#s: pa ti

[angi-writes-filth]

I feel like Al's crying from the other side of the screen like "PLEASE STOP I DON'T WANT TO LISTEN TO ROSALÍA ANYMORE!!"

#💃🕺PA TI 💃🕺 NAKI 💃🕺 CHICKEN TERIYAKI 💃🕺 #the grabber #albert shaw #the black phone #I'm sorry Al I literally C A N ' T S T O P #art wip #angi draws filth

[jthurlow]

The Draining of Allapattah Flats-C-23

Recently I wrote a post entitled: “Learning the Beauty of Pre-Drainage Lands – St Lucie Canal.” One of the most prevalent natural features asked about is “Allapattah Flats.” I recall hearing the mysterious words “Allapattah Flats” while growing up in Martin County. Now, almost 60 years later, I recognize I really do not know what they were… Page 1, EDD 1915 St Lucie Canal Survey Lake Okeechobee…

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#"Griscom Bettle&039;s Allapattah Ranch Has 4 #"Map of the Seat of War in Florida #000 Acres Under Water Control #1893 Map of the Seat of War #Al-Pa-ti-o-kee Swamp #Allapattah Flats #Allapattah Ranch #and clay soils -shells and marl deposits- once an ancient seabed. #C-23 drainage #C-23 Ernest Lyons #C23 #Ecosummary C-23 #Lush Grass on Marin Highway." #map Florida 1839 #Muck #pine ridge #sand #serrated by maiden cane sloughs #The Draining of Allapattah Flats-C-23 #Z. Taylor map

[ahundrednightingales]

i’ve decided i will not be self aware and rational anymore, from now on my feelings, emotions and morals will be akin to those of a 19th century dandy

#hspeak #on my way #globoka žalost po razmišljanju o g in realisanju določenih dejstev dne 6. velikega travna 2022 #učirej sm celo pot s kardeljeve jokala #wtf umir se mal #ampak me je ful rattlal ka sm vidla evo pa njenga #ka sta res lušna in use #in je bl res boleče gledat at some point #in sej vem de hoče sm dobr ampak zmirej ka mi reče sej boš tut ti dobila tu bi se najrajš čez okn ruknla #ker honestly mogoče pa ne #verjetnu pa ne #zaenkrat slab kaže ngl #in b me je klicau ponoč če sm ki zunej #ka sm bla že u pojstl #thank god

[olee]

Fina | Enzo Vogrincic

*3000 words (me inspiré) & mini s*x scene

Corrías con desesperación por el bullicioso aeropuerto, el eco de tus pasos resonando en los pasillos abarrotados. El tiempo apremiaba, y tu corazón latía al ritmo frenético de la prisa. El billete se aferraba en tu mano, como un talismán que te conectaba con tu destino. "¡Espera! ¡Ya voy!" gritabas, entre jadeos, mientras sorteabas a la multitud con determinación.

El reloj avanzaba implacablemente mientras te abrías paso entre la maraña de viajeros. Las luces parpadeaban sobre las pantallas indicadoras de vuelos, recordándote cada segundo que se escapaba. Al llegar al gate, una sensación de alivio temporal te invadió, pero rápidamente se desvaneció al notar que el área estaba desierta, como un escenario abandonado después de la función.

Te dirigiste apresuradamente hacia el empleado de la aerolínea, tu aliento agitado y la esperanza titilando en tus ojos. "Tengo un vuelo a Madrid ahora, por favor, dime que he llegado a tiempo", imploraste, con la voz entrecortada. El empleado, con un gesto comprensivo, te miró con seriedad y dijo: "Señorita, el vuelo se fue hace diez minutos".

Un nudo se formó en tu estómago, pero no te diste por vencida. Con determinación, preguntaste sobre cualquier opción disponible. "¿Hay algún otro vuelo a Madrid pronto?" El empleado, consultando la pantalla con un semblante compasivo, respondió que el próximo vuelo no sería hasta dentro de 15 horas. Asentiste con resignación, consciente de que el tiempo ya no estaba de tu lado.

Entonces, con la mente fija en tu compromiso ineludible, mencionaste la reunión crucial con la agencia de producción. "Tengo una reunión muy importante en Madrid. Aceptarán mi guión para una obra de teatro, y no puedo perder esta oportunidad", le expresaste al empleado, esperando encontrar alguna solución. El hombre tras el mostrador comprendió la urgencia en tu voz y te informó sobre la posibilidad de esperar.

Te refugiaste en un acogedor café ubicado en algún rincón del aeropuerto de Londres. El aroma del café recién hecho flotaba en el aire, pero tus sentidos estaban inmersos en la música melancólica de Guitarricadelafuente que fluía a través de tus audífonos. Con gestos automáticos, conectaste tu celular para cargarlo, buscando consuelo en las notas de tu artista favorito.

