#so a little more in depth but not really. but they used to do numbers based on standings. so wdc is 1 and runner up is 2 and so on

[jensonsbuttons]

I was wondering do you know why Jenson chose to race with the number 22 in f1?

hello anon! the easiest answer is that in 2009, jenson was automatically assigned that number due to fia regulations and then once the fia said that drivers could pick their own number, he continued on with 22 since, ya know, he won the championship with it.

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than sickness

Lost Caverns of Ixalan is coming out on Arena tomorrow and I've avoided looking up any spoilers, aside from a few individual cards I stumbled across that didn't have any reminder text, so I have no idea what the new mechanics are. I looked up a list of the NAMES of the mechanics on the mtg fandom wiki, and I decided to make mechanics based on those names to see how close I get and also because it's fun.

Also I made this card for the descend mechanic at first but I didn't like the mechanic. How dare WotC make such a parasitic mechanic, they should really hire better designers smh. Also I realized that craft would probably be more interesting with artifacts that have tap abilities.

[muffinlance]

Some spirit manages to get the gaang and zuko a link that connects their minds. They can share thoughts and their past with each other.

Tweaking this to “and they share dreams” because that’s how I started writing it.

---

“Okay,” Sokka says, wrapping his sleeping bag around himself, and grabbing a comfort Momo, too. “Whose dream was that?”

No one ‘fesses up. But it was kind of a rude question, and also a little rhetorical, anyway.

They all have nightmares with fire.

Having the Fire Lord himself looming over them, while they were on their knees? Not exactly a stretch.

---

“Okay,” Sokka says, “how does Prince Jerkface keep finding us?”

---

“Okay,” Sokka says, “how did he know that seal jerky seasoned just right with honey—not too much, just enough to add a sparkle of sweetness to the depths of savoriness, a perfect balance for the distinguished tongue to relish—was the perfect bait for his Sokka and Sokka-affliated-parties trap?”

“Maybe if you stop dreaming about it, Sokka,” Katara snaps.

...And they all stop.

---

“I’m going to think really really hard about being friends,” Aang says.

“I’m going to think really really hard about that time my boomerang hit him,” says Sokka.

---

Snatching the boomerang out of midair? Impressive.

Ignoring the Avatar to go hit Sokka with it? Repeatedly? Uncalled for.

---

“Sokka. The city is under attack. Right now.”

“Okay,” Sokka says. “But this is a strategic nap, Katara. We need to know what evil things our Evil Other is up to.”

It’s not like the evil fleet part was a surprise, at least. They’ve been dreaming of it for weeks.

---

“Okay,” Sokka says, looking down. “So the ship-blowing-up-thing. Not a nightmare?”

“No,” says Zuko, glaring up with his glare-face all glare-ful but his thoughts mostly full of bruises so deep they’re making Sokka’s ribs ache, and also his legs are going numb.

“Going to get out of the turtle-seal tunnel now?” Sokka asks, still standing over the opening. With his boomerang.

“...No,” the Prince of the Fire Nation says, as he clings onto the edge of the hole, his legs still very much in freezing water.

---

“Okay,” Sokka says, when they have a Fire Prince all tied up in Blankets of Imprisonment. “So. What actually was your plan here? Do not,” he interrupts, before the teenage-shaped bloodhound-leech can do more than open his mouth, “say ‘capture the Avatar.’”

The prince closes his mouth. Glares. And kind of fuzzes at the edges, in the way all of them do when they’re about to fall asleep.

BOOMERANG, Sokka thinks, and Prince Largely Ineffective As An Enemy jerks back upright. His Momo hat chitters a complaint.

“Since we both know your answer is ‘I had no plan, Sokka, ‘plan’ starts with ‘p’ and there’s no ‘p’ in ‘Avatar’’, we’re going to play a game instead. It’s called ‘sleepy prince free association interrogation time.’”

“...What?”

“Battle plans,” Sokka says. “Attack. Fire Navy fleet. Ship numbers.”

Alas, “Fire Nation intelligence” is not something with which the prince’s brain is overly burdened.

“...Are you insulting me?”

“Are you proving my point?”

Elsewhere, Yue laughs in all their heads. Zuko flinches. The prince has a very marked reaction to the laughter of princesses.

---

“Okay,” says Sokka. “So that just happened.”

Commander Mutton Chops is groaning. Kind of flopping. Much like the bag he tried to fireball. Yue picks it up, and gently wrangles a fish back into water. Sokka is still not clear on what the fish-napping was about.

“It’s the Moon,” Aang says. “Or maybe the Ocean?”

Aang’s thoughts are full of a FACE STEALING EVIL CENTIPEDE MONSTER THAT IS JUST ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE THIN VEIL OF REALITY and that is NOT helping Sokka think.

“Okay,” he says again. “So. At least we can all agree on one thing.”

This is a very diplomatic way of saying they all wanted to dropkick Zhao. But some of them wanted to do it more than others.

The prince of the Fire Nation is even paler than normal, and staring across the clearing at his uncle.

“I can explain,” the prince says, while he’s thinking, oh shit treason oh crap uncle wouldn’t hurt me thought that about father too

Sokka wordlessly plucks Momo from the edge of the pond, where he’s been swiping at the spirit-fish, and drops him on the prince’s head.

Everyone needs a comfort Momo, now and again.

---

“A raft, Zuko?” Sokka says. Outloud. Because it makes things louder when you say it and think it. “A raft?”

Aang is bouncing on his toes. “We should go get him.”

The Avatar is grinning. And thinking, really hard and deliberately, as behind them the Water Tribe ship finishes packing, We should capture the Fire Prince.

“Okay,” Sokka says, with a grin of his own.

[thatdisasterauthor]

New disaster education graphic! Had to split it in half so tumblr wouldn't TOTALLY eat the quality. I'm going to put the full, unsplit version beneath a cut so if you want to share this graphic you can grab the whole one or the two halves, whichever works for you. As always, my disaster graphics can be shared anywhere on the internet that isn't making a profit, as long as my credit remains intact at the bottom! If you would like to license a physical or paid use of them, reach out to me on my website.

I've seen a lot of graphics about defensible space over the years, but I've never really seen one that does a good job of also explaining WHY the recommendations are what they are, so I've been wanting to make a graphic that dug into the why.

Alt text is also below the cut!

Alt text: Two halves of a single infographic. The background is dark gray. The top text reads "Why Does Defensible Space Matter?" in large yellow text. Below that is the text "When it comes to protecting your home from a wildfire, having defensible space around your home is one of the best things you can do. But why?" in black. Below that is the text "Wildfires move in three main ways:" in white.

Next there are three rectangles in a lighter gray, stacked one on top of the other. Each has a diagram of a small house on the edge of a forest. There are decorations on the porch, firewood on the porch, leaf litter on the roof, overgrown grass, trees growing right up next to the house, bushes, and the forest is crowded and overgrown.

In the top box, there is a fire moving along the ground, and the box is labeled as "Along the ground." In the second box the fire is moving through the tops of the trees, and the box is labeled, "through the crowns of trees." The third box shows a distance fire with lots of little embers being blown through the air, labeled as "Through the air via embers."

After that is the text, "The goal of defensible space is to make changes that impede each of these types of movement" in white.

Below that are the same three boxes as above, but each one shows changes you can make to impede one of these types of movement. The changes are listed under the box in a numbered list, with the numbers also in the diagram where those changes are reflected in the art.

The first box is labeled as "Impede ground movement" and has the following items listed:

Create a five foot zone around your home with no burnables using gravel, pavers, or other hardscaping.

Keep grass trimmed and well maintained in a thirty foot radius around your home.

Keep ground plants other than grass to a minimum and well spaced out.

Trim low hanging branches to prevent a ground fire from accessing higher portions of the tree.

The second box is labeled as "Impede Crown Movement" and has the following items listed:

Remove trees hanging over the roof and close to the home.

Thin trees within One-Hundred Feet of the home to reduce movement of flames between them.

The third box is labeled as "Remove Anything that can trap embers" and has the following items listed:

Clean debris such as leaves from off the roof of and around your home.

Do not store firewood or lumber near your home.

Keep combustible decorations That can trap embers close to your home to a minimum.

After that is a larger version of the house, but redecorated in a more fire safe manner. The door has been painted purple, there are plants visible inside through the window, and the outdoor decorations are made of non-combustible materials. After the house is the text "There are still plenty of ways to make your home your own while being fire safe!" in white.

Below that in a rectangle is the text "For more information on defensible space and how to create it around your home, visit: https://www.fire.ca.gov/dspace for a more in depth breakdown of how to protect each zone around your home."

The last text on the poster reads "If you are in the U.S.A. and experiencing disaster related anxiety, call the Disaster Distress Hotline at 1-800-985-5990 for support and resources. Poster created by Katy L. Wood ● www.Katy-L-Wood.com"

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

teeth | i. rin

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader, marking, sexual tension, dry-humping, cumming through clothes, 18+

✮ wc ; 1.5k

✮ a/n ; a flash comm for @1bananabread. thank u for your patience!!! i tried to focus as best i could on tension.

this is a snippet so it won't show up in the main fic at any point!! it can be an extra in that way!!! and it is from the fujoverse tag on this blog - a blog au abt fujoshi + recovering neet reader and rin.

Across the room, you give Rin a look.  

One that he’s starting to recognize without trying to. It makes his jaw clench when he sees it. Big, wet eyes like a baby deer and the soft undertone of desperation. He’s becoming good at knowing your ticks, mostly against his will. How you chew your lip, how you tap the pen of your tablet, how you draw in a frenzied anxious way when you want something from him and don’t know how to open your mouth and ask.  

It’s irritating. But it’s going to get under his skin even more if you keep it up. 

“What.” He grits. You startle. Jump in your skin like you’re surprised he even noticed you, as if you’re not staring at him. You open your mouth, then close it. “Spit it out.”  

You look flustered. You always look that way. But right now you embody it. He can’t imagine what your request could be at this point that would incite this much embarrassment.  

By now, Rin has “helped” you with a number of things. Too many to recount and all of them too close, too personal for plausible deniability. Helping you take photos for references takes up a majority of your requests - but it always ends in something more. Rin tries mostly not to think about it. Not to think about where its led and how normal you still seem to act despite it.

The fact you keep making these requests reason enough to make him seethe. Just a little.  

You take a shaky breath and give Rin a look from above the frames of your glasses.  

“C-can I give you a hickey?” 

Rin pauses. Opens his mouth before he can even think about what the appropriate reply might be. His words come out like a hiss.  

“Why?”  

You seem surprised that he asks. That he cares to. That alone feels reason enough for him to shake some sense to you. Grab you by the shoulders until it clicks.  

(He doesn’t interrogate what it is that he wants to click for you. Just that he wishes it fucking would already.)  

“Well. Uhm.”  Your feet rub together under your desk. Woolen socks worn until they’re matter as you fidget endlessly. Rin holds his stare until you crumple just slightly under the weight of it. “There’s n-not a particular reason. It’s not for my book or anything, I just uhm—wanted to do it. To you,”  

There’s a brief moment there where the world stops spinning entirely. Rin breathes. A sharp, steadying breath. Chest tight, dizzy with an emotion that wells up from the depths of him. He can’t think of anything clever to retort with, or really any good way for him to respond. He sits across from you at a complete loss.  

The next words that come out of his mouth leave before he has a chance to make sense of them. He swallows a lump in his throat.  

“Fine,”  

Your eyes go wide again. Shocked like you weren’t the one who ask. Tension lingers in the air, but Rin can’t figure out what to do about it. How to settle it. He doesn't know if he fucking can.

“A-are you sure?”  

That’s the first time you’ve asked him that. Most of the time, you’re shameless in your asks. You do it for work, just work  - and it’s always Rin who ends up….going further. Because it frustrates him to see you cower over it. Rin is used to you, by now. How you have the demeanor and general anxiety of a small shelter dog. He’s been over it all already one hundred times but—

It’s like something clicks hearing you ask him that. If he's sure. You can be so thick. It’s not like Rin doesn’t fucking know. But it’s the first time it he realizes the brunt of it.

You two are on completely different pages about your relationship.  And he's pissed about it, but not at you. Not really.

“I wouldn’t say it was if it wasn’t,” 

You look so surprised for a minute he wants to bite you. Take his teeth and dig them into the place your pulse is just to see you squirm. It’s always like this with you but right now it feels like something searing. Pressed up right against his ribs and threatening to puncture his lungs.

“Are you gonna do it or not?” He snaps, meaner than he wants. You nod, movements stiff, and clamber onto your feet before walking his way. Rin watches as you approach him nervously. Your eyes meet and you hold his gaze.  

Then, without word, you crawl into his lap. Straddling him - just barely fitting over his wide frame as both of your knees end up on either side of his thigh. Rin watches you silently. Piercingly. Your movements are trembling.  

You kiss him first. This shocks him into total silence. He returns it just so you don’t pass out from nerves. It’s clumsy like he knew it would be but it’s the first time you’ve done completely of your own accord. Normally you ask him to kiss you, beg with teary eyes.  

But you’ve got both of them squeezed shut now, kissing him with your hands fisted at his chest. Something stirs in his jeans, and you yelp when it presses against you. You gasp, low and quiet.  

“You’re—“ 

“Shut up.”  

You nod. Keep kissing him, opening his mouth up to slide your tongue in. It’s sloppy and unpracticed. You have no grace whatsoever.

Rin feels himself get so hard he’s lightheaded.  

You pull away, gently kissing the corner of his mouth. Down the line of his jaw. Mimicking something he’s sure you’ve read in your stupid doujins at one time or another. He can feel the nerves radiating off of you in waves, feel the way your body shakes in his lap. How uncertain you are. There’s that feeling again. Gnashing, possessive, mean. Not that Rin has ever been someone especially saintly.

But it’s not cruelty he wants to expose you to. It’s something else, far more demanding.  

His hands find your hips in a single breath. Pushing you down onto his lap until your full weight is rested over his hard-on. You whine when he presses up against your core, clothed cunt protected through ratty PJs. Rin doesn’t say anything, buy you know better than to stop now.  

Kissing down slowly, sweetly - you scrape and lick along his skin until you’re just underneath where his jaw and neck meet. Your eyes flutter open to look at him. It's too much for him.

Rin grinds his hips up in retaliation until you whimper. He does it over and over, steadily until you’re both rocking against each other in tandem. All clothes and hot heaving breaths, layers of fabric acting as barrier for what he's after.  

You’ve done everything under the sun aside from sex. This barely counts as foreplay by now. Even so, he’s bucking up into you with every ounce of his strength, unspoken desire shredding his sense. His hands gripping your hips, jaw grit - pleasure coiling in his stomach and wound so tight.  

“Fuck,”  

You’re crying out against his shoulder before you remember what you were trying to do.  

Your lips find his neck again trying not to be too noisy. Latching on with a soft kiss, Rin hisses as your teeth finally sink into the flesh. Your mouth is small. It’s all he can think about. He feels your incisors scrape against the skin, tongue tracing a vein. Before long, you’re sucking hard on the same spot. He can feel it. A bruise forming, broken capillaries blooming in deep dark hues of purple and red. Rin groans at the feeling. You give it every ounce of effort, holding onto his bicep tight when you do. It aches in a pleasant way.  

Pleasant enough to make his hips buck. A jolt of desire and want rips through him like a shockwave - until he’s pushing you down against the hard outline of his cock and forcing you to grind against it. It’s hard and sharp, fingers bruising. 

He cums hard. Seconds later, like a flash of lighting. His stomach flips and something rips through him and—

It’s the first time he’s cum before you. Fuck, h can feel his own cum seeping through his boxers and jeans. It’s so intense his vision blacks out for a minute before returning to him, chest heaving as you pull away and stare.  

“You—“  

Horror washes over him. Rin puts a hand over your mouth, angry and irritated. Red up to his ears to his ears and internally having the worst crisis of his life for the third time over.

He looks at your face and there's that feeling in his chest. But he recognizes it this time. Knows exactly whats making him like this, forced to confront it for the first time.

“Shut up,” He hisses, breathing heavily. “Not a fucking word,”  

You nod at him docile. Rin forces himself steady as he thinks of pinning you down and taking you.

Like he knows you'd let him. Like he fucking knows he wants to.

[dunzella]

Yandere! Serial Killer

♢ Yandere! Serial Killer who’s on the run from the police, "she" had been careless with one of "her" victims, a rare slip-up for someone who prided "herself" on precision. Evidence left behind, a single, damning thread now had the authorities breathing down "her" neck.

Yandere! Serial Killer who isn’t new to the game. "She" had been turning victims into works of art for years, taking people who were in horrible accidents barely clinging onto life before "she" takes them and turns them into dolls.

Now "she's" forced to lay low, with a disguise. A wig cascaded down "her" back, pastel highlights blending effortlessly.

Dainty hands adjusted the straps of a tight pink corset while "she" checked "herself" in the mirror. Thick thighs hugged by stockings, soft pink lips curling into a knowing smirk.

The police would never suspect "her." No one ever did.

Yandere! Serial Killer wandered into a coffee shop one day, and spotted you. Instantly remembering you as "her" high school crush, never really spoken a few shy 'hi's' here and there. "She" mainly just observed from afar since you was always surrounded by people.

You was a senior and "she" was a sophmore, so when you graduated and left the school it broke "her" heart. Never able to confess to you about "her" feelings or even managing to court you.

Yandere! Serial Killer who thinks this was fate, a second chance and was about to walk over to you until "she" froze. All of a sudden remembering "her" current situation, you wouldn't even recongnize "her" because of the disguise.

It's not like "she" could walk right up to you without it either "she's" a wanted criminal. And "she" highly doubts you haven't seen "her" actual face on the news.

Yandere! Serial Killer who scans your face with the same precision "she" uses to memorize her victims’ features. But you’re different. You’re not a victim. You’re special. There’s a maturity to you now, a depth that makes "her" want you even more.

Yandere! Serial Killer who bit "her" lips, and decided to take this chance, "she" can’t let you slip away again. Not this time.

Yandere! Serial Killer approaching you and striking up a conversation, "she" felt a familiar shiver down "her" spine when you had stated "she" looked familiar to someone you remembered in high school. Asking if "she" had a brother.

Yandere! Serial Killer who dreamt of this moment over and over finally able to have a real conversation with you, instead of shying away. Feeling very giddy unable to hide "her" excitement.

Yandere! Serial Killer who suddenly felt hot beneath the tight corset, feeling how "her" body betrayed "her". "Her" plush thighs pressed together as "her" mind wandered to places it shouldn’t, not here, not now. The pink lace of her stockings suddenly felt too tight, feeling a familiar pressure between "her" legs.

Pretty manicured fingers gripped the coffee cup a little too tightly as "she" forced "herself" to focus. "She" couldn’t scare you away, not yet.

Yandere! Serial Killer who nearly combusts when you exchange numbers. You think "she’s" just a bubbly, harmless old acquaintance from high school. How could you have known the truth?

Yandere! Serial Killer who as soon as "she" got back home "she" needed to take care of "her" growing problem. "She" couldn’t stop thinking about you. Replay after replay of your conversation danced in "her" mind as "she" stroked "herself", soft moans of your name muffled by "her" pillow.

