#well now i gotta color around all these damn legs!

[plaidpyjamas]

augh this is gonna take forever

[shutit-haha]

"Katsuki," you swayed, "I think I might have been roofied."

"What!?" He gives himself whiplash from how fast he turns, neck cracking and muscles giving a slight pull. The two of you are in some damn frat house because someone invited you and you REALLY wanted to go. Knowing full well that you would stay here for an hour tops, half-hour if everything was already in full swing. This was certainly knew though, I mean 45 minutes in and you've been ROOFIED!

"I said," you leaned against him. Closing your eyes and attempting to take deep breaths even though those very same breaths seemed to make it feel worse. "Sorry Kat," you grabbed at him tightly with your hand. "My stomach's getting all swirly."

He goes into full fucking panic mode. His large hands wraps around your arm a little too tightly dragging you into the crowd with him. He's moving like a fucking linebacker just shoving whoever's in his way. The blonde takes a sharp left turn around a corner yanking you into a hallway with him. The lights here are shut off making it damn near pitch black. His shoulder slams into strangers making out and dry humping and the two of you cringe at the moans that come from the many bedrooms. The floor underneath your feet is sticky, and with the way you feel right now it's a fight just to rip yourself off the wood. Your muscles feel heavy, eyes barely open. The world keeps swirling and spinning, bright colors popping out at you even in the darkness. There's this terrible throbbing between your legs, making your thighs tremble slightly.

"Kat," you whine. He kicks open the bathroom door throwing out the couple currently occupying the space.

"Yea," he gently guides you over to the toilet bowl. "Wait actually don't fucking touch anything in here, it's all disgusting. Bastards don't know how to fuckin act." He's tugging you out into the hallway again, the couple from just a few seconds ago scurrying back in.

"Katsuki," your legs are struggling to keep up. You feel weak in the knees, stumbling over yourself as a result. Your hearing comes and goes, a war between absolute silence and migraine inducing noise. "Bakugo I can't," air escapes you in huffed breaths. "I can't keep up, please," you beg him.

The blonde -still rushing for a reason you don't understand anymore- scoops you up in his arms. "I'm gonna get that shit out of your system, and kill that asshole. Fuckin scum, piece of shit doesn't deserve to walk the earth." He grumbles clutching on to you even tighter. Your brain is so fuzzy you giggle at his silly words. "What," he looks down at you for a quick second.

"Hot, Kat. Tired," you yawn. Moving with large strides Bakugo carries the two of you out of the fraternity. You shiver the moment the cool air hits your sweating skin. "Cold," you whine curling into him and wrapping tightly around his neck. The poor man chokes with the grip you've got him in. How the hell is he expected to breath in a condition like this?! Not only that but you're pressed flush against him with the way you've twisted yourself around.

"HAH, didn't you jus' fuckin say you where hot?!"

"I'm hot on the inside Katsuki," you screech and wail. You say it like it's common knowledge and it kills him a little. "Wait," your hands fly outward. "I got throw up." The man damn near drops you, only half careful of how he's handling you. Your feet hit the ground and you bend at the ankles and then knees. Just as you're situated it all hurls itself back up. It's ok though, because he's here to hold back your hair for you.

"Gotta get your dumbass home," he mumbles under his breath. You whine bringing your hand up to your mouth to wipe away the mess, only for Bakugo to grab at your wrist. "Don't you fuckin' dare, that shit's gross."

"How am I supposed to clean myself," you look up at him with big blown pupils. Your lashes leave long shadows on your face from the streetlight, lips puffy from whatever drug was forced into your system. There's water lining the bottom of your eyes, a result from emptying your guts, and you're still so hot.

"Just hold on a minute, dammit." His head whips around in search of something, though to no one's surprise there's not much to clean with on the front lawn. His eyes fix onto the door, resignation settling in. "Don't you fucking move from here," he points down at you aggressively. "Do you understand?"

You nod absentmindedly, hand coming up to your mouth once again.

"Don't do that shit! Just sit still dammit, I'll be right back." He hates having to run back into that fucking mess of a party. It reeks worse than it did before, the odor much more noticeable after breathing in some fresh fucking air. He fears that if he makes the wrong step he'll roll his ankle from the sticky floor, and then theirs all the bodies. These jiggling, sweaty bodies, in sync and yet still so far off beat. He's quick, bulldozing through all those extras to get to where he's going. You've been fucking drugged by one of these damn creeps and part of Bakugo worries that they'll find you while you're all alone out there.

"Katsuki," big gooey smile, when he emerges back outside. A shiver racks through him, the cold catching him off guard. He immediately steels himself right afterward determined not to let it happen again. "Katsuki," you sing, "kat-suki, suki, kat. kat, suki," you giggle and then smile. You're clearly out of your damn mind, body rocking back and forth while your hands grip onto your ankles tightly. You look like a fucking kindergartener, at the thought of that he snorts.

"Here," he throws the whole paper towel roll at you.

"Thank yoou," more singing, and an even bigger grin.

He only spares you a couple seconds to clean yourself before he's yanking you up onto your feet. The rough skin of his hand wraps around your elbow, and you stumble right into his side. The roll is hugged close to your buddy like some sort of stuffed animal, thighs pressed together tightly. "Can you carry me again?" Your eyes fall shut sleepily, cheek resting against his hard shoulder.

"Hah!?"

"Please," your hip presses against his now. "Please, I'll kiss you if you'll do it for me."

"Don't say that shit," his cheeks dust pink like a school boy.

You giggle, "I'll kiss you even if you don't pick me up." Paper towel roll still pressed against your chest, you lean into him lips grazing under his jaw. "I wanna kiss you," you hum breathing in his scent.

"Don't say that shit!"

"But I wanna kiss someone," you whine.

"Someone?"

"Anyone," you kiss the flesh at his jaw and neck.

"That shit's getting to you."

You nod absentmindedly again, placing another kiss on his warm skin. "Mhm, I think so."

"I'm taking you home," he bends at the knees slightly begrudgingly picking you up.

"Mmmm," you hum, "I like the sound of that."

He squeezes your thighs harshly receiving a slight hiss from you. "Gotta fucking behave if I'm gonna be doing this shit for you. Not gonna fucking baby you for you to be a brat."

Your arms wrap around his neck bringing yourself as close to him as possible. That damn paper towel roll still smooshed between the two of you. "Does that mean you're gonna punish me?" It was said so innocently, still made his cock twitch.

"Don't say that shit," he growls at you, jostling your body as a way of adjusting himself.

"I'm sorry," you kiss his neck, "I'm sorry."

"Don't do that shit either."

"But," you grind against his abs, "I need to feel something."

"Not me! Take care of yourself later," the thought of you touching yourself quickly popped into his head. Once again he was jostling you to adjust his pants.

"You feel so good," another innocent comment as you grind yourself against him.

"What's I say about behaving," he snaps at you.

"But you said to take care of myself."

"Later!"

"Are you gonna punish me now?"

Thank god the car was coming into view. "Oi! I'll fucking drop you!" He hakes his head, "the hells your obsession with that shit."

You shrug, "like how your hands feel on my ass." Another kiss to his neck, and then your hips jolt on their own grinding against his hard abs. This time you just can't stop yourself, the pit of your stomach feels like it's on fire and the way your muscles are contracting- you just have to. You need too.

"Hey," some part of his subconscious had clearly been paying attention to you. The part about his hands, and the punishment, because his hand came up and then down in one sudden slap. You could hear it whoosh in the air, and then that crackle when it met your rear. You stilled, moaning and arching your back. He nearly fucking dropped you, the one hand holding you completely unprepared for that hell of an arch.

"Fuck," you panted. Your lips kissed a trail up his neck and then nipped the skin behind his ear. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry d-" You bit your lip, suppressing what so desperately wanted to be said.

He fucking dropped you.

Your legs where shaky, knees buckling soon as your feet hit the floor. You expected to fall onto your knees just like you did on the lawn, but he slammed you up against the car. Your back roughly hit the metal, one hand keeping your hip trapped against it, the other hand keeping hold of your wrist. "You're driving me fucking crazy you know that," he spat in your face. His breath fanned against your skin, eyes burning. "I have no clue what that fucker gave you but-"

You kissed him, hips wiggly in his hand in search of friction. He bit your bottom lip, teeth sinking into plush, your back arched. "Fuck me, please. Please just fuck me, swear I'll stop after that. It'll make it stop just fuck me please just-"

He leaned back in, mouths smashing together, teeth clinking just before he forces his tongue in catching a taste of your mouth. Aphrodisiac, "bastard gave you a fucking rape drug."

You shake your head, hips wiggling with more vigor. "No want it," you breath heavily, "want it."

He shoves you aside, opening the passenger door for you, "just the drug."

"No," you're crying now. Hand venturing down to your waist band to give yourself some kind of relief. "Want you," you bite your lip when your hand grazes your clit. "I-" pant, "want you." All your weight is held up by the car, eyes shut to better see the fantasies. "Fuck," you groan.

He doesn't know what to do, he's kind of just watching you. It feels gross, feels wrong but, fuck he likes it. Mouth agape while you fuck yourself to him. It's not real. He's gonna wale up. It's just a wet dream, a movie.

"Wanted you since-" gulp, "that compression shirt, at the- at the gym." You whimper at that, "sweat, nipples were hard." Your eyes open all half lidded and hazy, pupils having consumed whatever color was once there. Your sclera isn't even visible anymore. "You're such a whore," as if your fucking pussy wasn't literally squelching right now.

That was it for him, you weren't gonna fucking insult him like that. As if you were some fucking saint. Yeah, right. He slams the passenger door shut, the back door flying open followed by him quickly shoving you into the car. Your back bounces on the leather seats, one hand quickly rushing to yank down your pants and underwear. The burly man climbs in right after you moving with quick hast, he shuts the door behind him with another loud slam.

"Keep that fucking mouth shut," hand squeezing a the sides of your throat. He's fucked once or twice, never like this. In the back of his car, cock aching, in such a hurry. With the way you were acting it seems like it's only take a couple strokes before you tapped out, you had already been edging yourself in a way. (I mean with you grinding and whatever else and him stopping you every other five seconds.)

He unbuttons his jeans, briefly thinking about turning on the air-conditioning only to decide against it. Fuck it, let the windows fog up. (That'd be new too.) Katsuki doesn't even unzip his pants he just tugs at the sides and forces the zipper to go down itself. You brely catch a glimpse of his boxers before those too are tugged down his muscled thighs. Damn gym rat.

He rudely slaps away the hand you have between your legs, only to smack his dick against your clit. "Condom," you mutter.

"Didn't I say to shut up," it's a nasty snarl, yet still you have the balls to smile at him.

"Please," you spread your legs for him.

"Didn't bring one," fuck please don't tell him this is what's gonna cock block him. He'll fucking destroy this car with the amount of anger that wants to blow. Yet you ever so seductively reach into your bra and pull one out.

"Here." You take it between your teeth tearing at the packaging while he pumps himself. You pass it over to him, the wrapper gracefully falling somewhere underneath the seat, condom rolled on in a blink. No prep, just his dick getting shoved into you.

It's a stretch, a painful, hissing stretch. Your tugging at his shirt pulling it off of him while you adjust, his hands sliding up and under to unhook your bra. "Move," it's a command, an order. And despite his big fucking ego, he listens to you. One large hand placed next to your head, the either forcing your shirt up as it ghost over your body. Your scratching at his back, and rubbing his scalp. It's an odd combo of pain and pleasure for the both of you as a result. "More," you're shouting now, "more," you gasp.

"Take your shirt off," his voice is gravelly and out of breath. The hand once fondling with your breast is now gripping under your thigh. It's pushing your legs up and up and up, till they're resting right on top of his strong shoulders. Your pussy clenches around him upon feeling the muscle moving under your legs. His mouth comes down to suck your right nipple, eyes staring dead into yours.

Fuck you're cuming, quick with his name on your tongue. "Not fuckin' done," he groans, grinding into you with another thrust. "Don't even think about movin' didn't-" He hisses, "fuck, didn't get to cum yet." Another grind and then he's bringing a calloused finger to your clit.

"Katsuki..."

"Yeah baby," it's low and husky, drawing more slick from you.

"Was lying about the condom." He gives you a harsh thrust at that, clearly fucking pissed. "Don't give a shit about it," he nearly pulls all the way out to slam back in. "Just wanted to-"

"Get to the fuckin' point," other hand squeezing at your throat.

"Want you to come in me," you're fucking yelling. "Please," begging.

"Fuck baby, that's enough to make me come on the spot."

You whine at that, "no."

"No?"

"No, please. Inside please."

He pulls out, smirking when he sees how your walls clench around the empty space. "Missing me," he teases rolling off the condom carelessly dropping it onto the floor. In a snap he's back in, three strokes and then he's gone.

The liquid is fucking hot, it's scorching. You wanna taste, wish you would have gotten the chance to. The thought of that has your walls fluttering and coming a second time. Your eyes are all dazed and glossy, hair sticking to your neck and forehead. Carefully Katsuki pulls your shaking legs off his shoulders, while your hand reaches up to push his hair out of your face. "Fuck you're a brat," your lip tint smeared all over his lips.

It makes you smile all soft and gooey. "I'm tired now."

He snorts, pulling your underwear back onto you. "'Course you are," he tugs on his boxers and jeans. "Don't let any of that shit spill out you understand me?" He's pointing at you, face back to that scowl. You nod, pulling your pants back on. The both of you tug on your shirts, he moves to the front while you remain laying in the back. You find a sweater of his and tug it on while he starts the car, rolling down the windows to air the thing out.

"We're doing that shit at least one more time," he says pulling the car out of park.

"You're place or mine," you smile at him through the rearview mirror.

[peachhcs]

she's not her.

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will thinks the combine will help him get his mind off samy, but that completely backfires when he realizes she's everywhere with him.