Sin previo aviso, una lágrima solitaria escapó de tus ojos, una expresión palpable de la desesperación que te embargaba por haber perdido el vuelo. La música parecía resonar en sintonía con tus emociones, como si Guitarricadelafuente compartiera tu dolor a través de sus cuerdas y melodías. Mientras las lágrimas seguían su curso, te sumergiste en un mar de pensamientos, contemplando el giro imprevisto que había tomado tu día.

Con resignación, extrajiste el guión de tu bolsa, sosteniéndolo entre tus manos temblorosas. El papel, ahora manchado por las lágrimas, representaba más que un simple texto; era la culminación de tus esfuerzos y sueños. Te encontrabas en una ciudad ajena, lejos de casa, y la realidad de estar varada por 15 horas en Londres se apoderaba de ti.

Las palabras del guionero, antes tan llenas de promesas, se volvían borrosas a través de tus lágrimas. De repente, te sentías como una niña de cinco años que había perdido su globo de cumpleaños, la tristeza reflejada en tus ojos y en cada línea de tu rostro. La ironía de la situación no pasaba desapercibida, y una mezcla de frustración y vulnerabilidad te envolvía mientras te aferrabas al guión como a un salvavidas en medio de la tormenta.

—

Sumida en la tristeza de tus pensamientos, te diste cuenta de repente de una mano amable que se acercaba a tu rostro con una servilleta. Entre la neblina de lágrimas, apenas pudiste vislumbrar la acción generosa de un desconocido que, con empatía, te ofrecía un medio para secar tus ojos. Agradecida por el gesto, aceptaste la servilleta sin poder identificar a la persona detrás de ella.

La bondadosa presencia a tu lado pasó desapercibida hasta que lograste controlar las lágrimas lo suficiente como para ver a quien te había brindado consuelo. Descubriste que había estado sentado junto a ti durante un buen rato, observando silenciosamente tu situación con comprensión. Sorprendida por su amabilidad, solo lograste articular un simple "thanks", incapaz de distinguir completamente sus rasgos.

En un giro inesperado, el hombre respondió en español. "De nada, yo espero que todo se recupere", dijo con una sonrisa tranquilizadora. Al levantar la mirada para agradecerle debidamente, te encontraste con la visión de un hombre extraordinariamente atractivo. Su piel canela destacaba bajo la luz del café, su cabello despeinado le daba un aire casual y sus ojos, de un caramelo puro, irradiaban calidez y comprensión.

Aunque te sentías vulnerable y con el corazón aún apretado por la situación, la presencia reconfortante de este hombre te hizo sentir un atisbo de consuelo. No sabías exactamente cómo reaccionar ante su belleza, pero la curiosidad y la necesidad de conexión humana te impulsaron a romper el silencio. "¿Hablas español?" preguntaste, con la esperanza de que la respuesta fuera afirmativa. El hombre sonrió y respondió con una risa contagiosa, "Creo que sí".

A pesar de la tormenta de pensamientos que te asaltaba, la visión de este joven que parecía salido de tus sueños generó un apretón en tu corazón. Sin embargo, la realidad chocó contra la fantasía cuando notaste que llevaba una sudadera y tenis Nike, una imagen más casual y terrenal que la que habías imaginado.

El chico, notando tu evidente perturbación, rompió el hielo al expresar su intriga ante la combinación de un guión en tus manos y lágrimas en tus ojos, “No te conozco, pero al ver que tienes un guión en mano y estás llorando, ahora estoy muy intrigado por lo que te ha pasado," dijo el chico guapo con una mezcla de curiosidad y empatía en su voz. Te sumiste en un silencio momentáneo, tratando de procesar la situación y, al mismo tiempo, preguntándote si este encuentro era producto de tu imaginación o si realmente estabas frente a alguien especial.

Finalmente, el chico reveló ser actor y confesó su amor por el teatro, aunque actualmente se encontraba inmerso en proyectos cinematográficos. La conexión con el mundo del teatro hizo que tus ojos se iluminaran con un atisbo de reconocimiento, y una sospecha empezó a formarse en tu mente.

Con un tono casual, le preguntaste: "¿Espera! ¿Tú eres Enzo, Enzo Vogrincic? ¿De 'La Sociedad de la Nieve'?" La confirmación en su expresión te dejó boquiabierta. "Ese mismo", respondió con una sonrisa, añadiendo con humor, "desde hace tiempo no veía a alguien tardarse tanto en reconocerme". Tu corazón latía con emoción mientras intentabas procesar la realidad de tener a un actor reconocido a tu lado.

