteristically soft voice, “Growin’ up losin’ your mom is tough, but Rose’ll be okay.” 

“How do you know?”

Karl was absent-mindedly chewing on his lip as the wallpaper patterns blurred.  “I just…” how could he answer?  If a mother loved her child, as his real mother did, it would carry him through anything, even death, over and over again.  If a mother didn’t, the way Miranda used and abused her ‘children’...the resulting pain and carnage pretty much had only one way to end, and Redfield had done it.  

Ethan seemed to realize that he’d hit an impasse with Karl’s communication abilities, and he also remembered the photo of the woman on the mantle.  They were now clean and properly dusted, staring warmly into the room as if they could be a part of it.  Or maybe Ethan had lost his mind entirely.  

"I just know."

The pair of men sat in comfortable silence.  Ethan, his head against Karl's chest, had closed his eyes.  Karl’s lids were low when he noticed something at the end of the bed.  A figure.  He shifted, and Ethan glanced up at him, then looked at the bed as well.  It was like a ghost, flickering into view, but translucent.  Familiar corn silk hair, dainty nose.  A long dress.  

She looked at them, startled.  Ethan raised his head from Karl's chest.   “Eva?”

Now she flickered, then appeared again, almost in full color.  The trio stared in shock.  

Her eyes went from Karls, to Ethan’s, to Karl’s. 

“You can…see me?”

She held up her hands as if she didn’t believe it herself.  

“How?” Karl questioned, and as Eva flickered back out of view, she turned to look at the sleeping baby. 

“Rosemary,” Ethan guessed in shock.  “Maybe she’s powerful enough…?”

Karl nodded, but it was a hesitant nod at the empty spot where Eva still was.  

She appeared once more, with a look neither of them had ever seen before--shock, overwhelm, excitement.  

“I’ll be damned,” Karl finally answered.  Eva appeared once more, taking Ethan’s hand.  She flickered, and he held her hand.  Suddenly she appeared fully opaque, as though she were without a doubt in the room with them.  

Her eyes were wide.  “I suppose, we’ll have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”  She faded, the last word an echo.  Rose babbled in her sleep as if answering.    

Ethan turned his hand over and viewed it in the scant moonlight.  Life and Death lost all meaning here.  He just hoped he could keep up.  

[h0rr0rsaxo]

Okay so here is a request...this is not angsty I swear. But I wanna experiment with Anni and Royce lmao....poor dude-

Lets say that Royce walks into a bar and sits down about to order a drink, but he sits down next to someone and notices certain familiar features that this person possesses. It takes a second but it suddenly clicks and he realizes that this chick is Anni, who just earlier beat up his ex, Amber. I think that he'd maybe stare for a minute and Anni would just be halfway falling asleep and she'd end up leaning towards him, about to fall asleep on his shoulder before she practically jumps awake and almost falls off her stool. Royce is kinda like..."dude...you good?" and Anni just downs a drink and shrugs it off and maybe they start talking from there, maybe about their jobs, about how Anni beat the shit out of Amber, or maybe just shit talking Amber, because that's always fun. Its honestly just all up to you, it can be platonic or romantic and feel free to add or change anything, as always!

[ whiskey midnights. || simp party. ]

Warnings: Angst, if you squint.

Tags: @insane-horror-movie-addict

A/N: This is cute! They bonded omg-

Word count: 1,795

The heavy scent of cigarettes and cigars ate at Royce's nose, his chest refusing to breathe until he drank more. But what made him a bit more uneasy were the people both going in and out. Most of them were already drunk by this time of ten o'clock, and a lot of them gave off a questionable aura. They seemed the more happy type than anything and just wanted to have a good time. He didn't want to be so quick to judge— he didn't have any room to judge, he was ordering more food than drinks— solemnly chomping away at his burger as Lyon looked at him with amused eyes.

"You know," Lyon started, drying a pristine shot-glass with a soft-cloth, "You're the only guy I know who walks in here single, and leaves single. I'd assume by now that you'd get over Amber and just get with someone."

"Shut the fuck up." Royce's finger tapped irritably against the hardwood of the bar. His other hand sat beneath his chin as an irritated scowl graced his features, before stuffing his burger into his mouth. Everything around him spun, pulsed, vibrated, and tunneled. He felt sick to his stomach seeing all the couples making out, but the feeling was long passed when his entire body went numb and he angrily stared off into space.

"Every weekend you stumble into my bar, drink all my whiskey, eat all the food I have on the menu, and then start crying on the table. This is just sad, Royce. You need to drop that mysterious vigilante act, and get a date." Lyon shook his head at his friend, before he was called over by one of his customers. The bartender was quick with the order and his hands worked like magic. Tossing together the liquor ingredients to the drink, he threw it all into a shaker and shook it up vigorously. Unscrewing the top, he tipped the shaker over the martini glasses and poured a sum amount in each, making sure it was all even. He tossed in a toothpick and green olive in each, topping off the drink with a ring of sugar sprinkled over the lip of the glasses, flashing a quick wink to his customers.

"Give me another one, Lyon!" A figure plopped down right next to Royce, throwing her hand up with a drunken smile— she clearly was too drunk to even stand at this point.

Lyon smirked a little, "Haven't you had enough whiskey to drink already, little lady?"

"There's never enough, you jokin'?" A slight southern accent came out while she slightly glared up at the bartender. Lyon leaned over the counter and poured a small bit of whiskey in a small shot glass in front of her. She looked up at him and saw the amusement written across his face. She soon huffed and smiled, knowing it was now or never before Varrick inevitably found her and took her home. Taking the glass, she gripped it in her fingers, and gulped it down swiftly.

Royce peered at her curiously, squinting his eyes slightly to try and jog his memory from where he seen her before— the image of the girl finally giving his shitty ex what she deserved, the palm of Anni's plunged her knife into the front of Amber's head, twisting it, and popping it back out of her skull. That's right, she was the human who kicked Amber's ass at the arena, she made it seem so easy, and quite frankly, funny. Perhaps it was the whiskey he had been drinking, but the scene of the shorter woman kicking Amber's ass was hilarious. He was never one to associate himself with Slenderman proxies— some of them, like Toby or Varrick, seemed completely unhinged or cocky. He knew the majority of them, but he'd never got the chance to meet Anni.

Royce then watched as Anni's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell forward, nearly landing on his shoulder— before she quickly caught herself— nearly falling off her stool. He felt his face burn in embarrassment, coughing awkwardly, "Are you okay…?"

"Yeah, give me a couple minutes. My head is spinning like a damn wheel." Anni shrugged it off, telling Lyon to give her another glass. Nothing could make her lose control more than alcohol. Of course, that is the easier way to say that she had low tolerance when it comes down to it. Still, she enjoyed it as what she likes to call a ‘light’ beverage to cleanse her soul from any kind of sorrow.

This would lead her to have trust issues when it comes to drinking. It would either end up with her singing various pop music hits from the 2000’s that she memorized by heart and getting a cheer from the people around her or it would end up with her pouring her heart out to somebody, crying, and eventually picking a fight with them. Regardless, both possibilities are inherently embarrassing, and if anything she would like to avoid the worst-case scenario—losing her dignity. But still, this whiskey was irresistible.

“I thought… This was supposed to be a bar-night…with Varrick singing...why…” Anni turned to that certain, mysterious someone—

Royce Ellis. He smiles at her coyly.

"I guess he didn't show. I don't get along with the guy, but I have to admit, he has talent." He mumbled more to himself than her, tracing his gloved finger alongside the rim of his glass. She shook her head and shrugged, returning her gaze to the whiskey in her hand.

"So…I hope you don't mind me asking this but, why did you fight Amber?" His eyes flickered over to Anni, tilting his head curiously, awaiting an answers from the proxy,

"Why do you care? Don't tell me, are you one of her…'fans'?" Anni stated with a grimace while pouring herself another glass of whiskey— Lyon had just tossed her a bottle of alcohol from exasperation of constantly having to pour her more. Royce shook his head and looked over,

"Oh God no— I can't stand her." Royce just started eating his food as his other hand rubbed his forehead tiredly. Royce looked back down at his food and stared at it for a few moments, suddenly losing his appetite— thinking about her exasperated him, "She's actually my…ex."

"I didn't know she was capable of love."

"Trust me, she isn't. Amber is the most narcissistic person you'll ever meet— She cheated on me on our anniversary." His voice slurred and he took a quick drink of his bottled beer, "If anything, I was glad you kicked her ass."

"After hearing that, I think I might do it again." Anni frowned with disappointment and volunteered, causing Royce to stare over at her with a bit of interest. As he thought about it, he thought about how much he would've liked to enjoy that sort of hilarious entertainment— he smiled and shook his head.

"You'd be doing the world a favor." He slurred tiredly and Anni laughed at his disheveled hair as it poked up into the air.

"Still…I can't get over the fact someone like Amber got with someone as hot as you. No offense, but are you…blind?" Anni leaned over to him slightly— fluttering her eyes in slight confusion as she peered up at him with a questioning look. It didn't seem like she had realized she had complimented him so bluntly, but he definitely noticed. He had to draw his eyes away as he set down his beer, taking a deep breath to calm his boiling mind. But her appearance didn't push him away much, or his control wasn't that good, because his eyes couldn't help but steal another look as a crooked smile appeared onto his face.

"Hah….guess I am. We were together for three whole years, and I found out she was cheating on me for all three. Can you believe that?" She heard Royce scoff and looked over to see his hands rubbing his face. Anni turned to him,

"Normally I'd say no, but this is Amber we're talking about— so, yes, I can believe it." Anni shrugged, pouring another dosage of whiskey into a cup—

"Varrick tells me you're not much of a drinker."

"No..." Royce shook her head and looked down at her finger tracing against the bar-counter, "I never took to it as a sport like the rest of the Zalgo proxies."

"Well... here." Anni offered him the rest of her alcohol and Royce stared at it questioningly. Royce stared at the glass of wine with contemplation. He told himself that he would never let alcohol touch his lips during such a late time— just so he could manage to drive home without crashing. With a soft smile, Royce rubbed his head and looked down at his food sheepishly,

"Eh…noooo— I couldn't. I have to drive home." After that— it seemed he changed his mind almost instantly, downing the whiskey in her cup. Anni smirked at him,

"I thought you weren't gonna take it?" Anni hummed slightly, a cute little smug grin written on her face. Anni looked to Royce and he raised his glass, a clear buzz of the alcohol making his face numb,

"Hell, it's just one beer! Besides, you shouldn't listen to whatever bullshit I say, I'm an ass." He put the glass to his lips and dipped his head back so the alcohol would slide down his throat much easier. The whiskey burned down his throat and all the way down into the pit of his stomach, feeling the bitter aftertaste of the liquor on his tongue. He struggled to hide a stale face and managed to put on a smile, setting the shot glass back down onto the table. Lyon set the glass of wine he poured in front of her and Royce took it, sipping on it in an attempt to rid tongue of the leftover whiskey.

"No you're not." Anni laughed and ordered another beer, leaning her face into her palm watching him with amusement— he was so strangely interesting. Royce pouted,

"Yes I am. A complete and utter dickhole."

Anni put her hands up to his face, and once he took notice, he closed his eyes and flinched slightly as if he thought Anni was going to smack him— just like how Amber did. His muscles tightened but he grew confused when he didn't feel any pain coming from his face. He felt a warm sensation on his cheek, not that of a sting, but the warmth of a small breath and lips of another human being. He opened his eyes and saw Anni drawing back, her lips parted slightly. She smiled, "You give yourself too much credit."

[not-a-space-alien]

Savage Sunset chapter 12S

Story masterpost

Complementary chapter

Road trip with the besties?

Content/Content warnings for this chapter: Nonconsensual bondage/restraint/being trapped, gag/muzzle, aftermath of torture, starvation, heavy emotional distress

Lex was awarded yet more juice, for the incredible feat of being the most adorable little teddy bear who’d needed to get stitched shut to keep all her fluffing stuffing in, she’d claimed.  Ari had refrained from commenting, instead taking a pretzel rod from the secretary’s desk, munching on it as they walked outside.

Lex was particularly bouncy because the local anesthetic on her neck from getting the stitches hadn’t worn off yet.  “And we can–We can show him our VHS tapes, don’t you think he’d like them?  Do you think he’d like Star Wars?”

“You’re such a geek.  No one but you likes that shit.  It’s not gonna catch on.”

“Star Trek then?”

Ari rolled her eyes.  “Well, we can ask him.  I doubt he…Look, I don’t think vampires really do that stuff, yeah?  Like, they’re not…really people the same way as us, aren’t they?  Do they watch TV, even?”

“Maybe,” said Lex.  “...I don’t know.  They have to hurt people just to eat, so they have to think at least a little bit differently from us, right?  Most humans wouldn’t be able to handle that, I think.”

Ari held the pretzel rod between her fingers like a cigar.  “Hmmph.”  She strode across the parking lot.

“Ari, you should have seen how hard he tried,” said Lex, bouncing behind her.  “He tried everything before he finally fed from me.  He tried to drink the rotten sludge that was all over the kitchen floor before he finally bit me.”

Ari huffed.  “Well, I dunno, I still don’t really buy this idea you have that he was synthesizing blood.  But if…and that’s a big IF, but if it’s true, then we owe him a hell of an apology.  But you’re not doting on him like he’s your fucking hamster,” she added quickly, seeing the excitement on Lex’s face.  “He’s still an apex predator.  We need to think about things like how to feed him and make sure he doesn’t attack anyone before worrying about whether or not he’ll like your VHS collection.”