3.2k words

hiii here's the first (new) installment of the new breakup timeline of the au!! (also so long wow) i'm writing four of the major points of the breakup into fics, but if you guys want smaller blurbs about any of it, send them to the inbox. cassidy is a completely fake character here, but zeev and james are real people! (i don't know the other boys too well, sorry!!)

au masterlist

“yeah, mom. it’s going great,” will hummed as he shuffled around his room searching for his keycard despite him already being ten minutes late. 

the boy could never keep his belongings straight whenever he stayed in a hotel room by himself. how did he even manage before? the answer hit will before he could even really think about it because you know who was always with him on these things? 

he knew who and he was not going to say her name. will promised himself he’d use this week to just forget about all of his problems and just enjoy getting to know the other guys here and that meant he was not going to say—

“samy’s mom called me earlier. she asked about you,” damn it. whatever his mom was saying before didn’t process in his brain because he snapped right back into reality as soon as the name left his mom’s lips. 

and why on earth was she referring to ellen as “samy’s mom.” will knew his mom always, always called her ellen. she probably read his mind or something knowing he was trying (and failing) to not think about her this week. 

“oh. okay,” will didn’t know what to say, so he continued searching for the stupid keycard. 

“i told her you were at the combine having fun. she told me samy’s at her sleepaway camp for the week too,” mrs. smith continued even though she knew will didn’t want to talk about samy at all. 

“mom, can you not?” the boy mumbled. 

“can i not what, will? she’s still a part of this family, so i am gonna ask about her and tell you because i know you still care,” colleen had a point and the blonde hated it because she was right. 

he did care. of course, he cared no matter how much he didn’t want to. that was the hardest part about all of this. 

“i gotta go. i’m already running a bit late. i’ll talk to you later, mom. love you,” they exchanged their goodbyes as soon as will found what he wanted under a pile of clothes in the corner. 

“thank god,” the boy mumbled as raced out of his room to where some of the guys he met were waiting down in the lobby. 

will felt so new to all of this—the media, the sudden popularity, the press. these guys seemed so used to it all yet he was so lost in it all still. he spotted his new friends in some of the chairs awaiting his presence, so he mustered up his best smile as he approached them. 

“there you are, smitty. where were you?” zeev spots the blonde first, his legs hung over the armrest of the chair. 

“sorry, i lost my keycard. i had to find it before i left,” will explained a bit embarrassingly. the other guys laughed him off though and that’s when the blonde noticed a few girls mixed into the group now. a few of them sent eyes his way, whispering things to one another which made will’s cheeks flush a slight pink color, but not in the blushing kind of way. 

“come on, i’m starving. those lines got me wanting anything,” cole muttered as the group pushed themselves to the door. the five of them plus the three new girls walked down the sidewalk chatting about anything in hopes of taking their minds off food until they found something. 

“hey, you’re will, right?” the new voice caught the blonde off guard. 

to his right was one of the new girls in the group he didn’t really know. her name was along the lines of cassidy, but he wasn’t 100% sure. “yeah, that’s me,” he laughed lightly. 

“nice to finally meet you. i’m cassidy, but everyone calls me cass,” she held her hand out with a big smile. will stared at her outstretched hand for a moment, his mind running in circles. 

this could be his chance to finally forget about samy. he said he needed an distraction and this seemed like the perfect one. plus, what was the harm in a little flirting? he took her hand a moment later. 

“nice to meet you, too. you play for minnesota, right?” will wondered, watching cass’s eyes light up that he even knew that about her. 

“yeah, i do!” 

“you guys had a real good season. i was impressed,” her smile continued growing with will’s words. 

“yeah, we did. i mean, you guys were incredible, too. you dominated the ice,” she gushed a little making will flush. he knew people watched his games from all over the place, but he never paid much attention to all of that. 

not when he was always thinking about samy watching the livestream from her dorm room while cheering him on. wait. no. 

no. there was no samy. 

“thanks. it wasn’t always easy, but the fans made it worth it,” the boy hummed. cass grinned again, letting their conversation die into comfortable silence as they followed their group into a restaurant someone chose. 

the young hockey player spotted rutger and some of his buddies at a nearby table making him stop in his tracks for a second. he knew rut would be here, but he just hoped he’d manage to avoid him because he knew the older boy probably hated him knowing what happened between him and samy. 

some of the guys behind him pushed will forward again. his eyes glued themselves to where rutger sat in a laughing fit over what someone at his table said. the older boy held his chest, violently shaking from laughter and finally looked in will’s direction. the two met each other’s gazes and in a surprise gesture, rutger nodded toward the younger boy. 

that threw will off guard. he studied rut for a second longer until someone pushed him forward again and he landed in his seat. 

“woah, careful smitty. you okay?” james laughed a little as he walked around to his seat. the others glanced will’s way. 

“yeah, sorry. got a little distracted,” the blonde excused himself, eyes diverting to the menu to get the attention off of him. the others shrugged, returning to their conversation while will’s eyes stayed right on his menu. 

“what’s your favorite food?” cass’s voice filled will’s ears again. he looked up, her eyes already on him where she sat in the seat next to his. 

“anything, really. i tend to eat anything,” the boy mumbled with an awkward smile. 

“hey, i’m the same way. i’ve never been too picky about my food,” she returned his smile. 

“my sister’s a big picky eater. our mom was always making three different meals for the family because we were all eating different things,” the blonde chuckled as some of the nerves he had earlier started subsiding. 

the two quickly hit it off, having their own little conversations throughout lunch. will’s smile was big when cass laughed at the things he said and he laughed right back at her own corny jokes. it felt refreshing for the blonde. he suddenly didn’t have this heavy feeling in his chest anymore that he’s had since the end of may. this felt really good. 

but what did they say about good things? they never lasted long? something like that. 

will’s gaze would bounce over to where rutger still was every so often. the older boy was never looking in his direction when will looked, too occupied with his own conversations, but rut did glance over at the younger blonde when he wasn’t looking too. 

rut only heard bits and pieces about the breakup, but he knew samy was really hurt from all of it and while the older hockey player wasn’t one to involve himself in things that he wasn’t a part of, he couldn’t but watch what looked like will laugh a little too hard with that girl. 

sure, will could do whatever he wanted and rutger didn’t care. the boy did care, however, about the fact that it looked like will was trying to talk up a new girl not even two weeks after breaking up with samy. that bothered rutger because he knew if ethan or mark were here, they wouldn’t be afraid to go over and bitch at will. 

rutger’s subtle glances finally caught will’s. the blonde was in the middle of a conversation with cass when he caught the glance from the corner of his eye. rut was looking right a him with a look on his face that will knew wasn’t good. 

“you good?” cass wondered when she noticed will’s attention shift. 

the boy’s attention immediately snapped back to hers, “yeah, sorry. my bad. what was i saying?” his words rushed out together making him come off a bit nervous. 

“something about…sumer on a boat or something?” cass reminded him. 

“right, yes. yeah. so, as i was saying,” will’s mind couldn’t stop thinking about rutger’s look. it felt like a warning or..disapproval? disappointment? 

why could he never escape samy no matter how hard he tried? it was like she was everywhere. 

“every summer my family and i go to this lakehouse in michigan. my best friend and i—well, used to be best best friend would always stay up super late to see how many planets we could count. whoever counted the most by the end of the summer would buy one another something the other really wanted,” will hummed, somehow always finding ways to talk about samy without even realizing it. a small smile was on his lips at that memory because he was the one buying samy things by the end of the summer every time. 

“huh, that sounds interesting. aren’t the same planets always coming out at night though so how does that work?” cass’s expression became puzzled. 

will’s gaze snapped to hers, his face flushing again. “i mean, yeah, but different ones will come out and go away as the summer goes on. it was just some little thing..” the boy’s voice trailed off as he slowly realized that game only really made sense to him and samy because they were the ones who came up with it when they were younger. 

cass didn’t look too impressed though. the blonde’s eyes swept over to rutger again who wasn’t looking at him this time, but will still couldn’t get that look out of his head nor the fact that he talked about samy without even trying after trying so hard to forget about her this week. 

it seemed like everything will did or said led him straight back to samy. shit. 

who was he kidding? he couldn’t flirt with someone. he didn’t even know how to flirt because he never really had to with samy. 

cass’s attention drifted away from the boy and no one else was really looking at him, so will took that as his chance to excuse himself. he needed air or something to just get out of his fucking head. the boy scrambled out of his seat in a rushed goodbye, hurrying off to the bathroom before anyone could really bat an eye. 

rutger’s gaze fell on the younger boy as he retreated further back into the restaurant. he saw will’s friends glancing around for a moment before letting him be. the older brunette gazed one more time before saying fuck it and going after will. 

the blonde stumbled into the bathroom suddenly feeling hot. his hand clutched his chest where his heart wouldn’t stop pounding a bruise on the spot while his other hand grabbed ahold of the edge of the counter, bending over the sink as if he was going to puke. will squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that would slow his heart rate down, but it only heightened as his breathing picked up into heavy pants. 

“fuck, pull yourself together,” will mumbled to mostly himself. 

she’s not her. she’s not her. she’s not her. the stupid phrase replayed itself over and over in will’s mind. 

the bathroom door swung open with rutger rushing to will’s side when he saw the kid bent over the sink while panting. “jesus christ, will? are you okay?” the older brunette bent down to will’s level, trying to meet his eyes. 

“i can’t breathe,” will managed through his hyperventilating. 

rutger looked around, realizing no one else was in the bathroom with them. he wasn’t really an expert in this, never really having dealt with panic attacks before. 

“hey, yes you can. it’s okay. i’m here,” rutger tried his best, his attention back on will. 

“she’s not her,” now the blonde was crying. 

“what are you talking about?” the older hockey player grew confused. the heavy pants and now tears didn’t make it easy for him to understand what was being said. 

“she won’t ever be her. i fucked up, rut,” will got out a bit clearer this time. 

rutger quickly understood. 

“do you want me to call her? i can call her?” rut eased his tone, finishing for his phone in his pocket. 

“no, no. don’t,” will shook his head. he couldn’t call samy like this. plus, she didn’t want to speak to him ever again, making it very clear after blocking him on nearly everything. 

“will, i gotta call someone. you’re freaking me out,” the older boy said. 

“call gabe or ryan. i need to talk to them,” so rutger listened and searched his contacts until he landed on ryan’s number first. 

the phone rang three times until ryan finally answered. “rutger? what’s up?” the younger brunette sounded confused that the michigan hockey player was randomly calling him. 

“hey, sorry for the call. i-i’m with will. he’s..he’s having a panic attack i think. he wanted to talk to you,” rutger explained the situation, eyes on will who’s breathing began slowing down. 

“shit, is he okay?” ryan urged. 

“i-i think so? i don’t know. i’m not an expert in this,” rut held the phone out for will to take. 

the blonde’s shaky hand brought the phone up to his ear, “hey leno,” he managed weakly. 

“will? are you okay?” ryan’s voice was laced with concern. he never called will by his first name unless there was something serious going on. 

the guilt and shame quickly settled into will’s body. his eyes glanced to rutger standing beside him still and then his head fell. “i fucked up, ryan. i realize i fucked up now.” 

“what are you talking about?” ryan didn’t get it. 

“everything brings me back to her. no can be her no matter how hard i think they are or want them to be,” the blonde frowned deeply, especially because he was admitting this in front of one of samy’s closest guy friends. 

ryan didn’t need to ask twice who his friend was talking about while a pause came from his end as he digested will’s admission. rutger realized this seemed like a conversation he wasn’t a part of, so he just squeezed the blonde’s shoulder and nodded towards the door saying to just find him when will was done with his phone. 

“i’m gonna add gabe to the call, okay?” ryan finally said as will sunk down onto the ground. he didn’t care that the bathroom floor was incredibly disgusting because he could not go back out and face his friends out there without muttering some lame excuse about leaving. 

“uh, hey?” gabe connected a moment later, confused about why he was on a call with ryan and rutger mcgroarty. 

“hey, it’s me. will’s on the call with rutger’s phone,” ryan explained. 

“oh. is everything okay?” gabe wondered, still confused on what was happening. 

“i fucked up really bad. i know that now,” will said and gabe also didn’t have to ask twice about what his friend was talking about. 

“what made you finally come to this conclusion?” ryan asked, trying not to sound bitter. he knew will was having a hard time, but he would not forget samy showing up to his house in tears after their breakup. 

“i really, really thought i could just forget about her at the combine and just enjoy myself, but everytime i talk to someone, i always end up talking about her no matter how hard i try not to. she’s everywhere in my mind. i thought i could stupidly talk to this girl..be a distraction? i don’t know, but i think i just really wanted her to be samy instead,” will admitted sheepishly. 

“yeah..that happens after having such a history with someone,” gabe said. 

“i know i fucked up. you don’t need to keep telling me that. i feel like shit about it,” will scoffed, rolling his eyes a bit. 

“as much as i hate you for doing what you did and never wanting to see samy that hurt again, maybe you should talk to her,” ryan finally said, tone softening out. 

“i can’t talk to her even if i wanted to. she blocked me on everything almost immediately,” the blonde frowned. 

“look, we all make mistakes. it’s human nature. are you an asshole for hurting her? yes. am i still mad at you for it? yes. do i think you fucked up completely though? no. maybe give it some more time and then reach out. things are still fresh, emotions are still high. we all know samy and we know she doesn’t hold a grudge for that long,” gabe gave his two cents about it as well. 

“i wouldn’t blame her if she did hold a grudge for a while though,” ryan cut in. 

“jesus, shut up, leno. i get it,” the blonde rolled his eyes. 

“look, we’re always here for you, will. I’ll be in boston next, so i’ll see you and we can talk more, yeah?” gabe spoke again before ryan and will started fighting or something. 

“yeah, thanks. sorry for bothering you guys,” will frowned a bit. 

“don’t sweat it. love ya, smitty,” that made will smile again. 

“yeah, love you i guess. just try to have a good time for the rest of the week,” ryan said and will nodded even though they couldn’t see him. 