Con entusiasmo, le confesaste: "Es que... ya he conocido a tantos actores que me da igual, pero... yo amé tu actuación y las otras obras que has hecho en Montevideo, es que amé".

Enzo, aún intrigado, te agradeció con sinceridad. "Gracias, escuchar esto me da más ánimo en hacer lo que hago," expresó con una sonrisa genuina. Sin embargo, no dejó que el agradecimiento se interpusiera en su deseo de conocer más sobre tu historia.

"Pero… no cambiemos el tema, ¿por qué estabas llorando? ¿Eres actriz o…?" preguntó con un gesto de interés. Tomaste un momento para recobrar la compostura y compartir parte de tu vida con este actor que, de alguna manera, se había convertido en un confidente inesperado.

"Soy prácticamente guionista, y me gusta escribir tragedias, dramas y todo lo Lorca," comenzaste a explicar, revelando tu pasión por la escritura teatral. "Pero últimamente no he tenido la suerte, y ahora que tengo una gran oportunidad en Madrid, el vuelo acaba de irse, y pues…" La frustración y la tristeza se reflejaban en tus ojos mientras compartías la historia de tu día caótico, sintiendo que Enzo podría entender el peso de tus aspiraciones y desafíos creativos.

"Qué horrible, pues no estás sola, porque yo también perdí el vuelo para Madrid," compartió Enzo, revelando un inesperado giro en su propia situación. Tus ojos se abrieron con sorpresa ante la revelación. "No jodas?" respondiste, dejando escapar tu incredulidad. Enzo rió ante tu reacción y, con un tono resignado, comentó: "Así es la vida". La ironía de la situación resonó en la conversación, creando un lazo instantáneo basado en las coincidencias y desafíos compartidos.

—

Después de pasar varias horas inmersos en el café, tú y Enzo continuaban deleitándose en una charla apasionada sobre el teatro y todo lo relacionado con sus amores creativos. El tiempo parecía volar mientras compartían anécdotas, descubrían similitudes en sus carreras y exploraban sus visiones artísticas.

A medida que la conversación fluía, el reloj recordó que era casi la hora del almuerzo. Enzo, con una sonrisa, sugirió: "¿Qué te parece si nos damos un respiro y vamos por unas hamburguesas?" La idea resonó contigo, y juntos se dirigieron a un lugar cercano para disfrutar de un almuerzo casual y reconfortante.

Después de saciar el apetito, la tarde avanzaba y la diversión no se detenía. Enzo, con su sentido del humor intacto, los condujo a un bar cercano. Cómicamente, se dirigió al bartender diciendo: "Denos dos cognac, que nos hace bastante falta". La ocurrencia sacó una risa de tu parte mientras observabas la escena con complicidad.

Mirándolo con una sonrisa, bromeaste: "Sabes, se supone que no esté borracha, pero si es así, no me importa".

Entre risas y la atmósfera relajada del bar, tú y Enzo continuaban disfrutando de la compañía mutua. El ambiente festivo se intensificaba a medida que ambos tomaban innecesariamente, sumiéndose en conversaciones que abordaban cualquier tema que se les ocurriera.

En un momento de confianza, decidiste compartir un secreto que habías guardado durante mucho tiempo. "Enzo, te tengo que confesar algo," dijiste, con un tono cómplice. Él, intrigado, respondió con un "Dale, dime".

Toda roja y riéndote, soltaste la confesión: "Yo te re amaba, like cuando saliste en 'La Sociedad de la Nieve', no pude aguantar mi fanatismo y pues, ahora que lo pienso, creo que hasta escribí un fanfiction de ti". La expresión de Enzo era un cóctel de sorpresa y diversión mientras esperaba a escuchar más detalles.

Con una risa nerviosa, Enzo te pregunta: "Y... de qué era ese fanfiction?" Entre risas y complicidad, respondiste, "Eso mejor no lo hablemos pero... ya tú sabe". Enzo, con una sonrisa pícara, te desafió: "Yo no sé, dime tú".

Entre risas y anécdotas compartidas, el tiempo parecía desvanecerse mientras ambos continuaban disfrutando de la velada. Sin embargo, la realidad del horario de su vuelo a Madrid interrumpió la burbuja temporal en la que se encontraban. El intercom anunció que era hora de abordar, generando una pausa en su divertida conversación.

Enzo, con una mirada juguetona, sugirió: "Quédate conmigo, así te sientas al lado mío y charlamos más". Tú, recordando la asignación de asientos, expresaste tu preocupación: "Pero, el asiento está designado". Sin embargo, Enzo, con confianza, respondió: "Eso me lo dejas a mí". Ante su propuesta, no pudiste evitar sonreír y ceder: "Pues, ¡vale!"