Yandere! Serial Killer who after coming down from "her" high decided on that day "she" won’t lose you again. This time, "she’ll" do it right. "She’ll" worm "her" way back into your life, just like "she" always dreamed of in high school.

Yandere! Serial Killer who becomes your best friend. "She’s" bubbly and sweet, always making you laugh. "She" agrees with everything you say, knows just what you’re thinking before you say it. You’re amazed by how connected you feel to "her"—like "she" knows you better than you know yourself.

You didn’t know it yet, but your other friends were disappearing. They were vanishing. And "she" was collecting their pieces—literally and figuratively.

Yandere! Serial Killer who was thinking about courting you and make "her" feelings known to you, but remembered "she" was playing a character and not as "herself" due to unfortunate circumstances which never fails to piss "her" off.

Yandere! Serial Killer often wondered if you would still like "her" if "she" came clean, wondering if you’d call "her" insane if you found out the truth. Would you turn "her" in? Would you scream? "She" dreams about it sometimes, imagined your tears, your pleas.

Yandere! Serial Killer who finishes stitching up "her" latest "doll" a person who dared flirt with you and sighs. Blood smearing on the cigarette "she" lit, taking a long drag. "Her" mind drifts back to you. The thought of losing you again terrifies "her" more than the police ever could.

Yandere! Serial Killer who finally snaps when "she" stalked caught you going on a date with someone else. The sight of you all dolled up for them. Smiling, and laughing, made "her" heart shatter into a million jagged pieces.

Yandere! Serial Killer's face twists into something hideous, a snarl that looks entirely out of place on the delicate, doll-like face "she’s" crafted. This wasn’t just jealousy—it was betrayal. An ultimate, unforgivable sin.

"You’ll regret this," "she" whispers under "her" breath, "her" voice dripping with venom. "I’ll make sure you never even think about leaving me again."

Yandere! Serial Killer who dragged your mangled unconscious body out of your destroyed car after the brakes mysteriously failed.

Yandere! Serial Killer who immediately got to work, "her" fingers expertly weaving through "her" collection of needles and threads. The crazed grin on "her" lips only widened as "she" stitched up the injuries, "her" blood-streaked hands steady.

Yandere! Serial Killer who smiled when "she" saw your eyes flutter open, the haze of confusion clouding your gaze as you took in your surroundings. Noticing you was sitting on "her" oddly broad lap.

Yandere! Serial Killer who laughed as "she" cooed at you, as you tried to sit up, only to realize how weak you were.

"Aw, don’t overexert yourself, dear," she cooed, "her" voice now much deeper and malicious. "You’ve been through so much already."

Yandere! Serial Killer who cradled you on "her" lap, ignoring your weak protests as you squirmed against "her". You froze when you felt it. A hard, unmistakable pressure pressing against your ass.

Yandere! Serial Killer who’s playful facade cracked as "her" hands reached for "her" pastel wig. "She" tugged it off in one swift motion, revealing short, messy blonde hair. "Her" expression darkened, "her" once-cheerful smile now replaced by something dead.

Yandere! Serial Killer who wordlessly reached into his bra, pulling out the fake silicone breasts with a quick flick of his wrist and tossing them aside like trash. His movements were stiff, irritated, his patience thinning. He stared at you with a mix of boredom and contempt.

Processing how his face was bare, but he was still sadly pretty his androgynous features seemed to have helped him go unnoticed. All the pieces finally clicking together.

"Recognize me now?" he muttered, his voice low, almost a growl. "You should. They’ve been plastering my face all over the news."

Yandere! Serial Killer who motioned toward the table in front of you, a silver platter gleaming under the warm, pink light of the room. Your stomach churned as he lifted the lid with a dramatic flourish, revealing the severed head of the person you’d been seeing.

Yandere! Serial Killer who grinned as your eyes widened in horror, tears streaming down your face as the realization hit you like a freight train. Their severed body parts were arranged grotesquely around it, the intestines draped like an awful decoration. The sight sent a wave of nausea rushing up your throat.

"Thought we’d have dinner together," he said mockingly, "I couldn’t let them come between us, after all."

Yandere! Serial Killer who sweetly kissed your cheek seeing the look of dawning horror on your face. This was pure madness. Your heart hammered in your chest as tears welled up in your eyes.

Now noticing the overwhelming stench of death, sweat, and something sweeter like rot; clung to the air...coming from the dolls around his room. Some were disfigured, their faces distorted, stitched up where the skin had been torn or burned.

The worse part is how stiff you felt gazing at your hand you see your wrists stitched up, lifting you shirt you see large lines long, jagged stitches, crude and uneven.

You realized with sickening clarity...you were another one of his creations.

"You’re mine now," he purred, leaning in so close his breath ghosted over your skin. "And nothing, no one, is going to take you away from me."

Stitches pt. 2

[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ SURVIVAL. featuring sniper mask.

↻ sniper mask is a good man… right?

tags : outdoor sex, misogyny, manipulation, creampie, spanking, fucking to survive (not really but he says it is), wall sex, orgasm delay, slight mask kink, god complex!sniper mask, implied dubcon // wc. 0.9k

author’s note : sighs and screams and sobs all over the place. i didn’t actually get down to watching high rise invasion until recently and now i suddenly need sniper mask everywhere and anywhere all at once. poor guy is SURROUNDED by women who he can’t have (and i could change that :p) i know we aren’t quite done with this event yet but i want to thank everyone for all the support i’ve received!! follower numbers have soared and i feel more motivation than ever <3 keep liking n reblogging to help a girl out, and enjoy this one !! i love you all and here’s to almost 800 followers !!

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

ever heard of the saying ‘boys will be boys’? it’s massively toxic, and mostly used to excuse the inappropriate actions of boys (or more predominantly, men), especially in situations where said boy (or man) is deemed respectable for the most part. 

for the most part, SNIPER MASK is a respectable man. of all the girls he’s come across in this realm, he has made it his duty to protect them because he knows that as a man, it is up to him to ensure women’s safety. he may even call himself a feminist, but that may be a step too far. 

that’s because what sniper mask is doing now is very very far from what anyone would call feminism. in fact, he’s acting in accordance to the famed statement, ‘boys will be boys’, except he considers himself a man. and as a man, he has a right to feel manly urges. 

lying to a vulnerable girl such as yourself isn’t very respectable of him, but it’s been ages since he’s had a good fuck, and he can’t deny himself after everything he’s done for all the other ditzs in this realm. he’ll apologise after, he promises, but for now, he can only focus on the way your cunt has him in a death grip. 

“m-mr. mask…” you’re pathetic. he told you that you needed to do this to practise building stamina for future disputes, knowing full well that his stamina is fine, and you won’t be getting involved in combat if he had anything to do with it. you’re just such an airhead, so dainty and fragile and easily scared by the stupidest things, and it would pain him to leave you all alone by yourself. 

“i know, sweetheart, but we need to do this. it’s necessary to ensure your and my survival.” it absolutely isn’t, but he’s telling you that to keep himself warm and snug inside your cunt. he has you pressed up against the wall of one of the abandoned high rises, far away enough from the rest of the players to make sure he doesn’t get caught. 

your eyes flicker into the back of your head as your hands brace against the wall, bare nipples pressed into the brick through your torn shirt. “s-shit, ‘m gonna cum—“

sniper’s hands grip onto your hips hard, gloved fingers staining your flesh with fresh bruises as he pulls you back on his length repeatedly. “can’t have you cummin’ yet, angel. you have to hold it. stamina, remember?”

your eyes widen as you remember what he said. you have to hold out for as long as possible. do as he says because he’s a mask and you’re just a human, and a weak one at that. his experience surpasses yours tenfold, so he knows what’s best for your survival, right? 

so you hold it for him, cunt clenching down tightly and hands forming into fists as you squeeze your eyes shut. he isn’t making it very easy for you; his blunt cockhead hits your cervix head on with every thrust, and his hands periodically crawl around your torso to play with your nipples. to add on to the sensations, it’s beginning to get a little windy out, and the cool breeze brushes against your agitated clit, causing small streams of wetness to spurt from your depths with every thrust. 

you want to give up. you wish you could just give up on this whole stamina building exercise and let the masks kill you, but sniper’s cock feels so good, and if he doesn’t let you cum soon, you might lose what little brain cells you have left. 

“i know you want it, doll, but y’gonna have to be patient, okay?” his deep voice rattles through his mask. “gotta hold out f’me. gonna make you a great fighter, okay?”

“y-yes sir,” you whimper, gasping when his gloved hand comes down on your ass with a slap! 

“good girl. turn around f’me.” he unsheathes his cock and watches you struggle to turn around on shaky legs, back now pressed to the wall and thighs slightly parted as your tits spill out of your shirt. you look like a mess, eyelids drooping and lips parted gently, and he wonders why oh why you haven’t caught onto his scheme yet. 

you, on the other hand, are confused for different reasons. you can’t even see his face, for crying out loud, so why do you want him to keep fucking you so bad? thoughts of stamina building or whatever fly right out of the window as he presses your waist back up against the wall, pulling your leg around his waist before lining his tip up with your hole. 

“you can cum for me this time, doll. i think it’s about time you felt some real pleasure.” there he goes again, helping out poor little girls like you down on their luck. 

he even has the audacity to smile to himself under his mask as he watches you convulse from orgasm, your tiny hands squeezing his biceps and eyes rolling into the back of your head lewdly. he follows not too long after, his grunts as shallow as his thrusts as he spurts rope after rope into your twitching cunt. 

does he feel bad for cumming inside? not really. girls like you are only good for one thing in a place like this; to be good, compliant little cumdumps for respectable, hardworking men like himself. 

PREVIOUS : LUCKY GIRL ft. daichi sawamura NEXT : SWEET TALK ft. choso

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© choslut 2024 — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[ruesol]

Push & Pull | inbox (2)

(SUKUNA X READER)

PLOT:

You often find yourself complaining to your pen pal about the annoying IT tech at your soul-sucking corporate job. If only you knew that they shared the same identity beyond the screen.

or: the “You’ve Got Mail” au

MASTERLIST

Processing rejection does not come easily to Sukuna Ryomen. You would think his ego prevents him from doing so, being vastly inflated because of his success on paper, so much so that he finds the rejector illogical and sometimes even stupid.

But what it really stems from is the harrowing feeling of being abandoned.

It’s bad to the point where he hardly ever lets anyone know what’s going on in his life. His only best friend, Choso, grabs onto every crumb he can get when Sukuna is feeling particularly chatty (and by that, it means Sukuna only ever talks about the family he’s in touch with–his brother).

His morning starts simple: a jog on the treadmill before sunrise, some weightlifting, a post-workout smoothie while his nephew makes his routine call to chat about dinosaurs before he heads to school.

His days are usually bleak, all his shifts of the week generally blending into one repetitive episode till the weekend resets the loop. Sukuna walks into the building with his jacket hanging over his shoulder, eyes glued to him as he scans his employee pass to go up the elevator. It’s a routine he can perform even with his eyes closed. The walk to his office is so practiced that there’s barely any variation in how many steps he takes to get there. And as practiced, he sometimes unfastens the first button of his shirt (there’s no significance to this part of the routine, but he learns that it does him good sometimes).

But like every boring show, there’s always one good thing that makes it worth watching for a few seconds.

You.

A walking daydream, his biggest wish, and heartache all wrapped into one.

Sukuna likes to slack off in the morning, mainly because he gets to watch you stumble in like a foal. He doesn’t blame you for your timidness; the people at the company are a little daunting, and you’re the perfect target for their work-stress wrath: sweet, a little docile, and a bit of a pushover. He finds it endearing, but doesn’t like how people use your kindness against you, frown lines deepening as he watches the senior manager dump yet another weekend’s worth of work on your shoulders right when you start to look a little relaxed.

With his devilishly handsome looks and determination, one would think he’d ask his crush out, but they couldn’t be more wrong. And it’s all because he had heard around the office that you weren’t single. So, to get over his devastating crush, he does what most, if not all, men do: suppress his feelings under his costly shoes. He crushes them till they’re shards littered around in the hollow space where his heart was once, but that still does nothing to get rid of them. Denial is heavy in the depths of his mind, and he decides to cope with it by forcing you to hate him.

After all, being acknowledged is better than not knowing about his existence. Or worse, knowing but never seeing him as an active presence. A conspicuous lurker in your sanctuary, if you will.

He sharpens his claws but never impales, only scratching the surface. There are many ways he likes to annoy you. He wouldn’t say he has a favorite method–whatever gets him the most visceral reaction will always be his preferred one.

The list of inconveniences he has created for you rivals the number of articles on Wikipedia. So much so that he knows exactly how you’re going to react, well acquainted with the quirk in your brow to the scowl you have on your face when you realize that he’s replaced all the ball-point pens on your desk with leaking gels.

Lunch time rolls around quicker than he expects. Time goes by fast when you’re on his mind. Sukuna hates being the sort of person who is completely smitten over a coworker, but one can’t pick and choose where their fate leads them.  Like clockwork, his feet drag him to the breakroom, where Shoko and you sit by the coffee table.

Murmurs of your conversation with her prompt him to stand out of sight by the door so he can eavesdrop.

“Come on, you know you can tell me anything.” Shoko’s voice trails with a more inquisitive than concerned hint. It’s her personality to know anything and everything about the department, but this time it just feels invasive. Maybe it’s because it’s you she’s talking to.

“Alright, alright, but you owe me a muffin for making me unpack this in the middle of the day. I broke up with him because he cheated.”

Bomb dropped. Shell-shocked.

He leans further to the wall, as if he’ll be able to hear any better. His desperation makes his shoe slip a little, and he scrambles back into his previous position so he doesn’t fall over and make himself known.

“Oh my gosh, what a douche! I’m glad he’s gone from your life.” Sukuna can practically sense Shoko’s eyeroll. Being a team player was her strong suit–it’s probably why her work involves constant collaboration.

“Me too. Our relationship was dying anyway. The cheating just sealed the deal.” There’s a heavy pause in the conversation.

Sukuna debates on whether walking in during this time would make him seem like an asshole.

Whatever, you dislike him anyway.

The look in your eyes has little to no life, exhaustion evident behind them. Mornings were usually when you looked your worst, but this was different. “Afternoon, Shoko. Sorry about your tragedy, Juliet,” Sukuna said as he nodded at you.

You rolled your eyes as you poured the last sip of coffee down the drain. “It’s rude to eavesdrop on someone like that,” you grumbled as you washed your cup.

Sukuna stands next to you to look for his cup in the cabinet, and he smirks when you quickly glance away from his biceps. “Well, you should’ve been prepared for the consequences because this is a public space and anyone could’ve heard you,” he cheekily replied with a squint thrown in your direction. You sigh and simply lean over to put your cup in the cabinet.

Bergamot and citrus waft around his nose. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from your neck, where the scent appears to be strongest. When you lean back, you look up at him with a confused expression. “What now? Do I have crumbs on my face or something?”

Sukuna smirked as he took a step towards you and leaned closer, eyes fixated on your lips. Plush, a little glossed because you just licked them. The inside of his cheek tastes like rusted iron from how hard he bites it as his thumb brushes across the corner of your mouth. There’s a bit of your saliva on his skin, and for a second there, his breathing trembles because of how bad he wants to lick it off his thumb.

“What the–”

“Yeah, you did. You’re welcome. I just saved you from looking like a toddler in a professional setting.”

You glare at him as you walk out of the break room. “I’ll see you later at the meeting, Shoko,” you say as you wave at her.

Sukuna’s eyes follow your figure till you disappear behind the rows of cubicles, towards the elevators. When he turns around, he sees Shoko’s inquisitive gaze already set on him. Her eyebrows are raised as she takes a long sip of her drink.

“She really did have crumbs on her face,” Sukuna quickly reasoned. Shoko may seem apathetic to office gossip, but she’s always been suspicious about Sukuna’s feelings towards you. She often catches him lingering around your desk, never really questioning why he’s there, but also very curious about why the IT tech is never in his office when needed.

“I didn’t say anything,” she replies as she walks back to her desk.

–

A certain giddiness makes Sukuna rush to his office (not before stopping by your desk to change your work laptop’s wallpaper). The man doesn't share intimate details about his life with anyone. He’d rather be seen as aloof by the people around him, a man who shows everything at face value. He would have shared things with Jin, but their relationship had only started recovering after Yuji’s birth, and the man was almost always busy, considering he was a neurosurgeon.

It was still tender. The depth of their conversations only reached the jokes they’d make about their shared trauma of being left behind by their mother.

The only person who knows Sukuna while being unaware of his real identity and personality is his pen pal, Orchid27. It’s a generic username (much different from his–ceos4unions. He kept it as such because he enjoys the irony behind it.)

Getting a pen pal was recommended by his therapist. Sukuna had a hard time opening up to his friends because he was worried about the judgment that would come with it, so he decided to bare his deepest thoughts to a stranger.

He calls her Orchid. She’s surprisingly perceptive to whatever he has to say with no judgment. She knows many things about him: his favorite spots in town for some good noodle soup, the best places to go for a jog, and how he feels about his coworker (vaguely).

Titilated fingers type out the name of the website.

www.anonpal.com

He quickly enters his username and is happy to see a letter from his pen pal. He quickly types out a reply along with the good news he’d heard today.

–

Dear orchid27,

I was starting to think that you forgot about me. Felt like chopped liver for a second there. I know way too much about you to forget you, so I’d better not be ghosted like that again.

Moving on, I wanted to tell you that I’ve probably received the best news I’ve heard all year. My fortune’s going to make a turn–I can finally pursue the girl I like. If you have any tips on how I can have her head over heels for me, then I would really appreciate it.

In all seriousness, I hope there’s something rewarding waiting for you after your shitty week. Spoil yourself. You deserve one good thing for all the bad shit you went through.

The best,

Ceos4unions

–

The quarterly project analysis meeting was something every employee dreaded. Every minute that passed in the meeting felt like a sand grain going down the hourglass. One down, a million more to go.

Your feet drag you to the meeting room where Kento is setting up the projector, as he was going to present first. Shoko sits between you and Suguru, and you can’t help but roll your eyes when they giggle over something she whispers.

Almost everyone had work wives and work husbands here. Kento had Haibara from Sales. Shoko was, without a doubt, Suguru’s work wife. Choso had Yuki from Marketing.

It was futile to ask about yours because, whether you liked it or not, everyone always said that Sukuna was your work husband. Your eyes would roll when Suguru and Shoko wiggled their brows at you, prompting you to turn, only to see that Sukuna was helping someone with their computer.

It’s infuriating. The man was basically tagged to you.

Even now, when Nanami had to call him in to take a look at the projector, which was just taking way too long to connect to his laptop.

You sigh when his eyes meet yours, switching on your work laptop only to see that the wallpaper has been changed to a broken heart. Shoko snickers when she sees it, and you roll your eyes.

Only Sukuna was capable of doing something so immature. When you look up at him, you expect him to be looking at the settings on Nanami’s screen, but instead, you find him staring at you, ignoring Nanami’s complaints about how the company should give them newer models to work with.

You gulp. He was expecting a rise out of you.

The meeting finally starts when the projector starts working, but Sukuna’s gaze still sticks to you as he walks out of the meeting room, a slight smirk playing on his face when you turn your laptop to show him that you changed your laptop’s wallpaper back to the company’s logo.