“thanks, love you guys too. talk later,” they hung up after that. 

will pushed himself back to his feet, splashing water on his face to hopefully get rid of his red and flushed cheeks. he carefully pushed the bathroom door back open, surveying the restaurant for rutger’s table. 

the boy made his way over, nudging rutger’s arm when he was closer. the older boy looked over, “thanks,” will said. 

“of course. you okay, now?” 

the blonde nodded. he glanced to his table where a few of the guys met his gaze, waving him over. he walked towards them, already having decided he wasn’t all that hungry anymore and just wanted to be alone for a bit. 

“there you are! you good?” zeev asked seeing his friend. 

“yeah, not feeling too well. i think i’m gonna head back. sorry,” will muttered out his excuse. 

“oh, okay. feel better man. text me,” zeev said and will nodded before making his exit. 

he didn’t even look cassidy’s way. the only girl on his mind was samy and it was gonna stay like that for a long time. 

[lost-in-wond3rland]

I’m sorry? This is SUCH a stupid need? And idk if I’m getting ONE TOO MANY niche TikTok videos BUT!!

Just like. You know those videos of people on those spinny rides where they get THROWN tf around??? I wanna say they’re from South Korea??? SO! Take my hand, follow me- 😂

But please the hilarity of this as a bakudeku fic???? Where Quirkless!Izuku goes to where ever tf that monstrosity of a ride is (amusement park, carnival, whatever-) and he’s pretty strong, ya know? So be decides to test himself and see if he can hang on. Little does he KNOW Pro Hero Dynamight is there on his day off and “really shitty hair, this is what you want to do today?” “No, it’s okay bakubro, I know you sweat in your hands a lot and it makes it easy for you to slip, we don’t have to, don’t worry-“ ��OI! Fuck off, I can do this shit in my sleep-“

And they’re all on the ride and the moderator goes CRAZY and here’s 6’5 PH!Baku watching as a 5’7 Izuku comes BARRELING towards him so he’s trying to hold onto him and help cuz HE’S A HERO DAMN IT it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s thinks this strangers freckles are pretty or the fact that he suddenly REALLY likes the color green. And “Oi, shitty nerd, you’re built like a brick house and you’re telling me you can’t hold on and keep yourself still!?” And flustered Izu cuz duh-

And they’re getting off the ride, Kiri on some “so manly how you held him down bro! You totally stopped him from flying all over the place!!” “Tch, whatever-“ except Baku is totally blushing and Izuku thanks him but also feels the need to redeem himself because HE IS STRONG DAMN IT!! And “yeah nerd, I can tell you can probabaly crush a watermelon with your thighs, you just gotta work on your grip strength-“ and Kiri is coughing trying not to cackle and Baku and Izu are both now TOMATO red and “well maybe we can work out together sometime? I can trade you me leg work outs for your arm ones…” “you got a deal, nerd” and chaos ensues of a a gym partnership with enough ust to tranq an elephant-

…thank you for coming in this journey with me, here’s your hand back lmao

[dcawritings]

Sun keeps distracting you while you’re trying to get through your training.

Or well, his hands do.

Just paint it.

Paint the picture.

The numbers.

Follow. the. damn. numbers!

No amount of mental screaming could keep you focused—your eyes were locked onto the animatronic practically looming over you from the other side of the craft desk.

“Well?” he says, clapping his hands together. “Are ya done yet? Are ya?”

Your cheeks fill with heat, but you shake your head rapidly in response. Sun looks mildly disappointed, but otherwise continues staring at you with that blank, unchanging smile of his. Amazing how much expression an animatronic could have without proper face rigging—but it’s not his face that’s distracting you from your task.

It’s his hands.

They’re huge.

It’s not that as though they’re disproportionate to the rest of him either. Sun’s overall design is somewhat cartoonish, but his lanky frame and wide faceplate were part of the aesthetic!

And so were his large, dexterous hands.

There were probably plenty of good reasons that he'd been designed like that. Plenty of good, wholesome reasons that were many times removed from what you are thinking about right now.

Gods, you hope so.

“You’re lookin’ awfully distracted there, new friend,” Sun’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts with surprising ease. When your focus shifts back, you see the bot cross his arms and loom even closer. How is it possible for him to look jealous? “What’s more important than arts 'n crafts time with Sundrop?”

Oh fuck. Jesus. There’s gotta be a believable answer somewhere. Think, think, look around and come up with something smart to throw him off—

“Your hands.”

Fuck.

The words had slipped out faster than you could stop them, fueled by instinct and arousal than sense. But maybe they were too quick, too incomprehensible against the background noise for Sun to have truly understood what you said. Maybe if you just pretend nothing was wrong and continued trying to color in the empty canvas, then he'd—

“That’s such a strange answer, new friend! My hands? I'm not even putting on any shadow puppet shows! Now, what about them is soooo distracting?”

He gestures with them as if to make a point, palms open and fingers spread apart as if he was ready to give you a solid high-five. As much as you want to say it doesn’t affect you, it really does. The sight makes your mind spin and your stomach leap into your throat; when he wiggles his fingers it only makes you more aware of how long they are, how detailed each joint was, his range of motion the same if not more flexible than a human.

Suddenly, all you can think of is what it might feel like to have his hand between your legs. How good it would be to have him coo and whisper soft little things while he gently rubs those fingertips over your clit—or maybe even a few little backhanded compliments while he presses a digit or two inside. Could… could your body take more than one? Two? Would Sun be rough with you? Tease you?

Bully you?

“Hellooooo?” Sun says, waving one of those stupid sexy big hands in front of your blazing hot face. “Time is limited, new friend, hurry it up! Do I need to repeat those instructions about painting by numbers again?"

Maybe it's your own emotions coloring it, but Sun sounds annoyed. He drums his fingers of both hands over the edge of the desk and leans closer until he's looming over you again.

He's... really tall, you realize. You'd worked with him before, yes, but your overall experience with the daycare attendant was minimal; that's more than likely why you were assigned this kind of quarterly training. The gentle taptaptap of his digits on the wood keep you vaguely distracted as you answer,

"N-No need for any of that!" you waved the paint brush as if to give greater weight to your words. Its not as if you'd forgotten how to paint, so he didn't need to repeat anything.

You'd probably start blushing if he did—the sharper his comments became, the less you found yourself able to mix colors together despite the fact that there were only three to even mix. How do you make purple again…?

“Oh really~?” Sun’s form looms forward so much that his shadow falls over you. Purple. Purple is—red and blue, yes. Just ignore him. “Because you’ve been lookin’ at my hands an awful lot. And you haven’t even started with your picture yet!”

“I’m just. I’m thinking okay?”

He tilts his faceplate, disdain and disbelief heavy in his words. He finally reaches out and catches your chin between his curled forefinger and thumb. You can feel the warm silicone padding brush over your lips as his voice sheds away the fake layer of hyperactive enthusiasm.

“And what are ya thinkin’ about, new little friend?”

It’s impossible to even form words in that moment. Your heartbeat quickens, and blood starts to rush through your ears. He knows. He has to know.

“I uh… I just…”

“Hm? Just what?”

Before you can stammer more nonsense, Sun’s thumb brushes across your lips. His pupils hone in on your mouth and, slowly, the tip of his thumb presses almost expectantly at the seam, pressing down on your lower lip and against your upper teeth.

You, of course, say absolutely nothing. The entirety of your face feels as if on fire, burning hot against the cool silicone padding over Sun's fingers.

"Open."

You blink several times in incredulous disbelief. No, surely you missheard, misunderstood what he said and twisted it into something you wanted to hear instead—

“Starlight~” Sun says, tone soft and lyrical before it suddenly drops all pretense of fake cheer. “Open your mouth.”

You barely drop your jaw before Sun pushes his thumb inside your mouth, the pad pressing down over your tongue in a way that almost makes you gag. Jesus christ, the digit is long and thick enough that it makes your eyes water and your entire body feel as if aflame.

Meanwhile, the sound of rushing blood echoes in your ears. You can breathe, but barely—and Sun seems to take some sort of satisfaction in watching your expression transform through at least three separate emotions at once.

“Good boy.”

You shiver, eyes locked with his. Whatever is going on is happening so fast, too quick for your brain to realize how sexual it must look to anyone who might peek at the cameras. But still, embarrassment and shame aside, you stay still and let your jaw go slack—Sun watches you carefully for a few more seconds before he pulls his thumb out of your mouth and offers a wide grin.

“That’s what I had thought~!” He exclaims, voice suddenly bright and cheerful. “You’re not hard to read at all, did’ya know that? Your eyes can’t stop lookin’ at my hands—so maybe if you get through this training and show me some really good art,” his eyes narrow into crescents, “then maybe I’ll play with you some more afterwards.”

Oh.

Oh.

And with that, the weight of the air changes. It shifts back to casual so quickly there’s emotional whiplash as Sun claps his hands together again.

“C’mon now! Times a wastin’, so let’s see some hustle and’a bustle!”

[jungle-angel]

His Little Doodlebug (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: There's a damn good reason you gave Amy the nickname "Doodlebug"

Rhett had always had a deep love-hate relationship with Wal Mart in the month of August. Usually you would go and take Amy on a little excursion by yourself while Rhett and Royal ran down to Tractor Supply to get parts for the neighbors' farming equipment, but ever since you had gotten pregnant, that task had fallen on Rhett while Wes, his best friend, had decided to help Royal.

Amy hurried off towards the clothing section, her little sandals flapping against the tiled floor with her little circus-clown ragdoll tucked under her arm. "Hey, slow down there Doodlebug," Rhett called after her.

Amy giggled, excited as ever as Rhett pushed the cart that already had a few extra garden things in it. He didn't really have much of an idea about what kinds of clothes would be the best fit for Amy, but he was damn sure gonna try.

It was a whole back and forth mess of texting you pictures of all the clothes he could find that hadn't already been cleared out, little pairs of shorts with the lace trim around the legs, pretty little gingham dresses in pink, blue, yellow, green, orange, purple and red, plenty of jeans and little sweaters that would serve her well in late fall and early winter. However, what you knew you couldn't get in the store, you'd make by hand which would include plenty of Irish knit sweaters for Amy and the new babies.

"Hey!" Rhett called playfully to Amy as she zoomed from one end of the aisle and back to him. "Don't you run from me Doodlebug."

Amy giggled again. "Can we get more clothes Daddy?"

"Not right now Doodlebug," Rhett told her. "We've still gotta go to the other place and get your other stuff for school."

"No we don't," Amy giggled.

"Yeah we do, you're goin into preschool at the hippie school where Momma teaches," Rhett told her.

Amy held onto her ragdoll with one hand and her other one gripping the beltloop of Rhett's jeans with her little fingers. As soon as the clothes and the plant stuff had been purchased, Rhett loaded Amy and the bags up into the truck to head for the next destination.

Back into the center of town he went with Amy in tow, to the little shop owned by Mrs. Newman, who in turn would be Amy's preschool teacher. You and Rhett absolutely loved her store and all the supplies she carried, the cozy building with its knotty pine floors, shelves full of yarn, brightly colored wools, stones, books, pastel colored cloth and a whole host of other things that the children at the school you taught at would need for the coming year.

Two boxes of block crayons, a little case of beeswax and a basket of wool later, Rhett finally had what he needed and even let Amy pick a few items for later. He thanked Mrs. Newman, promising that over the weekend he, Royal and Wes would be down to help her husband fix his horse trailer.

Home he went and finally pulled up the driveway just as the sun had begun to set. Wes's truck was no longer there, a sign that he had gone back over the hill to the reservation to bed down his own horses and cattle for the night, yet the porch light had remained on. Royal and Cecelia would most likely be sitting out in the porch rockers, Royal smoking a hand rolled cigar while Cecelia told him about everything that had happened in the day.

"Alright sweet pea, out," Rhett said, opening the truck door so Amy could get out.

Amy practically jumped out of the truck and ran for the house, yanking open the door as Rhett unloaded the truck and kicked off his shoes in the mudroom. The house smelled so good with the steaks just having been pulled off the grill along with the smells of white rice and green beans trailing it its wake.

"Oh jeez! Somebody's happy," Cecelia chuckled as Amy rushed to hug her.

"I was hoping the trip would tire her out," Rhett answered. "Hannah-Banana go to bed?"

"Nope," Cecelia answered. "She just ate, but I'll give her a bath in a few minutes."

"Thanks Ma," Rhett said, hugging his mother.

Cecelia took the clothing and supplies from him to put them away while he made Amy a plate full of steak, rice and green beans for her to eat before her bath.

Upstairs he went to his room, which had become your shared bedroom. Even though you were only five months along, you had already begun nesting, preparing the crib at the foot of the bed for the two little boys resting in your belly.

Rhett wrapped his arms around you and kissed your cheek, his hands coming to rest on your swollen bump. "Boys give you any trouble?" he asked.

You hummed, delighted by the warm breath on your cheek. "Not really," you sighed.

You two were yanked from the moment by the sound of Amy running through the upstairs hall in nothing but her pink wrap towel. "Daddy, can I use Momma's bubble bath?"

You two laughed and shook your heads. "Give Momma a minute honey," you told her.

Amy zoomed back into the bathroom as the bathtub filled up. You grabbed the pink grapefruit bubble bath out of the medicine cabinet and poured a little bit of the slimy pink liquid in for her and watched it foam.

"Guess someone had a bad case of the zoomies tonight," you laughed.

"Yep," Rhett answered. "Guess that's why we call her 'Doodlebug'."

[hookedsworks]

Edge(ING) Fitness - Chapter XX

Ivy's POV.

ao3

masterpost

Ives kept glancing over at III while he drove out to the field. After messing with his hair until he was satisfied, III was watching the world go by. But that wasn’t enough, and he opened Ivy’s glove box as well, and began digging around. 

“Why the hell do you have a rubber duck,” III asked, holding up the silly little duck. Ivy couldn’t keep the shit eating grin off of his face. 