“I don’t think he’s done anything wrong, Ari.”

“Don’t get carried away,” warned Ari.  “Even if he wasn’t here to kidnap anyone, he’s still a vampire.  He had to be eating something up till this point, and I doubt it was 100% ethically sourced, vegan blood from perfectly willing volunteers every day for his whole life.”

“What do you want from him?  He was born that way, he can’t help that he has to drink blood.  He can only do the best with what he was given.”

“Hmph.  Well, I’m not gonna let him go free until I’m 100% sure he’s not gonna hurt anyone. It's our job to keep vampires under control, and regardless of what you saw, he still almost killed you.  Even if he’s not evil, he’s still dangerous...Like any animal that's wounded and starving."

“...Or at least he could be dangerous," said Lex quietly. "If he had the strength to stand on his own."

They’d reached the back of the van.  Ari rapped the window lightly with her knuckle.  “Hey, we’re back.  I’m opening the door.”

She unlocked the cargo doors and cracked them open.  The only sign anyone was in the back among the furniture and boxes was a single booted leg sticking out from under a quivering mound of black cloak, which withdrew further into the cargo area away from the intruding sunlight.

“There he is,” said Ari.  “Didn’t move an inch, just like we asked him to.  Thanks for sitting so pretty.”

“We’re about halfway there,” said Lex.  “Maybe it’ll be dark by the time we get home.  Wouldn’t that be nice?”

"Everything okay?" said Ari, giving a tentatively thumbs up. "At least, relatively speaking?"

Valen pulled the cloak off himself with shaking hands, eyeing her apprehensively.

"Anything you want us to do before we drive off again?"

He held his wrists up, twisting them to show that the chain had slipped a little off the cloth, so now a few links were grazing his skin, where there was now a considerable red mark.

"Oooh, poor little guy, let me fix that," said Lex, coming over and fiddling with the cloth to pull it up and block the contact between the bare silver and his skin.

Ari shot Lex death glares at the way she was talking to him, but made no move to stop her. When she finished, she stepped back and Ari repeated: "All right, all good? We're getting there but it's still a while to go. Thumbs up if it's all good."

He gave a shaky thumbs up.

“All right,” said Ari.  “See you in a bit.”

She shut the doors.

They went around front, getting in, buckling their seatbelts and starting the car.  Lex turned in her seat to look into the back, to catch a glimpse of him all the way at the rear of the vehicle, the piles of stuff between them.  He was sitting limply, leaning into his end table, vacant gaze downcast at the floor, tears pattering onto the bed of the van.  He didn’t seem to notice her looking at him.

***

They stopped for Burger King, which Ari ate as she drove.  Lex started to turn around and offer some of hers to their captive in the back, until remembering partway through why that wouldn’t work.

It felt like they were half dead by the time they dragged themselves up in front of their house.  Ari pulled the van up, killed the ignition, then they both just sat there for a few moments.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” said Ari.

“Me too,” whined Lex.

They’d had a full day of regular work, then stopped by the director’s office in the evening, followed by going straight back to the hunter’s compound to give Valen a pencil that night.  Then they’d spent the whole night into the morning getting kidnapped and drained of all their blood and throwing together a mad dash to give chase, respectively, and then they’d spent that whole day packing a moving van, and then doing another road trip.  It was starting to get on a full 36 hours since they’d slept, or even rested.

“We’ll unload all this junk in the morning,” said Ari.  “Christ.  That should be fine, right?”

“I think so.  I’m so tired I can barely think.”

They got out of the van and opened the back door.  It was, in fact, still light out, so the vampire scrambled backwards away from the sunlight.

“How about it?” said Ari.

He trembled.

“Lex, go make sure the neighbors aren’t watching, would ya?”

Their house did have a generous yard setting them apart from the neighbors, along with a tall hedge fence…  They would probably have enough privacy, but best to head off problems that could arise from someone seeing them carrying a bound and gagged person into their house.  Everyone around them did know that they were vampire hunters, so they could probably make up something to explain why he was here, and random humans nearby would definitely be too scared to argue with them, but still best to avoid having everyone see him unless absolutely necessary.

Ari sat down on the edge of the van while Lex scurried around.  She felt a small tug on her sleeve, and turned to see the vampire looking at her with a tearful expression.

“We’re at our house,” said Ari.  “Nick isn’t here, and he doesn’t know where we live.”

That seemed to relax him slightly.

“All right,” said Lex, returning.  “Ella isn’t home, Delores wasn’t answering the door so I assume she’s asleep, and I told Abraham we’re moving some stuff and it sounded like he was preoccupied with something, so I think we’ll be okay.”

“Great.”  She gently pulled at the fabric on Valen’s lap.  “Get your cloak.”

Valen pulled the cloak over his head with unsteady hands, crying softly.

“No need to get worked up,” said Ari softly.  “All right, come on buddy.”

She leaned him over her shoulder, carrying his limp form like a sack of potatoes.

“You’ll like it here,” said Lex, shutting the van.  “It’ll be nice.”

They went up the crumbling cement stairs up onto the porch, which had ancient white paint peeling from it.  Lex was suddenly embarrassed, as though maybe Valen would judge their abode for being messy and out of date.

Lex unlocked the front door, holding the screen door open while Ari took him inside.  She then shut and locked the door, then walked around and drew all the blinds.

Ari stood Valen up in the center of the room, then removed the cloak from over his head.  He was still crying, cheeks flushed dark red and snot dribbling down from his nose.

“Oh, sh, sh sh,” said Ari, taking a napkin and wiping his cheek.  “It’s all right.  No need for that.”

“We’re home now,” said Lex.

Ari sighed.  “Listen, Lex and I are tired as fuck, and we’re not in any state to be making decisions, especially not ones that affect your wellbeing.  So how does it sound that you just lie down on the couch for a bit while we get some sleep?”

He ground his jaw, not answering.

“Is that okay?” said Lex guilty.  “I know you’re, well…”  She looked him up and down.  He desperately needed a bath to wash all that blood and gunk off of him, but she currently couldn’t think of any way to give him a bath or shower that wouldn’t be basically waterboarding him.  Last time, the gag had been metal, but this time it was cloth.  And they’d need to come up with a plan for a way to take the gag out while minimizing the amount of harm he could do, if for no other reason than just to avoid a repeat of what’d just happened.

“I’ll go get the liner for the couch,” said Ari.

Lex assisted, getting a clean trash bag from the kitchen and wrapping a pillow in it.  Ari came over with a huge plastic sheet and tossed it over the couch.

“There,” said Lex.  “How does this sound for now?”  Her head was swimming with exhaustion.  This should be fine, right?  It would be comfortable enough, and relatively safe for all three of them.

He was still standing petrified in the middle of the room.  Ari gently guided him over to sit on the couch, which now crinkled under his weight.

“Is that comfortable?” said Lex.

He didn’t respond.

“Hello?” said Ari, waving a hand in front of his face.  His eyes bounced to track the movement.  “Yes, no?”

He nodded.

“Okay.  Listen, now, okay?  You don’t need to try and escape.  We’re not going to hurt you, and tomorrow we’re going to figure out a way to feed you.”

His eyes brimmed with hopeful tears at that.

“First thing in the morning,” said Lex.  “We’ll figure out some way to let you talk that’ll be safe for all of us.”

“It’d be a bad idea to try and get out anyway,” said Ari.  “You know you won’t make it on your own outside in this state.”

He slowly lowered his head.

“Here, lie down,” said Lex, patting the pillow.

Lex helped him swing his legs over, so he was lying down on the couch.  Ari took another cloth out, and started to loop it around his ankles.

He leaned into the pillow, hiding his face as Ari tied a knot, securing his ankles together.  “Just as a precaution,” she said.  “It’ll come off first thing in the morning.”

“Okay,” said Lex.  “Will you be okay if we leave to go to sleep?”

He peeked out from the pillow, tired, haunted eyes looking up at them.  He nodded weakly.

“Okay,” said Lex.  “Good night.”

She flipped the light switch on the way out, plunging the room into darkness, broken by the light reflecting off the two red eyes in the direction of the couch.

Lex and Ari collapsed nearly as soon as they got into the bedroom.  Lex had already changed out of her bloody clothes earlier, and knew she should probably get a shower, but the siren song of the bed was too much for her to resist.  She lay down immediately.  “Hell.”

Ari crawled into bed.  “I guess we need to think of some brilliant idea soon, then.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” said Lex, already half asleep.

Ari contemplatively looked out the window, at the clouds streaked pink by the sunset, and set her alarm an hour before sunrise.  

***

Tag list <3

@annablogsposts

@darlingwhump

@nicolepascaline

@oddsconvert

@pumpkin-spice-whump

@soursagas

@thecyrulik

@whumpsday

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 28

Just Daydreams Now

Pairings: Cross Guild Polycule x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 6934

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: You spend the morning with Uncle Cedrick while Buggy listens in. The rest of your lovers aren't used to feeling helpless.

Author's Note: Hi! I've been nervous to give more backstory since we're all here for our big baddies, but I hope you enjoy learning a bit more about our Numbers Girl!

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Reader | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | ⏰ ~ Flashbacks for listed POV | ⚫ ~ Scenes depicting Dark Content as listed in Author's Notes

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Grief, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Anal, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Face Slapping/Hitting, Relationship Drama, Scratching, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

It’s cold. 

The cold turned cruel the moment you woke, remembering why there were no warm bodies surrounding you. 

That wasn’t real. Just pretend. 

Back to your boring life.

“Good morning, Miss Sylvad,” an unpleasantly cheerful servant greeted you. They'd barged into your quarters after a single, patronizing knock, proceeding to hang a few dresses on the coat rack, fluffing the skirts before eyeing your hair. “Your uncle has requested your presence at breakfast, so I have prepared–”

“I can dress myself.”

Their eyes widened for just a split second, so very good at their job.

Can't manage rich pieces of shit like me if you remind us that you're a real fucking person. 

“Of course, Miss Sylvad, but if I may–”

“You can report that I refused your assistance. I’m sure you’ll have someone waiting in the hall to show me where to go?”

“Yes, Miss Sylvad,” they nodded, brows creasing just enough for you to know they had a thought, but not enough to know what kind. You stared at the door when they left you alone, and almost screamed for them to return, just to have something else to focus on besides the empty bed. Heat climbed up your throat, but the thought of crying more tears after how many you’d drained last night made you want to stop breathing. 

The thought of Uncle Cedrick seeing you cry was enough to pull you in, emptiness radiating from you like twisted heat. 

That silver chain seemed to pull at your restless fingers, and you couldn’t decide if it made you more or less likely to cry if you carried it with you. 

You carried it with you. 

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

“The locket,” Crocodile breathed, his soothing hand halting its movement down Buggy’s legs. 

“You can hear her,” Mihawk praised. His voice was unbelieving, almost reverent. 

“Buggy, you’re brilliant,” Shanks laughed, leaning in to kiss his clown.

“SHUT UP!!”

The clown’s three lovers jolted at his yell, watching his face crumple while he curled in on himself. 

“I need to listen,” Buggy muttered as he shoved a finger in his remaining ear. “Gotta make her stop crying. Gotta stop…”