–

Sukuna just doesn’t seem to leave you alone, even outside of work. That night, when you get home and check your meeting schedule for the next week, you see that he’s taken over your lunch hour because he has you booked for a systems optimization survey.

It’s really just an hour of answering tedious questions with one-word answers in person with the IT tech. A mind-numbing task which is only made worse by the fact that it’s with your work nemesis.

Comfort seldom presents itself to you, so you create it by replying to ceos4unions.

–

Dear ceos4unions,

I don’t think I’d ever be able to forget about you (saying this in the most platonic way possible, I swear). I wish this stupid website weren’t so old and had an app so I could freely text you whenever, but that’s okay because the nostalgia that comes with it is therapeutic.

Also, congrats! I’m glad you can finally ask her out. Honestly, I just got out of a long relationship, so I wouldn’t know what to say. I feel like my standards have dropped below the ground. But I think doing a nice gesture like getting her flowers would be a great start.

Or you could do whatever. My courting days are behind me.

And thank you. I think I would spoil myself a lot if it weren’t for the damn student loans.

I hope the girl you like knows how lucky she is

–Orchid27

–

TAGLIST : @numblytemporary @sttaejoon-blog @gojoscumsluttt @lik0 @sukubusss @cherryredkissez @fushiguroooozzz @curlsnchxos @toffeebrat @lazypostfandomer @ttrinity @abbyy54 @poopooindamouf @veluoriaaa @finalgirlfanatic @totallygyomeiswife @exitingmusic @emochosoluvr @bunbun444 @perqbeth @kitkatq05 @i0lovepink00 @bookfreakk @littlekoala15 @nakiich @sugarysc @emoedgylord @maybe-a-bi-witch @beaniesayshi @saitamaswifey

[trippinsorrows]

my all + part 2

authors note: well, you whores have done it again. finessed a part 2 out of something from me. and because i'm me, i took it too far, so expect a third and final part after this one.

i took a little too much inspo from batman lore as well as joker and harley quinn.

tldr: this shit is unhinged.

part one

disclaimer: i own none of the recognizable characters or universes.

words: 7.7k

*** gif belongs to @dejameflorecer ***

story song inspo: 'my all' by mariah carey /// chapter song inspo: gangsta by kehlani

warnings: smut and angst

Roman loves when she rides him.

It’s something Solana has noticed about most men. A favorite position of sorts. She’s not sure if it’s his number one favorite, but it’s pretty high up there. He especially loves when she rides him reverse cowgirl, loves seeing the bounce of her juicy ass up and down on his massive cock. 

She can’t lie and try to say it hasn’t become one of her favorite positions as well. Being on top is such an exhaustive thing. Knees hurting, thighs aching, cramps and galore. It’s a workout for sure, something she was never really crazy about with sexual partners in the past.

But, they weren’t Roman.

There’s no man like him.

No one who can fuck her and bring out such a dirty, kinky side of her like him.

That man can do just about anything to and with her in the bedroom, and she’ll be a sobbing, overstimulated mess every single time. 

Solana cries out when Roman’s hand comes down on her ass. That’s another thing he seems to love. Grabbing and slapping her ass, an almost mesmerized look in his eyes every time it jiggles and recoils from the movement.

And, there’s a lot of movement coming from said position.

“That’s a good girl,” he goads, his voice dripping with desire and lust. “Look at how good you ride daddy’s dick.”

She moans, eyes shut, hands playing with her nipples, head thrown back. “Does it feel good, daddy?”

“Feels fucking amazing,” he groans. Solana can only imagine the enchanted expression on his handsome face. His hair wild and free, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead from all the exertion. 

They’ve been at it for almost two hours now with only brief breaks in between rounds. 

“Such a good, submissive pretty girl for me,” he compliments, Solana moaning from the praise. She’s quickly and easily become a whore for such things, for his approval. To be not only his pretty girl but his good girl.

“God, your dick feels so good inside me,” she whimpers. Roman’s hand moves to the small of her slick back, applying just enough pressure to tell her exactly what he wants. Bending over, Solana grabs for Roman’s ankles, using them to stabilize herself as she bounces higher, hips and ass wiggling as she alternates between bouncing and grinding.

A lethal combination.

“Fuck, Sol, just like that. Ride this dick like you own it, baby.” 

“I do,” she responds, eyes still closed, caught up in the bliss and pleasure that comes from his thick dick in and out of her, touching and reaching her in all the best and right places. “This is my dick.”

A sense of possessiveness unlike her. But, to be fair, almost everything about her relationship with Roman is unlike her. 

She’s a loose version of herself.

Something she’s having a hard time even caring about the longer this shit goes on. 

Another slap to her ass. “Damn straight.” Solana is caught up in the sex filled haze when she’s suddenly moved, shifted entirely. Roman expertly adjusts them, never once leaving her slippery, wet ass pussy as he moves to his knees. Solana is propelled forward, half her body now hanging off the bed, her hands planted on the ground.

“Shit!”

Roman is now pounding into her from behind, her body jerking back and forth at the end of the bed, her hands sliding all over the place. 

“Best goddamn pussy I’ve ever fucking had,” he praises once more as tears burn Solana eyes from the depth and feel of him. “Ain’t nobody better than you, baby. Nobody.”

Solana is partially paying attention and mostly trying not to lose her goddamn mind from this new position. Roman stays splitting her open, pinning her down, turning her left, right, side to side and in any other way he can imagine. He be doing just anything, and she eats it up every single time. 

She’s addicted, to say the least.

Her body is his sex rag doll to do as he pleases, and it shames her to admit that it’s truly one of the greatest joys in life to serve the Tribal Chief as she does.

His pretty little slut, as he calls her. 

An honor, truly.

To the surprise of no one, Solana comes all over his dick, her cream coating his still fully erect member, all over her ass, lap, the bed. Everywhere. They always make such a mess during these visits.

But, Roman is a man who needs more than that. Always more. 

He moves her once more, propping her right on his dick, facing him this time. His big hands on her hips moving her up and down his length, fucking her right through her orgasm. The tears have spilled over. It all just feels too good, so good.

“Doesn’t daddy take good care of you?” He groans, still guiding her, recognizing she’s in no position—just yet—to take him on her own. She’s still trying to come down from her orgasm, something he can tell by the way her cunt keeps pulsing and clenching him. 

“Yes,” she gasps, hands over his, eyes fluttering open and close. “A–always.”

It takes a minute, and it’s not helped at all by the way he keeps thrusting in and out of her with an unhealthy need, but she eventually settles enough to take over. Solana moves Roman’s hands from her hips, holding them up on the side of his head. Body leaned over his as she rides him like her life depends on it, the eroticness of it all is increased as he takes her nipple into his mouth, sucking and moaning. 

Solana cries out, her pleasure just intensified by ten. Roman loves her big breast and never bypasses an opportunity to suck on her titties, just like she never wastes a chance to deepthroat him in the way she’s learned he loves. Fucking her throat while she plays with his balls.

Their freak knows no end when it comes to each other.

Roman is an equal opportunist, giving each breast the appropriate amount of attention, but he eventually tires and wants something else.

He detaches his mouth from her right breast with a loud pop, tugging Solana down so he can kiss her. A wet, sloppy thing that has both of them moaning into and on each other as she continues to grind down on his addictive, life changing dick.

“Tell me you love me.”

Filthy, naughty, nasty things are usually said in the bedroom or wherever else Roman decides to fuck her. Most of them come from him, some from her when he gets her in that raunchy space as only he can do.

And, it’s not always just the obscene confessions. There are times where it’s less kinky and a lot more romantic. Kind and caring. Roman always has such a range about him, always somehow knowing just what she needs and how she needs it.

But, this…..this is different.

Solana has never said anything like this.

Never demanded anything like this.

She’s thought about it. Thought about it so much to the extent that her head started to hurt.

She knows she loves Roman. Knows that she’s in love with Roman, but she’s never been able to settle on a final answer regarding if he, in fact, loves her.

So, such a thing escaping the cages of her deepest fears is an unfortunate thing indeed.

The body takes a second to respond, so there’s a delay that prevents Solana from freezing and settling into the panic that ceases all movement. But, it’s an unnecessary thing. 

It’s unnecessary, because Roman responds.

“I love you, baby.”

Now, that….that definitely takes the cake.

Because what?

Solana has no time to process that, either, because Roman is sitting up, pulling her chest flush against him. He stares at her, gradually dragging her against his length, never breaking eye contact. She just continues to stare back, mouth partially ajar, as he brings his hand to her face. A tenderness in the way he cups her cheek matched by the shift of wild, erratic fucking to an almost gentle type of lovemaking.

“I love you, Solana.” 

It’s the second reiteration that breaks the shock, that has Solana scoffing quietly in disbelief. Eyes shut, he kisses her lips, Solana holding onto and hugging him as he buries his face into her neck. Another utterance occurs, pressed into her skin, lodging into her soul, shattering what little defenses remain.

Clutching the back of his head, hugging him tighter as he fucks her deeper, she whimpers, “I love you, too….”

—------

She doesn’t say anything after that. 

Nothing regarding that mind-blowing, unexpected confession. Part of it is fear, part of it is disbelief. A lot of it is still being in a state of shock.

Skepticism, even. 

A lot of things get said during sex. Especially sex with Roman. What if it was something just said in the heat of the moment without much thought? After all, she was the one who kicked it off, who brought it up in the first place.

What if he just wanted to get his nut and didn’t want to risk upsetting her by telling her the truth? By rejecting her?

All valid questions, in her mind. None of which she wants the answers to.

A few hours later, Solana stands in the kitchen, having just finished washing up the dishes from the dinner she’d cooked for them. Nothing nearly as nice as she’d like, given limited supplies and resources but enough, enough for them.

She’s drying her hands and hanging the wash towel over the faucet when Roman comes up behind her. 

A small smile on her face as he holds her and kisses the side of her neck. Solana grasps onto his arms and readies to ask him to lay down with her. 

She’s exhausted.

For more reasons than he realizes.

“I’ll be out sometime next month.”

Solana’s eyes widen. It seems the day is just full of surprises.

She turns to look at him, whispering almost, “what?”

Roman makes a sound, lifting his hand to her face. His index finger traces the outline of her full lips. “That’s why they were here earlier. To give me the update.”

The they he speaks of refers to his two cousins, Jimmy and Jey, as well as his older brother, Matteo. On a couple of occasions, during their EFV visits, the men who are also apart of his inner circle, have come over. They never stay long, never over an hour. The four of them talking quietly amongst themselves as Solana sort of hides out in the bedroom, door closed. 

It’s not a thing of fear. Any and all interactions with the other men have been pleasant. Silly, almost, as the twins are certainly characters. Matteo is very much like his brother, more on the quiet side. But, he’s always been kind, always respectful. The three of them, in a weird sort of way, the kind of people she could see befriending. 

If not for the weird circumstances. 

“About fucking time….” Roman trails off, an undeniable sense of relief on his handsome face and in his voice. But, it doesn’t extend to Solana. Not in the way that it probably should.

It can’t. It can’t, because what she’s been avoiding for almost five months now can no longer be avoided. That terrifying question of what happens when Roman is released from prison. It’s a question she finally has to ask.

There’s no more room for avoidance.

“So…what happens now?” 

A heavy frown falls on his face as he eyes her, asking with understandable confusion. “What do you mean?”

Solana swallows. This is the last conversation she expected to be having today, even if it’s something she should have seen coming. She knew it would come at some point. Just not this point.

“What—what happens when you’re out?” Wording it is significantly more difficult than she could have imagined. Each question feels like a slow slice of the knife into her gentle, sensitive heart. “Will this….will this all be over?” Her eyes glaze over with unshed tears. “Is….is this the end?”

A terrifying, devastating question she’s not sure she wants or can even handle the answer to.

Solana doesn’t want this to end.

Ever.

“Sol….” Roman’s frown deepens as he turns her around completely, hands lifting to gently cup her face. “Baby, where is this coming from?”

There’s something about that question that irrationally upsets her. Annoys her for reasons she can’t identify. “You’re—you’re leaving, Roman. We won’t—we won’t see each other anymo—”

“Solana.” His voice lowers, shifting into something authoritative. “I’m leaving this shithole. Not you.” He looks around the trailer with disgust before landing his gaze back on her. Confused and sympathetic. “I could never leave you….I love you, Solana.”

Solana can only look at him, briefly returning to that state of shock at hearing him say something she’d stupidly tried to convince herself was a fluke.

“You….” A hushed, almost whispered thing, weighed down by continued apprehension. “You do?”

Roman’s expression of shock only deepens her shock. “Of course.” He sounds almost offended that she could even ask such a thing, like she should already know. “You have to fucking know that, Solana.”

No, she doesn’t. She didn’t. 

“Why do you think I do everything I do for you? Look out for you the way I do? Make sure you’re safe and taken care of?” Him listing off each question is the equivalent of that same knife previously digging into her heart, now gradually being pulled out. 

Solana swallows, suddenly feeling just a little stupid. Stupid for not putting all of the glaring pieces together. Still, he deserves an answer. Deserves the truth. “The sex….”

“I’ve fucked a lot of women in my life, Solana.” It’s not a boastful announcement. Nothing arrogant. Just the beginning of a profound point. “And never have I done any of the shit I do for you for them. You know why?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just dips his head to ghost his lips over hers. “Because I never loved them the way I love you.” His eyes flutter shut, his volume dropping. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

Stunned.

Solana is stunned.

The day she’s dreaded has just, in a matter of seconds, with a few, powerful, life-changing sentences, has become the day she’s vied for since the moment she laid eyes on Roman Reigns.

Roman loves her.

He actually fucking loves her.

It’s such a wonderful, overwhelming feeling, to say the least.

And since they’re in the space of confession, and she feels so loved in this moment, Roman kissing the top of her head, his other moving to the small of her back, she has to take advantage of it.

Has to share her own confession of sorts.

“Roman….” He looks down at her, and her heart, for lack of better term, skips a beat. Here goes nothing. “I—I’m pregnant.”

Something about telling Roman that she loved him was always terrifying, but there was something even more intimidating about sharing that piece of information with him. Info she’s been sitting on for almost a week, but something she’s known even longer.

As a woman and a nurse, Solana was certain she already knew what her test results would come back with. She knows herself, knows her body, and she definitely knew that the chances were high. A bad experience with the IUD left her sworn off birth control, along with Roman not once ever even mentioning a condom, conjoined with the fact that they fuck almost several times a week. It all made sense.

Of course, she would end up pregnant.

The very thing she wanted.

And, maybe, just maybe, he wanted as well. 

Because the small smile on his face doesn’t seem like something from a man who’s upset at such life altering news. “Yeah?” She watches him shift that hand from her back to her stomach, where he slides his hand under her shirt and over her belly. “Are you sure?”

Solana hesitates. It all still feels so unreal. “Yeah….” She licks her lips, something calm coming over her as he moves his hand in small circles. “I’m—I’m six weeks.”

Another unexpected response. “Good.”

Solana feels even more stupid just staring at him, but the response she’s receiving isn’t exactly what she was expecting. “You’re…you’re happy?” It’s less a question and more an assessment. Solana didn’t think that he’d be upset, per se, but she also wasn’t expecting such an….almost jovial response and disposition. 

“I told you I was going to put a baby in you,” he reminds. Even more, she’d asked him to give her a baby. Another important detail. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, Solana.” Her chest tightens. It’s the first time he’s referred to beyond this prison ordeal. His big hand stills, planted flatly and protectively on her belly. “Our child is just the beginning of that.” 

She scoffs in waning disbelief, as Roman lifts her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. “I don’t want you working here anymore.”

Solana’s smile falters just a bit. “Wh–what?” Yet another unexpected thing to leave his mouth for the nineteenth time today. “W–why?”

His answer is simple and firm. “It’s not safe.” Solana goes to protest when he reminds her of the basic facts. “You being pregnant and working as a correctional nurse in a maximum security prison is a disaster waiting to happen, Sol.” 

He doesn't have to bring up her attack for her to know that's largely what he's indirectly referring to.

“It won’t happen again,” she points out, softly. Her hand is planted on his chest. “You—you made sure of that.”

Prisoners taken to her infirmary have barely even looked at her, let alone had the balls to get smart—or worse since Roman's act of vengeance. His grisly message was loud and clear.

She’s off limits. Something about her being pregnant doesn’t seem like it’d change anything, but Roman seems to think otherwise.

“I won’t risk it,” he announces. “I won’t risk anything happening to you.” He resumes his circular movements across the span of her belly. “Or our baby.”

There’s something almost soft and caring about the way he says it. About how he says our baby, because that’s exactly what and who this is. Their child. A child he’s clearly only looking out for. The same way he always looks out for her. 

And, Solana knows he’s right. Knows that her continuing to work at the prison probably isn’t the best. Not for a lot of reasons. 

The smart decision is for her to quit and find another job.

“Okay,” she agrees, looking up at him. “I’ll—I’ll put in my two weeks Monday.”

Relief flashes in his hazel eyes. “Good.” He leans down and kisses her. Soft, slow, and sensual. Just the way she likes. The ways she loves. He wraps his arms around her once more, Solana’s eyes shutting from the instant comfort and warmth he grants. “I’m gonna take care of you, Solana. I always will.” A beat. “I promise.”

—----

Solana waits to tell them.

Waits until she’s showing and therefore unable to keep it a secret any longer.

The table is filled with conversation amongst her siblings and parents. Her nieces and nephews playing out back, being watched by the older kids. Teenagers.

Solana’s been on the quiet side the entire evening. Not that it’s noticed by anyone or any different from most of their family gatherings. Rarely does anyone ever notice much about her, period.

But, they did notice the 2025 Range Rover parked out front in her parents driveway. A gift from Roman. One of many.

Just like the penthouse he gifted her. Separate from the one he lives in. The one they live in together.

“I’m pregnant.”

It goes largely unheard and unaddressed. Not that Solana is surprised. That’s usually the case. However, one hand on the bump concealed under her babydoll shirt, and she knows this is one of those times where she can’t let it go.

She has to say something. 

So, she does.

“I’m pregnant.” A repeating that’s louder and firmer, even though it only catches the attention of her older sister, Zuri.

Zuri looks at her, instantly scowling. Also unsurprising. Zuri, of all her siblings, is the most….difficult, to say the least. “What?” The smile on Isabella’s face dims when she notices her big sister scowling at Solana. “What did you just say?”

It’s only then that Solana has gathered the attention of almost everyone at the table. A stressful thing but something she wanted.

Here goes nothing.

“I said….” Solana takes a deep breath, continuing to rub her belly under the table. “I’m pregnant.”

She’s met with an array of expressions, some confused, some amused, and some floored. 

“You’re kidding, right?” DJ scoffs, wiping the corners of his mouth with his napkin, looking around the table for some indicator of him being the only one not in on the joke. “You’re not serious?”

“Of course, she’s not,” Isabella laughs. It’s a nervous laugh. “Sola isn’t even seeing anyone right now, how could she be pregnant?”

Zuri remains scowling, wisely pointing out. “You don’t have to be dating anyone to get knocked up. Fucking is a commitment free thing.”

“Language,” Nina, Solana’s mother scolds her oldest daughter. She then looks over at Solana, nervous as all outdoors. “Sweetheart, what do you mean you’re pregnant?”