“It’s a Jeep thing,” he found III’s reaction to his truck to be absolutely hilarious. He’d never seen a man so put off by a vehicle before. “What do you drive, by the way? Since you seem to hate my truck,” 

“This isn’t a truck,” III put the duck back and closed the glove box. “I drive a Mustang,” 

“Bet it’s one of the shitty new ones,” 

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well, go on. What is it then?” 

“1967. Candy red. I’m not an idiot,” there was a grin on III’s face. He loves his car. That, Ivy can relate to. And a vintage Mustang? Mustache may just be his dream girl. “I can’t believe you picked me up,” 

“Light as a feather, babe,” Ivy saw III whip his head to stare at Ivy out of the corner of his eye, and then he realized what he had said. “Er, uh, I mean,”

“Too late. You said it. I’m your babe,” Ivy rolled his eyes as he drove up into the parking lot. 

“Well, in that case, babe, I guess I’ll have to carry my own bag out to the field. Can’t have a babe carrying my shit around, can I?” Ivy cackled and jumped out of his Jeep. He popped the gate, so that he could change into his rugby gear. III also got out and came round to the back while Ivy was standing there in just his underwear. Ives watched III’s light blue eyes cruise down the length of his body, pausing at his crotch, then his tattoo. “Like what you see?” Ivy could not resist taunting III. He was so enjoying their back and forth. III dramatically licked his lip, twirled his mustache and looked up at Ivy. 

“More than you know,” his voice was pitched deeper, rich and full. Ivy felt a hot stone of pure arousal drop down in his stomach. But he did his best to brush it off. He pulled his shorts on. 

“Bold, mustache. Bold,” 

“Always, pretty boy. Now, give me your bag and tell me where to go. I’m your bag boy and cheerleader now,” 

“Never had a cheerleader with a mustache before,” Ivy could not stop smiling. “You’re a lot of fun, aren’t you, mustache?” 

“I think I like it better when you call me babe,” 

“Alright, I’ll make you a deal. Stop calling me pretty boy and I’ll call you babe instead of mustache,” III’s grin seemed permanently etched onto his face. He looked to be having as much fun as Ives was with this ridiculous banter they had going on. 

“But you are pretty, and I never let a compliment go unpaid,” 

“Ives!” one of his teammates shouted down the field, jumping and waving. 

“Alright, c’mon babe. I’ve got to get down for warmup,” Ivy hauled his bags out of the back of his Jeep, set them down on the ground and locked the gate up. III reached down and grabbed the bags before Ivy could. 

“Meant what I said,” III hauled the bag up his long arms. Ivy kind of really liked seeing III draped in his rugby colors. 

“If you like this, I oughta get you your own jersey. Be my cheerleader for real,” another shout rang out across the field, and Ivy took off. III was close behind, but he wasn’t running. Damn long ass legs. 

“Hey, since I’m here, you gotta come to my marathon in a couple of months, don’t you? Tit for tat and all,” Ivy slid into his rugby player mindset and fired back without thinking. 

“Maybe we oughta cut all this foreplay and just fuck, huh, babe?” it was only after he said it that he realized he was serious. 

[the-batblog]

You ever stood in front of Superman?

Not like when he's moving, or when he's saving people, but just standing there. Have you ever been in his presence? Have you ever experienced his company?

At first, there's this sense of awe. It's Superman, after all. The Man of Steel. And he's taller than anyone you've ever met, and he's built like a truck, and you just watched him punch a giant robot so hard it broke the windows of the high-rise he was next to.

But then… then your lizard brain kicks in.

And it tells you to be very afraid.

You don't know what it is at first. It takes a long time to figure it out, to see what's so wrong, what's making your hairs stand on end and your skin crawl and your spine tingle.

For one thing, he's not breathing.

He's been standing in front of you for two minutes now, listening to emergency personnel, checking up on some of the other victims of this week's mishap, and it isn't until he gets to you and opens his mouth that you realize. That it finally clicks. That you notice, unless he's talking, his chest doesn't move.

"How's your head?"

Three little words, and it's amazing how hard it makes you want to flinch. Again, why? You tell him you're fine, because the EMTs already looked you over, and then he stops looking you in the eyes for just a moment. Because he's not looking at you. He's looking in you.

He's looking at your skull. At your brain. At all the blood vessels in your head. He's not looking at you, he's looking at your meatsack, at the flesh and bone of your insides, as if they were open to the air. You're as good as dissected in that moment. He can look at everything in you, and the thought that you may as well be naked is the least intrusive thing going through your head. Because you gotta wonder how he's so calm about seeing everything that should be hidden on the inside, as if it were spread out in front of him. You gotta wonder what that does to a person's mind, seeing that.

When he meets your gaze again, it strikes you how damned blue his eyes are. They don't look real. They don't even look like color contacts. They just look CG, even though he's standing right in front of you, even though you can feel the heat coming off of his body.

"Drink plenty of fluids when you get home."

You catch it that time. As he walks away, you figure it out; what's so wrong about his voice. It's quiet, and it's polite, and his tone is only gently authoritative, but it. Booms. There's something like a ten foot drum under his words, and the air itself shivers when he talks. It must be his strength. It doesn't matter how quiet he is when his muscles are all so unbelievably strong. When his lungs and throat work under the same power as those window-shattering punches.

And then the fourth thing that sets your teeth on edge. He walks like he doesn't weight a damned thing.

He's big, he's huge, and you've seen semi trucks wrap their bumpers around him on TV and he didn't even twitch, but every step he takes is completely devoid of substance. Of consequences. He's pretending to walk, moving his legs and body in all the right ways, but nothing squishes his heels or pulls against him when he lifts his leg. It's like he's not real. Like he's a video of a person superimposed into the world.

Superman's amazing, of course. He saves so many people and he's really truly so nice. He's probably got a lot going on, but he makes time for the whole world. But standing in front of him… it's deeply disturbing. How does anyone look at him and decide to fight him?

I love Superman and I'm thankful for everything he does. But I never want to see him in-person again.

[littlehungrywarriorcats]

Could you perhaps critique my first attempt at designing a cat? The text is the description given by the clan generator, and I tried to draw it based on my limited cat knowledge (gained from your videos, btw they're great, Willowclan inspired me to do this myself)

If you have any advice on how to make her pattern more realistic or make more sense I'm all ears, I'd like to know I'm doing alright with one of them before I do the others

Oh WOW gorgeous!! I love the color choices tbh! She matches the desc given & I think the stripes are very realistic! They wrap around the legs/butt exactly the way they do in irl mackerels :3

If you were going for #PURE REALISM™️ I would say don't make the toes darker as I've never seen a tabby w/non-agouti toe fur, BUT personally? I'd keep her how she is now, dark toes and all tbh. I think it works better for character design & realism be damned; you've gotta have a little fun, y'know? Like if we're drawing 'em smiling and talking we might as well color the toes dark.

The only critique I'd have is that if you wanted someone to animate her, or use her in a comic, you'd wanna simplify the stripes a lot. But that's what alt "animation-friendly" designs are for lol :3

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand 7 - Gotta Look the Part

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: They eat like royalty and she gets to dress up like one.

note: oh LORDY this one is long (2k words!) but I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you again for all the likes/reblogs. We finally get to gamble after this part!

The door to the bathroom closes with a soft woosh, leaving Din by himself in the wide space of the suite. He waits for a moment, listening to the voices echo on the other side.

She hums while Grogu giggles and water splashes. All clear. He shakes his head, walking over to the console and calling the front desk. “Bring me dinner for two adults and an infant. I don’t care what it is, whatever’s fastest.” If she’s anything like him, she won’t be picky. And Grogu eats anything.

In the interim, Din sits on the couch and deems it safe to take a load off, which in this case, means he can disarm for now. He takes the jet pack off first, being the heaviest and most cumbersome of his tools. Off comes the blaster, the hilt of the Darksaber, and the various blades he keeps concealed. Everything is accounted for.

After about fifteen minutes, there’s a knock at the door – must be the food. He answers it and three waiters greet him with wide smiles, wheeling three trays inside the suite. Din lifts a brow as they set up in the center, uncovering the food and revealing two identical plates of fresh, steaming seafood, a buttery smell filling the air. For the child, there is a colorful bowl of soup, with some mini square cakes for dessert. “And finally,” says a waiter. “A decadent chocolate cake. For you and the lady.”

“Uh.” He is thankful for the helmet hiding his aversion. “She’s not my… never mind.” He knows no one cares in this hellhole, not when thousands of rich men bring their mistresses or escorts to play with them. The last thing he wants is for someone to think that of her. Din tosses them a few meager credits as tips and waits for them to leave. With the sounds of bath time still ringing behind the door and his stomach rumbling, he figures it’s as good a time as any.

He slips his helmet off with a soft sound, breathing in deep to welcome the fresh air into his lungs. All at once, the delectable smell of the food assaults his senses, enticing him to sit down and partake. Such extravagance in food feels almost sacrilegious for the practical Mandalorian, but at least it means she and Grogu will have a decent meal as well. He takes a thick piece of grilled fish into his mouth and makes a small noise of satisfaction. Dank farrik, that’s damn delicious. He eats quickly, downing large gulps of water in between. In the corner of his vision, he eyes that chocolate cake.

She’s probably never had it either.

He finishes his fish, leaving nothing but the bones. Wiping his lips with the cloth napkin, he pours himself a swig of white champagne, just to rinse the aftertaste out. Nothing more, nothing less. As soon as he’s done, he doesn’t linger, and situates the helmet back on.

A few minutes pass as he hears the bath drain, sucking in the water. The door slides open and a cloud of steam escapes. She emerges, a towel wrapped around her head and a silk robe tied around her waist. The robe is shorter than Din expects, halting just above her knees and showing off a stunning pair of legs, shiny and unmarred by any layer of dirt. Even her face glows, renewed and fresh. Grogu has a child’s robe on that is far too big for him, the sleeves dwarfing his arms. A soft chuckle escapes Din.

“Oh my stars,” she says, eyes closing as she inhales deeply. “That smells divine!” She scurries to the couch, setting Grogu down beside her as she gasps at the plate of food before her. “I-Is this all for me?”

“Already ate.” Din holds Grogu, spoon feeding him the soup. “C’mon, you little womp rat. Time to eat.”

She watches them for a moment, her heart skipping a beat at the sight. It’s so odd seeing a bounty hunter, unafraid of blasters in his face, feed a small creature all without an ounce of embarrassment. Noble and caring… Ah, but she isn’t distracted for long, not when a decadent meal waits for her. Her mouth waters as she cuts a piece of the fish, popping it into her mouth.

“Mmgh.” The sound she makes is loud, enough to make the Mandalorian’s head turn. “...Sorry.” She giggles, covering her mouth, and continues to eat. He shakes his head, but a quick chuckle tells her that he isn’t annoyed by it. When she finishes, she looks over and notices the chocolate cake still sitting pretty, completely untouched. “What’s that?”

“Cake.”

“Who’s it for?”

“...You and the kid can have it.”

She shrugs, leaning over to bring it towards herself. The plate has two forks, so she takes one and cuts into it, shocked at its softness. After sniffing it, she brings it into her mouth.

Then, she really moans. Her eyes rolls back and a hand falls onto her chest. “Stars.” She shakes her head. “Oh my, Mando, you have to try this. I’m serious. I’ll leave right now.”

“It can’t be that good.”

She grins, cutting a little piece onto the fork. “Grogu,” she coos. “Open wide. Pbrrr. Here comes the speeder!” He drops his jaw and accepts the cake in his mouth. His ears wiggle and his arms stretch towards the cake, clearly begging for more. “Told ya.”

The Mandalorian pulls Grogu back. “Finish your soup.” After reining in the child and pivoting his focus back to the meal, he speaks. “Fine. Just… finish half of it.”

She digs in again. “I could easily finish this whole thing. You’re lucky I’m being so nice.” Half of the cake remains once she finishes. Once Grogu is done and munching on one of the smaller cakes, the Mandalorian hands him to her.

“Don’t turn around under any circumstance.”

“I won’t.” She sits in a way that turns her back towards him and all she can stare at is the front door while Grogu eats calmly in her lap. Then she hears the hiss of air depressurizing. It’s off. Her head wants to turn, to see what he looks like, but she knows not to betray his trust. So she listens, listens to the clanking of the silverware, listens to the teeth hitting the fork. She holds her breath.

“...Mmm.” Oh, now she desperately wants to see his face. He doesn’t say anything, but she hears the silverware against the plate.

“Told ya.” The plate is set down and the helmet hisses as it covers his face again.

When she turns around, she takes the rest of the plate and finishes whatever he left. Stars, she can’t remember the last time she felt full and heavy. She’s ready to lie down on the couch and take a nap, but that would be hard to do while in a robe, would it?

Speaking of clothes…

“Hey.” She pulls down on the hem of the robe, trying to hide her skin. “So, what am I supposed to wear to the tournament? I can’t wear my usual clothes… right?”

The Mandalorian takes a moment to think, his fingers tapping on the cushion of the couch. He stands and goes up to the console, calling the front desk. “Can you bring me a dress?”

A feminine voice responds. “Do you mean a stylist, sir?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

“That easy, huh?” she comments. “Is there anything they can’t bring you?”

He sits back down. “Doubt it. This place caters to all of your vices, legality be damned.” He crosses his arms and rests his ankle on his knee.

Her eyes trail up and down his form. “...Are you going to get anything for yourself?”

“Like what?”

“A suit or robes. Or… are you just going to go in that.”

He exhales. “I don’t go anywhere without my armor.”

“That’s what I thought.” She sighs, hugging a knee against her chest. Out of common courtesy, she tries not to let her eyes wander towards him, but after all of the stories her mentor told her, it’s hard not to. The Mandalorian. A bounty hunter of high renown, belonging to a deadly people that few get to see and even fewer survive an encounter with. He who never takes off his helmet in front of another, who never goes anywhere without armor or weapons.