Looks were shared between his old enemies, their gentle hands unable to stop the flow of tears that stained that colorful face. 

~~~

“Buggy, you need to sleep,” Shanks pleaded, pulling him back against his chest. The three men curled around him on that giant bed, yet no word or touch seemed to calm their clown. Shanks held his lover from behind, wishing that he could wrap around him completely, protect him from all this pain.

“Have to listen,” Buggy almost whined, exhaustion dripping from him. 

Mihawk was afraid to reach out, as though his toxic touch could somehow sever that precious connection, somehow tear her from Buggy, yet again. He faced the clown as they laid on that glorious bed, this man that he’d ridiculed, tortured, abused… 

I don’t deserve–

Crocodile disrupted Mihawk’s self pitying thoughts, reaching around his body to touch Buggy’s face, brushing that pretty, blue hair aside. 

“We’re here, Buggy. We’ll help you. We’ll get her back.”

“She needs you to sleep now, baby,” Shanks whispered along Buggy’s ear. 

“Thank you for helping her,” Mihawk choked, that broken sound bringing the clown back to the room for a moment. 

He found golden eyes struggling to meet his gaze, and silver eyes staring as Crocodile hugged the quivering swordsman from behind. 

“I can’t help her. I can’t do anything,” Buggy rasped, his mouth dry as too many hands reached for him again. 

“You’re going to save her, Buggy,” Mihawk vowed, tracing fingers along his face, through tears and faded paint. “We’re going to help you. You have my word.”

Y/N’s sobs had slowed and quieted by now, fitful breathing letting him know that she was moving toward sleep. 

All alone. She’s…

Mihawk’s dangerous fingers trailed over his lips, those deadly eyes wider and softer than he’d thought possible. 

“Thank you, Buggy.”

This wasn’t the sort of kiss Buggy was used to, at least not from anyone besides Shanks and his star. 

It was just a kiss. 

Just a bare touch of lips that asked nothing of him. The swordsman kissed him, then cuddled against his chest, his scent and warmth finally slowing the clown’s breathing. 

Buggy fell asleep to the sound of her beating heart, while laying in this bed that felt empty, even with the four bodies upon it. 

I’m listening, star. I’m listening… 

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~  

Gods, he could listen to himself talk all fucking day.

It seemed that Uncle Cedrick had called you in just to spout nothingness, blabbing about his recent deals, and “charity” ventures that were nothing more than ego boosts and tax write offs. 

Kill me now. 

“What was that, niece?”

An exhausted laugh escaped your lips, and you had to fight yourself not to give in to your useless desires to insult, to scream, to hurt. 

Now that he wasn’t restricted by the Cross Guild’s security regulations, Uncle had his personal guards trailing him everywhere, even on his own ship. 

Pathetic. 

“I do hope that your time as a hostage to pirates wasn’t traumatic enough to make you lose your sense of propriety.”

“Is that the party line, Uncle,” you sniffed, forcing another bite down. You wouldn’t let yourself be any weaker than you were, no matter how ashy the expensive food tasted. “Should I prepare a statement? Practice my crocodile tears?”

“Very funny,” he frowned, setting down his silverware to give you his full, disparaging attention. “Luckily, the people aware of your recent hobbies have a vested interest in keeping that knowledge close to the chest. But yes, if anyone asks, you were kidnapped by the clown, and held for ransom. I, of course, found and rescued you before they could– Well, that leads to our other concern…”

“And what would that be, uncle,” you scowled while you pictured all of the ways your daydreams could have killed him. 

The smile that tugged at his sneering lips almost had you spilling what little breakfast you’d managed to eat.

“You did say you were ready, Y/N,” he gloated, dabbing nothing from his face with his embroidered napkin. “It’s time for you to get married.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~  

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Buggy woke in a panic, already hearing Y/N’s voice. Her annoyance at some stranger wanting to dress her made him want to flay that person alive. The clown ignored everyone, everything in his path, until he tore through the old suite he’d shared with her. 

His star had barely brought a thing with her when she joined him. Lingerie and birth control, some expensive, but mismatched clothes, and of course, her notebooks, pens, and an old calculator. 

Why didn’t I see you were running from something, baby? I’m so– 

“How is–”

“SHUT UP!”

Three, dangerous men hovered by the door like strays begging for scraps. The clown would have laughed at that pathetic picture if it hadn’t shown just how fucking helpless they were to save her right now. 

“She’s talking to Uncle AssHat. Close the fucking door,” he ordered, cracking open one of her empty notebooks to feel like he was doing any fucking thing to help her. Her pretty pen scratched away at the page. Something about party lines, kidnapping, and… 

“It’s time for you to get married.”

The fuck?!

“Don’t worry, niece,” that fucking sleezeball continued, “it’ll still be your choice. Your mother will be thrilled to help you prepare to meet your suitors. It’s been too long since you’ve taken this seriously.”

“No. Nononono, star! This is stupid,” Buggy whispered, dropping her pen as his fingers tapped along his thighs.

“My choice,” she said with a dark laugh, clearing her throat to clear it away. “When does the parade of boredom begin?”

Pride for her attitude was sunk by the realization that she hadn’t argued, hadn’t resisted with anything more than her snark. 

“Come now, Y/N, not everyone can be as interesting as the mass murderers you’ve been bedding down with lately.”

Buggy held his hand over his mouth, the angry beat of her heart sending sick fear straight through him. Sweat poured through the muted paint he hadn’t removed the night before. 

“You have put us in quite the predicament, niece,” Cedrick paused, and Buggy couldn’t hear past that frantic beat to know what else might be happening in the room. “When all you were doing was playing at being poor, I didn’t see the harm in letting you wait. Now that you’ve shown the outlandish, dangerous situations you’ll put yourself in, I can’t risk you destroying the family’s reputation.”

Why aren’t you saying anything, baby? Your heart… 

“We'll have to wait at least a month, I’d say. Can’t allow people to question where any new little heirs might have come from. Although, if anything pops out with a fucking clown nose, we’ll just have to send it–” 

“Fuck you.”

Buggy had stopped breathing, trying to wake himself the fuck up from this piece of shit dream. 

“You can’t expect me to have any sympathy for those freaks. Not when you didn’t even trust them yourself,” Sylvad laughed, smug and shitty. “I watched you lie to them, niece. Don’t pretend they were anything real to you. Just a little adventure for an attention-seeking–”

“Shut up,” Y/N seethed, though it was too quiet. 

Star… 

“You never trusted those criminals, not for a second,” AssHat kept gloating. Buggy was about to explode with the need to stab this man in the fucking throat. “Don’t lie to yourself. You didn’t tell them the truth, because you know exactly what they would do to you if they found out.”

Her heart was too much, it didn’t sound right. 

This couldn’t be right.

“Arbo Sylvad’s little heiress only inherits her daddy’s wealth when she gets married,” Sylvad mocked, each new word like rotten food forced down Buggy’s throat. “And her lucky spouse gets their own hefty chunk of the company as soon as the vows are sealed. Which one of your pirate lovers do you think would have won the fight? I bet the swordsman would have–”

“You won,” his star growled, the sound forced as though her teeth were clenched. “I’m here, so why don’t you shut the fuck up already?”

“Don’t be so tense,” that asshole chuckled, voice a bit louder as though he’d leaned toward her. “You’ll have over a month until the wedding to pick your favorite suitor. You should be grateful, Y/N. It’s a lot more generous than I should be, given the damage you could have caused.”

“Fine.”

Buggy had forgotten that he existed. His head was in his hands, his eyes wide and dry while he gaped at the floor. Pieces of his body were scattered, but he couldn’t fucking feel a thing. 

“I’m certain we’ll find a suitor that you’ll be content with,” her uncle needled, that saccharine voice making the clown gag. “Besides, something good came from this little tantrum of yours. Now that I know my pretty niece prefers men my age, I’ll be setting you up with some friends of mine. They’ve been asking about you for years. I’m sure that at least one of them will let you call them da–”

Her heart.

Her rage.

A crash of noise shook the clown to his core. Y/N’s yells, broken glass, and “soothing” voices, did nothing to drown out that fucker’s smug laughter. 

All Buggy could do was try not to die. 

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🔴🗡️~~~

Helpless. 

Sir Crocodile. 

Dracule Mihawk.

Red Haired Shanks.

Each of them was helpless, useless, pathetic.

They couldn’t help Y/N, and now they couldn’t help their clown, the only one of them that had held themselves together for her.

Crocodile huffed a laugh at the thought while he lit a cigar. Breakfast was a discarded concept as these three, powerful pirates moped in the lounge. 

“We have an in,” Shanks soothed the air, since no words could be soothing to the two men on the too empty couch. 

“Yes, astounding work retrieving a business card,” Mihawk snarked, his head leaning back against the couch while he clenched his eyes shut, fighting the urge for violence. “I wasn’t aware that you had such impressive networking skills. I would have—“

“Don’t be a brat,” Crocodile purred, drawing the other men’s eyes to his. “We can let out steam later. Right now—“

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Shanks stared. 

And stared. 

“You alright, Red Hair?”

Crocodile frowned at his enemy, letting it go. Letting it go for the two men he wanted to see happy again. 

Letting it go for the sweet girl that just might need this man’s help.

Well, he tried to let it go…

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” Shanks shook himself, absolutely fucking bewildered by everything he’d witnessed since he stepped foot on this island. “Buggy’s right, though. We can’t go until we know she’ll want us to. It’s up to Buggy.”

“Can we at least plan out all the pretty ways we can end that Mr. Sylvad,” Mihawk sighed as he turned, stretching his legs across the couch, and over Crocodile’s lap. 

“I’m partial to gutting,” Crocodile gave the swordsman a tiny smile, laying that large hand onto those leather clad legs. 

Shanks frowned at the green couch, and at the men flirting over the topics of torture and death. 

“I’ve got a headache,” he groaned, covering his eyes.

“There’s more scotch on the bar,” Crocodile jerked his head, ignoring the rest of the trashed room. “I’ll take a glass.”

The red haired pirate laughed, pouring peaty glasses all around. 

“Good morning.”

~~~🐊🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Why are you so quiet, star? 

Her heart got slower as that shithead’s laughter faded into the distance. Too many, “right this way, Miss Sylvad’s,” made him feel spun around, until a door shut, and quiet took over. 

“Fucking stupid,” Y/N berated herself, quiet thuds making Buggy cringe, the sound as though she’d hit the meat of her thighs before falling to her knees.

Baby, let me help you…

Sick laughter bubbled up, just enough to freeze the blood in his veins, though she choked it down fast. Near silent whispers left her lips in a panicked slur, and Buggy curled in on himself, too weak for this torture.

“Don’t show it. Don’t let him see. Just daydreams now, just daydreams. Daydreams are good. Just…”

Her body drifted further and further away with each moment on that asshole’s ship, yet Buggy felt like they were inches apart, crumpled on the floor while broken sounds left both of their throats. 

“Why didn’t you trust me, star,” the clown cried, reaching for her, finding nothing. “Why did you leave me?”

“Buggy…”