Having a set of speculative eyes on her does little to settle Solana’s nerves, but it doesn’t deter her from carrying through with her task. “I mean that I’m pregnant.” Realizing a more….visible display is required, Solana stands up and lifts her shirt up just enough to show her baby bump. A round of gasps and sounds of shock. Solana rubs her belly in a small circle, a small smile falling on her face. “I’m almost four months.”

But, while pride fills Solana thinking about her baby growing inside of her, terror and horror is struck amongst her family. 

“What the hell, Solana?” Harris, her second oldest brother, has an expression of ardent disapproval. “How the hell did you get yourself knocked up?”

Zuri scoffs. “I think we know the answer to that, H.” Solana sits down, suddenly uncomfortable with sharing her exposed stomach with such a judgmental crowd. “I think a better question is why.”

“I agree,” Darnell, Solana’s father, speaks for the first time. His gaze is stern and even. “Solana, you just started that job not even a year ago, and already you’re pregnant?”

It’s then Solana drops another bombshell, attention on the now cold plate of unfinished food. “I quit.”

Another round of gasps and sounds of disapproval.

“What do you mean you quit, Solana?” Nina questions, sitting forward at the table. She shakes her head. “That was a good job you had. A good paying, stable job, honey.”

Solana doesn’t necessarily disagree, but the point she’s about to make made the most sense given her situation. “The baby’s father and I agreed it wasn’t safe for me to be working there while pregnant.” 

“And just who is the father, huh?” DJ presses, though it feels more like a demand than anything. “And how long have ya’ll even been dating or screwing or whatever for you to let him get you pregnant in the first place?”

Solana knew she wasn’t going to be met with overall enjoyment. Almost all of her siblings had their children out of wedlock, and though her parents never outright said it, she’s always known their hope was she wouldn’t fall in line.

That she’d stick with that outdated, traditional timeline of dating, marriage, and a baby.

All things she’s achieved, just not in that order, per se.

However, their tumultuousness from just the first part of her news has her even more nervous about how they’re going to react to this next part. 

Regardless, it needs to be done.

She clears her throat. “His name is Roman.” Another deep breath. “Roman Reigns.”

Silence.

More silence. 

And then….then laughter.

Around her, Solana looks to see every member of her family with amused smiles on their face, oblivious laughter leaving their mouths.

“Lil' girl, you almost got us there.” Her dad chuckles. “Roman Reigns? That’s a good one.”

However, it’s her mom who detects that Solana remains with the same neutral, almost nervous expression that she’s had since first making her shocking announcement, and it’s that unchanging piece that allows the rest to come together.

“Oh my God….” She gasps, grabbing her husband’s hand, forcing him to look at her. “She’s serious.”

And, that statement from the matriarch transcends around the table, bringing on the clearly uncomfortable truth. 

And the judgmental, floored stares have returned with a newfound intensity. 

“Roman Reigns?” Comes from Zuri who’s no longer annoyed. She’s pissed. “What the fuck do you mean Roman Reigns is the father?”

“Solana, do you know who that man is?” DJ asks, like she’s stupid. Like she’s some illiterate child who needs to be educated. “He’s a fucking mafia kingpin.”

“He’s a murderer.”

“A monster.”

More hurtful, judgmental adjectives used to describe the man Solana loves more than anything in this word. 

“How did you even me—” Her father starts to ask, but Solana watches him. Watches as the horrifying reality sets into him. “Solana, tell me you didn’t.” She looks away, tears suddenly burning her eyes. “Tell me you weren’t sleeping with that man while he was in the prison where you worked.”

More gasps.

Silence from Solana. 

She can’t and won’t deny the truth.

“I love him,” is all the response she can muster. She hates how weak and soft her voice sounds. “And—and he loves me. We’re…we’re in love.” 

A loud bang on the table startles her. Solana looks up to see her father as the source as he stands from where he was previously sitting. “He’s not capable of love, Solana! He’s a fucking sociopath, and I can’t believe you could be so naive to fall for his bullshit!”

“Darnell, please.” Nina also stands up, placing her hand on his arm. A comforting act to hopefully help calm him down. “Sweetie—”

“Why haven’t you aborted it yet?” Zuri suddenly asks the question Solana should have expected but wasn’t necessarily anticipating. 

Her hand moves back to her stomach. “What?” 

“You can’t keep that thing,” she sneers. “It’ll probably end up being the next Ted Bundy or some shit.”

“Zuri,” Isabella says in a soft voice. Solana senses some level of sympathy from her family. She casts Solana an almost empathetic glance. 

“Zuri’s right,” Harris scoffs. “Why the hell would you want to have a fucking psychopath’s baby?”

“He’s not a psychopath,” Solana defends. For the first time in this whole shitshow of an announcement, she feels a new emotion. Defensiveness. 

She feels defensive over her lover. Over the father of her child. Over the man she loves. 

“You don’t know him,” she continues.

“No, you don’t know him,” Darnell snaps, pointing his finger at her. “Solana, I’ve spent my entire career putting scum like him behind bars. But, you know what I’ve had to do more of? Investigate and clean up all the murders he’s committed over the years.” She looks away, unable to withstand his disgusted expression. “Do you have any idea how many bodies—body parts—he’s left scattered around this city? He’s not even human, because no human being could do the things he’s done.”

This kind of response, specifically from her dad, was something she did sort of anticipate. It made sense. The police chief’s daughter falling in love with a mafia kingpin who’s been a thorn in his side for 20+ years?

It only made sense. 

“I wasn’t….” Solana speaks again, needing to somehow wrap this up. She’s not sure how much more she can take. “I wasn’t expecting any of you to understand or even agree with the decisions I’ve made, and that—that’s okay.” Her voice cracks at the end, giving away the fact that it’s most definitely not okay. From feeling forgotten by her family her whole life, to now being shunned and judged so harshly, it’s a borderline traumatic experience. “I just—I just wanted to let you all know, because we’re going out of town for a little while, so—”

“You’re what?” Darnell interrupts. “The hell you are. You’re not anywhere with that damn man!”

At that, Solana’s defensiveness returns just a bit. “I’m not a child anymore. You can’t—”

“Maybe not, but you are fucking stupid.” DJ scoffs, also now standing, his arms crossed, largely reflecting their father, the man he was named after. “It’s bad enough you let that man impregnate you, but now you're talking about going away with him? To where?”

She swallows. “He owns a private island—”

“Great, so he can kill you and scatter what remains in the ocean in the middle of fucking nowhere.” Zuri smiles, rubbing her temples, shooting Solana a wink. “Great fucking idea, lil’ sis.”

“Roman would never hurt me or our baby—”

“Solana….” Nina speaks, her voice surprisingly soft. “Did he…did he force himself on you?” A heartbreaking, almost horrified question that has Solana’s eyes widening. 

“No! He’s not like that!”

“That’s exactly what he’s like!” 

“It’s like he’s….brainwashed you or something.” Nina whispers, eyes glossing over. “Oh, mija, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“You’re terminating that pregnancy first thing tomorrow, Solana.”

“No, I’m not.” She shakes her head, both hands planted on her stomach. “This is my baby. It’s our baby, and I’m not getting rid of it! We—we were trying to get pregnant. We—wanted to have him. We want—”

“Him?” 

Solana closes her eyes. 

Shit.

She hadn’t meant to disclose that part.

“It’s a boy?” Isabella whispers, looking over at Zuri.

“You definitely have to get rid of it, then!”  

“Of course, she is.”

“No, I’m not,” Solana reiterates, sitting forward in her chair, starting to push back in her chair. “This is my body. My choice. My pregnancy, and my baby that I am keeping.”

“Solana, you’ve already been stupid enough to ruin your whole life and reputation by breaking not only rules but laws by getting caught up with that man,” Darnell dismisses her wishes. Completely washes over her sounds of protest. “Don’t further that stupid by tying yourself down to that thug for the next 18 years.” Another level of disgust and disdain mars his aged face. “Having a baby for a man ten years your senior is one thing, but having a baby for that man is something entirely different.” He shakes his head. “You’re not keeping it.”

It’s probably the culmination of the conversation as a whole that pushes Solana over the edge. Has her slamming her hand down on the table, forcing the surprise and focus of her family around her. “I’m keeping my baby, and that’s that!” Completely done with being attacked and slammed beyond a hurtful response, Solana stands up from the table. “I’m leaving.”

“Sweetie, please, don’t leave,” Nina implores, starting to round the table, stopping about halfway. As if feeling uncomfortable being too close to her. It stings. For sure. “We need to figure this out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Zuri cuts through, taking the side of her dad and siblings. “Either she gets rid of it or—”

“Or what?” Solana presses. “I said I’m keeping my baby.” Not only is that something Solana could never personally see herself doing, though she supports any and all women who make that choice, she knows that she’s too far along in her pregnancy to go about it, at least in their state, even if she wanted to. Knows as someone who’s in the medical field. The same field her mom and sister are in, so them not saying anything to express disagreement with such a thing being suggested is….hurtful, to say the least. 

“Solana Esmeralda Miller.” Her father’s use of her full name stalls Solana as she reaches for her purse, back towards her family who continue to throw insult after insult at her, ruining what should be a beautiful time in her life all because they don’t understand. They don’t want to understand. “As long as you are with that man, you aren’t welcome in this house.”

Solana doesn’t have to be facing the group to know it’s her mom that gasps. “Darnell, please, she’s still our daughter—”

“My daughter would never get herself caught up in some foolishness like this!”

“She needs our support right now!”

“She needs to stop being so damn dumb!”

“So let’s help her, not persecute her!”

Solana’s eyes shut. Too much. It’s all too much. 

“Would you all just shut up!” Solana turns around and snaps, unable to keep the reins on her emotions any longer. “Stop acting like you all care!” Because they don’t. Their entire disposition and response thus far have concerned just as much. “For years, years, I’ve felt invisible in this family. It never mattered how good I did, how unproblematic I was, I always came last.”

Nina’s shoulders drop. “Honey….”

Solana shakes her head. “Roman loves me. He makes me feel special and wanted, and…I need that. I’ve needed that for so long, and now I finally have it, and I’m not going to let any of you take that away from me.” She sniffles. “I’m not going to let anyone take him away from me.”

But while there’s a sort of relief that comes from speaking her mind, sharing with them trauma she’s sat on for so long, the relief is quickly snatched away through her father’s emotionless response. 

“So that’s what it was? That’s how easy you were for him?” He sneers. “He shows you a little bit of attention, and you go opening up your legs?”

“Daddy, stop,” Isabella murmurs, continuing to look empathetic but not really doing anything to speak up for her sister. To defend her.

“I’m done here,” Solana angrily jerks her body away as her mother tries to reach for her. “None of you will ever have a relationship with my child.” And with a heartbreaking realization, she shares the part she feared the most. “And I may not, either.”

—------------

6.

That’s how many people Roman kills. 

All fuckers who’d betrayed him or played a role in the plot that got him locked up for all those months. Slowly, methodically, and with great detail and precision. He ensures to prolong their suffering for as long as humanly possible.

And, even that, even being practically bathed in their blood, in human flesh, pieced of severed organs and other grisly remnants of his butchering, does little to settle him. To settle that uncontrollable rage that influenced the gruesome murders.

Because, the people he really wants to hurt are the people he can’t touch. Solana’s family. 

Her mother. 

Her two sisters and two brothers.

Her fucking father.

Chief Miller has always been a fucking pain in the ass, but this incident has crossed a fucking line. Roman coming home to find his wife sitting on the floor. At the edge of the bed. Crying her eyes out because of how awful they all responded to her pregnancy announcement, about her relationship with him. The only thing he could do after comforting her and soothing her to sleep, was commit murder. But, he couldn't have the victims he really wanted.

Because his wife is kind and good, the things he is not. She doesn’t want them dead. He might, but she doesn’t. And, she doesn’t even have to specify as such, because that’s just not Solana.

She’d rather take it all on the chin and eventually work and move past it.

Not Roman.

Fuck that. 

In his eyes, they all deserve to fucking burn.

But, as much as they hurt Solana, Roman knows she still loves them. She loves her family, and that’s why their reaction hurt her so much. Because while he knows a part of her knew they wouldn’t respond well, he also knows that she was hoping maybe, just maybe, they would be a little understanding.

He knew better though.

He knew they wouldn’t react well, but for the fucking Hallmark type people they tried to portray themselves to be, he didn’t anticipate they’d be so cruel to Solana.

His pretty girl. 

It’s why he partially wishes he’d gone with her.

The same way he wants to go with her now.

“Solana, are you sure this is a good idea?” 

She turns around from where she just placed another bathing suit in their suitcase. He’s not sure why she’s packing clothes at all. He doesn’t plan for them to do anything but fuck, relax, and enjoy each other for the next two weeks.

She sighs, walking over, Roman unable to resist a chance to glance at her stomach. The fabric of her dress falls perfectly against the swell of her bump.

Their baby.

His son.

Solana moves in front of him, hands on his chest as he holds her, kissing her temple. “I have to try.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t agree. After the shit they pulled last week, her piece of shit family deserves nothing from her, let alone another chance. 

But, he loves her and respects her, so he has to respect her decision. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Largely due to him wanting to be the much needed buffer if anything goes left. Also because he wants to be there to support her. 

However, she shakes her head, pulling back to look up at him. “I—I think it might make it worse.”

He’s quiet, once again, because she’s probably not wrong. As much as Roman loves the woman in front of him, he’s not sure he’d be able to control his temper if her dad and/or brothers were to say some shit. Doesn’t know if he’d be able to end the night without dropping at least one of them. 

He nods, hand moving up and down her back. “Fine, but at least take your security detail, Sol.”

That’s the thing that he really still isn’t okay with. He understands why she didn’t want them with her before, because she wasn’t ready to tell her family about them, but now that they know? He’s highly uncomfortable with her going over there completely alone. 

“Roman….”

“Solana, it’s for your protection.” Not even just her. Their unborn child as well. 

“My family is being mean and unsupportive, but they would never hurt me, Roman.” He can see the way she catches herself, forcing a correction. “Not physically, anyway.”

Roman wants to believe her. He truly does, but something feels off. He can’t put his hand on it. “Solana, I—”

“Trust me,” she interrupts in a small voice, her eyes pleading. “Please?” He does. Probably more than what defies logic. “I won’t be long, and it’s just my parents who want to meet and talk. Not my siblings. Not yet, at least.” That helps him feel a little better. Only a little. “Roman, I—I won’t be able to enjoy this trip without at least hearing them out.”

Roman takes a deep, loud breath, rolling his neck and stroking his beard. Going against his better judgment seems like the wrong move, but there’s something that bothers him more about depriving her of this. 

“Alright,” he finally caves, adding a stipulation. “An hour. You have an hour, and after that, I’m coming to get you.”

She nods. “Okay.” Solana leans up and kisses his cheek. “Thank you.”

Roman says nothing, just watches as she continues to pack, wanting to have it all done tonight, as they’re set to board the jet and fly out tomorrow. 

All the while, he still can’t manage to shake the feeling that something is wrong.

—--------

True to their word, it’s only Solana’s parents when she arrives at their house.

And, it’s not that she believed they were lying, per se. She just didn’t know if they thought she wouldn’t agree to come over if she knew it would be an intervention of sorts involving her siblings. 

They wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

Solana settles on her parents sofa, shifting to get comfortable as her father sits in his seat across from her. He’s yet to say anything. 

Nina wears a warm smile as she walks in from the kitchen with a tea kettle. “I made you some raspberry leaf tea.” She pours some in the mug sitting and waiting on the coffee table. “Your abuela used to make it for me when I was pregnant with you all.”

The mention of Solana’s late grandmother is enough in and of itself to evoke a set of fresh tears. 

Paloma would be turning over in her grave to know what’s happening within the family. She never liked or approved of dissension. Especially among family. 

Solana says nothing, just takes the cup and brings it to her mouth. The flavor feels a bit off than how she remembers it tasting, but her taste buds altogether have been off this pregnancy, so she doesn’t think much of it.

“Solana, we want to apologize to  you.”

Nina kicking off the conversation with that as she takes a seat next to her daughter is most definitely not how Solana predicted this whole thing kicking off. Naturally, she’s skeptical.

“What?”

Darnell’s deep voice takes over. “We feel….we feel we may have been too hard on you.” Solana continues to sip on her tea, eager, wanting, and maybe needing a reason to not respond. She’s not entirely sure what she expected from this conversation, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Oh,” she finally mumurs, nervously tapping her short acrylic nails against the glass mug.

“I’m sorry about how I spoke to you, Solana,” he apologizes. Solana places the mug down, wanting and needing to be fully present for whatever else he’s about to say. “I—I was out of line, and I was upset, but that gives me no excuse. It’s just….” He trails off, looking away, fist gently hitting his lap. “Of all our children, with all the issues your siblings have had over the years, we never would have suspected you.”

And, that is where Solana gets lost. 

Suspected what?

She voices as such. 

“I—I don’t understand.” She honestly, truly doesn’t. “What—what are you talking about?”

Darnell looks at her. Voice even and calm as all the outdoors. “We never would have suspected you also struggle with mental health issues.”

Solana’s eyes widen. 

What?

Barely able to process what’s just been implied, she finds herself scoffing. “I—” Solana looks between them, between her parents who have turned what she hoped would be a calm conversation into something entirely different. “You—you think I’m crazy?” The silence is all the answer needed. Solana shakes her head. “I’m not crazy. I’m in love. Why can’t you guys understand that?”

“Sweetie….” Nina leans over, placing her hands over Solana’s. “We—we realize now that we should have been paying closer attention to you over the years.” Solana blinks twice, suddenly struggling to focus on the conversation at hand. “That….that Zuri wasn’t the only one who needed help.”

It’s only when that is said, and Solana looks over at her father who only raises his chin, she realizes that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

A horrified look between the two people who swore to love and protect her. “What—what have you done?”

Solana goes to stand up, only to be hit with another unexpected wave that has her almost stumbling to the ground. 

“You’re not well, Solana. You need help.” Her father’s voice sounds much too distant for a man who’s only steps away from her. “And, we’re going to make sure you get it.”

Blinking increased, Solana again attempts to walk away, only to fall to her knees, her hand planted down on the rug to prevent her from landing on her stomach. A glance back at the table where the mug sits, mostly entirely consumed.

Terror fills her. 

“What—” Solana moves her other hand to her belly. Speech is now another thing that feels impaired. “What did you do to me? What—what did you put—” Eyes clenching shut, breathing has been added to the list, though she’d suspect it’s from her anxiety versus whatever was placed in the tea. “My baby….”

Because, that’s the only thing she can think about in this moment.

About whatever she’s just ingested could be doing to her baby.

She has to get out of here.

But, the second Solana attempts to move up to her feet, she falls to the floor, on her side, hand never leaving her belly.

Distant sounds around her followed by several sets of feet. Three new people. All men. Two dressed in all white apparel. Familiar. But not as familiar as the third man with them. Even with her waning vision, Solana can make out the man dressed in a fine suit, expensive glasses on his face, dark brown hair carefully styled, that empty, void, deranged expression in his eyes as he looks down at her with only cruel, unholy thoughts.

Crane.

Dr. Jonathan Crane.