But he has a child that he feeds with his own hands. And he enjoys the taste of chocolate cake. And he sucks at sabacc.

Some time passes and then a knock at the door alerts them on the couch. “I got it,” she says, getting up to open the door. Standing in the door frame is a tall woman, slender with sharp features in her cheeks and bony fingers. She has the paint that the girl noticed earlier, black lines outlining her eyes as her lips shimmer with gold.

“You poor thing,” says the stylist, taking a chunk of wet hair in her hand. “My goodness! I do have my work cut out for me. Chop chop!” She claps her hands and a swarm of assistants flood into the room, carrying racks of clothes, stacks of shoes, and boxes of tools.

The Mandalorian stands up. “Hey, what is all this?”

“Oh, don’t mind us, sir,” says the stylist. “We’ll just use the bedroom. Come, everyone! You, girl, with me!”

“What the--” She finds herself being tugged by the tall woman, flashing a brief look of fear towards the Mandalorian before they all disappear behind the door of the bedroom.

Alone again.

Din groans and rolls his head, cracking his neck and shoulders. Remember. This is all for the beskar. He rubs the back of his neck as he glances down at Grogu, still in his robe. “...Right.” He finds ways to pass the time like dressing Grogu and freshening up in the bathroom himself, washing his face. It feels like hours before the bedroom door slides open.

The stylist walks out first, followed by her posse of assistants. “Ah… I am a genius.” She grins and steps out of the way. “Come on out, dear!”

Din stands up immediately. Placing one foot in front of the other, she takes small steps out of the room. Light silk sways around her feet like flowing water. The dress hugs her best features while gold jewelry jingles around her wrists and biceps. Drop earrings twinkle and bounce as she walks. Her lips are painted red and her eyes are brushed with similar colors to the dress: blood wine and fiery oranges. At the sight, his shoulders relax, his lips part, and his eyes dare not blink.

She walks towards him, a bashful smile on her lips. Just as she is about to say something, she steps on the hem of her dress. “Oh--!” And she falls forward. Din darts forward, catching her before she can face plant onto the floor. Her jewelry clanks against his armor as he helps her regain her balance.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” She lifts her face. “Sorry. I-It’s these shoes, I can’t…”

“You must!” says the stylist. “I believe my job is done. Let’s go, everyone.” She claps her hands again and as fast as she arrived, she makes a swift exit. Once she is gone, Din realizes that she still clings to his arms as she readjusts herself.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

“It’s fine…” He takes his time pulling his arms away from her, just making sure she can indeed stand. “You… you look great.”

“Oh.” She laughs, pushing hair behind her ear. “Um. Thanks. Is this really what rich people wear? It’s so… uncomfortable.”

He lets out a fast breath of air as he laughs. “It’s… It’s just for a few days. Once I have the beskar, I’ll take you home to Tatooine. You’ll never have to wear this stuff again.”

“Right.” She nods, albeit with a degree of hesitation. “Back to Tatooine. That’s… that makes sense.”

[deny-the-issue]

As Above So Below

Chapter Nine: Tides of Fate

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

As Above So Below Masterlist

Summary: Unintended consequences catch up with you.

This chapter is rough, but please hang in there! Remember, there are four more chapters after this <3

Thank you to @silcoitus for beta reading! <3

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Taglist: @arcaneincorrectquotess, @lazycondensedmilk, @zauns-eye, @crunchlite, @alva-dore, @roxannadanna831, @astudyincontrasts, @mmartos, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @juniper-sunny, @roxnpens, @a-gal-with-taste, @artwithvivien, @leave-me-alone-doctor, @fantadym

[Explicit Language] [Demon!Silco] [Silco x reader] [silco x fem!reader] [Major Character death] [angst] [mentions of suicide] [gore] [torture] [5.3k words]

Every fiber of your being floats on a cloud of bliss, coming down to earth one sense at a time. First, it’s the slightly dusty, sex-tinged scent reminding you of a night well spent. Then, the feeling of Silco’s fingers lazily massaging your scalp, prolonging your drowsy state as your face rests on his warm, gently rising chest. And lastly, the ungodly ache settling in between your legs and in your throat. It’s almost enough to keep you from feeling the straps of his vest digging uncomfortably into your cheek. 

You lift your head, eyes weepy with sleep, barely noticing the string of saliva still connecting your face to him as you try to rub the linear indents from your cheek. When you do, you’re too exhausted to be embarrassed and clean off his vest with the corner of a blanket, flashing him a reassuring smile that’s not returned. 

“What did that accomplish?” He asks, gesturing to the slightly damp blanket with a small, irate flick. 

“To clean it? Do you not know what cleaning is?”

His face scrunches up, bewildered, before his voice rises with well-practiced contempt. “By soiling the bedding?”

“Even more, you mean?” You flash him a puckish smile, and his face relaxes almost immediately. 

In another moment, he can’t stop the crooked smirk that curls his scarred lips. And you can’t help but kiss that beautiful curve, pushing yourself up with a hand on his chest for a quick but adoring peck before falling back down. The accosting affection happens too fast for Silco to guard his expressions, and you catch a delicious glimpse of vulnerable shock before it washes away as quickly as it appeared, leaving only a notable color on his unmarred cheek. 

“I’m relieved that you’re feeling yourself again—I worried the position caused lasting brain damage.”

“I mean, maybe. I was upside down for a while. And if that didn’t do it, the finale certainly did.” You nuzzle your face into him again with a content smile; straps be damned. 

Silco’s arms tense around you as he speaks slowly and deliberately, “Brain damage is not a good thing.”

You bark out a laugh, unrestrained. Silco twitches, slightly perturbed by your outburst, and loosens his grip on you. Slightly embarrassed but unable to quell the storm, you cover your mouth and roll onto your back as you unravel into sleepy giggles. 

“No shit!” You finally manage to say after a few shakey, deep breaths. “Of course, it isn’t. I’m just a troll.”

His brow raises, head nodding in agreement as he traces your jawline with a finger. “Beautiful menace.”

You smile like a fool, all too proud of the title. 

“Let’s get cleaned up.”

The thought of using your legs has a low groan escaping your pouting lips. 

“I don’t want to go home yet, Silco.” You say, eyes pleading. 

“Why go home,” he pauses with a proud air about him, “when you could use my bathroom?”

You prop yourself on your elbows as it dawns on you. “There’s running water?!”

No sooner does he nod that you’re sprinting to the bathroom on weak, wobbly legs, shouting behind you. “Good, ‘cause I really gotta pee!”

Silco is still on the bed when you return as fresh as you can be without a shower. His clothes are changed—rich blood-red silk drapes his body in shimmery decadence, and the mattress is now on the floor next to the broken frame. It’s quite the elegant sight; seeing your devil lying there, hands behind his head, dozing off. You’d prefer him without the clothing, though.

You bounce Silco awake by flopping onto the mattress, pulling a pillow under your head as you lie on your side, facing him. 

“Can I tell you something?” you inquire, biting your lip nervously now that the process has started.

He nods lazily, teal eye half-closed as he fights off sleep.

“I… dreamed about this. About us,” you reveal, confidence waning.

Are you being stupid? Probably. Do you regret mentioning it? Yes. Do you now have to explain it anyway? Also yes.

There’s just no putting the cat back in the bag. You take a deep breath and prepare to continue when he interrupts your slow thought process.

“I know.”

Two words. Two, simple, words. How can two words break your brain so thoroughly? 

“What–how?”

He answers with silence, one eye closed as the other drifts up to the ceiling, his breathing slow and relaxed. 

Did he seriously fall asleep while talking to you—after revealing something like that?! 

There's nothing like curious determination to put the wind back in your sails. You shake him awake, not even taking the time to appreciate the heat of his body bleeding through the rich fabric.

“What do you mean, ‘you know’? HOW?!” 

He groans, giving you an icy glare as he removes your hands from him.

“I possess the power to dream-walk, but it was you who made the connection. There are those among your kind that share these magical abilities—you call them ‘mages’.”

“I’M A MAGE?!” You explode into a fit of excitement. 

“NO—let me finish,” he chastises, continuing after you settle back down, “As I was saying, you are not a mage. It was just another side-effect of the flowers’ pollen.”

“Yeah, but, how do you know I’m not a mage?” You ask, very disappointed but still hoping. 

“You lost the ability to dream-walk, yes?”

The past few weeks have been quite lonely for you, and only now do you have a reason. You sigh as your hasty hopes of becoming a powerful mage dissipate. 

Wait. He can dream-walk. He was IN my dreams. 

And he has fucked you in every. Single. One. 

“Hey!” You playfully punch his arm, “You could have said something! And why did it always have to be a sex dream?!”

Silco smiles a mischievous, proud display of amusement, devilishly handsome. “You pulled me into the dreams—if you are searching for the perverse, you need only look in the mirror.”

You roll onto your back as your mind goes into shock, both from the whiplash of his sass and the grand revelation. 

“I would also like to confess something.” 

His voice has a strange, hushed tone, and you prop yourself on your side to face him again. The amusement fades from his features slowly as you wait patiently, sensing this is not the time to push him. 

“I cannot remember my past life—my human life. Only the shadows of memories remain, and they contain more feeling than anything of use.” His eyes never leave the ceiling as he speaks. 

You gently take his hand and say the only words your aching heart can find. “I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand, accepting the small gesture of comfort as his eye flutters closed, heavy with sleep once again. Unfortunately, this is the perfect moment for your brain to remember something that may help him. 

“Hey, so, I know this guy—a scientist, mostly. He might be able to tell you something useful.”

He perks up, eyes settling on you curiously. “What makes you think he can help a demon?”

“He’s not exactly human himself. He was—at least, I assume he was at one point. Oh, and don’t be mad, but he did send that crazy guy after me.”

“He’s the one that tried to kill you?” Silco’s face twitches with anger. 

“Well—yeah. But you’re a demon! You’ll be fine.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Just promise not to kill him until you ask about your memories?”

“I will try my best.” He sighs heavily, conjuring his eye patch and donning it as a silent suggestion. 

Sleep comes fast to you both, and for once, you welcome your dreamless slumber with open arms. 

You wake in an empty bed, reaching out over Silco’s still-warm indent. Rolling over, you find him standing in front of the wardrobe, buttoning his sleeves. He senses your gaze and turns toward you, features harsh in the morning light. 

None of the softness remains from the night before, but you chalk it up to resting-bitch-face. 

“Tell me what you learned of the shop.” His command is blunt, but his voice is as sharp as a scalpel.

“Good morning to you, too,” you mutter, starting to gather your scattered clothing. “House Ferros is behind the factory.”

“Do you have proof?”

“They sent a fixer to the shop, and I just so happen to know who he works for,” you shrug before pulling up your pants.

“And why did they send someone?” he growls, patience wearing thin. 

Fully clothed now, you cross your arms, temper rising with each response. “Because I broke a fuckin’ window! You wanted to know who is behind it, and now you know—what’s the problem?”

He closes the gap between you, face tense with barely concealed rage. “Were you seen?” 

You drop your gaze and sigh, “Yeah, maybe.”

“How could you be so reckless?!” He yells, throwing his hands up in the air. 

The reaction surprises you as much as it shames, and you’re quick to backtrack. “It’s fine—he doesn’t know who I am! He can’t know who I am!”

“You cannot know that! Why are you so willing to throw your life away?”

“I’m not!” You protest defiantly, defenses rising. 

“I thought that monster of a man killed you when I found your mask in his hands! You would have been if I hadn’t ripped him to pieces!” He sneers, backing you against the wall with his rage. 

“I’ve changed!” You fight back, fists shaking at your side. 

“Your indifference in the face of danger is just as detrimental!” He grabs your wrists so hard you wince, shaking you as he continues his verbal assault. “You risked your life not because you care for those people—you’re suicidal!”

“Shut the fuck up!” You cry, trying to rip yourself from his grip. “Get off of me!”

“Did you not tell me as much the first night we met? Do you not remember?” He pushes you against the wall, hard and unrelenting, leaning in close to hiss through clenched teeth. “‘slit my throat—leave my body in this alley.’”

His hellfire breath burns your face, but not as much as his next words. “I thought better of you.”

All of the fight leaves you like smoke clearing from the rubble, leaving only damage in its wake. When he releases his punishing grip, you collapse against the wall, utterly numb except for your shaking breath. Silco steps away from you to peer out the window, and smooths back his hair, righting the errant strands, chest still heaving with anger. 

Your fight or flight response kicks in without his oppressive gaze to weigh it down. Pushing off the wall, you take off down the hallway, snatching your boots along the way. Clumsy feet stumble down the stairs, your shoulder crashing into the wall of the landing before sliding down the rest of the way on your heels—only Janna knows how you didn’t fall.

You hear him calling after you, but not clearly enough to decipher words. Why would you want to hear them, anyway? He’s hurt you enough for a lifetime. Tears start to well in your eyes as soon as you rip open the front door, bare feet hitting the pavement. You don’t stop—nothing can stop you. Bloody heels are a welcome pain next to the desolation brewing in your chest. 

Once you’re far enough away, you stop to slip the boots on, not bothering to lace them up. Stop too long and the raging storm of emotions will catch up; you feel the rain spitting at your back, tears slowly but steadily trailing down your face.

How could it have gone to shit so fast? Was your plan that hair-brained? You suppose it was, given that you were most likely spotted. 

This shouldn’t come as a surprise to you—everything you touch rots in one way or another. 

Dammit, you tried! You tried to be a better person, and you tried to do the right thing. But what if he’s right? What if you were just searching for a way to kill yourself this entire time? 

With home just around the bend, your feet pick up their already rushed pace, and you push your feelings back behind the overflowing dam for just a little longer. But when your front door comes into view, you see two people standing in front of it; one smaller, feminine figure with blond hair, and a large familiar man. 

You recognize the lady immediately as Sofia, Grim’s mother, and the other hulking figure as the owner of The Last Drop, Marius. The confusing pair turns toward you at the sound of your footsteps, and before you have time to think, she’s running you down.