His eyes flew open, forgetting that she wasn’t here, that she couldn’t hear him when she whispered his name. He listened while his pretty star sobbed, until her breathing stopped being human. 

~~~

Buggy had to be in a fucking nightmare. Nothing made any fucking sense anymore.

He snatched the notebook and pen, racing to the lounge with a finger in his ear to keep track of her soft, wounded noises. He charged into the room, his upper body floating close enough to smell the foul stench of Crocodile’s scotch, like a noxious cloud over the too relaxed men. 

Crocodile gazed at Mihawk, rubbing along his calves and feet where the swordsman had laid them in his lap, his extravagant boots tossed to the side of the couch. 

Shanks was on the floor, leaning against the couch in front of the swordsman, sighing while dangerous fingers played in his hair. 

“Buggy,” Mihawk breathed, looking genuinely pleased to see him.

“What the FUCK are you idiots doing?”

“Waiting for you, little clown,” Crocodile rasped, patting the back of the couch between him and the swordsman. 

“Did you hear something, Buggy,” Shanks breathed, sitting forward to reach his hand out. Soft, brown eyes scanned the clown too deep. 

Buggy’s need to scream at someone fizzled out, the looks on their faces reminding him that he wasn’t the only one that wanted to save her. 

“She’s gonna get married.”

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

“I love you, Y/N,” your first love purred, kissing his way up your neck until he smiled down at you. 

He didn’t wait for you to respond, just tasted your frozen lips, bringing his hands back down your body until you sighed. 

“Don’t tease—“

“I’m not teasing,” he vowed, trapping you in his joyful gaze. “I love you! I’ve loved you for ages, you big nerd!”

“Hey,” you laughed, skin going hot while you tried to cover your face. He wouldn’t let you, lips pressing against every bit of burning skin he could reach while you squirmed. 

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Y/N. Your uncle’s stuffy mansion, your tiny, shitty dorm room, we can even run away and change our names. Just as long as it’s you and me…”

“Really,” you asked, not meaning to sound so lost. 

“Really,” he promised, stealing your heart. “Do you love me too?”

“I do,” you breathed, tearing your chest wide open for him. “I love you.”

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

I’m fine.

It was easier to lie to yourself when you remembered your new personal guards outside the door. 

More like prison guards. My other cage was prettier.

Biting down on your fist, you fought to silence anymore laughter that could mark you as wrong. You needed to get your shit together now. You couldn’t fall apart like you had at breakfast. Couldn’t let him push you… 

“I’ll just turn it all off. Shut it all down.”

Sighing at the pathetic words you hadn’t meant to say out loud, you fought to remember how you used to live. 

Breathe, slow and steady. Remember that nothing matters, so it shouldn’t bother you. Just focus on numbers. Counting, multiplying, dividing, making up random problems to solve in your head all day. 

I’ve got this. I’m fine.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~  

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

“What did you say,” Mihawk growled, the rumble of death in his voice.

Buggy’s body pulled together before this ragged group of pirates that had just looked as pathetic as humanly possible for such powerful men. 

Until he’d said those words. 

Now there was a thrum of violence that seemed to steal the oxygen from the air.

Doubt filled the clown, those vicious eyes freezing him, trapping him with decisions that all felt wrong. 

The red haired pirate sat up enough to grab Buggy’s hand, guiding the man to sit on the ground with him, to stare up at those towering villains on the couch. Shanks wanted to move him when he saw the view, but his clown was shaking, so he just held on as much as he would let him. 

“What did you hear,” Crocodile rasped, stretching out his fingers, fighting not to clench them, to tear them through the world to get to her. 

“I’ll kill you,” Buggy threatened, brushing off Shanks’ concerned grip. “If you hurt her, I won’t give a fuck. I’ll blow myself up to take both of you with me.”

Mihawk stared into those crystal eyes, seeing that same look that had been there all this time. He had laughed at it, punished it, until he was finally grateful for it. Buggy’s bravery, and his love for Y/N never wavered, even when they had smeared his blood across the floor. 

“If I ever hurt her again, I will gladly let you kill me.”  

Statues carved to gaze at each other, the swordsman and the clown might have remained there forever, if Crocodile hadn’t leaned close. 

“I don’t care what you heard, Buggy,” he assured, remembering her laughing in his clown's arms. “I’ll never be able to make up for what I did to you both, but I’m gonna start by getting our girl back, safe. No matter what.”

Crocodile offered his hand, meeting Shanks’ gaze over Buggy’s shoulder.

“You were right about me, Red Hair,” he confessed, his shoulders relaxing when Mihawk’s hand joined his. “I’m a monster, and I can’t change what… I’m never gonna hurt Y/N, or Buggy, or Mihawk again. I know it’s not–”

“That’s a lot of words for ‘help me,” Shanks teased lightly, tilting around Buggy so he could join Mihawk in touching the larger man’s hand. He apologized quickly, soothing Crocodile’s weak huff. “Turns out I’m not the best person either, but I’m here. I’ll do anything I can to bring her back.”

“I swear it,” Mihawk breathed, imploring the clown to let them in. “I don’t deserve her, but you do. I’ll–”

“How much fucking scotch did you guys drink,” Buggy scolded, his nervous laughter lightening the mood, but not the tension. Those three hands still waited, three sets of eyes on his skin. 

Three, old enemies that could betray him, could hurt her, could take her. 

Three lovers that had been saying such wonderful things. 

“I will blow us all–”

“I know you will, little clown," Crocodile praised, his face softening even further when that gloved hand finally touched his. 

Don’t turn it all off, baby. We’re gonna get you out of there.

Buggy felt like a fucking idiot, but he couldn’t stop this feeling.

Hope.

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

It was getting a little late, but you weren’t bothered at all. You waited, enjoying your cheap cocktail, and the cheesy grin that you couldn’t keep off of your face.

I love him. He loves me. 

Brand new words. Words that you hadn’t expected to find. At least, you weren’t supposed to, not unless the person who said them was on a certain list.

You didn’t give a fuck about any of that while you swirled your colorful straw, letting yourself feel it all.

“Hello, niece. Aren’t you looking adorable this evening?”

“Why are you here,” you spat while your eyes scanned the restaurant, hoping that your boyfriend would be late enough to miss meeting Uncle Cedrick.

“Are you looking for your date,” he chuckled, picking up your drink just to sniff and scowl at it. “I’m afraid he was in a bit of a hurry, and didn’t find the time to write a goodbye note for you. Something about an internship with Galley-La… I did save his signature though.”

Denial paralyzed you, even as he laid the contract out on the table. Every word on the page was a knife through the heart, but you couldn’t look away until you’d read it all, until you should have been bleeding, dying in the middle of that shitty restaurant.

“You know, it didn’t even take him five minutes before he decided to sign your love away for some pocket change, and a potential job,” Uncle Cedrick gloated, snatching up the contract before your humiliating tears could smudge the ink. “That sort of trash doesn’t belong anywhere near the Sylvad name.”

“I don’t want that fucking name,” you choked out, eyeing the guards he’d brought with him. 

He sat back, his arms spread wide, just like his disgusting smile. So at ease, so fucking pleased. 

“Are you feeling well, niece? Relationship troubles can–”

“I’m fine.”

Uncle Cedrick smirked, leaning over the table to touch your chin. You held your breath to keep from flinching, to keep from smelling that stupid cologne. 

“I knew you’d be fine. You’re such a smart girl,” he praised, and the urge to throw up in his face was getting harder to fight. “It’s been too long. I have some suitors for you to meet, and I can guarantee that none of them would stand you up for such a meager amount of berry.”

“No, you’d cut your friends a much better deal,” you seethed, shaking beneath his gentle touch. 

“You’re not a child anymore, Y/N,” he purred, and you had to close your eyes. Had to remind yourself why biting his fucking fingers off would be a bad idea. “You should know that people like us don’t get to marry for love, and I will do anything to protect this family. Even from my brother’s irritating obsession with his favorite daughter.”

He radiated satisfaction, and you knew exactly what smile he’d have when you opened your eyes. You could finally breathe again when he pulled away, taking his fingers, and his scent with him. 

“We’ll get you set up with a date this weekend,” he chatted, his friendly tone giving you a headache. “I found a gentleman that looks quite like your wannabe shipwright, so feel free to have a little extra fun if you need to. Just don’t forget your pill, at least not until the wedding. We don’t need any more complications…” 

Uncle Cedrick finally left, but your thoughts were too sharp, so you just stared, frowning at that cheap cocktail. Nausea roiled around your gut too much for you to open your mouth, let alone take a sip. 

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

Buggy threatened them all a few more times, still afraid to reveal his star’s secrets, but he knew he couldn’t do a thing without all of their help. 

“She lied to us, but I’ll shove a Buggy Ball up your–”

“I forgive her,” Crocodile sighed, almost laughing at his little clown. “I don’t care how many lies she told, I love her, and we’re getting her–”

“She didn’t trust us,” Buggy started again, his voice breaking slightly at the thought that she hadn’t trusted him. He pushed through, pushing out the next words as fast as he could. “She gets all that fucking tree money when she gets married, and whoever she marries instantly gets their own piece of that stupid company.”

“What?”

“I know you heard me, Hawk Eyes,” Buggy groaned, his hands floating away from their little huddle to shake and flap through the air. 

“That can’t be right. What idiot would write that in a will,” Crocodile scoffed, watching those floating hands. “If that got out, she’d have a fucking target on her back her whole life. They wouldn’t even need a ransom, they could just kidnap her, and force her to…” 

Eyes met, but all looked away while shame flooded the room.

“No wonder she’d never tell,” Shanks breathed, remembering the face she’d made when he pushed and prodded for her secret to come out. 

“You said she’s getting married,” Mihawk shook himself. That urgent question had stayed unanswered while they comforted each other, while she was adrift out there with no one but enemies beside her. “Who the fuck do we need to kill?”

Buggy laughed, sick laughter, as though his star needed him to let it out since she couldn’t. 

“My flashy girl's got a whole month to go on all sorts of shitty dates,” Buggy ranted, remembering what he’d be listening to for the next few weeks. “She gets to pick her favorite, slimy, fucking ASSHOLE, and then…”

“What, Bugs? We’ll know when the wedding is,” Shanks urged, rubbing his hand down Buggy’s back. “You just tell us when and where, and we’ll go get her.”

Silence went on, except for the scotch scented breaths that surrounded Buggy while he ran through everything he’d heard. They watched him for a few minutes after he brought his hands back, writing every detail he could remember.

“It’s not enough…”

They didn’t prod this time, but three hands touched Buggy again, until he sagged against Shanks’ chest. 

“She wouldn’t leave me for this,” he tried to declare, but had to swallow the pressure in his throat to force it out. “She doesn’t wanna be there, you should hear her…”

Y/N had gone quiet, though he could tell she wasn’t sleeping. It sounded like she was just sitting in silence, not even the rustle of a book to fill the air. 

Like she’d shut herself down.

“She’s smart, and she’s strong. She wouldn’t let him do this to her without a reason.”

“I trust you, Buggy,” Mihawk rasped, giving his clown the hint of a smile. “You’ll figure out the excuse we need to crash that wedding, and I’m certain you’ll put on quite the show.”

“I, yeah,” Buggy frowned as the swordsman's hands trailed down his chest, making him pause. Shanks gave a little huff of protest when Mihawk sank to the pile of rugs, pulling Buggy to the side. 

“She trusts you. She wants you, Buggy,” Mihawk purred, feeling lost in a way that felt right as he followed along with his body’s plans. “You woke her up last night. You should have heard her little noises, should have smelled her after the finale…”

Shanks watched his lovers falling into each other, and there was a fearful urge to attach himself there, to cling, and to claim. 

Yet something in the way their eyes were caught together made the red haired pirate take a breath, pulling himself up to sit on that green couch. The scarred man topped off their glasses of scotch, and they watched the show. 

Crocodile hummed when they tapped their glasses, wondering if it was the scotch, the loss, or the fact that maybe things really were loosening up, that made this moment of sharing so relaxed, so easy. 

“Smelled,” Buggy asked once he could remember how to talk, wetting his lips while he stared at Mihawk’s taunting mouth. Only it wasn’t taunting. 

“Our little rabbit wanted you so badly, I thought she might leap over the crowd just to touch you.”

Buggy sighed, remembering her perfect smile. Then he gasped as Mihawk reached for him, kissing up his throat while those dangerous fingers traveled over his body, pulling at his clothes. 

“What are–”

“I wanted you too, Buggy,” Mihawk confessed, eyes fluttering as he let himself give in, let himself say the things he wanted to say. “I’m so sorry. I treated you… I didn’t see you.”

“I’m kinda hard to miss,” Buggy deadpanned, feeling dizzy when the swordsman laughed. 

Mihawk crawled over the clown, tossing his coat to the floor with barely a thought while he straddled him. He’d pulled at Buggy’s clothes enough that both of their upper bodies were bare, and the clown gave him a puzzled look. 

“Why–”

“I didn’t see how strong you are,” Mihawk purred, moving his body along Buggy’s until the clown made pretty faces for him, soft fabric and leather rubbing together. He heard what sounded like two, pleased hums behind him, but Mihawk was too focused to look back. “Buggy the Clown is smart, and wicked, and powerful. I called you a fool, but… I was the fool. I didn’t see–”

“Shut up,” Buggy grumbled, wiggling away until Mihawk had to lay beside him, propped up on an elbow. The clown’s head was still quiet, but all of those words… 

“Buggy, I–” 

“Stop,” he snarled, cringing at the look in those golden eyes when Mihawk pulled his hand away. 

“I’m sorry, of course,” Mihawk swallowed, not sure what to do with his hand now that it shouldn’t be touching the man he’d hurt.

“Bugs?”

That deep voice was ignored while Buggy sat up, brows furrowed when he got in the swordsman’s face. 

“You love her too,” he announced, clapping a gloved hand along Mihawk’s arm. “I’m glad you love her, but you don’t need to pretend you like me.”

“Little clown…” 

That even deeper voice was ignored while Mihawk sat up, kissing the clown until they both made hungry noises, but Buggy pushed him away. 

“Toy, right? I can play. But we need to get–”

“You’re not a toy,” Mihawk vowed, hoping this would be the last time he’d have to say those words. “I want you, Buggy. I want to be with you, truly.”

The men on the couch had expected less talk during the show, and the urge to assist, and to comfort their boys was ramping up. Shanks watched, wide eyed, unsure if jealousy or gratitude would be a better fit. He took a swig, deciding that he liked gratitude better.

“There’s nothing I can say that will take away what I’ve done,” Mihawk breathed, feeling shameful grief at the fear that this man would never look at him without those monstrous memories behind his eyes. 

“I’m not mad anymore,” Buggy soothed, not sure what was happening. “We’re good, okay? We–”

“Not mad anymore?”

Danger. 

Something fucking deadly just filled the air. The men on the couch tensed, but neither tried to stop it. 

“You must have been sooo angry with me…” 

Shanks held in a laugh, smirking at Crocodile whose brows had lifted high, that frightening face looking shocked, but amused. 

“Well, obviously, but it’s…” Buggy trailed off again, Mihawk’s wicked grin looming closer. 

“I bet you imagined all sorts of ways to make me pay, didn’t you,” the swordsman wondered, biting his lip while his eyes poured over Buggy’s skin. His breath hitched when he noticed that lovely blush moving up the clown’s neck to his pretty face. “Did you imagine how you’d like to punish me?”

Buggy couldn’t help it. He was trying not to get sucked into whatever game this was. He needed to follow his old rules. Don’t get attached. Don’t like them too much. Don’t fall for the con. 

But that perfect fucking face was unreal, the tiny movements around the eyes, the smirking corner of his lips, just fucking daring him to take a bite. 

“I took an anger management class once,” Buggy coughed, shaking his head slowly as if to ward off this manic birdman. “So I’m totally fine!”

“Fine, really? Even after all of those awful things I did. All of those rotten things I said?”

The little flicker in Buggy’s eyes made Mihawk want to beg. He still might, but first, he pushed. 

“What did I call you,” Mihawk hummed, leaning back on a hand while he remembered what a monster he was, trying to make it better. “That’s right. I just couldn’t believe how Y/N had ended up with such a pathetic clown.”

The clown couldn’t hide the slight jerk to his head, the hint of a snarl that anyone but Dracule Mihawk might have missed. 

“I said so many terrible things. I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to tear me to pieces,” the swordsman begged, and dared, and apologized. The room felt charged, static before a storm. 

Buggy couldn’t look away from that perfect face.

“Mm, what did I say that first night? We made her promise something, didn’t we? Made her repeat my vicious words…”

The clown would have told him to stop if he could unclench his jaw. 

“Do you remember, Buggy,” he whispered, his body loose, welcoming. “Do you remember how much you wanted to hurt me?”

A soft whine left the clown’s throat when Mihawk teased fingers over his chest, playing in that dark, blue hair. 

“Don’t disappoint us by lowering yourself for that clown? What a cruel thing to say,” Mihawk rasped, almost losing his teasing tone as he drowned in his own guilt. “Are you sure you’re not still angry, Buggy? Even after we made her say–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Buggy growled, more frightening than any yell the other men had heard from him. He let out a frustrated groan at how fucking happy the swordsman seemed to be while he choked him, both hands disconnected to shove the man onto the floor by the throat. 

“You fucking psycho,” the clown scoffed as he straddled him, snarling down at those fluttering eyes. “Treat me worse than trash, then you get off when you try to say you’re sorry? You’re a fucking monster!”

“I am, please. I am a monster,” Mihawk fell apart, spluttering when Buggy released his neck, nothing hurting him enough to take it all away. “I’m so sorry, Buggy, please…”

Mihawk’s face crumpled, writhing beneath him with pathetic apologies spilling from his quivering lips. 

Dracule fucking Mihawk was crying. Begging for forgiveness. 

He’s really committed to the bit. 

Buggy laughed again, and the look of shame on Mihawk’s face at the sound finally made it sink in. 

He fucking believes it. He believes he deserves it…

“You’d better not think one shitty little tantrum’s gonna be enough for me to forgive you,” Buggy taunted, squeezing the man’s cheeks until his lips pushed out, already wet with drool and tears. 

Mihawk shook his head as much as that grip would allow, panicked whimpers like some chaotic song filling the air while he tried to meet Buggy’s eyes. 

“You gonna let me–”

“Anything,” Mihawk moaned, breaking free enough to breathe his consent against Buggy’s lips. “I deserve anything you want to give me, Buggy. Fucking hurt me–”

The clown’s eyes went wide, shocked by his own fist that had sent Mihawk’s head to the side. He glanced back, but couldn’t decipher the looks the men on the couch gave him, and the look on Mihawk’s face made his mouth dry. 

“Let it out, Buggy,” Mihawk purred, feeling high, feeling right. “Show me how fucking wrong I was about you, darling. Show me–”

“You talk too much, idiot,” Buggy panted, hitting this beautiful, insane man again. 

“I do,” he moaned, overwhelmed, and needing it all. “I said so many–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Buggy tore his gloves off, stuffing them into that mean mouth before stripping them both. He laughed, wicked and hungry, at the pathetic moans forced through that dirty fabric.

“Here.”

Crocodile pulled the lube from the side table, grinning at Buggy’s shocked face when he handed it off to Shanks. The red haired pirate winked at the clown before tossing him the bottle, then stuck his tongue out at the world’s greatest swordsman. 

Mihawk drooled into the gloves, tearing up when Buggy gifted him with vicious nails, scraped down his sides. 

“Don’t stop crying,” Buggy growled in the swordsman’s face while he shoved lubed fingers inside of him, loving the chaos in those watery eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you just like this, so I can watch Dracule Mihawk cry on my cock. Can’t believe I was ever scared of you… You’re just a desperate whore, huh? Just wanna get fucking wrecked by a clown?”

Little noises, frantic nods, tears, and pretty tears, while Buggy forced himself into Mihawk’s tight ass, satisfaction in every rough, punishing thrust. 

“Alright, crybaby, tell me how fucking sorry you are now,” Buggy taunted, ripping the gloves from Mihawk’s lips before fisting into that soft, black hair. The clown was taking him up on his offer, fucking the swordsman harder and faster than he knew he could, fucking every ounce of anger and helplessness that he’d ever felt into the blubbering man beneath him.

“F-fuck, Buggy,” he choked, melting at the powerful look in the clown’s eyes, the evil smile of control on those lips. Melting under that thick, merciless cock that was giving him exactly what he deserved, exactly what he fucking needed. “I’m s-sorry, I–”

“Are you done apologizing?”

Mihawk’s eyes fought to refocus on that smirk, and he shook his head. 

“No, Buggy. Not even close.”

“Good.”

So many things at once. 

Buggy pulled away just enough to give Mihawk a brutal, backhanded slap. The swordsman was rocked by the force, the power, the pleasure, and the moment was so blissfully intense that he came, forgetting everything but the man that took him there.

Buggy laughed at the lovely ropes of come spilling between them, covering the other man’s chest and stomach, but the desperate look on that face dragged him down too. Buggy groaned, filling Mihawk with so much heat that it spilled down the sides of his cock while he kept fucking until they both whined, too much. All too much. 

He finally pulled out, but Mihawk tugged at him, forcing the clown to meet those golden eyes again. 

“I’m sorry, Buggy. I hope you believe me,” he breathed, all that pleasure still not enough to take away his need to make things right. 

“You made a pretty convincing argument,” Buggy smiled, eyes sparking when Mihawk gave a surprised laugh. 

“Look at our pretty, little boys,” Shanks purred, drawing their eyes. 

“Maybe we can get along after all,” Crocodile threatened, his deep voice making every other man fight to resist a shiver. 

“Maybe we–”

Buggy’s stomach was comically loud when it cut Shanks off, and it reminded all of these big, scary men that even they couldn’t survive on scotch and sex indefinitely. 

Even they had to come back down to earth, and remember that their girl was all alone, that they still didn’t know how to get her back.

They were forced to remember that she had never trusted them in the first place. 

“Buggy,” Crocodile soothed, tugging on the clown’s braid, still damp from the shower, while they all spaced out over brunch. “Is she…”

“She’s quiet,” Buggy reported, wishing he could hear her thoughts instead of just her disconcerting heart. “One of the servants said they’re landing in the morning. Something about her mom’s ‘preparations.” 

“Preparations,” Shanks asked, watching his clown for every sign of strain while he listened to his star. 

“Our girl’s about to go on a dating spree,” Buggy reminded, failing to keep his tone light. 

“Are you–”

“I’ll be fine,” Buggy lied, cutting the swordsman off. “You remember what she said. Those assholes are BORING. It’ll probably be a big snooze fest.”

“Just tell us what you need, little clown,” Crocodile hummed. 

His three lovers watched him while the clown closed his eyes, covering his ear to hear that lonely heartbeat. 

“I just need her back,” Buggy whispered, tapping her rhythm onto his own chest. “I need my shining star.”