A local doctor who bounced around from clinic to clinic for years, unable to find anyone willing to support his inhumane research. That was until a few years ago when he landed his current position. The lead psychiatrist at the local insane asylum.   

Rumors have ran rampant for years about his sick, twisted, unsanctioned treatment methods for the unwell at the asylum.

A place that should be burned to the ground, if you ask Solana.

With him in it, because the devil doesn’t always come clothed in red horns and a matching cape. He sometimes wears designer shoes and parades himself as a medical provider eager to “cure” the sick.

A sociopath.

He’s the real sociopath.

And, her parents are handing her right over to him.

Tears fill her eyes. “No…..”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Miller.” Another distant declaration from the devil himself followed by him kneeling before her, his smile just a show for all of his wicked, twisted perversions. “I know exactly what you need.”

Solana opens her mouth to protest, any and all sensation and autonomy in her body all but gone. 

A final act of protest, but it’s a failed effort.

It all goes dark. 

[miwiheroes]

Dropping Byler Evidence Every (Other) Day Until Season 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Day 23: Airport Hug(s) . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

I haven't done one of these in a little bit because I'm just getting moved back in at university but I'm glad to be back! This time, we are looking over Mike and El's airport hug vs. Mike and Will's.

These two scenes are extremely different. It is clear which one the writers and directors gave more importance. AKA which one is supposed to be the main focal point of the scene. If you think that the meeting scene in the airport is supposed to be all about Mil*ven and how cute their relationship is, I'm sorry but you are not watching the same show as I am. The airport hug between Mike and El and the airport 'hug' between Mike and Will are supposed to convey these messages:

Something is wrong with Mike and El's relationship and they are trying to push it down, meaning it will come to the surface later.

It has something to do with the way Mike's acting.

Something has changed internally within Mike between Season 3 and Season 4.

This something is to do with Will.

You are supposed to notice Mike's actions towards Will more than his actions towards El.

This is how I will structure this ESSAY ASS POST

Number One:

Something is wrong with Mike and El's relationship. It may not seem this way from the beginning, in fact, it seems very much like they are back to the way they used to be at the beginning of S3, apart from the making out- um yeah, so it all seems well. But that's the thing.

Developed relationships with depth, relationships that the audience need to crave for, do not get presented in this super cutesy, teenager-y love way. Unless there are other stakes. In Stranger Things, it is apparent to us that there is always something off when characters seem Too Happy. Something will go wrong, things won't stay the same as they were at the beginning of the Season. I really don't know how to describe it, but basically what I'm saying is, even in their cute moments, the audience needs to sense that something is off. Even if it's very minute.

The kiss is cute. But that's all it is. There are no stakes behind it, nothing bad has happened yet, which is why an audience who likes the couple already may feel happy with it. But a GA may be able to sense that this is unlike other kisses or meetings in ST. The kiss is not after a fight, the kiss is not after a long time of pining, the kiss is not an 'i can't lose you' kiss, the kiss is not a 'relief after a long time of fighting through something' kiss. It's just a kiss.

You may be thinking this is a bit harsh, but the GA also know another thing. El is lying to Mike. Her letter foreshadows problems for their relationship instantly.

From her letter, we know that she is lying about having a good time at school and in California. The audience may then believe that there must be something wrong with their relationship if she feels the need to lie. Especially El, the one who always says 'Friends don't lie' and got annoyed at Mike lying last season.

So this kiss isn't supposed to be cute. It's supposed to be tense. Because we are supposed to know that she's lying to him, and narratively, the truth always gets revealed.

Therefore, the audience is supposed to take away from this interaction not that Mike and El are a cute couple, but that El is trying to hide stuff for a reason.

And the audience quickly gets their reason why:

Number Two:

The reason why El's been so weird with Mike, the question that is ringing around in the audience's head get's half-answered with the next sequence.

The audience should know that something is wrong based on the way that the happy music suddenly shifts to something far more morose, and El looks hesitant before faking a smile. JUST as she fakes her happiness in her letters.

Therefore, the audience sees it is somehow Mike's fault she feels the need to act this way. So far, we have ticked off two problems in their relationship: El is lying to Mike, and El seems upset at the unfeeling note Mike made. These must be linked together.

I also think that the audience see that it is signed in such an unfeeling way, despite the kiss. This means that the kiss at the beginning no longer seems genuine at all. So obviously, the audience must be wondering where this is all coming from , and why Mike is upsetting El.

Number Three:

Something has changed internally within Mike. The time between Season 3 and Season 4 has drastically changed Mike's actions towards both El and Will. We know that suddenly Mike is being unfeeling towards her in his note, meaning that the rest of his interactions don't seem as genuine to the audience. This may be a different view they had from Season 3.

They have just been introduced to a change in El's behaviour towards Mike (she now lies to him), meaning there must have been a change in Mike's behaviour to have caused this. And this is all internal between seasons:

What changed?

Now, we should get the answer when we look back at the end of Season 3. Mike looks back at Will's house. He hugs his mom like he's numb and just realised something huge. The monologue over the top keeps saying how he doesn't 'want things to change'.

Later, in the apology scene in Will's room, we find out that Mike was afraid of losing Will, which is why he got mad at Will seeming standoffish.

SO WE GET THIS SCENE WHERE WE ARE INTRODUCED TO MIKE BEING SUPER WEIRD WITH EL AND THIS IS ODD SO HE MUST HAVE CHANGED AND THEN HE ACTS WEIRD WITH WILL SO IT ALL POINTS TO.........

Number Four:

The reason why he has changed with El is because of Will. The reason why he seems so unfeeling towards El yet so disingenuous and unlike himself is all because of Will. The way he acts, the way he writes notes, it all boils down to this moment in the scene.

Will is reason he's nervous. Will is the reason things have shifted.

If something has changed internally within Mike to clearly act differently enough with El to make her lie to him, AND something to make him act weird with Will, then they must be linked together.

Besides, if we want to go the super obvious, on the face of it analysis - Mike is simply nervous because his feelings have been realised. He doesn't want to let them show so he can keep up this disingenuous relationship with El. He just wants to seem normal. It all adds up.

Harking back to El's letter, she mentioned one thing about Will, and that was that he was painting something for a girl that he had never told Mike about. And Mike acts standoffish about the painting when Will confirms that it probably isn't for him. It's clear as day - he's nervous to keep up this facade, he's jealous that Will's not making paintings for him, and he's been scared of losing Will (confirmed later on).

I mean, this might be all well and fine. Mike might not be having an impactful scene with Will, after all--

OKAY I CAN'T EVEN TYPE IT OMG ONTO THE NEXT POINT

Number Five:

Mike's big problem has to boil down to Will. This is proven by the fact that we are supposed to focus on this interaction far more than his interaction with El.

First of all, it is important to note that the directors of the show are intentional with where they place extras during a scene. They have free will, and we an see their choices being made during the airport reunion.

In the first and last Milkvan kissing scene, the camera is focused on them, yes, but it is very busy. Watch the shippers try to edit this scene, the duffers really said. I mean, it was so hard to take a screenshot of them without a person in the way of the camera. This is not by accident.

Mike is wearing a visor, he's holding a bag so he can barely hug her, he's also wearing sunglasses inside?? You can't see his facial expression, making this seem even more disingenuous. Again, people are moving in front of the camera, it's very very busy.

It's supposed to be a little overwhelming. That is not a coincidence, they aren't filming in an actual busy airport. So so many extras walk in front of them during the whole scene, not just the kiss, but while they are speaking as well.

Compared to the scene with Will...

No extras pass in front of them, the camera is closed in on their facial expressions, making them very clear without obstruction what they are feeling. This tells the audience to look quickly! This is important!

This is why the main takeaway from this scene is not at all about how 'cute' Mil*ven are. It is supposed to remind you of the problems in Mike and El's relationship, introduce that Mike has changed between S3 and S4, making him seem disingenuous and wanting to seem 'normal'. And that this is all because of something to do with Will.

And based on the clues that he's repressing a lot of his emotions all of a sudden, he's heard that Will is painting for someone else, he's being unfeeling toward El because of Will for some reason..... Mike's problem is that he is trying to deny or repress feelings for Will.

Atp it seems too obvious to post.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Allergies II

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adeventures Universe

Summary: You have another allergic reaction

In all honesty, you didn't really think it was that serious.

Nutrition meetings at Barcelona were a lot more in depth than what you were used to at Arsenal. They took ages and were full of information that would probably be interesting if you actually cared but, alas, nutrition had never been as interesting to you as other subjects so you tended to just zone out.

You were handed a new smoothie with some kind of new protein powder in or something you would have known if you actually listened.

You drank it.

That's when things start to get weird.

The nutritionist continues to drone on and you frown, scratching at your neck.

You stare down at your bottle for a moment as your throat goes all scratchy and intense.

You force yourself to swallow before glancing around.

Your throat gets a bit tighter.

No one else seems to be having such a reaction so you unscrew the top of your bottle to peer inside. You sniff the mixture before standing up.

You can feel people watch as you make your way over to the first aid kit at the front of the room. Your throat has fully closed up now and you know that you're turning alarmingly red and probably breaking out in hives.

Honestly, you feel a little bit shocked how you're even conscious right now but you grab your epipen and stab it into your leg.

"Banana," You say plainly," I can't eat that."

Even with the adrenaline now pumping through your system, you slide your way down the wall to sit on the floor, breathing in deeply.

The room erupts into chaos the moment you sit down.

The medical staff come in to check your blood pressure and your throat and the expiration date of your epipen. The nutritionist leading the session is going absolutely ballistic yelling at one of her assistants for not checking the allergy sheets before making and handing out the smoothies.

Talia looks close to tears as she forces her way towards you, practically shoving some of the medics away. "Are you okay? Is it bad? Do I need to call your mums?"

"No! Don't call my-"

Talia's already gone out into the hall, phone pressed up against her ear.

You wonder which one of your mothers she has in her contacts.

Surely not Morsa because she's still in that stage where she's pretending to hate your girlfriend but you can't remember your Momma and Talia interacting enough to have swapped numbers and you know for certain that you weren't one to hand out people's numbers without explicit permission.

As the medics fuss and the nutritionist yells, the team also gather around to check that you're alright but you just give them a gallant shrug.

"I'm fine," You say," The epipen did its work."

"I think I'd prefer if you take the day off," The head of the medical team says," Just to be safe. You can come back tomorrow."

You know better than to argue with him so you just nod with a little sigh of annoyance.

"I can take her home," Talia says as she re-enters the room," I've got her."

"I can take a taxi home," You insist.

You and Talia drive in together so only one car is used. If you go home in that car now then she'll have to get a taxi in the middle of rush hour.

"I'll take you home," Talia says," Coach can spare me at training today. Someone's got to make sure you actually follow medical advice."

You roll your eyes. "I swear you've been hanging out with my Momma behind my back." You take the hand she offers to help you stand. "You sound just like her."

You end up back home fairly quickly, curled up on the sofa and practically forced to take a nap.

Prins joins you, curled up in the bend of your knee. Reina settles on the top of the sofa behind your head, completely stretched out and at ease with herself while Kung manages to wiggle himself between your arms to nap there.

You don't know how long you nap for but it must be a while because the sun is setting when you wake up and you can smell Talia cooking up your favourite pasta dish in the world.

You sit up.

You've definitely been sleeping for a while because Reina has migrated to her cat tree, poking her head out of the cave to watch Kung bounce around the floor in outrage at not being allowed up there with her.

Prins has taken Kung's place between your arms and his tongue rolls out of his mouth in a semblance of a dopey smile when he notices you awake, his tail beginning to wag happily.

"Hi, little man," You say, gently scratching between his ears," Did you keep me company?"

Prins' tail wags even more fiercely than before.

"Didn't want to leave your side."

You jolt, shrieking and Prins whines a little.

"Morsa! What are you doing here?!"

"Talia called your Momma," Morsa says, tucking the blanket more firmly around your body," Your allergies acted up."

"I dealt with it," You insist," You didn't have to fly out."

"Yes, we did," Morsa replies," Because if we waited for you to tell us, it would take weeks!"

You puff out your cheeks. "I wouldn't want to worry you over something so silly."

"Are you calling your allergies silly again?" Momma says. She enters with two plates worth of food and you sit up.

Prins leaps down to wander over to his own dog bed. Seeing him lying there, Kung wanders over, jumping up onto Prins' back to finish napping there as Reina ducks her head back into her cave.

"No, Momma," You mumble, accepting your food as Morsa takes a seat on the armchair and Momma to the left of you, leaving an empty space for Talia, who also brings out food for herself and Morsa before taking her own seat.

"Are you feeling better, mi vida?" She asks," You look better."

You nod. "I feel fine. My leg aches a little but that's expected."

"We'll put an icepack on it once we've finished eating. Prins was very worried about you."

Prins raises his head at the mention of his name, tail wagging.

"He's good boy."

Morsa grins from across the room. "I knew getting you a dog was a good idea."

Momma scoffs. "You told me that we should have gotten her a fish."

Morsa coughs to clear her throat and mumbles," Don't lie, Pernille."

"You wanted to get me a fish?" You laugh in disbelief," And you say Rocky is the most disappointing pet in the world."

"Are you really saying your pet rock is more exciting than a fish?"

"Am I?" You pretend to think for a moment. "Yes. Yes, I am."

[gingernut1314]

Just A Bedtime Story ch. 4

Summary: You are out for a swim during your work break, only to stumble upon a fight on the docks. A fight starring a very familiar face.

Content: female reader, gendered terms, pre-season 1 arcane, introduction to Sevika and Nadia (my oc...though technically she's low-key canon lol), Canon typical violence (description of a fight), young Silco, young Sevika, young reader, reader using water manipulation, confirming friendship, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna)

Word Count: 3.7K

A/N: This is a bit of a long one sorry. I caught a little too much in their interactions. Next chapter we will finally get them all aged up!! I hope you all enjoy!

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The waters of the Undercity had always been a comfort to you--a second home. No matter how freezing--no matter how polluted they got, you always found yourself swimming within them. 

People who knew you often said if you didn’t need to breathe, you would stay down in the inky depth. And they would be very much corrected. 

It was truly too bad you hadn’t developed gills and webbed fingers. 

You had just resurfaced to take a much-needed breath when a sound other than lapping water and the creaking of wooden ships caught your ear. It was faint. So faint you found yourself swimming out from under your boss’ dock and toward the sound. 

Not only were you an avid swimmer, but you were nosy as hell. A nosiness that got you in trouble more times than not. 

The closer and closer you swam, the clearer the sound grew. 

Sounds. 

Stomping and shuffling feet, grunts and shouts, bone hitting flesh, the sharp zing of a blade flying through the air and cutting through the skin. 

It was a fight you were hearing. 

You swam toward the ladder on the wall and climbed slowly upward, water dripping off your body and making too much noise. You doubted whoever was fighting could tell the difference between the water swooshing against the wood and your body leaving it, but you could never be too careful. 

Peeking your head up over the wooden dock, you found a cluster of boys all around your age or older. You recognized them all instantly as the gang that thought they owned the docks. As the gang that tormented you to no end. Who you had stolen from only two months prior. 

They had stayed under the radar since then. You could take a pretty good guess as to why, that being they were embarrassed about their defeat. They were bloodied, bruised, and some dead, and word of their loss had spread like wildfire.

Partially because you had fanned the flames. 

But even when you knew they knew you had spread the word, they hadn’t come out of hiding. Not until now. 

You pulled yourself a little further upward, trying to catch a glimpse of who they were beating on this time. Slowly and carefully you scanned over the scene and…

There. 

You found them. Him. And fucking hell--

It was Silco. 

You wondered what the hell he was doing all the way over here? Especially since The Last Drop, his territory, was located in the heart of the Undercity while the docks lay closer to Piltover’s borders. Too close to your liking but you really couldn’t do anything about that.

You wondered why the hell he would draw their attention when he knew they would be out for blood--his blood specifically. While Vander had beat them into a bloody pulp, Silco had killed a good handful of their members.

You had greatly enjoyed this fact, but it still didn’t make it a good idea for him to be wondering about over here where they knew the area best. 

It was a ten-on-one fight. Seemingly unfair odds but somehow Silco was still standing. Somehow he was making it nine then eight then seven against one the longer the fight went on. 

His movements, while not the most graceful, were ruthless. Movements you knew spoke volumes to the amount of fights he had waged. To the number of fights he had won. 

You were awestruck by it. So hypnotized by his fighting that you failed to spy one of the fallen members get back up. To see him grab a loose plank of wood and rush at Silco, who was busy fending off two nasty-looking members. 

You and Silco both didn’t see the plank until it was crashing over the back of Silco’s head. He went crumbling to the ground, his knives clattering beside him as he went. 

The gang seemed to hesitate. Like maybe they believe he was faking it. Hesitated as if he were some beast who would snap up and crush them between his jaws, but Silco stayed down and your throat tightened. 

You rushed up the rest of the ladder, pulling the attention of most of the remaining members just as they went to beat Silco further into the ground. 

“Little fishy,” You were disappointed to see Rotting Teeth was still standing, blood running from a deep cut on the ridge of his nose. “I’d say you were here to save your little boyfriend, but your weak as all shit.”

“Good to see your mush-filled skull can still come up with shitty insults.” He grits his rotting teeth at you. 

“You still haven’t learned your place, have you?” You blinked at him slowly. 

“My…place?” You spoke, mocking confusion. “I don’t know what you mean?” He growled, too easily annoyed. 

“You bitch--”

“Oh, gods.” You groaned. “Where is the originality? Little fishy’s good, but bitch? Really? Everyone uses that.” 

“Here’s what's gonna happen, bitch.” You shook your head in mock disappointment. “I’m gonna kill your boy toy and then I'm gonna kill you. Understand?” He pulled a very dull-looking knife from his pocket, brandishing it your way like it might scare you. 

“No. I don’t think I do, because you won’t be killing anyone.” Rotting Teeth and his gang gave howling rounds of laughter at your words. Laugher you used as a slight distraction as you felt for the water below your feet. Water your magic sung the same melody with.

“Get--” But before Rotten Teeth could give his commands, you yanked the water upward, it hissing sharply as it shot between the planks. 

Startled shouts sounded from the gang. Shouts that turned painful as you moved your hands around, guiding the water to shoot into their eyes and nose. 

The breath in your lungs grew heavier the longer you used your magic. Magic you knew you could only control for so long before growing too exhausted. 

So, with great effort, you willed the waters to wrap around the throats of the remaining eight gang members. They gave strangled and fearful yelps before you were yanking them towards the waters below with a great grunt. 

As soon as you heard them splash into the cold waters below, you released your magic quickly. The strain of using such power had you stumbling forward, your vision blurring and every breath pulling in with a slight, whistling wheeze.

Janna had told you to start out small. Exploding the flask being a perfect example. It was at your skill level and you could do it without much thought anymore. 

Fully manipulating water like it was a second limb? While very cool, it definitely was still something you were working on…even when you wished to prove the wind spirit wrong.

“You have magic.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement and it was coming from Silco who had at some point regained consciousness. 

“Magic’s just a bedtime story.” You huffed and puffed out. Swallowing down air, you wobbled over to him only to nearly trip over his long legs, which were still sprawled out over the dock. 

“Bedtime--I just saw you control water.” You gave another swallowed-down bit of air, your vision starting to focus and breathing finally beginning to even. 