The unstoppable woman meets the dumbfounded obstacle, and she tackles you to the ground. You land hard with your back taking the brunt of it. Her fingers claw at your shirt until it’s firmly within her steely grip. 

“Where is he?!” She screams in your face, hands shaking.

You don’t answer—how could you? She shakes you violently, and the back of your skull cracks against the pavement. Ears ringing, vision splotchy, you’re only vaguely aware of Marius pulling her off of you.  

She’s kicking and screaming, trying her damndest to break free from Marius’ iron embrace. You barely have the drive to sit up, lazily feeling the back of your head. Fingers come away bloody, and nausea swirls in your stomach. 

“Calm down, dammit!” Marius yells, “I said I’d help ya, so let me help!”

Surprisingly, she listens to him and doesn’t attack again when Marius releases her. Putting up a cautious hand blocking her, he walks to you. Meaty hands pick you up with ease, attempting to right you. 

His touch sends a bolt of anger through you, and you recoil with a pathetic cry, crashing against a nearby wall for support. 

“What the fuck do you want from me?!” 

Marius takes a step back, confusion and hurt flashing across his face. “She came to the bar looking for you—said you had her son.”

“And you believed her?!” 

“No—I told her you wouldn’t do anything of the sort! But she needed to know, and I offered to help. Look at what happened! It’s a damn good thing I’m here.”

“So, is he here or not?” She interrupts, voice venom-laced. 

“No, you dumb bitch! Why would he be with a fuck-up like me?! It’s not my fault you lost your son!”

She screams and lunges, but this time Marius is fast enough to catch her. He starts to heave her away, but before he leaves, he glances back at you, shaking his head with clear disapproval. 

Cursing under your breath, you move to your front door and push the key into the lock. Turning it, you’re surprised to feel no resistance. It’s unlocked?

Did you forget? You don’t think so—that’s one thing you always remember. 

Fuck it—you open it, letting it swing wide until it hits the wall with a soft thump. Everything is dark except for the kitchen light, which you most definitely left off. There isn’t a kitchen less used in the undercity, and you’re surrounded by abandoned buildings. 

Steeling yourself for what may be lurking, you cautiously tip-toe to the edge of the archway leading to the kitchen, staying out of the light spilling from it. Holding your breath, you peek over the woodwork, heartbeat pounding in the back of your head. Then you sigh, sagging in relief when you spy nothing amiss aside from a piece of paper on your otherwise empty table. 

The wooden chair creaks heavily as you collapse in it, and you take a moment to rest your aching head on the cool metal surface of the table. 

Dizzy and dozing, a random medical fact wiggles its way into your ear. 

Don’t fall asleep alone with a concussion. 

Somehow, you peel your heavy eyelids open and force yourself upright. The paper is either blank or upside down. Lazily, you flip it over, blinking at the handwriting. Jumbled and ever-changing, you have to refocus your eyes multiple times before you can read the whole message. 

My dear, 

you couldn’t have left a clearer trail. I should thank you, really. 

You weren’t home, so we grabbed the next best thing. 

Meet us at the old factory, and he’ll live. 

Sine

The paper falls from your hands as the meaning dawns on you. You fucked up, and now they have Grim. 

Pushed to the edge with a temper like a hairline fracture, you flip the table, screaming as you do. The chairs are next in your path of destruction; you grab them one by one, smashing everything you can before the wood is just as splintered and broken as you. 

Only after there is nothing left to destroy does your mind come back to you. Surrounded by the remnants of your kitchen, you fall to your knees. The whole world shrieks at you, recent memories clawing at your chest, all while something dark stirs within the vortex of pain consuming your heart. 

Something familiar—something that should have stayed buried. 

Silco’s voice echoes in your mind, “You risked your life not because you care for those people–you’re suicidal!”

Tears streaming down your face, you laugh. Pathetic, barely audible, gasps of air that could be mistaken for sobbing. But then the mania hits, and your whole body is shaking with the force of it. Despite the pain it causes your head—despite your torn, bloodied hands—despite ruining everything you worked so hard to achieve these past few months. 

You laugh. 

“Nothing’s changed!” You cry with every last drop of air in your lungs. 

Whimpering now, slumped in the mess you made with jagged breaths and hoarse lungs. “I’m not changed…”

Silco was right. 

The thought is bitter in your mouth as you take in the sights of the Undercity one last time. Yet here you are, walking headfirst into certain death. 

You can claim that it’s all for Grim, but you’re not in denial any more. Ekko would surely blame you just as much as you blame yourself. There is nothing left for you in this world, and it’s about time you stop pretending. 

You’re not nice or kind—certainly not selfless. The warpath is laid in front of you, primed and paved with the blood of the innocent; and your broken soul is reaching through the cracks, hungry for violence. 

At the very least, you’d like the chance to take out that bastard Sine. If you don’t deserve to live, he deserves to be dismembered. So Infamous are his crimes that House Ferros is among the most feared in the political world. 

Of course, with him gone another rat will fill his place—just not one as efficient and heinous. But that’s not your problem, even if they do somehow find another as cold and cruel as him. You won’t be here to see it. 

The old factory comes into view, its gate just as bent and broken as the last time you saw it. Hands shoved in your pockets, you trudge forward, keeping your head on a swivel. So far the place looks completely abandoned—the trucks and crates are all cleared out, leaving your footsteps to echo eerily as you approach the mouth of the factory, open and inviting. 

The darkness swallows you whole for a moment before your eyes adjust to the dim, windowless interior. Drips and drops of leaky pipes ricochet off the stone walls, and the damp, moldy air claws at your nose. 

You walk through a second set of doors leading to the main factory floor. Light filters in through the ruined glass ceiling, its dull light revealing conveyor belts and machinery littering the room, too deteriorated and dusty to have been used in this decade. They seem to have been cleared somewhat to the side, leaving a wider area of free space. 

You freeze when your eyes lock on the unmoving form of Grim. His mouth is gagged, and his head is sagging off to one side. Sweat beads at your temples as you look for signs of life, holding your breath even as your lungs scream for air. 

He sways in his seat as his chest rises and falls slowly. A shuddering breath of relief rips from your chest, and you act without thinking. One step forward, another—faster this time—you stumble toward the bait, panic gripping your heart in a vice. 

Cruel laughter erupts from behind. You spin around and fall squarely on your ass. Scrambling backward like a frantic crab, you move away from the predator about to make his move. 

“Are you even trying, my dear?” Sine sneers, lips curling upward in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “This was too easy.”

You grit your teeth and stand tall, anger taking the place your fear should be. Even in the low light, you recognize the glint of a knife in his right hand. 

The overdramatic tones of his voice contrast harshly with his threatening visage, and the dissonance makes him appear nightmarish as he leisurely approaches. Each step is calm and collected, but you sense the danger underneath, coiled tightly like a snake about to strike.

You maintain your distance, treading backward cautiously as your eyes never leave the monster in front of you. Grim lets out a hushed sob, and you cannot help but glance behind. Before you can blink, Sine is on top of you, pushing you to the ground. The thin blade of his knife presses against your throat, cutting your fight short. His weight pins you to the floor, rancid breath bathing your face in a disgusting stew of rotten teeth and onions. 

“Please tell me you brought a weapon?” He pleads while his free hand pats you down.

You push fruitlessly against him as your entire body tenses under his touch.

“Get the fuck off me!” you growl through gritted teeth when his touch lingers where it shouldn’t.

“But the fight is the best part!” He laughs, madness seeping into the heightening tones of his delight.

A shuddering growl leaves your trembling lips. The sound excites him, and the prospect turns your stomach. Eyes closed tight, you beat your emotions down with a few deep breaths.

Forget the knife—forget his hand. Focus, dammit. You do not have to give him what he craves. When your eyes open again, you see the pathetic man under the monster’s skin and smile.

“You’ll get no such satisfaction from me,” you say with a flat voice. 

He sneers, pondering you for a moment before flipping you on your stomach. With movements stronger than you would credit him for, he binds your hands behind your back and pulls you off the ground by your arms. You’re barely back on your feet before he pushes you into the chair opposite Grim. 

For the first time, your terrified gazes meet. Tear-streaked, dirty face and watery eyes—the sight is a punch in the gut. 

“Let him go—you said you’d let him go if I surrendered!”

“And that’s still true,” his voice sing-song as he loops your bound arms around the back of the chair. 

“I won’t talk until you do.”

He chuckles as he ties your feet to the chair legs from behind. Cursing under your breath, you hoped he would tie them from the front so you could at least kick him. But no—he’s too experienced for your petty tricks. 

When he rises, he hums curiously as his hands poke and prod at your blood-matted hair. “My, my—you have such an affinity for trouble.”

You grimace as his fingers press into your wound, but hold back your cry of pain. Your body betrays you though; back as stiff and straight as a gurney, fingernails digging into your palms. 

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” He walks into your view, twirling his switchblade in his hand. 

Grim starts to shake when Sine grows near, terrified eyes locked on the knife, but it’s out of his sight before long. You struggle against your bindings when Sine stops behind him, holding the knife out threateningly with a smile. 

“Don’t you fucking hurt him!”

He smirks, satisfied with your outburst, and cuts Grim free. 

The boy flops to the ground, his movements wobbly and uncoordinated. 

“What did you do to him?” You ask, wrought with worry. 

“Oh, come now. I don’t hurt kids. I find them loud and irritating, but that’s nothing a little sedative can’t cure.” Sine takes great joy in watching Grim stagger out of the factory as fast as his drunk legs will allow. “He’ll be fine in a couple of hours.”

You can only hope Sine is telling the truth. Janna only knows what he did to Grim before you arrived. The kid can barely keep his mouth shut, and yet he didn’t utter a single thing. 

Seething hatred courses through you at the thought. But with no hope of freeing yourself, and no wiggle room to even make a dent, you hang your head in defeat, revolted by your weakness. 

You should have brought a weapon, dammit! But you foolishly thought there would be more than just Sine waiting for you. Why did you think that? You’re not important—not terribly dangerous either. Why would you warrant such a greeting?

A short burst of air forces its way from your lungs, the sound of forbidden amusement. You really haven’t changed, have you? Even after all of this. 

You can’t help but find it funny, in a hopeless way. 

Sine drags the empty chair closer and takes his seat, unfazed by your reactions. Expertly, the blade pushes through your pants at the knee, and the point of entrance stings as fresh blood hits the air. 

“Oops!” Sine looks overjoyed at the sight of the small cut and dangles the point of his knife over it. 

Resting just behind your patella, you can only imagine the world of pain it would cause if he sunk it deep into your leg. 

“Now that we’re alone—we can start. You’ve been such a naughty girl, but you’re not capable of dismantling the factory single-handed. Politics,” he spits, scrunching his face in disgust, “never interested me. This is personal, let me assure you. See, not only did you destroy such a lucrative business, but you also cut them off from those intoxicating little flowers. I supplied the subjects for their experiments, of course, and in turn, I observed the most remarkable transformations since the invention of Shimmer!”

Sine’s voice hits an all-time high, brimming with excitement, but starts to warp, contorting with rage. “And you RUINED it!” 

Your blood-curdling scream echoes through the factory as he sinks the knife into you. The pain is white-hot, shooting up your leg and shredding your nerves as it rides the rigid posture of your spine. 

You see the knife sticking out and hyperventilate, barely holding in another scream. Loud, heaving sobs shake your body, sweat soaking through your clothes. 

Sine looks bored through it all, sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs like he’s in a waiting room. “Do hurry up and get it out of your system….”

All gnashing teeth and strained muscles, you lash out like a caged, feral animal. He snorts, clearly tickled by your pathetic display. The fight leaves your body with a final, wretched sob, and you bow your head again: jaw slack, a line of drool hanging off your lips, and quietly sniffling. 

Sine clears his throat as if your pain were a mere annoyance. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Other than an obviously unrelated report of a burger-stealing demon, I haven’t heard much of anything of our dear friend. Won’t you tell me about him?”

“I don’t,” you swallow hard, voice raspy from strain, “I don’t really know him.”

“But surely you can tell me where to find him?”

“Why?” The answer comes to your bedraggled mind as soon as the question leaves your mouth. 

“To put him out of his misery—the same as you.” Sine drops his casual facade and leans in close. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

The words should come easy, but you choke on them. You hate him—don’t you? Yes, you fucked up, but Silco used you. Dammit! Then why can’t you give him up? 

Sine grumbles and grabs the knife, wiggling it while watching you with sick satisfaction as you squeal. 

You beg incoherently in between shuddering sobs before crying out, “I’ll tell you-I’ll tell you everything! Pl–please stop!”

Sine releases the knife and sits back again, mercifully letting you catch your breath. 

“He lives by the old r-revolutionary statue. The place with the glass roof,” you slur, voice quivering. 

“And here I thought you were loyal.” Sarcasm drips from his melodic tones.

“You didn’t give me a choice,” you murmur, head lolling off to the side. 

“There is always a choice. You could have chosen to be a beggar on the street rather than work in a chop-house. Just like you could have chosen to take the bullying, but the same is true now as it was then. You despise people; you work at Mort’s because, at the end of the day, you like it. You’re the dredge of society, and you know it.”

“I’m flattered you took such an interest in me,” you rasp.

It is with only small satisfaction that you imagine Sine’s gnarly fate at the hands of an actual demon. He pulls the knife from you in a swift, fluid motion. Through gritted teeth, you bare it, and the feeling barely registers over the swelling pain. 

Sine stands over you, leaning one hand on the back of your chair while pulling back the other, and sighs. “Mort’s won’t be the same without you.”

The air leaves your lungs in a burst as his hand punches into your gut, and it’s only on the pullout that you see the crimson spilling out of you. Another punch, another, and another. Sine grunts from the effort, panting, eyes wide as he plunges the knife into you without end. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, watching your shirt stain red. 