~~~🐊🤡🔴🗡️~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

Author's Note: Special thanks to the lovely Ao3 readers that leave the most gigantic, juiciest comments that occasionally fit what our boys need way too fucking well 😏🙏🏼 btw, I highly recommend checking out the comments over there! We go wild with that ridiculous character limit 😅 (they started getting longer around chapters 14-16, but hot damn, it's like a little book club lately! 🥰)

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy | @laws-wife-things | @jadeddangel | @gingernut1314 | @urlocaltwink | @blue-rae18 | @bontensbabygirl | @bbnbhm | @0-sparkling-lace-0 | @ihearthazuki | @mikisspeak | @djloveyou3000 | @mercymccann | @horse-and-writer97

Part 29

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

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[dark-ethereal-visions]

Short Story Excerpt: For Everything, A Season

Do we have free will or is everything predetermined by Fate? Maybe it’s just the big life events that Fate controls while leaving us free to make minor choices that won’t really affect the direction of our lives. This is the theme I wanted to address in For Everything, A Season.

This urban short story starts by introducing Elmira Trumble, a single mother who works full time and struggles to give her twin daughters the best possible lives. Confronted by a mysterious stranger, Elmira soon learns that her efforts may all be for nothing. Fate seems to have different plans for her small family.

Can Elmira and her daughters fight Fate? Even if they can, should they? Or would it be better for all of them to simply give in and let Fate have its way?

Find out which path Elmira takes with her daughters in For Everything, A Season.

     “Pick someone. You point them out and I’ll take their life.”

     She sank back down on the hardened bench, not quite sure what to believe. “Look, you’re a fucking nut. I know that…”

     “But, if I’m not, you don’t want to be responsible for someone’s death?”

     She just nodded, unwilling to give voice to the slight chance he might be what he claimed.

     “Don’t worry about that, child. Someone in this bar is scheduled. Heart failure, if you’re curious.”

     “I wasn’t…curious, I mean.” Her heavy sigh could be heard above the music as her eyes darted back and forth among the patrons -most of them regulars- seated at the bar. “Who?”

     “You tell me.”

     She sat there only out of confusion. What should she do?

     Leave?

     Report him to the owner?

     Call the police?

     Believe him?

     “Pick someone.”

     “Fine.” She looked at the bar once again, ignoring those out of her immediate eyesight. A slovenly man seated at the bar with his sizable buttocks hanging over the edges of the stool brought a smile to her lips. He was sweating quite heavily, although he sat directly beneath the cool air circulated by the ceiling fans. Even from such distance, she could tell his breathing was labored. Anyone, including someone as uneducated as herself, could see that he had a heart problem and that cigar smoldering between his fat lips wasn’t helping matters.

     For all she knew, Gabe was that man’s doctor.

     She looked further down the bar until another customer caught her eye. Barbara; everyone called her Babe. She was twenty-three years old; maybe twenty-four. She fanned secondhand smoke away from her face, just as she always did when she took a seat at the bar, and sipped from her wine glass. Blond hair, striking blue eyes, and athletically toned. Her rather small breasts, looking that much smaller in that tight sports bra, were perfectly proportioned to her spandex-encased hips.

     “Her,” she mumbled to herself.

     “Beg your pardon?”

     “Her.” She pointed at Babe. “The girl in the pink shirt and blue shorts.”

     Barbara fell backwards even before Elmira’s voice faded, pulling several drinks and a stool on top of her. The woman lay face-up on the dirty, beer-soaked floor, dampened with spilled wine, as a crowd gathered around her still body. The barmaid, young and terrified, was already calling for an ambulance. Elmira stayed in her seat as Gabe arose and approached the crowd; she wanted to be able to see his every movement. It looked as though he spoke to someone at the outer edge of the gathering crowd, but no one responded or even looked in his direction. Intrigued by this man, she continued to watch him, doubting the events unfolding before her. Gabe kissed the air as though someone stood slightly above him and had bent down to accept the affection. Next, he pointed his boney finger at an upward angle. It looked as though he was directing someone towards an unknown destination. Unable to move, she waited for him to return. As he walked back towards their table, she silently gawked at him with feelings of both disbelief and awe. “Are you…God?”

     His laughter was hearty enough to draw leers from some of the other patrons, while many of them watched the paramedics wheel the body out of the bar. “No, Elmira, I’m just Gabe. I told you that already. When I claim a life, I greet them with a kiss, so the powers that be -God- will know that this death wasn’t in error. I then send them along their path in the afterlife.”

     “The girl?”

     “The girl.” He smiled as though he’d expected her confusion. “First, let me tell you that the man you’d assumed I’d come here to claim won’t die for a very long time. In fact, it won’t be heart failure at all. His great granddaughter will shoot him.” He obviously planned to say no more, but Elmira’s grunt prompted him. “An accident.”

     “Oh. Well, I suppose that’s a little better.”

     “As for the girl, Barbara, heart problems are hereditary in her family. She also had asthma; she followed her doctor’s directions to the letter. Unfortunately, diet and exercise can’t save you if you spend every night in a smoke-filled bar, downing red wine by the bottle.”

Experience all nine stories in Whispers From Hell: An Anthology of Horror & the Supernatural.

Follow these links to get your ebook or paperback copy:

Amazon Paperback

Amazon Kindle

Barnes & Noble Nook

[arcaneshitposts]

Deus In Absentia

All of your imaginations

Are now running down your face

Silco/Fem!Reader Smut

Warnings: Praise, Vaginal Fingering, cunnilingus, hand kink, sir kink, daddy Silco, the animators knew what they were doing, light breath play, angst, injured reader, missionary, aftercare.

Also Jinx’s and Silcos father-daughter relationship is honestly a platonic ship.

||~||

Silco sat at his desk, leg anxiously tapping.

Jinx and a few other members including you had recently gone out on a fairly dangerous mission. Everyone else had returned, except for you. No one dared to face Silco, and every time he asked where you were, they nervously scampered away without saying anything.

He was getting impatient, fingers hastily taking the cigar out of his mouth. Soft classical jazz was playing over the stereo, it was placed behind him. Instead of giving him the calming effect he hoped it would have placed, it only made his ever growing worry worse. He wanted to be able to hear every single footstep, every little breath that passed his door. He wanted to know where you were.

Turning the radio off, he grumbled. A feeling was tugging at him, that you weren't ok. Since no one was giving him any answers, he thought he should solve this himself. Opening a drawer in his desk, he pulled out a loaded revolver. Tucking it safely away in his vest pocket, he called for Sevika. Shortly after, the woman appeared.

“Yes, Silco?” She said, leaning against the doorframe. “Since no one will give me answers, I have decided to look for [Name] instead. Tell Jinx that I’ll be back.” He firmly said, walking past Sevika. “Are you really sure that's the best idea?” Silco paused at her words. “Do you know where she is?” He said, peering into her dark eyes. Sevika soon felt short for words. “Exactly.”

|+_+|

Silco walked down the dark alleyway, groaning in disgust. It was slimy and grimy, the slender man occasionally stepping over a puddle of unknown substances.

The alleyway was empty and scarce, only a dumpster or two plus the addition trash was scattered around. As the man reached the end of the hallway, he angrily sighed. Fifth placed searched, no sign of you at all.

Just as he was about to exit the nasty passage, he heard a small groan. A groan that made his stomach sink. It was you, a sound that he’s heard many times. When you didn’t want to wake up, after you spar jinx, that time you fell down the stairs…

Silco immediately turned around, checking every small corner and crevasse for you. “Darling?” He quietly called, pushing a bag of trash out of the way with his foot. You weren't there, but a small mumbling of the mans name made him turn around. A terrfied gasp left Silcos lips.

There you were, a large wound on the left side of your torso, blood spilling out. “Oh... Fuck..!” Silco whispered once again, rushing over to your side. Your eyes were closed, one of your hands weakly placed upon the wound. “Darling, who did this to you?” He said, watching your face grimace as he applied pressure to your wound.