“I think that asshole hit you harder than I thought.” You knelt down in front of him, grabbing a hold of his head to shove it down and get a better view of the back of it. 

“Get your hands off of me.” He hissed, slapping your hand away. You gave a little fake ow at the hit.

“Wow…not even a thank you for saving your life?” You gave a mockingly hurt shake of your head. “That hurts.” 

“Oh please.” He all but rolled his eyes, pulling his legs under himself as he prepared himself to get up. “I had it under control.” 

“Okay. Yeah. ‘Under control’. We can call it that.” Silco ran one of his hands over his face, showing off his newly split knuckles. 

“Where did you even come from?” You held out your hand for him to take. He eyed it for a moment, as if to deny your further help, but reluctantly took hold of it. You helped pull him upward, savoring the feel of his chill skin against yours before it ended a few seconds later. 

“Went for a swim. Heard you getting your ass beat--”

“I was not--”

“Swam over here and saved it.” Silco gave you an exasperated sigh through his nose. “This makes us even, ya know. You saved my life, I saved yours.” 

“Fine.” He gruffly said. It pulled an all too cheerful smile to your lips that only seemed to annoy him further. “Just don’t tell Vander, yes?” The words quickly fell from him as he passed you. So quick that you almost didn’t catch it.  

You had planned on telling Vander the next time you made your way to The Last Drop, but that look in Silco’s eyes…you couldn’t place your finger on it, though your ability to understand emotions was growing much better thanks to hanging around actual humans. 

It was a look that was--near animals. Like the thought of Vander finding out you had saved him was turning him into a cornered animal. One that would snap its jaw at anyone that came too close.

Whatever it was, you didn’t like it.

You hopped to his side, wanting to follow him wherever he was heading. 

“Okay.” Silco looked at you like he didn’t quite believe you. “If you really don’t want me to, I won’t.” 

“But--why?” You gave a shrug. 

“I cut into a fight you definitely could have won.” You added a bit of a playful tease to your tone. But even when you kept things playful, you willed your eyes to remain serious. To try and tell him silently you wouldn’t. “Why would I want to brag about my own dishonor.”

“Dishonor? I didn’t know there was honor between thieves and murderers to begin with.” Silco ran his thin fingers through his shaggy hair, trying to tame back the frizzled mess it had become in his fight.

Your own fingers itched as you watched him. 

You wanted to do that.

“Oh yes. There’s a code and vow and everything. Very official.” You gave a dead serious nod. “Did you miss that meeting?” An amused smile pulled at the very corners of Silco’s thin lips. Lips you wanted to see sport a full smile. One you wanted wide enough you could look at the V-shaped chip there fully. 

You felt bad about it, but damn it was cute. It just completely complimented him. 

“Damn. Must have.” You gave him a small chuckle as you came upon your boss’ shop. 

“This is where I work.” Silco looked over the gray, stone backing of the shop. Took in the small sign above the door and empty, fish gut-stained crates lining the back door. 

“Are you working now?” You a small nod.

“Breaks about to end.” Silco gave a matching small nod, seafoam eyes landing on you once more. 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah.” Silence filled the space between you two. A silence you didn’t like and was quick to fill. “Why’d you come all the way over here anyway?” Silco ran his fingers through his hair once more, eyes falling away from you as he kicked at an invisible pebble. 

“Vander’s helping open The Last Drop. Went for a walk. Ended up here.” You really couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips then. 

Had he come here to find you? Had he come here to--dare you say--hang out? 

It had a giddy feeling bubbling in your chest you had to shove far down. 

“Do you want to come inside? I can introduce you to Nadia and Sevika.” He glanced back up at you, brows furrowing the slightest bit. 

“And they are…?” 

“My friends. Nadia is super sweet. She can clean and wrap your knuckles and take care of any of your other wounds.” Silco subconsciously looked to his bleeding knuckles. You knew he probably wouldn’t take the offer but it was there if he did.

“And the other?” 

“Sevika?” He nodded. “Well, Sevika’s…Sevika.” You shrugged. “She’s great. I think you’ll like her.” You grabbed hold of the door handle, which was dented here and there. “Come on. I can sneak you some food too.” At the prospect of food, Silco perked up instantly. 

“Fine. But only for a moment.” You beamed at him as he followed after you. 

The clatter of plates and pots filled your ears as you shut the door behind Silco, the kitchen a beehive of cooks and dishwashers and the heavenly smell of food. The chef shouted something to one of the other cooks who shouted right back as you reached to grab hold of Silco jacket sleeve. 

“Okay so…try not to be so tall.” You whispered, beginning to pull him from behind the wall. 

“Wha--am I not supposed to be in here?” You shushed him much to his dislike. 

“Technically no. Boss isn’t a big fan of men so…” You thought of how your boss didn’t even like Nadia’s husband, who was probably the sweetest man on this earth. Boss hated men so much she only hired women to work in her diner and on her ship. Hated them so much she only interacted with male customers if it was absolutely necessary. 

Silco gave a great sigh, so you tossed him a mischievous smile.

“Don’t worry. She stays in her office most of the day.” But just as you spoke, the door leading out into the front of the house swung open, making you startle so bad it showed physically. 

A lithe woman came through carrying a plate of food that looked like it had been picked through by an all too picky customer. Her wild, ruddy red hair had been wrestled into a ponytail that was fighting to escape its confines, and her pale, near pearlescent skin was covered in faint speckling of freckles. 

“Chef, I fear they--” Her burnt gold eyes flickered over you, pinkish lips pulling thin. “What have I told you.” She spoke again, her accent thick yet added another layer to her melodic voice. “If you go for a swim you must dry off. Dragging a mess in with you.” She shook her head, “I left a towel for you--” Again she cut herself off when her eyes looked just past you to Silco. 

“Nadia, this is Silco.” Her eyes lit in recognition of the name. A name that may or may not have been spewed from your lips many, many times since you first met him. She gave a small shake of her head once more, blowing a deep sigh from her lips. 

“Take this,” She all but shoved the plate of food into your hands, before rushing you and Silco into the locker room. “Give me a moment.” She smiled kindly Silco’s way before rushing back out of the door, washing the room in silence. 

“See. Food.” You flopped down on one of the wooden benches, crossing your legs as you placed the plate beside you. When Silco continued to stand in the middle of the locker room looking too out of place, you waved him over. “What? Are you scared?” Silco rolled his eyes, following your gesture and sitting down beside the plate. 

“Of course not.”

“Then stop acting like a chicken.” You teased, grabbing a few french fries and all but shoving them into your mouth. “The fish is fresh. Caught it this morning.” You spoke around the food in your mouth. Silco’s nose wrinkled at you in slight disgust but he wasted no time in ripping a bit of the fried fish. 

“You caught it?” You hummed in yes, grabbing a bit of the fish yourself.

“Boss takes me with her when she goes out to sea. Calls me her good luck charm 'cause we always catch a good haul when I’m around.” Silco nodded, chewing the fish slowly. 

“Because of your magic?” You were quick to shush him again. “Oh, would you stop--” Another long shush. 

“It’s not magic.” Silco rose a brow at you, not believing it for a second. “And if it was…sure. Maybe that’s the reason.” 

“Is it maybe the reason you can swim submerged in the waters and not reap the consequences as well?” You watched him for a long moment, slowing your own chewing. 

“I don’t like this line of questioning.” Silco ripped another bit of the fish off. 

“Well, magic is rare. As you said, just a bedtime story. It is only natural I would be curious.” He popped the fish into his mouth. 

“It is just a bedtime story.” You insisted, messing with a fry between your fingers. “But…probably. But I think it also has to do with how my guardian found me. Just a newborn drowning within them. Someone threw me in.” You held a hand up showing your inky black fingertips, the darkness fading out around your knuckles. Silco’s own eyes scanned them over, then your face. “Use to be worse. Use to have glowing black and red eyes too.” 

“That is…horrid.” You shrugged, popping the fry you had been messing with into your mouth. 

“Eh. Seen worse.” You mused, grabbing up another fry. Silco’s seafoam eyes darkened in understanding. 

They’d all seen worse. Experienced worse. 

It came with the territory. It was the unfair truth they all had to live or it would crush them if them is they tried to deny it.

“Why tell me?” Silco’s voice came out quieter. Soft. Like he didn’t even want to ask but needed the answer. 

“Because you asked.” You shrugged again. 

“That can’t be the reason.” 

“I mean--it’s you.” Silco’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion to your answer. “I--you’re my friend. We’re friends. And…I guess I trust you to know. I want you to know.” You suddenly felt your stomach hollow out and your palms begin to sweat. 

Nervous. 

He made you so nervous. 

You hated it but found you wouldn’t try to change it.

“We’re…friends.” Silco carefully said. Like it was a secret itself. 

“I mean--I guess we don--” Silco shushed you just as you had him. It was an unexpected thing for him to do. One that had you gasping.

“We’re friends.” He confirmed, offering you a small smile. A smile that only made your heart twist and turn in your chest. One you couldn’t help but copy and copy brightly. 

“Yes. Good. I’m glad.” He gave a small nod, turning his all-too-seeing eyes back down onto the plate between you two. 

Oh, you could giggle. Oh, you could jump up and down and giggle. 

“After I get off of work--” But your words were cut off by the door to the locker door banging open. 

Nadia was hushly shouting, grabbing hold of Sevika’s strong arm and yanking as if she could actually move the girl. 

Silco was quick to his feet, readying for a fight he might have to wage against the girl. You watched his calculating eyes take in the muscle-ripped teen as if already searching for weaknesses to exploit.

Sevika went right up to him, bending down to look him straight in the eyes when she truly didn’t need to. It was just her way of telling him she saw him as inferior until he proved otherwise. 

“This is him?” Sevika asked, eyes never once leaving Silco’s own. 

“Sevika, enough of all this.” Nadia tried again, but Sevika was quick to shake her off.

“I’m not doing anything, Dee.” She responded nonchalantly, but her demeanor was anything but. Nadia turned to look at you for help but you just shoved another fry into your mouth. 

Silco’d be okay.

“Awfully close.” Silco calmly said. Though, just like Sevika, his demeanor was anything but. 

“Small room.” She shrugged. “Come to see her?” Sevika shoved a thumb your way. 

“She found me wandering.” 

“Wandering? So far from the heart of the city?” 

“It gets a bit boring staying in one place for too long, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I guess I would.” Sevika leaned in ever closer. So close you were almost jealous, wanting to be that close to him too. “You gonna hurt her?” 

“Hasn’t given a reason to.” Sevika nodded at this, gray eyes having yet to soften into their normal gaze. 

“Play cards?” Silco nodded back.

“Of course.” Sevika's eyes finally softened, her plump lips pulling as she gave a laugh. Silco’s shoulders loosened as she backed away, looking back to you and Nadia. 

“Didn’t tell me he played cards.” 

“Why would I ask that?” Sevika gave a deep, almost irritated sigh that was only teasing. 

“Come on, guppy. That’s the most important question.” You gave an elongated sorry. “Guess you wouldn’t ask, seeing as you suck ass at playing any kinda card game.” You dramatically gasped, throwing a fry her way. The bit of fried potato bounced off her skin like she hadn’t even felt it. 

More shouting sounded from within the kitchen. Shouting that had you, Naida, and Sevika all tensing at the sound, Silco the only one not privy to who it belonged to.

“Boss’ll kill him.” Sevika laughed. “See you ‘round, Silco. If you escape.” And back out the door she went. 

“Oh dear, oh dear.” Nadia was ringing her apron between her hands. “You must go.” She insisted to Silco, “Oh dear--forgive Sevika for us. Oh, and your knuckles.” She gave a look like his wounds were her wounds. “Forgive me. They look painful.” 

“He’ll live.” You waved her off, the shouting growing closer. Shouting now joined in by Sevika trying to keep the boss at bay.  

“Will I?” He asked as you shoved the half-full plate into his hands. 

“Probably.” You gave him a mischievous wiggle of your eyebrows. He opened his mouth as if to say something against whatever you were about to do, but you grabbed his wrist and yanked him back out the locker room before any sound could leave it. 

You’re boss all but bellowed your name, Nadia’s nervous voice trying to calm her down as you threw open the back door and shoved Silco out of it. You watched him stumble out, losing a few fries, before turning back around, looking very much bewildered.  

“I get off work at seven. I’ll bring you dinner, yeah?” You called to him. Silco had just started saying your name as you shut the door in his face.

Previous | Next

[stillness-in-green]

I get people who dislike Afo, but personally I think he just had a lot of wasted potential.

I mean, if you think about it, he’s the one who studied hero society’s flaws the most. He uses the scraps it threw away, knew its weaknesses and how to exploit them. He was the most aware of society’s hypocrisy and shortcomings, him, the worst Villain, not the people who were supposed to protect the most vulnerable.

To create Shigaraki Tomura, all he had to do was move Tenko from his social standing of birth by giving him an ugly quirk, and the world did the rest for him. Imagine how hilarious it must have been to him, that All might succeeded so well at creating a society where people feel safe and hopeful thanks to heroes that no civilian would lift a finger to help his teacher’s own 5 yo grandson while he’s barefoot, bloody and clearly distressed.

More than his power, his greatest strength was always observing the enemy in depth.

Something heroes never really did.

The main problem with Afo is that his charcter is used to criticize… Afo. The fact that his main tool were society’s huge shortcomings and systemic discrimination is never really highlighted.

Had he been framed in a more critical way towards heroes, he would have been a cooler antagonist. (Always second to Tomura though.)

But no, I guess he’s just a lonely man.

“AFO’s character is used to criticize…AFO,” certainly does sum it up!  I can’t remember if I’ve talked about this here or only in friend chats, but one of the arguments I used to see around a lot about AFO, back before we knew for sure whether it was going to be him or Shigaraki as the Final Boss, is that AFO made a good ultimate villain for the series because he could be read as a stand-in for all the evils of society.  That was why it was fine if he was the ultimate hand behind everything, with shallow characterization and presenting little to no rhetorical challenge, because he was ultimately an allegory rather than a person – an allegory for social ills, for the forces in society that take advantage of people in bad situations, for societal elites who use the issues of the day as a way to retain their own power and influence.

And I never thought that worked, for lots of reasons.

Firstly, why should AFO be the only character in the story who’s presented as purely allegorical? Compare his opposite number, All Might, who’s 100% got symbolic trappings but who is still presented as a real character, with flaws and contradictions and issues he has to get past – isn’t handwaving AFO’s shallow characterization with the excuse that he’s a metaphor for real problems just making excuses for the way he’s repeatedly dehumanized?

Secondly, AFO damn well cannot be a stand-in for societal elites when the man was born to a homeless woman under a bridge and began the story hiding in a hospital basement with all of three followers to his name!  At no point, ever, in his entire lifespan, did AFO achieve a position of officially recognized, licensed authority.  He was never given government office; he was never with police or military; he was never a religious leader or influential figure in arts, entertainment, or literature.  He called himself Sensei, but he was never the dean of a top university.  He may have accumulated wealth, but he could never spend it like a true elite would, living openly under his own name and throwing money freely and legally at his causes of choice.

If anything, AFO as presented in the story would be easier to read as a dangerous and undesirable element that gained power, an underclass leech that wormed its way into “proper” society and risked “corrupting” it unless rooted out and destroyed.  Calling him a metaphor for the corrupt elite would be like saying the leader of a yakuza gang is interchangeable with some putrescently corrupt LDP Diet official!  Yes, they both may have money, and yes, they both may have influence, but they are worlds apart in terms of true authority.

The actual elites in Hero Society are, of course, Heroes and the HPSC, and note how differently the story deals with them than it does AFO! It pretends the only real problem is a few bad apples, and that the whole system can be redeemed by polishing those apples up or discarding the ones that reflect too poorly on the whole, despite the fact that neither of those outcomes would happen if the system were left to its own devices!  Heroes grow as people to meet the challenges of crises caused by Villains and corrupt public officials are literally, directly murdered by said Villains; in neither case does the system self-correct by, say, having a bad Hero stripped of their license or a law-breaking official arrested. AFO, conversely, just gets hunted down and killed, because he isn't a societal elite and is entitled to none of the legal deference or benefit of the doubt that the actual elites enjoy.

Thirdly, AFO can’t be a nice, defeatable symbol of all the systemic issues facing Hero Society when he didn’t cause all of those systemic issues to begin with, and in fact serves as a landing pad for the victims of those issues.  This is what I’ve called the Sekoto Peak Problem, and I’ve definitely talked about it before: AFO is “responsible” for Dabi only insomuch as he retrieved Touya from Sekoto Peak, but if AFO didn’t exist, what would have happened instead?  A thirteen-year-old boy would simply have burned to death alone on the mountain because his father refused to be there for him.

Quirk-based discrimination, like heteromorphobia or anti-Villain quirk bias, is not caused by AFO.  AFO did not create or maintain the historical grudges driving the descendants of Harima Oji or Yotsubashi Chikara.  AFO did not cause the worsening of the bystander effect.  Heroes and the society they built and support have a far bigger hand in all of those problems (with the exception of heteromorphobia, which I think exists largely independently) than AFO was ever shown to!

So while, yes, AFO does take advantage of people driven into those dire corners, he’s not the one causing them doing the driving.  And he’s not the only one doing this! The yakuza do the same, and he’s got nothing to do with them! Thus, removing AFO doesn’t solve the problem at all.  All it does is deprive desperate people of an option that Heroes don’t want those desperate people taking.  Did Heroes themselves have any plan to help those desperate people?  No, of course not.  Heroes would rather people on the edge just fall off of it and die quietly than “involve others” by becoming Villains.  Defeating AFO only serves to remove a hand that might pull someone off a ledge in a way Heroes don’t like; it does nothing to ensure fewer people wind up on ledges to begin with.

Which is all to say, yes, the story mostly uses AFO as a way to criticize…AFO.  He becomes this big scapegoat all the actual figures of power and authority in the setting can turn their ire on, an obstacle course they can run that will ultimately result in their own self-improvement without them having to do a damn thing for the countless victims their system contributed to creating.

By all rights, AFO should be considered such a victim.  He easily could have been portrayed as a child born into multiple ostracized social classes with a power for which he faced the daily risk of hate crime violence and an innate psychological compulsion he was never given the social tools or ethics education to learn to manage.  He is, factually speaking, exactly that!  But the story just goes out of its way to portray all of his evils as innate and all of his problems as self-inflicted – he is, in essence, not a lonely man but rather a lonely demon.  Pitiable, perhaps, but never to be considered redeemable or changeable, and not in the slightest degree the result of anyone else's fault.

That’s of course not even getting into AFO as this experienced, intelligent, amoral, and very cynical mastermind who knows all of Hero Society’s weaknesses because he himself was victimized by them and has been watching the same thing happen to others like him for decades upon decades, and how all of that potential got flushed down the toilet to make him this hyper-focused, obsessive, over-confident, inattentive tool.  Sure, he may be sold to the audience as a meticulous planner but when we look past what the story tells us to see what it shows us, especially in the final war, we find a man who’s simply incapable of subtlety, patience, observance, rational evaluation of his opponents or even well-considered deployment of his own previously demonstrated capabilities.

And it is a waste of his potential, and moreover it’s a waste of the reader’s goddamn time.