Sine rests his hands on his knees to catch his breath with a wide, manic smile stretching his face unnaturally. Calmer now, he wipes the blade on your sleeve as he walks behind you. Just as swiftly as he cut Grim free, he releases your bindings, pushing your already slumping body the rest of the way to the hard ground. 

The fall was hard, and you swear you hear your shoulder pop from the impact, but you don’t feel it. Your warmth drains out of you through so many wounds, but you don’t see it. 

Body growing cold and numb, your mind sinks somewhere further in, deep inside your body, but not of it. You welcome the feeling—this is the release you longed for, isn’t it?

Tears spill from your eyes as readily as the blood from your abdomen. Your wants no longer matter when you’re adrift between life and death. 

Everything grows still—so very quiet that you think death has taken you. It is here, floating on the precipice, that you hear faint echoes of familiar voices. 

Then, screaming hurts your ears as the world comes rushing back into focus. You open your eyes to see two bloody hands snapping in front of your face. Sofia kneels before you, eyes brimming with fiery anger. 

She speaks—you’re too far gone to understand her, but she’s holding your hand oh so gently. Why? Why do you deserve such kindness? Oh, Janna, you don’t deserve this, but it feels so nice. 

With the last of your energy, you squeeze her hand tight and mutter, “I’m sorry.”

The numbness overtakes you, carrying away your torment and your pain, along with your last breath.

Next Chapter

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @mk-writes-stuff!

Find the Word Tag

My words: star, panic, weird, break

(Pulled from Mortal God book 2)

Your words: bitter, palace, stumble, rotten

(I'll tag @the-angriest-author @autism-purgatory @super-writer-gal @trippingpossum @steh-lar-uh-nuhs and anyone else who'd like to join!)

.

In Unity, 'night' earned its title only shakily. No stars could peer past the veil of foundry smoke, the moon only a hazy shadow of its full glory. Instead, streetlamps took the place of these celestial bodies, and as they were new to the world, they performed their duty with overzealous fervor. Artificial lights of every unnatural color reflected off of artificial clouds. Even the looming islands hanging overhead like leaden raindrops shed their own pools of illumination.

It... unnerved Vermir. The ancient woman had worked hard to reacquaint herself with the trappings of the times after five hundred years imprisoned at the bottom of the ocean. For the most part, things were wonderful now. Machines could make books in a fraction of the time it would take someone to copy one, medicine could treat anything from water in the lungs to a broken skull, and that was to say nothing of the leaps and strides taken in the field of magic.

Yet even still. Night should be dark, peaceful---a time for the mind to wander, free from the constraints of the day's duties. There was nothing quiet or peaceful about this place.

.

The third garment put the first two to shame. It was a floor-length skirt with a high waistline, two rows of buttons running down to hip level. The shape was pretty simple, all in all. It was the embroidery that made it something spectacular. A tapestry of pale wolves, dagger-billed cranes, bearded unicorns, and gauzy specters cavorted through a moonlit forest, tracks leaving lacy flowers in their wake. It looked rather more like an art piece than something a person would dare to wear. Mashal imagined it still smelled like lhara and manic panic.

.

So far as he could tell, the guard wasn't throwing the fight in the slightest. Sweat dripped from the man’s face as the Duchon stepped around his kick as casually as closing a door. Before he got his foot back down, they delivered a blistering crescent kick into the man’s other thigh.

The entire crowd winced, Mashal included. He remembered that pain. There was a nerve that ran along the upper leg and it looked like the Duchon had hit it right on the money.

However, they pulled back instead of closing in, allowing the guard to stagger back up. A bloody-knuckled grin crept onto the man’s face, answered by a graceful bow from the Duchon. The two tapped fists, then continued with the match.

"This is weird, right?" Mashal whispered to Cee'es. "I thought the Skysheerian nobility considered violence a base thing."

.

Mashal took a simulated breath and made to continue. "The localization rune, when run through a calido-- calidioorogenic cycle, will flip on its axis, pushing magic away from the Veil instead of pulling from it, creating a thin spot. If"---The man paused briefly to smother a yawn---"the cycle is repeated and the axis is flipped once more---"

Astra tapped her pen on the top of the tome, causing him to glance up. "Mark your spot, take a break."

"Huh?" One of Mashal's eyes flickered as he blinked, lending very much to his tired posture. "But you said this chapter is important?"

"It can wait. We've been here for four damn hours now," the witch said. She then pointed to the looming stacks and the valley-tunnels between them. "Go stretch your legs. I was fixin' to review my notes anyways, 'fore we get any further. I gotta brush up on all a' my Veil axes."

Mashal cocked his head. "How many are there?"

"Thirty-three," Astra answered without batting an eye.

"Well, in that case, I will gladly be taking my break." The man stood with a stretch, bronze plates all clinking softly together. "I'll be back in five."

[trashbag-baby666]

Sweet Treat O’Clock-Buck/Bucky

Summary: Based off this headcanon by yours truly. I wrote two versions of this because I couldn’t decide which was better!!! Enjoy!!!

WC: 1,300

C/W: Hints at NSFW but if you squint at one part.

MOTA Masterlist!

Version One:

Buck was supposed to be reading his book right now, school started in three days and he hadn’t even bothered picking up his summer reading book. He had spent his summer being stupid in love with John and now the actions were facing their consequences.

“Oh, hey handsome.” John's attention from Fortnite getting pulled out right from under his feet. Gale came out of the bathroom in his flannel pajama pants shirtless, but to top John's sundae off, he had his glasses on. Lord the things those tortoise shell colored, square glasses did to him.

“I’d love to give you a blowjob but I need to read this stupid book.” Gale sat down on his side of the bed, delivering a kiss to John's cheek.

“Fuck that book, that books cock blocking me.” John flipped off the cover of Gale's book.

“Yeah, fuck this book.” Gale stared down at the cover of Jane Eyre, he did not want to read this book, “Croz and Rosie already finished it. Croz loved it, but well we both know why Croz liked it.”

Croz always seemed to find a niche in liking most of the classic books they had to read for class that no one else liked. Frankenstein, Dracula, The Catcher and The Rye. worst of them all…A Farewell to Arms by Hernest Hemmingway. He always could read them in a somewhat more complex way of understanding the story and the characters.

“Do you want me to go downstairs?”

“No it's okay, you weren’t playing on call right?”

“No Croz is at his Grandma's house,” John set the controller down and looked at Gale, “God you’re so beautiful, I’m so jealous of Jane Eyre.”

“You’re so cute,” Gale snickered, giving him another kiss on the cheek, “Okay now for real I gotta read this book.”

Gale could feel his eyes completely glazed over and he certainly had not been actually paying attention through the last few chapters he had been reading. “I hate this stupid book.” Gale let it collapse onto his chest. He wasn’t even half way in and he wanted to throw this book across the room. Spark notes seemed very tempting but he had heard the stories of the 12th grade lit teacher and how she knew if you read the book or not.

“Can we go get a little treat?” John tapped his finger tips together like a supervillain about to steal the moon.

Gale tipped his head back against the pillow letting out a huff. He needed to read this book but he needed to take a break at the same time. He knew he wasn’t going to win the sweet treat fight with John and that man would be getting his fix tonight.

“Where do you wanna go?”

“Walmart…I get a discount and I’m really craving cupcakes.” John rolled onto his side wrapping his hand around Gales bicep, “Please babe!”

“Fine, but when we get back I need to read that damn book. No distractions mister.” Gale held out his finger like he was scolding him.

“No distractions I promise…I just need a cupcake or two?”

“We can get a pack because if the girls find out we had cupcakes without them again. There will be mutilated Barbie’s that are supposed to be us in our future.”

Version Two:

John was sprawled out on the couch, Gale laying between his legs. It was winter break and the two were laid up at home, because John had done quite a sprain to his ankle. He had been stressed out and insisted he needed to go for a run to clear his head. Gale kept telling him that he shouldn’t because it was still icey. But you know, John, stubborn as a mule.

So, Gale was not surprised when John called him to come pick him up. Because he slipped on ice and now his ankle is swollen and throbbing.

Now here they were stuck home while his parents and sisters were at the Lake House having fun.

“Buck?”

“Buck?�� John nudged his side.

“Hm?” Gale's eyes were fixated on the TV as they watched the season two Superstore finally, they’d been binging the show all day long and Gale was invested.

“I want a sweet little treat.”

“We probably have something here?”

“No, I want Little Debies and ice cream so bad. They may heal my ankle, so I think we should go to the store and try it?” John rested his head on Gales shoulder.

“What's in it for me, John?” Gale smirked, tilting his head back to look at him.

John let out a sigh, “I’ll buy you a little treat? Well you’ve been such a good nurse for me you deserve it. Well what do you want the bribe to be then?”

“Hmmm,” Gale tapped his chin dramatically looking off to the side for a moment.

“Spit it out,” John whined tapping his side again.

“After you're healed, next time our bathroom needs to be cleaned it's your turn to clean it. Maybe a box of Nutter Butters if you’re feeling generous?” Gale kissed his cheek.

“Deal.”

“You better not fall again though, I swear if you end up stress fracturing your ankle you’re not going to be playing baseball in spring.” Gale got up off the couch and helped John up, handing him his crutches. It was like trying to watch a baby giraffe walk every time Gale looked over at him, “Are you gonna hobble around Walmart?”

“No, I'll get one of those scooters.”

Gale pulled his lips into a small smirk shaking his head, “Let’s go get our sweet treats.”

“Watch out,” John swung the scooter towards Gale as they went down the freezer aisle.

“I’m gonna pull you over,” Gale shoved John’s shoulder gently, “At least I don’t have to carry the basket.”

“See the scooter is a plus, you don’t have to carry a basket and I won’t accidentally run your heels over with a cart.” John stopped in front of the ice cream.

“Well there’s still time for you to run over my heels with that. What ice cream do you want?”

“Rocky road mother fucker.” John waved his hands in the air making a siren sound obnoxiously.

“Damn band kids,” Gale said, setting the ice cream in the basket on the scooter, then reaching back into the freezer for his Ben & Jerry’s.

“You got me there, but you’re calling Rosie out too then.” Gale started the scooter down to the next aisle.

“Well Rosie is more of one of the annoying theater kids than an annoying band kid.” Gale defended his answer. Instead of playing Tequila in the hallway after pep band and playing the among us imposter sound. Rosie would randomly start humming or singing show tunes and dancing. He especially really liked Heathers right now and if they had to hear Rosie sing Meant To Be Yours one more time they all might go nuts.

“Do you think I’m a better singer than him?” John snickered, turning down the next aisle for their Little Debbies.

“I feel as if I shouldn’t answer this question? Let me just say there's a reason they casted him as Danny in Grease.” Gale shrugged glancing over at John, “Although I do think you put on the best performance ever as Sebastian in the Little Mermaid, though.”

“That was pretty good wasn’t it?” John let a shit eating grin grow on his face. John had looked so good in that red suit that was his costume.

“You’re a star John, you’re a star.”

“Please I’m a star! I’m a star!” John did his best Mia Goth impression, “Get me an Oscar for that one.”

“Why don’t we get our sweet treats first? Then we can conquer the Oscars.”

[loki-laufeyson223]

Comebacks

Warnings: Cursing, PTSD talk, kissing, Loki being like a sour patch kid lol (Sorry if I missed anything, this is my first time doing warnings and posting anything halfway decent. I swear it'll get better later on.)

Word Count: 1,092

I was sitting outside of my favorite cafe, just trying to unwind from the day when a man with raven colored hair and icy blue eyes walked up to my table. He just kinda stared at me for a minute before saying anything. I looked up at him with a clueless/ smart-ass look, he looked appalled at the action. “Don’t you know who I am?”, he asked. “Um no. Unless you’re some douche-bag recruiter trying to pull me back into the military. If that’s the case you can get the hell away from me.”  “Uh no, I’m not trying to do whatever you just went on a whole ass rant about. You just seemed confused. Like everyone else on this damned planet.”, he said with a snark. 

“Oh well sorry I wasn’t competent enough for your liking. I’ll definitely go home and cry about that later.”  “Whoa, hey. Calm down. I didn’t mean to offend you.”  “Well you sure as hell did. I’ve gotta go. Bye asshole!”,and with a smirk and a wave I started towards my car. That is until I stopped halfway through the parking lot by a large and slender hand on my shoulder. “Aren’t you curious to know who I am?”  “No. Not really.”  “Well then in that case, maybe I’ll just go right ahead and tell you. I’m Loki. Loki Laufeyson.”  “Oh! I know who you are now!”, Loki smiled triumphantly at my words. “You’re that son of a bitch who tried to take over Earth and failed. Miserably.”  “Excuse me! I am a god! Your words mean nothing to me, you fucking bastard!”  “Judging by your reaction, I’d say my words meant quite a lot to you. Oh, no! Did I hurt the whittle god’s feelings?”  

“How dare you insult me in such a way!?”  “Because I don’t give a shit who you are. I’ve been through too much to say I cared even a little to be telling the truth. Hell, I’ve been hit with an IED and had my legs shattered and I have far more PTSD than the average person can handle without committing suicide. It wouldn’t be too much of a burden if you killed me out of rage, I don’t even want to be here. I’m just holding on because there isn’t anyone who cares enough to put my body in the ground.” I said laughing sarcastically. 

For the first time, Loki’s eyes had softened at my words and as I continued on my rant, tears began spilling from my eyes and I couldn’t hold them back. “Hey, I’m sorry I got you so riled up and upset. That wasn’t my intention, not at all. If anything I know how it feels, not wanting to be here, I mean.”  “Thanks and it’s fine.”  “Would you like to continue this conversation elsewhere?”  

“Oh well my place is a complete mess and I’d be ashamed if anyone ever walked in. Hell, I’m ashamed of myself just seeing it the way it is.”  “How about this, we go to your place and before I walk in I will surprise you with something to make up for me insisting on going there in the first place?”  “That sounds good, I guess.”  We get in my car and head to my apartment. When we arrive we walk up the stairs and I go to open the door before I’m stopped. “Not just yet darling.”, and with a carefully calculated flick of his wrists he opened the door to a completely clean and organized home. “Oh my God! Thank you so much!”, I beam up at him. “No problem darling. It’s never a burden to help out the one I’m most interested in.