Taking his tie off, he gently wrapped it around your torso and tied it tight, hoping to ease the blood loss. He slid one of his arms under your legs, the other coming behind your torso to pick you up. You groaned in pain, hands squeezing. You tilited your head to look at Silco, a concerned and worried look on his face. “Sil-co...” You paused in saying his name weakly, one of your hands weakly coming up to be placed on the scarred side of his face. You left a blood smear on the side of his cheek, but you both could honestly care less.

Who ever did this to you was going to pay. It didn’t matter who, or where they were, they were going to experience the most gruesome death anyone could imagine. Who ever, what ever, it made Silcos blood boil.

Silco had made it back to the base, his arms now bloodied from your wounds. Luckily, no one was around to see Silco in such a vulnerable state. He was thankful for that. Once he reached his bedroom, he gently placed you down on your shared bed. (Really, just yours. Silco rarely ever slept.)

Instead of calling for Sevika or someone else like he normally would, he walked into the bathroom, reaching under the bathroom cabinet and picking up the detailed med kit and bringing it back out to you. Silco may be a crime lord, but it didn't mean he didn’t know how to do first aid.

He placed the kit next to you, opening it. Silcos cold hands gently pushed back your shirt up above your breasts, a gunshot wound becoming apparent. Silco sighed, quickly placing the sterile gloves on his hands. An infection was the last thing he wanted. You could see the bullet, which means it probably didn't go that deep, which is good.

Grabbing a pair of long tweezers, he gently lowered them down to your wound, slowly placing it in the bullet hole. You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut and hands clenching into fists. “I know, I’m sorry darling.” Eventually, Silco extracted the bullet from your side, setting it down on the metal tray that he placed next to you. You groaned in pain once again, teeth clenching.

After Silco finished suturing you, he let you rest. He was stationed by your side, a chair pulled up next to the large bed. It has been a few hours, Silco only leaving once to question Sevika and Jinx where you were, only getting a short reply. Sevika said you had self-sacrificed Jinx said you were a suicidal maniac.

Silco waited impatiently for you to wake up, his leg bouncing. His arms were crossed across his chest, eyes watching you intently. Finally, he herd a soft groan leave your lips, your eyes weakly fluttering open. “Silco..?” You whimpered, hands weakly opening and closing. Silco smiled, hand coming to meet yours. “Yes, darling?” He replied, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. “What... Where am I?” Your eyes closed again, the light being somewhat to strong for you to handle, despite it being only a lamp on the right side of you.

“Your in our bedroom, darling. Are you alright?” He gently asked, other hand coming up to stroke the side of your face.  “It’s... It’s to bright in here.” You quietly said, smiling at the feeling of Silcos cold hands. They felt good on your hot skin. A small chuckle left the mans lips. “There's only one light on in here, honey. And its not even that bright.” Silcos voice was soft, and inviting.

Since your eyes were closed, you didn’t notice Silco leaning over to plant a soft kiss on your lips. You hummed, your hand on the opposite of your wound moving up to his head while he was still leaned over you. Your eyes squinted open, meeting his harsh ones. His face held so many scars, so many secrets. Yet he was so beautiful to you.

“Your so beautiful, Silco.” You said, moving your hand from his hair to the scarred side of his face, rubbing your thumb over it. A small smile made its way onto his face. “Not like you, darling.” He charmed, your hand going back to his soft hair. Silco leaned back in for another kiss, this time one much harsher. You breathed in pain, Silco soon retracted and looked at you with worried eyes.

You store into his orbs. His black and red eye has always intrigued you, how did he get it? He never gave you a clear answer. “Are you alright?” He quietly asked, one of his hands placing itself on the bed to balance himself. You traced a finger in circles around his head. “Kiss me.” You said, combing through his hair. God, it was soft. Silco smiled, adjusting his position so he was now on top of you. You placed your other hand around his shoulders, pushing his lips into yours.

Even in such a short amount of time, you missed the feeling of Silcos lips on yours. He was careful of the wound on your side, being extra gentle with you. One of his hands gently traced your waist and hip, the other being used to prop himself up. You gently whimpered, not because you were in pain, because you were enjoying the light pressure Silco was applying on your bruised hip.

Yet, he still stopped to make sure you were ok. You nodded, gently giving a nudge to his head to continue. He took the note, leaning back down to your soft lips. The make out session continued, Silco flipping you both over so you were sitting on his lap. Your hands came down to be placed on his shoulders, his hands applying the right pressure to your hips, just enough to cause a tingle, but not enough to cause any pain.

After a few minutes of making out, he dipped his hand below your legs, gently rubbing you through your pants. You didn’t have a shirt on, only your bra, bandages, and your work pants. The light amount of pressure was just enough to make you moan, fingers ruffling the fabric of his vest and red button up shirt. You felt Silco smirk against your mouth, he applied a bit more pressure, rubbing in circles.

You both pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your lips. “Let’s remove these, shall we?” Silco said, tugging gently on your pants. You nodded, unbuckling your belt and gently removing your pants. You were lying on your back now, legs closed together, and fingers were fiddling. You were still in your bra; Silco didn’t bother to take it off. He towered above you but soon was down to your level, on his hands and knees. “Darling, you're magnificent.” He said, moving down to kiss your neck. You hummed again, one of your hands going up to his hair, entangling it with your fingers.

Silco left a few hickeys on your neck, moving down your body. A hickey there, a hickey here. There were a few littered around your collar bones from before, but were soon replaced by new ones. It felt good, you tugged on his hair, giving a suggestion to go lower. You guess he took the suggestion, as his hands slipped to your thighs, his body going lower.

You happily giggled but soon quickly groaned in pain. Silco responded to your pain, “Careful, darling.” He continued down, skipping your torso, but moving down to your thighs and giving light, feathery kisses. It made you squeal, fingers still intertwined with his dark hair. You spread your legs for him, kisses still being placed on the inside of your thighs, getting closer and closer to your cunt.

Eventually, he placed a small kiss to your clit. You whimpered, other hand coming up to your lips, chewing on the tip of your thumb. Silco continued, one of his fingers coming up and rubbing it against your slit. You whimpered, playing with SIlcos dark brown locks.

Without warning, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, plunging a cold finger inside of you. You loudly moaned, a bit surprised by his sudden actions. You didn’t mind, of course. Silco continued in his actions once again, licking, sucking, and even nibbling at your folds. Moans and mewls left your lips, they were like music to your ears. It felt good, so good.

You moaned his name over and over again, Silcos arm coming to wrap around your hip so you would stop squirming everywhere. Your hand tugged on Silcos hair, maybe a bit harder than you meant to, but he didn’t seem to mind. He groaned into you, your hips grinding onto his face. You were brought to the edge, teetering on the ledge of release.

“Silco... Sil-! I’m gonna... I’m gonna come...” You whimpered, bucking you hips up once again. The knot in your stomach tightened, fingers curling around the silk sheets. Silco added another finger inside of you, quickly sliding his thin fingers in and out of you. Luckily, Silco had let you come. You loudly moaned once again, your hips still grinding at the feeling. You saw Silco pull away, your juices covering the lower half of his face. He brought his hand up to wipe the rest away from his face, seductively licking his fingers after. You moaned at the sight.

“I want you inside...” You whimpered, looking up at Silco. He paused at your words. “Are you sure that's really the best idea, little one?” He said, crawling back to you so your legs were wrapped around his waist. “As long as your gentle, you won’t break me.” You giggled, bringing a hand up to stroke the side of his face. He smiled, and kissed the palm of your hand.

“If you say so, darling.” His words always had their way with you, no matter how little the saying was. You watched as Silco removed his tie, as well as his vest. His red dress shirt was next, he unbuttoned it teasingly slow. You groaned, hoping he would just hurry up already.

Finally, he finished un buttoning his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. You felt safe around Silco, and he felt safe around you. He trusted you a lot, and allowed himself to be vulnerable around you. He didn't even allow that for Jinx. He undid his belt buckle and slipped his pants off, now just in his boxers. He lowered himself down onto you, kissing your neck once again. You chuckled, feeling his bulge gently grind against you.

You sighed, wrapping your arms around Silco. You gently ground your hips upwards, making the male quietly grunt. “I want you inside, Silco” You reminded him again, making him tut. “Patience is key, my darling.” You groaned, bringing your thighs together to try and create some friction. All you gained was a chuckle from Silco. “Alright, alright. If you really are that eager.”

Silco pulled off his boxers, erection springing up. You moaned at the sight of his cock. Silco stroked himself a few times before lining himself up with your entrance, slicking the tip of his cock with your juices. “P-please Silco... I need you inside...” You groaned, feeling his other hand glide up the side of your thigh and going to your clit, rubbing in small circles. “Like I said, patience darling.” He said, finally pushing himself inside of your cunt.

You moaned loudly, hands coming up to rest on Silcos shoulders. “Be a good girl, keep your hands above your head.” He commanded, watching you bring your hands up and gripping the pillow behind you. “Good girl.” He praised once more, gently rocking his hips back and forth. You weren't sure if it was because he didn’t want to hurt you, or if it was just because he wanted to get you ready. As much as you wanted him to go rough on you, you knew that it would probably cause more injuries.

You mewled, fingers fiddling. Silco began to gently thrust in and out of you, not to rough incase he accidentally hurts you. Just from the small action, you moaned Silcos name. It felt good, but you wished he would go a little faster. “Silco...” Silco had gently sped up as if he could read your mind. It wasn’t enough to hurt you, but cause a small twinge of pain to run through your spine. It only added to the pleasure.

You moaned again, knuckles turning white as you gripped the pillow behind you. The right ammount of pressure on your clit and how Silcos cock barley grazed your cervix drove you insane. Moans were pouring from your mouth, grunts and groans coming from Silco. It felt good, your orgasm steadily approaching. You blurted out a warning to Silco, him also returning in a short “come for me, darling.” You took his words, and let yourself unravel. Not to long after your high, Silco also came.  

“Such a good girl, darling.” He whispered, lazily kissing your lips.

After you both calmed down from your high, Silco kissed your forehead. “Your such a beautiful girl, aren't you?” He praised, gently rubbing up and down your body in a calming manor. He flipped you both around so you were laying on your back, but also laying on Silcos chest. One of his hands were placed on your thigh, the other playing with your hair. He kissed your neck, hands gently wandering your body. You hummed in delight, resting your hand on top of his. You both stayed like this for god knows how long, until you eventually drifted off into sleep.

“I love you, darling.” Silco said, once knowing you were asleep.

[buckyownsmylife]

Loved the breeding kink with Tom hardy x reader. I would love a part two, of some sort. Maybe the reader actually getting pregnant and Toms just loving it (thinking he couldn’t get more turned on by u). It can start with her finding out and then just go from there.

Only if u feel like ! ♥️

Oh, I loved this idea! Can you just imagine Tom’s expression when he found out he actually managed to get you pregnant?

Headcanon Sunday has started! Send me your ideas, I’ll be writing all day!

“Baby, I thought we’d talked about this...”

That was the way he greeted you as he opened the door to his house to find you there

In the spirit of excitement that had gathered his friends there that evening, prepared to watch a game, he failed to see just how nervous you were

You hadn’t agreed to move in with him, not yet

And so when he decided to host a guy’s night, he made it very clear that you shouldn’t randomly appear that evening

“You have no idea how they can get... I don’t want you to get scared or worse, hurt.”

And you understood, because having seen some of his friends drunk before, you could only imagine the kind of mess they made when they were all reunited, with alcohol, cigars, and the inebriating feeling before a big match

But that was before you heard the news from your doctor, found out why it was that you’d been puking your heart out for the last few days

“I’m pregnant.”

It spilled out of you easier than you thought it would be possible, considering just how agitated you were

Sure, it was a joint effort

You couldn’t get the images of that weekend from your mind even if you tried

He’d had you over every single piece of furniture of the cabin, and then on the floor at least twice before taking you on the bathroom too

But even after the promise (or was it a threat?), no one could blame you for being reticent about his reaction

All sorts of things can be said in the heat of the moment

Would he really want this child now that it was a reality?

His lack of immediate reaction reignited the doubt inside of you.

But when he noticed how you tried to storm off, his hand immediately seized your wrist, begging you to give him a little bit more time to adjust to the news

“I can’t... I don’t know how to describe what I’m feeling.”

And that didn’t really help the anxiety inside of you

But then his arms were around you, tightly squeezing you against his chest, his bearded face against the crook of your neck

You could feel his heart pounding against your chest

“I’m just so fucking happy, love.”

And you barely had the time to process that heartwarming admission because he would waste no more seconds to kiss you senseless, right there at the front door

And then he’d pull you to the living room, shouting that he was going to be a father to all of his friends, who would immediately start roaring and celebrating with screams and beer

“Can’t even believe that your girl is pregnant, man” his best friend would comment, eyes fixated on you while he spoke to your boyfriend

“She’s already the cutest thing, when her belly starts showing...” 

And that’s when Tom realized other men had breeding kinks too.

“Okay, enough of that.”

He’d have you over his shoulder in a simple movement - that would make you clench for him, let’s be real

Just the demonstration of strength 👌

“Tom!” You’d chastise

“You have guests!”

But he wouldn’t worry about them at all

“Let them party and drink,” he’d say.

“I want to celebrate my fatherhood by remembering how it came to be.”