Thanks for the ask!  I dislike Endgame!AFO a great deal, but it’s not because I hate the man we’re presented with as a person; rather, I fiercely miss the character we were originally teased with getting, and the story that might have come with him.

[the-gnoblin]

Dracula Daily Digest: May 5

Annotations:

Jonathan is back in business which is to say he keeps writing down recipes.

I saw this posted somewhere else but the number one thing about reading Dracula is just appreciating the dramatic irony of all the characters in Dracula not knowing they're characters in Dracula. Case in point: "(Mem., I must ask the Count about these superstitions)" in regards to the landlady and the coach driver discussing vampires and the occult. Like, Jonathan, you've got a big storm coming.

Speaking of big storms coming, uhh, Jonathan, let's think about our life and the decisions that led us to this point. A crowd just "made the sign of the cross and pointed two fingers towards [you]." That's nOT GOOD.

We have some more Jonathan characterization which is to say further emphasis on his curiosity. Even with all the locals acting like he's a dead man walking, he's able to become so entranced in the countryside that he forgets about all the bizarre happenings of the last three days. He even gets distracted in his distraction by sharing fun trivia about the region! He's too precious for this world, and this preciousness is 100% being established for some juicy character contrast later.

I can sense something significant in Jonathan being offered so many outs by the people surrounding him. Of course there's the immediate significance of "hey idiot that's Dracula's castle you're going to, I'm a human person with an at least half-functioning conscience and I don't want you to die," but I feel like there's some thematic significance that I'm too tired to legitimately ponder.

Another top comedy moment: Dracula pretending to be a service worker.

"...a long, agonised wailing, as if from fear." I am the number one fan of this imagery. Holy cow. Stunning. I don't even know why I like it so much. I think it's because of the chilling tone it helps to establish, but honestly it could be just how classically "horror" it reads.

Initially I thought that Jonathan just kind of brushing off Dracula's weird little Road Moments was really confusing and frankly dumb on his part, but it's actually made more sense to me on this read through, particularly with my emphasis on the "otherness" of this world. Over the last three days, we've seen Jonathan be constantly bombarded with strange and unsettling and unfamiliar behaviors, all of which he seems to be simply chalking up to regional differences. He doesn't find Dracula's behavior on the road to be dangerously odd because he's already been inoculated to confusing behaviors by the townspeople.

"I stood in silence where I was, for I did not know what to do." Me too, bud, me too.

I find Dracula's first explicit introduction to be very uncanny. I think he falls really interestingly into the uncanny valley. He's described in a far more traditionally western way than the rest of the setting so far, which puts Jonathan and by extension the reader into much more familiar territory, but there's something off about him that raises our hackles a bit. His clothes, though nice and more familiar, are all black without a speck of color. His hair, though neatly trimmed, is starkly white. A really concise example of this contrast can be found in Jonathan's description of his speech: "...in excellent English, but with a strange intonation...." Dracula is simply so close and yet so far from Jonathan's known world that he is able to plunge into new depths of his unknown world.

This unsettling nature is only emphasized by Jonathan's later careful examination of the Count's appearance. There is something viscerally upsetting to me about the way Dracula is described here, and that's definitely on purpose. This description also serves to establish a physical baseline for Dracula (specifically his "general [affect of] extraordinary pallor"), the contrast of which will be used to create creeping horror later on in the novel.

Dracula's comments about the wolves and their "music" also helps establish that uncanny contrast I talked about earlier. Up until this point, the Count has been a welcoming and fairly normal host. These comments of his serve as an additional reminder to Jonathan that he is not in a familiar place, and certainly not a safe one.

"I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul." Glad to see that that famous Jonathan Harker Repression was able to make an appearance.

Sorry for the longer notes. My brain was absolutely flowing in terms of stuff to yap about today so I had a grand time. Today is also definitely a really important moment in the story because you know things are about to get real when you meet your titular character.

[aibidil]

I've decided I want to restructure my life to be as year 2000 as possible. Not fashion; everything else. So far I have the following, please reblog and add more ideas.

Buy CDs and DVDs (preferably from the grottiest little local shop you can find, run by a 60yo man who chain smokes and has an encyclopedic knowledge of all music/film), go to Blockbuster with friends on Friday night, for the rest, Napster illegally download

Start carrying the good camera again, not relying on the phone for photos

No subscriptions for delivery of basic items (Deodorant? Toilet paper? Electrolytes?). No, you cannot have a recurring transaction on my credit card, fuck off

Don't use AIM social media when out of the house (texting is ok, reading is ok)

Doctoring photos is ok but only if you use your illegally downloaded copy of Photoshop (and your self taught Photoshop skills) to do it

Web 1.0 supremacy; fuck apps. Bring back kitschy animated word art on websites

Insist that politicians like George W. Bush are the worst and do not allow relativism to make you forget or temper that basic truth

Amazon.com is a pretty cool website you might've heard of? For finding books you can't get locally, like books by indie authors who only publish there. It isn't anything else.

Browsing local bookstores and going to bookstore release parties whenever possible

The average amount spent on cable TV in the US in 2000 is $60/mo, and if you can afford it, that's what's reasonable to spend on cable/streaming, no more (video rental/DVD purchase not included)

Going to the movies (sneak in the snacks to save $)

Desktop setup: the ultimate computer setup involves a huge fucking monitor (ok if it's huge in width now, rather than depth as it was then), a computer that doesn't move around the house with you, a full size clicky keyboard with separate number pad, and components that never need charging. Ideally this is in a shittily renovated basement or even in the middle of the house/kitchen

Magazine subscriptions are sweet. Might I suggest Wired or Teen Vogue?

Queer rights: legal/marriage equality is important, yeah, but more important is challenging heteronormativity. Fuck it all up. Have you read Michael Warner's The Trouble With Normal?

Taxis and public transit and asking friends for a ride to the airport. Fuck the gig economy

Big pants

No ChatGPT. If you need help writing something, ask a friend

Reality TV can be fun, but only if you're watching with a group and being really unhinged about it together

The News is something that happens max twice a day (newspaper in the morning, up to an hour of evening news, preferably PBS NewsHour, which is free on YouTube)

There's no such thing as a weight loss drug

Going to a friend's house to play video games together

Things I'm keeping from 2025:

GPS

Tasty non-dairy options

Medical breakthroughs

Wearing a mask when sick or when illness is prevalent

High-rise trousers

Neurodiversity as a concept, and improvement in our understanding of disability

The limited strides we've made wrt fatphobia, transphobia, ableism, racism, homophobia, etc

Indoor smoking bans

[bussyyeukie]

Neon Lights and Blood Fights p.3

(fighter!simon x secretary!reader)

part one. part two. part three.

It had taken you nearly a full day to do that paperwork.

Could’ve taken you an hour of just signing blindly, but you decided to read (most) of the pages inside. A handful of NDA’s, some stuff about medical history, agreements about the job–that you won’t find another while working for Price and his men, and that you won’t disclose any info (more NDA’s within that) about his, and yours now really, fighters. Stuff like that. Not to mention the pages, upon pages, upon pages of legal crap you did not understand. You weren’t dumb, not by any means, but it was just legal, lawyer type paperwork that you’d never dealt with before. So it was no surprise that your search history looked like you were trying to cheat on the Bar exam by the end of it.

Currently, you were sitting at the desk in front of the entrance, a shitty little desk with a few things on it and a file cabinet. Not really an office desk but more something where some files about the fighters and “clients” were kept. Nothing too in depth, really it all just looked like gym filing to anyone else, and it’s where Price had stationed you for the time being. You had voiced your concern about confidential information being so close to the front entrance, and he had said, “Don’t worry about’ it darlin’, I got my own tricks up my sleeve too…” and left you with a wink. You assumed it meant the information was false, or it was extremely known things. All fighters have two legs and bones!

You rubbed your eyes, hair tucked behind your ears. You failed to really style it today, so it sat a bit messy. Glancing tired eyes at the clock it read 3:00pm. You groaned, looking down to the empty desk in front of you. All except a number 2 pencil you had been pushing around.

Price had sat you there this morning, and said to “keep an eye out” which meant you’d been sitting there for about 3 hours doing nothing. Watching the occasional person walk by, and one random person in training gear walked in. You sent them Price's direction with a sweet smile.

The bell above the door chimed, you looked over, sitting up a little straighter, your shirt stretching slightly across your chest and shoulders. You’d decided on a skirt and button-up short sleeve today. Wasn’t terribly cold out, and you’d learned the gym was usually warm–if not hot–almost all the time. A fairly snug gray skirt reached your knees, very professional mind you.

A smile creeped onto your face as you spotted the brunette Scotsman push through the door, large duffle bag in hand and hoodie on, but still rolled up over his bright cast. Looking down the street, shouting something.

“Ah won’t staun ‘ere aw day waitin' fur ye!” he scoffed, “Hurry up!”

He grumbled to himself and paused when he saw you sitting at the desk, attentive.

A cheeky grin swiped across his lips, pushing the door open further, you raised an eyebrow as he walked in. 

“Weel looky here,” he leaned against the desk, ginger on his bad arm, “this sure is a bonnie sicht fur this afternoon, eh?”

You chuckled a bit, “Good afternoon Johnny.”

You’d know these boys for about a week. Not especially well or anything, but Johnny was scary friendly, and so was Kyle–so it was easy to talk to them when they were constantly bothering you and forcing conversation. Simon on the other hand…he kept his distance. Not a lot of distance, but still distance. He was polite, and spoke to you when needed, but he didn’t go as out of his way to talk to you like Johnny did–and when Simon did it was short, awkward conversation that typically ended in him roughly excusing himself or going, “I have to go, train…” and walking off in some random direction.

Once he’d walked into the girls bathroom (not used since there were never any women in the gym) and stayed in there for 30 minutes just in case you were still out there when he emerged. Icing on the cake was he said he was going to go speak with Price as he walked away.

You honestly liked talking to him. Weird as he was, Simon was sweet and was obviously not used to conversation with anyone other than like five people currently in his life. Five might be pushing it. Judging from his typical company, he probably wasn’t used to getting a word out during conversation.

He reminded you of yourself in the 3rd grade when you thought the weird talking points you'd memorized the night before was gonna make you friends.

“Price mov' ye oot here fur the day??” Johnny leaned in closer, smug as he grinned, catching your eyes everytime you looked somewhere else, “Pretty borin’, eh?”

You rolled your eyes, “You wouldn’t believe, nothing to do but sit here. Wait for you and the rest to show up I guess…”

He laughed, clapping a hand on your desk and shouldering his bag more, “Ach! Weel, somewan's been sittin' aroond aw day waitin', an' sure is gonna get a kick oot o' this welcome committee!”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms on the desk and leaning in, secretly, “Oh really?”

“Aye,” Johnny nodded, “He’s strugglin’ t'day.”

You glanced behind Johnny, just in time to spot a large body filling up the doorway, bell chiming as the door opened. The lumbering blond had on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, frowning as he walked in. Catching your eye immediately, as he gripped the strap of his duffle bag tighter, jaw clenching.

He walked up to Johnny, standing next to him, looking at you. He was taller than Johnny, and had a good view over the desk where you sat, not that it was a tall desk or anything to begin with.

His cheeks went a bit pink as he stared at you, blushing a bit yourself when you realized he wasn’t really staring at your face.

Maybe the skirt was unprofessional for this environment?

“Good afternoon Simon,” you nodded tentatively to him, with a sugary smile. Tugging the end of your skirt down, trying to stretch it past your knees.

He grunted and nodded, “Aft'noon.”

Fidgeting with the strap of his bag slightly.

You glanced behind them, noticing the absence of a person there, “Where’s Gaz?”

Looking between the two, Soap shrugged, and Simon rolled his eyes.

“He’s leyte t'day, summat about 'is cat,” his grumbly voice seemed to clear in the gym, even with the background noise. Johnny was loud, sure, but something about Simon’s voice just cut so clear through everything. Maybe he did theater in high school, and learned to project.

Your pouted slightly, looking between the two, "Oh, I hope she's ok, Kyle said she'd been acting a little off recently."

“Price got 'er workin' reception fur the day” Johnny jutted a thumb at you as he eyed up the slouching hulk next to him.

“Ah can see that Johnny…”

You huffed a bit, standing up, catching the way Simon immediately refocused his attention on you, not hiding the way he looked you up and down. His brows scrunching together, lips pressing a bit tighter.

“Come on,” Johnny scoffed, “Come back with us, we’ll show you a few moves huh?”

His chuckle was cut short as he seemed to snap to attention a bit. Shoulders squaring and a weird look crossing his face as he looked past you.

Your brows quirked up before a heavy hand found itself on your shoulder, the sudden sensation making you yelp and jump. Whipping around to look at the man standing behind you. A warm smile on his face, crows feet deep set next to his eyes and full cheeks. 

“Pullin’ ‘er away from work so soon?”

“O-oh,” you put a hand on your chest, hands nearly shaking as your heart pumped under your ribs. Gulping as you licked your lips, the chapstick left a sticky wet on your tongue that tasted of vaseline, “Mr. Price, you spooked me.”

He chuckled deep in his chest, hand dragging down your arm as he gripped it, tucking you against his side in a buddy-buddy way as he looked to the boys in front of the desk.

“My 'pologies darlin', didn’t mean t'give yer a fright,” he jostled you slightly, your gaze finding itself back to Simon, “Shud work on yer awarness sometime though.”

“Y-yeah, probably,” a tight smile found itself onto your face, Simons fists clenched tight, the one on the strap of his bag, and the once hanging by his hips. Muttering something to himself and looking from the hand around your arm to Price–who was looking back at him.

Johnny broke the moment of silence quickly, “Wasn’t gonny, sir! Jist a joke, wouldn’t dream o' pullin' 'er frae work.”

Price jostled you again slightly, your feet finding themselves in a poor placement as you stumbled for a moment. Praying you wouldn’t totally tumble on a rolled ankle. Finding your balance quickly, looking up embarrassed. Cheeks pinker than before as you stood with your shoulders raised. Pressed against the side of Price’s chest, you looked up to him, finding him already looking at you. Your eyes widening as you nervously look back in front of you, a sheen of sweat finding itself around your collar and your palms–which were clasped tightly against each other.

“Good! I need 'er fer a li'l outing,” he looked to Simon out of the corner of his eye, demeanor changing slightly, more professional and stern, “Yeh too, Simon, bizness mattahs.”

Simon nodded curtly, bumping into Johnny as he walked past, not rough but in an irritated manner. Sending a wicked side eye to the scot as he passed, you followed him with your gaze for as long as you could, without turning your head dramatically to catch him turning the corner.

Jumping as Price squeezed your arm roughly, snapping you back into the moment, and away from how Simon's shoulders lumbered as he walked and his butt was probably thicker than yours.

“Yes! Uh, Sir,” you collected yourself quickly, then pinched your brows, “Outing?”

“Yeh ma’am, I’ll brief ya more on the ride there, got somethin' fer ya in the meantime.,” he gestured to under the desk, “Grab yer things, quick.”

He pat your low back as he let you move and lean down, grabbing the bag under the desk with your work items in it. Grunting as he moved you, pulling you with him away from the front desk and away from Johnny. Who scoffed and waved to you cheekily as he walked towards the other side of the gym, towards the rings.

You watched him for a moment, before stumbling as John quickened his pace towards his office.

“Um, sir,” you cleared your throat, “I promise I wouldn’t have left work, even if they invited me, I would’ve stayed right at my spot.”

Price laughed, glancing at you as he pulled at his door, holding it open to you.

“Don’t worry, Y/n, I know yer a good, 'ard workin' girl, wouldn’t let temptation stray ya.”

His smile was so warm it almost didn’t fit the rest of his demeanor. You swallowed, nodding as you quickly made your way into the office.

It was stuffy as ever, the scent of smoke ever present, and the old chair was as worn as always. There was a file on the desk as Price walked over and snatched it up. Passing it over to you.

“You’ll be joinin' me an' Simon on a business meetin', here’s some info on the other party and their fighters an' that, as well as the possible location,” he leaned against the desk on his palm, shifting his belt in the loops of his pants.

You cautiously flipped open the folder, it wasn't very thick, only a few pages really. Some informational sheets.

“Um, thank you sir?”

“So polite. Wait outside fer a mo', Simon’ll be with us fer a bit, I just gotta grab some things an' we’ll be on our way. Meetin's in 30,” Price chuckled, shaking his head, he stopped himself before turning to you more, “After today, you’ll be comin' to all me meetin's with me, an' you’ll be in charge o' schedulin' 'em an' keepin' up to date. Got it?”

Nodding your head, and tucking some hair behind your ear, you smiled tight, “Yes Mr. Price.”

The burly man patted you on the shoulder, smoothing out the fabric of your shoulder where he crinkled it. 

“Now go wait outside for Simon.”

“Yes, sir…”

“Oh, and drop yer bag 'ere, lot safer than just sittin' out under the desk out there,” he gestured to the room, but mostly to the spot under the large window that was always closed off with shitty curtains. You licked your lips slightly as you nodded and thanked him and set your bag down, pulling a pen from it and chapstick. Shoving both into the pocket of your blouse quickly, same with your phone. It wasn’t huge, but it did pull at the fabric of the pocket.

Your lips felt dry as you watched him walk around his desk, he was dressed in a semi nicer shirt than usual, and his pants were slacks instead of jeans. You turned on the toe of your foot, and dragged your eyes away from Price as he yanked a drawer open. 

The door was heavy as you opened it and stepped outside, shoes clicking on the hard floor. 

The metal of the wall next to Price’s door was cold through the fabric of your shirt, and you took a deep breath in, letting your head fall against the wall. You looked at the subtly swaying light on the ceiling. Thinking about how you got here.

You huffed and rubbed your eyes carefully–trying your best to not smear the makeup.

“Yer cryin'?”

The deep voice made you jump, whipping your head to look at the man next to you. Slightly taken aback at what you saw, brows furrowing and mouth parting as you looked at Simon.

“What?” you shook your head, “N-no, I, no–I was just rubbing my eyes, sorry…”

Simon shrugged and turned, hands in his pockets, his eyes boring holes into you.

“Alrigh',” his response was short and sweet. You looked him up and down. He was in a suit, not an exactly nice one, but like something a fancy limo guy would wear, you weren’t even sure Simon could sit in a limo, much less the driver's cab, he just seemed too…large.

But he didn’t look bad, in fact he looked pretty handsome, it fit him at least, but the tie wasn’t tied exactly well, and the top button was undone, as well as the buttons by his hands. The shirt also wasn’t tucked in, and the coat was unbuttoned. Not to mention his pants were tight on him, not noticeably unless you were looking…but you were in fact looking.

He looked unbelievably hot.

Your jaw clenched and your shoulders raised when you found your gaze drifting back up to his face. His brows pinched and lips slightly pursed.

“Wha’?”

“Huh,” your voice sounded foreign, cracked a little in fact.

Simon scoffed and looked to the side, “Where’s Price?”

You straightened up fully, gulping, and tucking hair behind your ear that didn’t need to be tucked, “Um, he’s in his office, he’ll be right out though! Said for me to wait out here with you for a moment…”

Simon nodded, and leaned against the wall, looking off towards the rings. 

“So…” you broke the silence, with that weird pitchy voice that wasn't yours, “What’s with the suit?”