After a few weeks of having Loki over so we can talk to each other about what has happened to ourselves and just unpack all the emotional and mental baggage I can, we have our first “night together” and soon after I’m in an official relationship with the God of Mischief. 

3 Years Later

Loki tells me to put on my favorite dress because we were going out and I happily agreed, excited for this time out with my boyfriend because he hasn't been home a lot here recently. He has been sneaking around and I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to confront him. I was searching for my gold heels when Loki walked in, “Darling, are you ready yet?”  

“Um not just yet. I can’t see, to find those gold heels Frigga gave me.”  “Oh well in that case let me just…”, he flicks his wrist and the shoes appear on the bed. “Thanks babe.”, I say sitting down to put on the shoes. After I grab my bag we head out the door and get in the car. We drove for about ten minutes and pulled up at the restaurant where we had our first date. It’s our favorite because there is a garden to walk through and at the end of the walk there is a bench under an arch made of roses with fairy lights strung throughout. 

After we finish our dinner Loki suggests we go on a walk through the garden. When we make it to the end we sit down on the bench. I got to confront him about all the sneaking around when he cuts me off with a kiss. When he pulls away he drops to one knee with me still on the bench. 

Tears immediately come to my eyes as he begins his speech. “Persephone I have loved you since the day I first saw you. Your smile and laugh are infectious and beautiful. I only wish to make you smile and laugh for the rest of time. Which brings me to the million dollar question. Persephone, will you marry me?”, tears were running down both of our faces, Loki looked at me, hope filling his eyes awaiting my answer. “Yes” I choke out. 

“A million times yes.”, he stands up, pulling me with him then pulling me into a tight hug. I look up at him and he grabs my thighs and lifts me up, wrapping my arms around his neck he pulls me into a loving and tender yet rough kiss. He pulls away resting his forehead on mine, our noses brushing against each other. “I love you so much Persephone. I can’t wait for you to become my wife and take my name.”  “I love you too Mischief. I absolutely cannot wait for us to be Mr. and Mrs. Laufeyson.”

[chronothread]

Lend an Ear

“H-hey I…you know you don’t have to…”

I knock another drink back. What was this…fourth? Fifth? Fuck if I know. I stop counting after the burning stops. And…I guess I stop counting after I stop being able to count. Probably why I never remember how many past five. How many of her were there already anyway…nope, still one. I think.

“Salem, I um…y-you know I’m happy to listen…” She’s timid, but she’s not short. Not that short anyway. Here she’s sitting by the bar with me - she hates bars, she hates crowds - with her emerald green puppy dog eyes and that snow white hair of hers. Stupid…soft looking hair. She doesn’t even try, she catches half the bar with her shy girl schtick and she doesn’t even know-

“Salem…you’ve had so many already. P-please…maybe it’s time to stop?”

I stare at her for that one. All…one of her. One moving. Hells if I knew if I was actually staring at her or not. “Are you telling me to stop? Shizuka, I’ll stop when I damn well feel like stopping. And I don’t feel like bloody stopping. Fuckinggg…no fucking ser, not one scripture thumping fucking moment! I’ll…I say when I’ve had enough. No one’s fucking ballsy enough to stop me in here-” I swing my arm out and  - oh shit I think I hit a barrel. Whatever. I swing my arm out and sure as hells no one stops me. Not even the barkeep. Not like I cause any real trouble ‘less someone gets up in my face about it. And they don’t. They’re fuckin’ terrified. They’re all fuckin…

Fuck.

She shrunk in her seat hearing me go on. Now I was scaring her. 

Tss. Stupid…puppy dog eyes. I hated scaring her.

I lowered my drink, before sliding it down the counter to the guy all the way at the end of the table. I think I know him…yeah we worked a few jobs together, he liked to do magic. I’ve gotten pretty good at telling nondescript blurs of shape and color apart over the winters.

“...sorry. ‘m sorry Snow. I’m just not feeling too good ‘s’all. Get a little uncouth when I’m drinking. And I guess I’m drinking when I’m feelin’ upset.” I sigh, flopping my chin onto the bar counter. She rests her cheek on it and watches me quietly, kindly. Always kindly with her. Sweet girl like her being here in a rough house like this. Dunno why she always hung around my sorry ass.

“Then…m-maybe you’d like to talk about it? I’m happy to listen.” She gives me a smile, and fuck me if I ain’t weak to that. From her? If she were devious, she could flash those lips at me any day and I’d probably jump off a dragon for her. What a stupid situation I got myself into.

I swap to Doman when I respond. Chances of someone speaking that in some shady ass dive bar (with really good fucking food though) had to be…like…trying to fit a dragon’s dick through the eye of a needle. “It’s Gale. Maybe not Gale just…argh!” I huff loudly, picking up the leg of…whatever meat I ordered up and tearing through a good chunk of it. “Caught ‘em reminiscing and shit again the other week, up in the mountains. Over Ventus and shit. And then some guys tried to kill us-”

“Kill you?!” “Relax Snow, took care of it. Not important.”

She doesn’t relax, but she does get me a glass of water. Fury bless her for caring so much. I knock that shit back too.

“Important bit is that they were up there and it got me thinking too and…I hate thinking ‘bout this shit. It gets me all tired, and it makes it hard to get up off the bed. It’s like I’m sinking and I’m drowning in something, it’s like someone’s thrust a talon through my chest and I’m trying to breathe - but it’s painful every time I try. But I gotta do it, and it isn’t killing me, so it never stops hurting it just-”

I cover my head with my hands. I think I messed my hair up. Whatever, I’m not Gale, I don’t give a shit.

Clearly she does though. She scoots closer, getting the stray strands straightened out. And she looks at me with those eyes of hers again. But this time they’re not puppy dog eyes they’re…fierce. Yeah, the shy girl gets fierce sometimes. And it’s a fucking spectacle, you’d better believe it. So she gets in real close, brushes the hair out of my face, and looks me dead in the eyes.

“Y-you keep holding it in, it hurts worse...” Yeah I scoff at that. Because that sounds like some dumbass, poetic shit that- “I’m serious. It hurts to let it out. To think about it. It’s like changing bandages for your wounds - it stings every time you unwrap them and expose everything to the air. It hurts, and you hate every moment of it, and some days you just…you wish you never took the bandage off. You ask yourself why it hasn’t healed yet.”

Now I’m the one giving her puppy dog eyes I think. Because…because she looks so sad when she says that. And I really hate it when she’s sad. Sweet girl like her only deserves to be happy. Look what you’ve done Salem, made a sweet girl sad.

“-but.” And she says that with confidence. With more confidence than the whole time she’s spent in this bar combined. “If you don’t take it off, the wound festers. And it gets worse the next time you open it up. And if you don’t change that bandage? You get sick. Then it really starts killing you inside. Until you’re so sick that you can’t help yourself, and someone else has to come along and fix you.”

Fuck me. She had to be a spiritual guru type girl or something stupid like that too. Argh! I hate it when she makes sense.

“You’re not a burden, Salem. But you will be if you don’t ease off every now and then. So…you know…p-please? I don’t want t-to see you all…”

Fuck me, she’s tearing up. I hate it when she tears up. 

I take her in my arms and hold her close to my chest. She's soft, she's sweet. Now she’s crying for my sorry ass. I don’t know why she puts up with me.

“Hey…” Eorzean again. Not like it mattered at this point. Not like anyone would bother us anyway. “C’mon. Stop crying you…you’re gonna make old one-eye over there cry with both his eyes. I’m fine, okay? I mean…I’m not fine, but I’ll be fine so...chin up Snow, please?”

She’s sniffling, but at least she’s not hyperventilating. She looks up at me and she smiles. Stupid, stunning smile of hers. Really, I don’t know how she hasn’t gotten a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend or…a whatever friend yet. Only she could make crying look cute.

“J-just…promise me you’ll talk to me when you’re feeling down, okay?”

“I don’t know Shizuka I…”

Puppy dog eyes. This time I KNOW that’s on purpose.

“Alright, alright! I’ll come to you on the days I’m taking the piss. Now come on, you fucking hate bars, lets get out of this place.”

I leave my payment on the counter - looks like I could count again - and I stand up with her next to me. She’s stuck to me like glue but…eh, what do I care? She gets a pass from me, and it was hard to get a pass from me. You had to really crack at it from me not to crack your ass over your head.

She doesn’t even try.

Dunno why she always hangs around my sorry ass.

[stxrmylxve]

Them Versus The City

In this world, it’s either do or die.

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

NOTES: cussing, mentions of guns, murder, car crash, stealing

masterlist of all chapters

Chapter 1

In this world, it's either do or die.

That’s what Ran and Rindou Haitani had been told growing up, at least. That if you didn’t have your ‘citizen tattoo’, you were done for.

But when they got of age, they never got theirs. They got shipped off to another city, and ended up with a different tattoo; Bonten.

“Ma, what happens if we don’t get our tattoos when we grow up?” Ran asks, looking up at his aunt with a curious gaze as she twirls one of her braids in her hand.

“Well… I don’t know really. Everyone I knew never made it past the age if they didn’t get it.” she says, looking out the window with a pained smile.

“Why?” Rindou asks, startling her as she looked back at the little boy coming down the stairs.

“They’re viewed as underlings. And in a country as grand as this one, they want us to be top-notch I suppose.” she says, opening one of her arms out so that Rindou could slide in next to her.

“But my boys will get theirs, and I’ll give you my best hopes to where you will survive.”

“..But I don’t want one…” Ran mutters, eyeing his brother past his mother’s collarbone.

"You will be getting them soon, only a few more days. And I'll get to take you and experience it with you." she says with a hopeful smile.

Yet, a week later, someone ambushed her. They shot her three times in the chest and got away. Left her to die on the streets.

The one person that had ever loved the brothers, was now dead.

Rindou cried for a whole week straight, so Ran stayed home with him from school to comfort him. Then, they dropped out of school. Eventually, crime got so bad they hitched a ride to another city, hoping to start a better life.

They weren't that old, both barely over the age of 16, but they could make it by. They would have asked their parents, but who knows where they drugged themselves off to. Their dad had probably overdosed and their mom probably sold herself off.

That was 7 years ago, though, and it was now far past time to get their tattoos.

“Rin, do we really have to do this job? It doesn’t even pay well-“

“Yes, we do. Do you want us to get killed?” Rindou says, pinching his temple as he turns down the dark alleyway.

“Brothers! Hello!” the man says, offering his hand out for a handshake. Ran took his hand into his own, shaking it with a forced smile.

“Let’s get straight to business, shall we?” the man says, turning around to shuffle in a small car.

“Rule number 1, never turn your back on someone.” Rindou says, kicking the round man in the square of his back.

The man falls into the car’s trunk, Rindou coming behind him to hold his arms. Ran’s baton came behind him to secure his arms even more.

“Mph- You'll never get away with this!” The man calls, looking at them from the side of his eye as Ran pushed his head further into the carpet of the trunk.

“Shut up.” Ran says, kicking the man’s leg against the car.

“You damn underlings! You absolute menaces!” the man thrashes, striking nerves in both of the boys. Rindou pulls out his gun and shoots the man square in the back of his head, shuddering to himself.

“Wonder how he knew?” Rindou asks, grabbing the ink out of the car.

“Rin, drop it. You get so damn hung up, how is he gonna’ tell anyone now?” ran laughs as he motions to the dead man.

“I guess..” Rindou says, going quiet when he finds a stack of portfolios. He shuffles through them, each of the Bonten executives having their own.

There were only 3 that were different colors than the rest; Ran, Rindou, and Mikey. They were the only three of the gang that weren’t official citizens.

“Shit. They’ve done their research I guess.” Ran says. He sighs to himself as he slung the duffle bag over his shoulder.

“We gotta’ get out of here. Now.” Rindou says as he takes the files and wipes off the door of the trunk, running the opposite way as Ran jogs next to him.

“What next? We hunt down his buddies?” Ran asks, throwing the bag into their Subaru BRZ before hopping in the drivers seat.

“I don’t know, but put this damn car into gear and start shifting!” Rindou says as he looks back at the police turning onto the small road as Ran takes off.

“Maybe we should tell mikey…” Ran offers, looking over at Rindou, who was looking out the window.

“I mean, he’s part of it too. We should most definitely tell him.” Rindou says, glancing at the road ahead.

“Ran watch out-“

Ran groaned, fumbling around as he slowly slides out of his seat. He crawls out of the flipped car, looking out at the hazy air around him. His eyes go wide as he stumbles to his feet, rushing to the other side of the car.

Rindou was on the ground, laid out as blood poured out of the glass wedged in his back. He didn’t have any movement, just slow shaky breaths coming from him as his eyes remained shut.

“Rin!” Ran exclaims as he runs to his side, slapping his cheeks slightly.

“Ah shit, what do I do..” he says, looking at the glass from tear-filled eyes before looking back at Rindou’s pained face. Ran reaches for his phone as police start to arrive, small coughs emitting from Rindou as soon as Mikey picks up.

“Hello?” his cold voice rings through the phone, though it was ignored as Ran took Rindou into his shaky grasp.

“Rin!” he exclaims, doubling over into the man as he brothers lets out a pained laugh.

“I thought I fucking lost you there.” Ran says, sniffling as he sits back.

Rindou lets out a few more coughs, globs of blood splattering onto the asphalt below him.

“The glass.. it’s in my…. chest. Mikey” Rindou says, leaning on his forearms as he groans.

“Where are you both?” Mikey asks as Ran picks up the phone again. Though it was hidden well, worry laced his words like dangerous venom.

Ran looks around, unsure of how to answer. Someone takes the phone from him, a glock coming between his eyes as the man holds the phone up to his own ear.

“Meet me at the train tracks if you want your brothers’ to live.”