Okay, so this wasn’t really kinky, but more of an actual follow-up to the original breeding kink headcanon 💖 I guess I was in a fluffy mood 🤔

[rextasywrites]

Aftershow - Leon Kennedy x f!reader

with the help of some tricks and your best friend distracting the security guard, you manage to sneak into the after show of the world premiere of “Resident Evil - Infinite Darkness���. It tells the story of federal Agent Leon S. Kennedy, who, after retiring from his career as a federal agent, decided to tackle acting. Ever since you first saw him in “Resident Evil 2”, you were in love with him and couldn’t wait to meet him. So...what would happen at this afterparty?

hey lads i’m back! i hope you enjoy this piece i have been writing the past few days! hope you are doing well xoxo

Warnings: alcohol, smut, Leon being an ass to others sometimes

Your dress clung to your body, making you feel like some overstuffed sausage. It was physically and mentally out of your comfort zone, but your best friend insisted you looked like a million bucks in it, so you begrudgingly purchased it a week before. “But you look fantastic,” your best friend reassured  you when you stood before your mirror earlier that night, awkwardly, tugging at the fabric by your hipsMaybe she was right, but currently she was busy with the security guard to give you the chance to meet your idol and celebrity crush, Leon S. Kennedy. You had heard he’d attend the premiere, and posts on social media confirmed the rumours.Not that you’d ever admit to subscribing to notifications from him, though.

The place was filled with Hollywood executives, actors, and actresses from all over the planet, yet you hadn’t spotted your favourite so far. Maybe he was outside smoking? Busy spending time with fans and writing autographs? Who knew… So you made your way past some gossiping actress towards the bar. A simple Sex on the Beach would calm your nerves. You began to zone out as you sipped on the cocktail- that is, until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“And I thought I had met everyone tonight.”

That voice. That fucking voice. You’d recognize it out of a million, and there he was.

On the barstool next to you sat Leon S. Kennedy, and he was touching you at this very moment.

Before you would answer, you chuckled and took a sip from the cocktail, buying your nerves some more time before you’d answer. “Guess not.”, you said and placed the glass on the bar in front of you. “I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you.”

“I’m Leon, but I’m sure you already knew that, nice to meet you too. (Y/N), what a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Say, how is it possible that I haven’t spotted you before?”

Uh oh. Quick, think of something.

“Sorry, bad traffic,” you replied, directly quoting a line from his costar in Resident Evil 4. “But I’m here now, and just in time to celebrate you and your new show!”, you smiled and raised your glass, Leon clicking it together with his own beer glass. “Cheers.” You two took big sips from your beverages, Leon’s hand now gravitating towards your knee.

“Say, would you like to join me on the terrace? It’s getting so hot in here.”, Leon said and pointed towards an open door on the other side of the room. The mere thought of being able to spend more time with him made you agree with his idea, and a minute later you two were sitting on the terrace in a porch swing. Leon had bought you another drink. He was such a gentleman, just like you’d always imagined him.. From time to time, people came to congratulate Leon on the success of his new show, wanting to invite him for a drink or more rounds. Yet every time he declined it, saying he already had enough for the evening.

*

“You weren’t invited, were you?”, Leon asked after some conversation between you two. You had told him a bit about your life, your work, your pets. In return, Leon shared stories of the making of Infinite Darkness, funny bloopers and behind-the-scenes stories you otherwise would never hear. The party had died out by now, it being late and the night becoming colder. Telling him a lie wasn’t an option, so you sighed and nodded. “Thought so. You carry yourself differently.”, Leon said while he lit himself a cigarette, blowing the smoke into the night sky.

“What do you mean?”, confusion was written across your face. Carrying yourself differently?

“Hollywood wankers carry themselves with a confidence that could kill a mortal like us. They think they are invincible, but oh boy they are wrong. You don’t carry that energy about you. You don’t look the type.. How did you get in?”

“My best friend is buddies with the security guard and he owed her a favour.”

“You little minx.”, Leon laughed, taking another drag as his eyes rested on you, taking in your body in this dress you hated, yet in his eyes you were the most beautiful woman in the sea of botox and silicone tits. “If you promise not to spill the whole night on social media, I can show you a whole new world.”, and by the look in his eyes, you both knew the feeling was mutual

*

The penthouse Leon was renting for his stay in your city was more than just breathtaking. Standing by the front window, you could see the whole city, way beyond the city limits. In the bathroom was, next to a big bathtub, a jacuzzi, and an iced down champagne bucket right next to it. “In Hollywood, money has no meaning. You ever seen Wolf of Wall Street? They weren’t fuckin’ lying when they called money ‘fun coupons’”, he laughed when you first entered the penthouse and your eyes had nearly rolled out. The bedroom alone was bigger than your whole flat, the champagne in that goddamn bucket probably worth more than your rent

“If your eyes get any bigger they’ll fall out of your head!”, Leon laughed as he sat down on the huge sofa, the fireplace warming up the room to a comfortable degree. Yet the dress felt too tight, just ready to be taken off...or was that the alcohol speaking? Leon for the cigar box lying atop the coffee table. He offered you one, but you declined - you didn’t smoke, but the mere view of Leon with a big cigar between his lips, legs spread and dress shirt slightly unbuttoned...it went straight to your core, a view millions of women would kill for, presented in front of you. “Like what you see, little minx?”

“Would it be bad if I didn’t.”, you replied, trying to hide your nerves by being cocky. But Leon wasn’t having any of this. He could see through your mask, trying and failing to hide how badly you wanted to straddle his lap and kiss him senseless, seeing stars and whole new universes. Comes with being an ex cop and agent. No secrets could make it past his eyes.

“Come here”, were Leon’s simple words, yet they had an effect on you and your body, something you'd normally be ashamed to admit. You made your way over to Leon on the sofa and instead of sitting next to him, he patted on his lap. “I want you to be comfortable, and I bet you are the most comfortable on my lap. C’mon, it’s the best seat in the house.”, he smirked and...you couldn’t deny it. His thighs were comfortably big, years of hard training paying off in the form of muscle and rough skin under his suit pants.

You weren’t sure why your head felt like it was spinning - was it the alcohol or the intoxicating smell from Leon? A mixture of his unique scent: whiskey and his cologne, all in a cloud around your nose. You wished you would be able to smell him for the rest of your life. All you knew was that your body screamed for Leon, and his body screamed right back. “Here.”, Leon offered you the glass of scotch he had just poured for himself. “There are three types of liquor. Terrible, not so terrible, or do you want to impress people with your money?”, and with those words, he pressed his lips against yours.

*

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“And yet, here we are.”

*

Leon had picked you up after another glass or three of scotch, the way to his bedroom clear. You weren’t sure if it was the warmth from the scotch swelling in your chest or the way his muscular arms wrapped around you, but something in you was one wrong- or right- move away from melting away completely. Your legs were wrapped around his hips as well as possible. The slit on your dress helped you, but suddenly Leon stopped in his tracks. “Are you okay?”, you asked, placing a hand on his cheek, but he looked over the bedroom you two just entered… Suddenly he placed you back down on the floor, kicking the door shut and pushing you against it.

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it to the bed.”, he smirked , his soft hands moving down your sides, leaving goosebumps wherever they touched you. Your dress felt too tight, the room too hot - you needed to get out of it quickly! Leon watched your blush grow, this asshole smirk still on his lips. “I love how real you are.”, he muttered as he leaned in, brushing his lips over your pulse point, just enough to draw a soft gasp from your lips.

“What do you mean?”, you asked, puzzled. Leon just chuckled, “Haven’t you noticed? It’s all Photoshopped. All the women at the premiere had the same fucking ass. Same crooked lips from the same quack doctor. The same busted Botox faces, everywhere you go. Yet they think they’re hot shit.”, he whispered, hot air against your even hotter skin. “But you...look at you.”

And you did. You looked down on yourself and saw nothing but imperfections. You looked back to Leon with a frown but he just laughed, “Hollywood is suffocating as fuck, but you’re like a breath of fresh air.. Look at you! You even have stretch marks! I haven’t seen real stretch marks since I put my first step into a studio!”, Leon took a deep breath, his voice shaking as he said his next sentence, “And I want you so fucking badly.”

*

Only minutes later, Leon had marked you up, hickeys and little bites of pleasure and need covering your upper body, whatever part he could reach. The dress was long gone and you laid on the bed, watching Leon unbuttoning his dress shirt. Underneath the white fabric was a body riddled with scars and old, badly healed wounds. Each and every single one could tell a story you were ready to hear, but right now, all you wanted was Leon and only Leon. And he needed you too.

“Aren’t you fucking gorgeous?”, Leon asked as his hands reached behind you, undoing your bra with a simple movement. This man had disarmed bombs before, of course a bra wouldn’t cause him much trouble. “Look at you…”, he repeated once more once your bra was thrown across the room, landing on some random piece of furniture. You blushed under his hungry eyes, him taking in what would be his in mere minutes. “Spread your legs. I wanna taste you.”

*

You had an iron grip on Leon’s hair, bucking your hips to meet his touch. More, more, more! You needed more! While Leon’s tongue teased your entrance, he used his hand to hold you down, keeping you in place like the good girl that you had been. Well, had been until his tongue first licked up your folds, taking in the sweetness of your juices. Leon had consumed many different liquors in his life, but only your sweet juices could rival ambrosia, sending his drunken mind into another plane of existence.

“Leon!”, you moaned out the moment his calloused finger brushed over your clit. It had been begging for attention, but Leon - that dick - kept on lapping up your juices, sucking and nibbling carefully on your folds. The movements of his fingers were in a steady rhythm with the ones of his tongue, making your head spin once more. He knew how to play you like a fiddle, making you putty in his hands.

But before you could cum, Leon pulled away, his face covered in your sweet fluids and he licked over his lips with an obscene sound and a dirty smirk on his lips. “I can’t wait to fuck you ‘til you scream my name.”

*

The condom was put on quickly. Magnum, of course. What else would a guy like him need? The first stroke inside of you made you see stars for the third time in less than an hour, what an impact this man had on you. Leon was still inside of you, not moving until you were adjusted to his size, especially his girth. “You okay?”, he asked, to which you gave him a soft nod. “Yeah, I’ll be alright. It’s just… fuck, you’re big..”

Leon’s ego beamed at your words, and once you gave him the okay to continue, it was very hard for him to hold back in any way. You were too tight, too sweet, making him nearly burst on the spot. Instead, his mind wandered...but you were always part of those thoughts.

The wet noises of sex, lust, and unadulterated passion filled the room, along with soft panting and groans coming from you two, a noise as old as humankind. Your arms were tightly wrapped around Leon’s body, leaving behind tiny marks when you needed to hold onto him, your nails digging into his skin. Leon hissed at the stings but fuck, knowing you were marking him up too made him even harder, harder than he had ever been.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”, Leon moaned against your neck and buried his head there for a moment. All you could do was nod in agreement, not trusting your voice anymore. Leon reached down at this, pressing his palm between you two, against your clit. You needed this feeling, you were begging for your release.

*

“Come on, cum for me.”, Leon growled when he felt the first contractions around his cock. The needy undertone of his voice was the last thing you needed to push yourself over the edge. “Leon!”, you moaned and came around him, stilling in your movements. Leon rocked his hips a few more times before his own release overcame him, spilling into the condom as you milked him inside of you. It felt too good to be true, but Leon was real.

Once your high started to fade and the contractions lessened, Leon leaned in for a quick kiss, stealing it from your open lips as you tried to catch your breath again. You smiled up to him, loosening your grip around him. “That was great.”, you smiled and Leon dropped next to you after pulling out.

*

In the early morning hours, you woke up to an empty bed. Leon’s side was cold and you sat up, looking around in confusion. Where was he? He wouldn’t leave you alone, would he? Finally, you spotted him on the balcony and you quickly threw on one of the jackets laying around along with your panties.

“Good morning.”, you smiled at Leon, who was taking a drag from his cigarette. He greeted you while blowing the hot smoke out, then held up his arm, offering you a place next to him. You happily agreed, leaning against his warm body in the fresh morning hours.

“I’d love to see you again.”, Leon said after he exhaled another drag, looking down at you. This took you by surprise - why would he? You weren’t special at all, just a mere fan who managed to get into his penthouse suite with a lot of luck and cleavage. He grabbed his phone from the table next to him, offering you the open contact list, “I’d love to take you out on a few dates and such. Spend time with you. What do you think? Wanna give me your number?”

[souichioneshots]

Untitled Binzo x Reader Fic

SO uhhhh.... Binzo thinks about the reasons why he hates Y/N so much? IDK you guys are kinda like frenemies ???

This is the stupidest thing ive ever written...

Might make an NSFW continuation of this if anyone shows any interest tho lollll

Enjoy?????

Binzo could remember the day you two first met like it was yesterday.

He had been awoken by the sound of his father and uncle arguing in a nearby room. Although he could barely make out what they were saying, he could tell by the way he was screaming, his father had done something unbelievably stupid again.

As the door to his room slid open, Binzo quickly moved to ‘greet’ the sudden visitor, his chains holding him back just before he was able to reach the door. A smile spread across Binzo's face as he saw his father react in a panicked motion, jumping back to avoid his son's vicious attacks. However, Binzo's laughter was put to a stop when he saw a small figure move behind the older man.

Moving a bit to the side, Souichi revealed a girl, a little under Binzo’s age, who had been hiding behind him the entire time. She gripped onto the back of the false-gentleman’s suit jacket, obviously hesitant to enter the room.