Simon grumbled, pulled a hand up to rub his face, “Stupid shit, Price makes us wear 'em when we interact with other…fighters, says we can’t be lookin’ a mess when 'e’s in charge of us.”

You nodded, then pursed your lips, “Should…should I be dressed better?”

Looking down at your outfit, you smoothed out your skirt, and double checked your buttons and collar, and glanced at your legs to see if you had any runs in your stockings.

“Nah,” Simon's voice was stuffy as he cleared his throat, “Yer lookin' good. Real pretty, like a proper business lass.”

You blinked owlishly as you looked at him, forgetting about your triple check of your clothes, swallowing thickly as you felt your stomach shift. Face growing hot and your knees creak with the sudden weight of your body.

“O-oh,” you ran your hands down your front, looking down at the floor–missing how Simon tracked your hands down your front, “Well, thank you. You look, really handsome too actually.”

At that Simon cleared his throat louder, shifting uncomfortably, looking like he just got hit in the stomach. 

“They're uncomfortable fuckin’ clothes.”

You shrugged, “Well your tie is tied wrong for starters, plus you don’t really seem like you wear ‘office ready’ clothes often. Although you look more like a bodyguard.”

Simon looked at you as he licked the inside of his cheeks, the flesh moving differently with the scar tissue in its wake, you’d seen Simon's face a lot, and each time it’s like the first. You'd also notice he acted different in the mask, more A-line with the 'stoic fighter' persona. There’s always something new you realize, or notice about his face, or he makes an expression you’d never seen or you watch how his skin tugs in certain ways due to his scaring. But you never got when Johnny would make a joke about scaring girls off, you assumed he was getting more than he could handle. But now as you thought about it–he’d very rarely speak about women, or any ‘encounters’ he’d had with them. Maybe it was because you were there, and he didn’t want to spill his guts around some stranger girl. Not like Johnny would, seemed like he had a new girl every night.

“It’s tied fine.”

You giggled, crossing your arms, “I think I’d know Simon.”

You missed that way his shoulders tensed when you’d said his name, and you definitely missed the way his hands shifted in his pockets and if he was a little less ashen he’d be blushing.

“Well it doesn’t do any good to just point out I didn’t tie the stupid bugger well.”

He tugged at the tie with one of his hands, loosening it more. 

God you swore the room instantly got 10 degrees hotter.

“I–well I’ve just tied a lot of ties ok,” you gulped, “I didn’t ya know, mean anything–I, I can help! If you want…”

What you wanted was to leave, to throw yourself from a building and somehow figure out how to delete what you say out of existence. But you can’t do that, so you just stand there with your lips pressed together and a constipated look on your face.

Simon curled a brow and shrugged, “You can if ya want. Your choice.”

You felt so light after that, he took a step forward and your muscles froze. All of a sudden you were worried you’d completely forgotten how to tie a tie.

“Yeah I mean,” you paused, maybe saying something about how he’s supposed to look nice and not sloppy wouldn’t be the best, “Just come here…”

Simon hesitated, then clenched his jaw, taking a step forward as you tucked the file under your arm, squeezing it tight to you. Fixing your hair behind your ears before you stood straight, reaching out to his tie–which was a simple black tie. Honestly it was a little short for the tall man, but you didn’t think Simon would care too much about how long his tie was supposed to be.

“I think I have to take it all the way off,” you said, looking closer at the knot the blond had tied it into. You glanced up at his face, and the tall man shrugged.

“Do what ya need.”

Your hands worked fast to untie it, and pulled the tie from around his neck before straightening out. Your face felt hot–you were sure you were red, or looked sweaty at least, and Simon was just…staring. Brows relaxed for once as he looked at you with a blank face, which, was slightly softer than his usually resting face. As you went to re-loop the tie, you found yourself going onto your tippy toes slightly. Leaning in closer to him as your arms went up. You tried to keep distance between the two of you, professionally of course, he was technically your boss in some way. But Simon leaned down, almost like he was chasing the distance you were subtly creating as you leaned back. You could smell him, even in ‘nicer’ clothes he still had the almost minty lingering scent of cigarettes and a certain musky sweat smell to him. It wasn’t bad, like BO sweat, but it wasn’t like cedar or “ocean mist” or anything like that.

You looked up to his face, quickly finding his eyes locked onto you. Sunken and brown, you couldn’t help but notice how thick his lashes were, and they were light, not blond but light. They seemed to catch the light of the gym beautifully, even though the lighting was terrible, Simon didn’t seem to get the memo. Even his eyes looked like they were reflecting a golden hour type light. Even with the dark circles and eye-black residue around them (which you noticed never fully came off, you’d never see him without some short of muck on his face).

You gulped, licking your lips nervously as you snapped your gaze back to the tie, burning hotter than ever. There was no way he happened to not catch you hard you were staring directly into his eyes.

But, you didn’t notice how intensely he was staring at you, so he might’ve not noticed.

“Um, so,” your voice again was squeaky as you spoke, “You just make sure this side is longer than this side, and then cross it over here…”

Your hands were slightly unsteady as you showed him. Explaining as you went, finishing with a fairly decent tied tie. Much better than what Simon had done, as you adjusted it, you also found yourself fixing his collar, which was a bit uneven, and buttoning one of the buttons he hadn’t. Before you found yourself squaring out his shoulders like a mother would her child you stopped yourself.

“Uh, sorry, got ahead of myself, I tied my boyf–ex’s ties all the time, he didn’t know how, like at all, it was embarrassing…for him! Not for you!” you chuckled nervously as you pulled your hands away, rubbing them on your skirt, which you also adjusted where it didn’t need it, tugging it down a bit, “It’s totally understandable for you, he was just like, um a child ya know. Totally helpless…”

As soon as you mentioned him you regretted it, not only did it make you think about him, which you had tried not to do since you last saw him, but Simon’s whole demeanor changed. He tensed and his brows pinched tight, his mouth curled down and he had a thinly veiled sneer on his face. Shoulders leaning forward slightly, fists clenched at his sides.

“Enuff of that,” he pulled his hand up to run it down the tie, looking from it to you, looking at you with that same annoyed sunken look he typically had, “Don’t gotta talk about that tosser anymore. Fuckin’ wanker pushed his luck, used it all up with ya.”

You raised a brow, looking at him confused.

“Used it all up?”

“Glad t’see ya kids gettin’ along.”

The stray voice jolted you two out of the bubble of standing outside Price’s office. Speaking of, the grumbly man was closing the door behind him, holding a sleek black briefcase in his hand. Smiling at the two of you.

“I–” Looking at Simon, you realized how close you two were still standing, how he was slightly leaning down to you, and how you were standing with your hands clasped behind your back in a school-girl way.

Simon grumbled, standing up straighter, “Ya talk like yer on yer deathbed, old man.”

Your heart was racing, and your eyes wide as you looked at Price. Not exactly sure why you felt like you’d been caught doing something, but your body was reacting the same, embarrassed and nervous. Not a feeling you enjoyed.

“Um, yes sir! I was helping with Simons tie,” you yipped, gesturing to the tie. Simon rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Your stomach jumped at how barrel chested he looked, and how thick his arms looked, and his fucking mitts of hands.

You quickly snapped out of it, smiling at Price sheepishly.

“Aw, Simon couldn’t tie ’is own tie,” Price laughed and clapped the large man on the shoulder, giving him a look you couldn’t quite figure out. Felt like you were out on an inside joke.

“I can tie me tie, she just... does it better, office-snob type,” Simon glanced at you, the back to Price.

“Hey,” your brows pinched together as you huffed, “I’m not a snob…”

Price laughed, “Don’t worry darlin’, we don’t think yer a snob, yer just well put together, somethin’ Riley’s not used to.”

The bearded man laughed again as he clapped Simon on the shoulder harder than before, almost as a reprimand. Price squeezed Simon’s shoulder as he looked at you.

“Well, best get on our way, there’s a car out front we’re takin’,” and with that Price walked off, whistling a soft tune as he went, “Don’t wanna leave everyone waitin’.”

When he was out of ear-shot, you looked to Simon.

“I’m not a snob,” you said, crossing your arms, pouting. 

“Don’t read too much int’ it, love,” Simon didn’t seem to be listening too much as he looked at you, but he shook his head and as he walked ahead of you, you swore you saw a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

Scoffing to yourself, you jogged to catch up, following the two men out of the building. Price let you two to a back parking lot you didn’t know was there, and to a large truck. It wasn’t exactly brand new but it looked like a sturdy work truck.

Honestly, you were expecting something…nicer. An expensive black car with blacked out windows and so clean the paint was like a mirror. But, a large dirty white work truck that was slightly lifted and had dents in the doors was the only car in the lot. You clutched the folder tight as you followed after the two, nearly jogging to keep up with their long legged pace, and the uneven ground wasn’t ideal for heels.

You were also very aware that there was apparently no backseat.

Price reached into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys, glancing back to the two of you.

“Sorry 'bout the ride, darlin', the regular work car is,” Price paused to think over his words as he stuck the key into the door, unlocking it, “In the shop at the mo', got a bit banged up. So we're usin' Simon's truck.”

Simon sighed as his large hand reached for the passenger door, pausing as he looked into the car the back to you, like he was piecing something together. The driver's side door groaned as it opened, rocking the truck as Price swung himself in, grinning.

“She ridin’ in the bed then?”

Simon jerked the door open as he shot a nod towards you. Your eyes widened as you looked at the bed of the truck, swallowing thickly as you looked at the brute, he didn’t look like he was cracking a joke. But then again, he never really did.

“I'm not riding in the bed,” you said, pointing a finger at it, then looking at Price, “–um, sir…”

Price laughed, turning the car on, the engine rolling. 

“Don’t worry, you’re not ridin' in the bed,” he chuckled, patting the seat next to him (which was not a seat but the hump in between the two seats that would maybe fit a five year old…so not you).

“O-oh,” you squeaked, Simon stepped off to the side, still gripping the door tightly. His lips pressed tight together. You grabbed onto the truck and lifted yourself up, setting the folder down as you climbed into the truck. As awkward as it was, and you nearly stumbled forward as you pulled yourself all the way in. A bit red in the face as you sat yourself next to Price, keeping a few inches between you two. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Price pat your knee and looked past you, the grin on his face growing.

You had a few inches separating you and Price, that was till Simon got into the truck. The cab rocking and his large frame squishing you against Price. Your body tensed as you were squished tight between the two men.

Simon grunted, shooting you a side eye, “Can’t ya move o'er.”

Your tongue felt thick in your mouth, curling in on yourself instinctively, then looked to Simon with a crease in your brows, “No. If I move over anymore I’ll be in Mr. Price’s lap…”

The blond man let out an annoyed grunt, “Just–christ woman…”

Price let out a belly laugh as he looked to you both, “Now no bickering, I need you two on your best behavior for this meeting, understood?”

He looked at you at the end, gaining a bit more of a serious tone. Your shoulders raised and you nodded. File clutched in your hands as it rested on your lap.

“Of course, uh, sir, Mr. Price…”

Simon scoffed lightly next to you and Price patted your thigh, feeling Simon's arms rub against you as he crossed them over his chest.

The ride was stuffy, even though the windows were down both men smelling heavily of tobacco and Simon smelled of sweat and Price of cologne. Not to mention the truck, god it smelled like an ashtray and mothballs, and, the lingering scent of pennies would catch your nose every other breath. The scratchy radio playing something quietly.

Unfortunately both men man-spread, and it was a manual truck, so you could either try to spread your legs around the gear shift, or tuck them tight against Simon. Which, you opted for. Body burning hot at each bump or gear shift that jolted the truck–at a certain point you think Price was doing it on purpose with how harsh his start and stops were, and a particularly sharp turn that landed you nearly splayed over Simon's lap.

You refused to look at him after that, face burning all the way down your neck. Simon kept a steady gaze out the windshield, solid as stone in his seat. At another rough turn by Price, Simon moved. A hand reaching over to press itself hastily against your shoulder–steadying you on the turn. 

“Uh, thank you,” you muttered out, licking your lips nervously, not looking at the bulky man.

He grunted in return and looked out the window next to him, his hand moving down to wipe itself along his slacks, his muscles tense as if he was hesitating to make a movement.

“Ow long 'ave you lived in town?” Price's voice cut into the air., Making you jump slightly.

“A few years,” you fidgeted with your hair then looked at Price, the older man switching between looking at you and the road, “Something like 4 or 5, I moved once while I was here.”

“Oh is that right?” Price mused. You nodded and hummed at him, looking back in front of you. There weren’t many people out, and not too many cars parked along the road. You were entering a nicer part of town, where more of the business and financial buildings were. Nothing extremely high end, but your old job was about 10 minutes from where you were now.

As you were looking around the area, watching people hurry up and down the street, all in nice clothing, you felt Simon shift next to you, then felt the weight of his arm behind you. Your brows raised as you instinctively sat up straighter, sending a side-eye his way.

He had his face turned away from you, and looked even more tense than before, but this time his arm was resting on the upholstery behind you, there were no headrests, so you could lay your head back on his thick forearm if you wanted it. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and you could smell him more now that you were essentially tucked into his chest, under his arm.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to move, or scooch away from him. In fact the thought of it made you tense up more. The car was silent.

“Comin’ up on it,” Price said, a cheesy grin on his face as he looked at you both, “It’s jus' 'round the cor'ner.”

“Mmhm!” your voice was squeaky, and went even higher when you felt Simon’s arm move closer to you, more wrapping around your shoulder now. You honestly didn’t know what to do, it was like when a cat laid on you and you didn’t want it to move…or claw you to shit. This all felt like some Johnny shenanigan, the “yawn to arm over the shoulder” thing seemed very much up his lane, but not Simons. Especially not with you, you weren’t sure he liked you in general–much less had a romantic liking hidden in there for you.

Price pulled around a tall building with large glass windows, and parked in a shadowed off parking area down an alley behind it. Roughly turning the car off and opening the groaning door.

“Hop out, love-birds, we’re 'ere!”

Simon ripped his arm away from you faster than you'd ever seen him move, and got out of the car, walking off quickly.

God it felt like you had whiplash, grabbing the file tightly and slipping out of the car, hopping down onto the pavement. Looking up to see Simon pulling on his black balaclava, tucking it into the collar of his shirt, speaking quietly with Price at the end of the bed of the truck. You found yourself frowning slightly at the covered up face, you’d grown to like not seeing it covered.

Simon glanced over, rolling his shoulders when he saw you. Your brows pinched slightly as he just stared at you, before peeling his eyes away to look back at Price who was saying something to the large man. 

You closed the door of the truck, and looked down at your attire, adjusting your skirt and shirt, flattening it out properly before you walked over to the two men.

Price looked at you as he shoved the keys in his pocket, resting his hands in them as he spoke.

“Ah Y/n,” he sounded more reserved than usual, more professional, “Stick close to Simon, yeah? Don’t want ya wanderin' off in 'ere, an' don’t speak to anyone unless you're with me an' I’m talkin' to 'em. Got it?”

You nodded, “Yes Sir.”

Simon sighed heavily, as Price clapped his hands together.

“Wonderful,” the man reached up and pinched your cheek, “Simon'll keep ya safe, darlin', don’t worry 'bout it. Jus' be sweet an' smile that pretty smile.”

You nodded and rubbed where Price pinched you, looking up at Simon who was looking steadily at Price with a hard gaze. 

“They really got into character when it related to business,” you thought, huffing through your nose. Following them into the building. You felt your pace falter slightly at how nice the inside of the building was. Pristine and shiny and everything looked so expensive. Especially the people walking around.

There were a few eyes on you three as you walked in, but for the most part everyone acted like this was a normal occurrence. Which, it probably was for all you knew. It was cold inside, and smelled like a hospital. Not warm or welcome at all.

Price walked up to the front desk where a pretty girl was sitting, typing away. She had hair pins holding her hair back and a radiant face. She glanced up at you three, her eyes lingering on you–looking you up and down before glancing to Price with a “really?” look on her face.

“Mr. Price?” she asked, folding her arms on her desk, tilting her head.

“Yeh, ma’am,” he grinned. Simon stood behind and to the side of Price, looming over him and the desk–like some kind of evil guardian angel.

“You’re late you know,” her tone was sharp, not terribly, but she wasn’t exactly pleased. You felt your face flush when she looked at you, “Why have the secretary if you aren’t going to use her?”

Price waved her off, “We made it, didn’t we?”

The woman behind the desk shook her head and picked up the phone, typing numbers in, “You know Kate hates starting off late…”

Price chuckled and shrugged, “I’ll deal with 'er, don’t you worry.”

The woman laughed and scoffed, “Yeah I’m sure you will–12th floor, third room on the left, and you better hurry up.”

With that Price nodded and led you both to an elevator, once on it you three stood in silence. Standing between Price and Simon, the elevator had the lingering scent of cologne and perfume, watered down by the time between people using it.

“That was Laswell's wife,” John said, leaning against the wall of the elevator slightly, stretching his leg out like his knee was bothering him, “Sweet woman, but no doubt sick of us coming in and putting her wife in a bad mood.”

The man chuckled, shaking his head.

“Laswell?” you asked, quirking a brow. The name ringing a faint bell in your memory.

“Ah yes,” Price snapped, “I don’t believe I ever officially put 'er in your files. Think of 'er as upper management, she’s me boss essentially. Oversees most, if not all, of the organizations workin' in our line o' business. Gets the las' say in 'bout 80% o' anythin'. Tough woman. Makes sure everyone gets theirs an' gets it however she deems it fair— which, ain't always exactly fair.”

“She can be a'right cunt most o' the time,” Simon grumbled.

“Don’t mind 'im, he’s jus’ pissed Laswell lets guys use ‘performance enhancin' drugs’ before fightin' 'im,” Price explained.

“Fuckin’ shits.”

You nodded, feeling your back straighten as the numbers above the doors grow higher, anxiety seeping through your skin and dripping into sweat. An image of this evil, towering, red-eyed woman popping into your head. Sharp claws that had blood dried underneath. Shadowed eyes and a serpent tongue. Sweat beading at the base of your back, joints tight as you shifted, shoes suddenly unbearable and clothes incredibly tight.

The elevator dinged, and you felt your breath suction back into your lungs, nearly making you lightheaded. 

Simon shifted up straighter, hands clasped behind his back and Price was still messing with his leg, shaking it out as cursing about an old injury under his breath. As the doors opened you nearly wanted to look away, fearing you’d meet eye to eye with medusa.

Instead you saw the bright light of the floor, and a lean blonde woman standing with her arms crossed a few feet from the elevator doors. She had her hair pulled into a bun, her bangs swept across her forehead. Lips pulled into a frown and brows wrinkled together. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and her shirt was perfectly tucked into her navy slacks which fit her unbelievably well. Straight legged all the way down to cover the sleek black heel she was wearing. The air that radiated off of her reminded you of the very high up business women you’d see go off on people at your old job or who your boss would try to suck up too when they’d come in. Demanding respect and holding so much power over the room.

“You’re late,” she said, voice heavy with annoyance, she licked her teeth under her lips and sighed, “Again.”

my lovely tag list for this series:

@sophhieannee . @rafaelacallinybbay . @oceantornadoo . @jamdoughnuts . @msjaeger .