Binzo's eyes widened in surprise as his father insisted, almost pushing her into the room forcefully. His eyes looked the girl up and down, trying to figure out why his father had brought her here, let alone why he decided it would be a good idea to bring her into the same room as him.

Her clothes were almost as tattered as his own. She had no shoes on her feet, but the socks that she wore were stained black with dirt and mud. From what he could see with the little lighting in his room, the exposed skin of her arms and legs were covered in scratches and bite marks. Her cold eyes stared at the pale boy as she walked in cautiously, immediately following the older man to the other side of the room. Binzo could remember how she ran her fingers through his father's greased-up hair as he placed the chains around her ankles. They exchanged a look that his mind could not understand at the time.

Getting up from the dirty floor, Souichi stated that the girl’s name was Y/N. A name so foreign to Binzo that he was sure it was made up.

As soon as his father finally left, Binzo tried to attack you. But, that was when he found out the truth. You were a monster just like him. An abomination that someone must have tried to get rid of, only for his own idiotic father to pick up and bring home like a kitten off the street. You bared your fangs at him as you backed away into the corner, trying to avoid his sudden yet expected attack. Binzo watched as you stayed low on the floor, staring at him with angered eyes.

He should have been happy to finally meet someone like him, but he wasn’t.

Binzo hated you.

You were an idiot. You could barely keep a hold on your victims, and on nights when you couldn’t secure a meal like him, you resorted to trying to catch and eat the bugs that crawled around the room. You were also idiotic enough to try to steal from him. Whenever he would get ahold of someone, you would try to get close and steal a small piece for yourself. Sometimes Binzo would be too busy to realize, but when he did, he would reach out as far as he could and use his long-sharp nails to scratch you away, leaving you to become a crying-hungry mess.

You also had a habit of not responding whenever he spoke to you. However, this was completely his fault. After you finally became comfortable enough to talk to him, he started to tease you, claiming that your voice was annoying and, using a piece of broken glass, threatening to cut out your pretty pink tongue to eat as a snack. From that day on, you didn’t utter a single word to him.

However, as time went by, Binzo started to find your presence to be slightly humorous. Specifically, whenever you tried to feed.

Binzo would always laugh whenever you dug your fangs too deep into someone’s neck and ended up getting completely doused in their blood when you pulled away. He thought it was a waste of a good drink, but worth it to see you freak out as you tried to stop the fast-paced bleeding.

Your hair also grew at an unnaturally fast rate as well. It was disgusting, but fun to pull on whenever he wanted to get your attention. It was also especially fun to watch your victims pull on your hair, stunning you for a moment, and getting a couple slaps and punches in as they tried to get away. But, Binzo wouldn’t allow that, stopping them at the last minute and dragging them back in your direction. However, you would always be too embarrassed and cry, refusing the meal he was kind enough to go after for you.

You were ungrateful. Idiotic. An amateur. Everything he hated bundled up into a small ball that dwelled in the corner of his room.

But on top of all that, the thing he hated the most was how you weren’t here now.

“Where’s Y/N!! Where is she!!” Binzo exclaimed to his physically and mentally exhausted aunt. She just stayed quiet, ignoring the child’s vicious words and actions. If she knew, she would have told him by now, but she didn’t.

Binzo looked around his dark messy room as he tried to think of what might have happened to you. It had been 2 nights since he last saw you.

If you had been moved to another room, he would be able to smell it. But you weren’t. You weren’t anywhere in the house in fact.

Could his father have decided that it was too much for him to support 2 cannibalistic children, and off’d you in the woods while he was sleeping? No way. He was the one who brought you here in the first place, he should have known what he was getting himself into.

Maybe you ran away, not wanting to be held captive and enslaved to work at a lunatic’s haunted house. That would explain why his father was also not around either. Maybe he had gone out in search of his most popular attraction.

No matter the reason, you weren’t here now, and Binzo hated you for that.

As the raven-haired boy finally started to calm down, he laid down in his cage, his eyes fluttered shut, unable to keep their focus on the door of his room anymore.

However, he was suddenly awoken by a loud scream.

It was his aunt. She had left the room, leaving him alone while he was asleep. Her voice was loud, but not angry. It sounded almost cheerful. An emotion he hadn’t heard from her in the longest time.

Binzo jumped to his feet as the door to his room slid open. There stood his father, alone from what he could see, cigar burning away in his mouth as he smiled. Binzo tightly gripped the bars of his cage, a feeling of rage boiled inside him like nothing he had ever felt before.

However, that emotion quickly washed away when he saw a familiar face appear from behind his father.

There you stood. Alive and in one piece.

Just like the first time you two had met, Souichi forced you into the room. Binzo’s eyes looked you up and down as you cautiously walked in. Gripping the hem of the older man's suit jacket, you stared back at the pale boy.

Your hair had been cut, shorter than before. You were also wearing a kimono similar to his aunt. You looked almost like a doll. It was weird how he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

Binzo watched as his father put the chains around your ankles again, your hand running through his greasy hair. You two exchanged that look he couldn’t understand again.

Binzo barely listened as his father warned him not to fuck up your clothes. As Souichi finally left the room, Binzo put his hands on the lock of his cage and, using his nails, undid it.

Crawling out of the cage, he stood onto his feet and he looked at you. Although he was still only in his early teens, he was starting to grow extremely tall, a gene he inherited from his mother no doubt.

Binzo felt his heart start to race as you looked up at him, your eyes sparkled as they reflected the small amount of light that leaked in the room. It was almost like you were giving him the same look you and his father would often exchange.

Without a word, he forcefully shoved you to the ground. “Stop looking at me!” He exclaimed.

You probably thought he was jealous that his father actually let you go out, got you nice clothes, and even treated you like you were an actual human being. But that was far from the truth. He didn't really mean to push you so hard, but his emotions had gotten the better of him.

Binzo yelled out in pain as you kicked him for pushing you so hard. Just before you could kick him again, he moved to straddle you.

Putting his weight onto your stomach, he held your wrists on both sides of your head. You growled as he brought his face close to your neck and took a deep breath. It had been so long since he smelled your scent. However, this time it was different.

“You smell delicious.” He said in a hungry voice, drool dripping from his lips as he showed you his fanged teeth. You squirmed under him, knowing that he didn’t mean that as a compliment. “I thought my dad killed you. But now I see that he just dolled you up so I can do it myself. Kishishishi!” Twisting your head to the side, you dug your fangs into his arm.

“OW! You bitch!” Binzo screamed as he pulled his arm away from you. His long fingernails left a scratch across your face as he slapped you hard.  

Baring your fangs once more, you pushed him off of you and rushed to get away. However, your chains didn't let you get far.

Binzo grabbed your legs just before you could go any further. His nails dug into the thick fabric that made up your kimono, tearing it a bit as he pulled you closer to him. Flipping you onto your back, he put himself on top of you.

You squirmed in a panic as the boy wrapped his arms and legs around you, restraining you from getting away. Not having eaten anything in a while, you soon became unable to continue fighting with the monstrous boy.

Binzo’s heartbeat slowed down as you started to relax, his body unconsciously trying to mimic the pace at which you breathed. You whined as he tightened his grip on you a bit more, making sure that you wouldn’t try to slip away from him again.

Pressing his head into your hair, he breathed in the new scents that covered your body. The smell of the brand new kimono you wore mixed with the fruity shampoo you had used made him doubt that you were really the same creature he had shared a room with 2 nights ago.

“Where did you go…?” He asked, his words slightly muffled by your hair.

Your body tensed as he dug his nails deeper into the fabric of your clothes, trying to force a reply out of you, but ultimately receiving nothing back.

He hated that you wouldn’t talk to him…

[sallyf4ce]

wolves

chapter I

-> sally face x f!reader

-> enemies to lovers

-> previous | next | character index

cw: drugs, cigarettes, abuse

*does not follow original plot of sally face*

summary: seventeen year old y/n and her bitchfaced mother arrive in nockfell. in her first few minutes at the addison apartments, she’s already made new enemies and escaped her home for a quick stroll.

The poisonous yet familiar smell of smoke filed out the car window as you neared addison apartments.

“This place looks like a shit shack.” you mumbled, clearly displeased with your mother’s housing choice.

“What was that, brat?” Her blond hair whipped around to face you. She was a dirty woman, her hair indefinitely damaged from box dye, eyebags as dark as night, prominent cigar butt scars and heavy wrinkles adorning her discoloured face. Every single piece of clothing she owned was either laced with the smell of cigarettes or was stained, too.

Not that you were much better. You reeked of weed and smoke, but at least you knew how to maintain proper hygiene. God, you were gonna have to shower after this. The stench of the car had already ingrained itself into your skin, but hey, it was worth a try.

“Get the boxes, i’ll be right there.” she huffed and pulled out her phone.

“What, are you not gonna help?”

“Get the fucking boxes!” she snarled at you.

“Alright! Alright.” you slung your black duffel over your left shoulder as you hopped out the car. A few moments later, the trunk popped and you could hear your mom’s annoying laughter coming from the front seat. She was probably on the phone with some scumbag again. Pulling your bluesville zippo lighter out of your jacket pocket, you quickly lit up a smoke before grabbing a box. The keys to your apartment, 404, already hung from your belt loop. They jiggled slightly as you made your way to the front doors.

When you walked in, you were hit with a strong, unpleasant smell. It was like mildew mixed with the smell of peroxide on blood; maybe some heavy chemical cleaner as well. Your eyes traced the sickly green coloured doors as you made your way to the elevator. Quickly remembering the cigarette still in your mouth, you hastily remove it and breath the smoke out. It slowly seeps into the ceiling. Seems like the building was used to this kind of neglect. Heading into the elevator, you heard two muffled voices coming from behind you. One was deep and gruff, the other a more soft, emotionless tune.

“They said there’s gonna be a new album next year.” the softer voice exclaimed. Great, they were probably headed to the elevator too. You tried to speed up and close the doors on them, but alas, your effort was wasted as a pale, thin hand with painted black nails stopped the door from closing. You soon learned that it belonged to a just as pale, electric-blue haired boy. He was around 5’6 and dressed in a simple black sweater and red ripped jeans. The only thing that stood out, apart from his hair, was a white prosthetic. There was a light pink stain in the top right corner, but apart from that, it was plain. There was not a single emotion visible on it either. The only thing that could hint to any sort of feeling was the boy’s ice blue eyes peeking through the eyeholes.

He cleared his throat and you moved over begrudgingly. Following him was another boy, around 6’0 with long brown hair and brown eyes. He noticed you looking at him and shot a wink which you completely disregarded. They both looked at the giant box in your hand. You took your chance and put the cigarette up to your lips again. They looked up at the sound of an inhale.

“That’s not good for you.” the shorter one muttered in his annoyingly quiet voice. You pulled it out and huffed the smoke into his mask.

“Shut it, pigtails.” you growled quietly. God, why was this fucking elevator taking so long?

Larry grimaced at the nickname and began making his way towards you. He thought you looked cool at first, but apparently he was wrong. Sal’s hand made contact with his chest before he could confront you.

“Sal, what-”

“Why not the mask?” sally was amused now. it was usually the mask that people pointed out, that they picked on him for. so why didn’t you?

The elevator dinged and you quickly walked out with your box in hand, cigarette in your mouth. quickly, your free hand slammed against the buttons of the elevator. the metal against metal clanged loudly as you pulled away. You chuckled at their astonished faces. “See ya, fuckers!”

Sal’s face lit up a bit under his mask.

“Larry, she’s like me!”

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

By the time you finished sorting your boxes, it was around 11 pm. Your mom was already knocked out on the couch so nothing was stopping you from going out on a stroll. Quickly throwing on your army green windbreaker, you grab your skateboard and slip on your boots. God, you hoped those weirdos weren’t still out there. Making sure to slam the door extra loud, you run out your apartment and quickly make your way down the stairs. Your mom’s faint screaming only earned a giggle from you as you opened the door. A cool, rain-fresh breeze filled your nose and you set down your skateboard. It was a nice change from the tainted apartment air. The sky was navy, fading into a baby blue as it reached the ground. Nockfell was a small town so you’d finally be able to see the stars. A few were already peaking out at you. Turning your attention back to yourself, you pull out a cig and light it as you kick off.

Across the street from you were larry and sal, hoods on and shivering as they quickly walked back to the apartments. Larry was rambling about todd’s parents and their weed or something, but sal couldnt find it in him to listen. His attention was stuck on you. It was rare to see another kid with a prosthetic here in nockfell. Actually, he was pretty sure he was the only teen with one. Except you, of course. He remembered your metal hand shining in the light of the elevator as you trotted away, unbothered and chuckling to yourself. Him and larry were stuck in there for around five minutes after you spammed the buttons. Larry was pissed, but sal found himself smiling. At your chuckle, at your prosthetic, he didn’t know. Maybe both.

“Anyway, some kid said they were better than san- sally face, you there? Dont tell me you’re still hung up on that chick.'' Larry sighed.

“No!” the tips of his ears turned a little pink at his sudden reply. “I mean, no.”

“Man, i still dont get why you’re not mad. She’s a dick!” The brunette really was confused. She called him names and was just mean in general. She got them stuck in the elevator! Just because she had a metal hand didnt give her special bullying privileges.

“She’s just a little roughed up is all.”

larry looked across the street to the sound of a skateboard.

“Speak of the devil. Wait, isn’t that a sanity’s fall shirt? Man, for a dick, she’s got a good ass music taste! Come on!”