Al entrar al avión, Enzo abordó con confianza y se dirigió a una de las azafatas. "Perdona, pero hubo un error con los asientos, ella se supone que esté al lado mío, además que es my fiancé," dijo con una sonrisa juguetona, dejándote boquiabierta y bastante ruborizada. La declaración tomó por sorpresa a la azafata, quien, a pesar de la confusión, asintió amablemente y te acompañó hasta el asiento asignado al lado de Enzo.

Mientras te acomodabas, una mezcla de asombro y nerviosismo se reflejaba en tu rostro. Enzo, con su actitud desenfadada y una chispa de complicidad, te guiñó un ojo antes de sentarse a tu lado.

Al sentarte, no pudiste evitar comentarle a Enzo: "Estás demente, ¿cómo que fiancé?" Él te miró con una sonrisa pícara y respondió: "Ay mira, estos son cosas que pasan, y además esto, ehh..." Tratando de mantener la compostura, le interrumpiste: "Mira, ya, que estás re tomado, que ni sé de qué estamos hablando."

Él, con un tono cómico y sarcástico, te dijo: "De que eres mi fiancé y punto." En respuesta, le diste un pequeño puño juguetón en el brazo, y Enzo, dramáticamente, exclamó: "Ay, eso dolió." Tú, riendo, le reprochaste: "Ay no seas bobolón."

Ya cómodos en sus asientos, Enzo te mira con la expresión de quien necesita más alcohol, mientras tú le devuelves la mirada con gesto de ya no más. Sin embargo, al pasar una azafata, Enzo, con su característico sentido del humor, le dice: "Perdona, ¿nos podrás traer dos champán? Es que como nos vamos a casar pronto." Tu rostro se torna más rojo de lo que ya estaba ante la inesperada declaración de Enzo.

La azafata, acostumbrada a situaciones peculiares, asiente con una sonrisa y se apresura a cumplir la solicitud. Mientras tanto, Enzo se relaja en su asiento con una expresión de triunfo, mientras tú intentas ocultar tu sorpresa y diversión ante la ocurrencia.

Se tomaron el champán con un "¡Salud!" y el ambiente se llenó de risas y un toque festivo. Sin embargo, a medida que disfrutaban de la bebida, comenzaron a notar que el efecto del alcohol se estaba haciendo más evidente, sumergiéndolos en un estado de relajación profunda. Enzo te mira con complicidad, y con una sonrisa pícara, comenta: "Y de qué era el fanfiction? Es decir, me imagino que era bueno."

Tu rostro refleja una mezcla de pensamiento y vergüenza, y le respondes: "Ay Enzo, por favor, no hablemos de eso, ya te dije que no te voy a contar." Sin embargo, Enzo persiste con curiosidad: "Pero me imagino que fue creativo." Lo miras con incredulidad, como si sus palabras fueran más serias de lo que aparentaban, y le contestas: "Cómo que creativo, I mean, era normal, como una chica empezando sus veintes y todo eso."

La conversación da un giro inesperado cuando Enzo, con sorpresa, pregunta: "Espera, no jodás que… ¿cuántos años tienes?" Lo miras directamente y le respondes con humor: "Bastante mayor, ¿por? ¿Me veo vieja?" Enzo, tratando de explicarse, menciona: "No... es que yo pues, ya sabes que estoy en mis mediados de treinta." Tú, con una sonrisa traviesa, le dices: "Estás bien, ¿o mejor te digo que estás viejo?" Las risas se mezclan con la complicidad, creando un ambiente ligero y divertido mientras continúan su viaje a Madrid.

Después de la conversación sobre el fanfiction, Enzo ya estaba medio dormido, o mejor dicho, parecía cansado o sumido en sus pensamientos. Mientras tanto, sentías la necesidad apremiante de ir al baño. Decidiste levantarte del asiento y dirigirte al baño del avión. Sin embargo, al llegar, te encontraste con una fila larga para el baño de mujeres, y la urgencia no esperaba.

La azafata, al notar tu situación, te tranquilizó diciéndote que podías usar el baño de hombres, ya que estaba vacío en ese momento. Agradecida, aceptaste la oferta y te aventuraste en una larga caminata a través del amplio avión. Al final, encontraste el pequeño baño del avión, donde pudiste aliviarte y refrescarte las manos.

Justo cuando estabas a punto de salir, te diste cuenta de que Enzo estaba a punto de abrir la puerta del baño. Ambos se miraron con asombro, creando un momento de sorpresa compartida. Sin embargo, lo que más te ponía nerviosa era el silencio incómodo que se instaló entre ustedes. Aunque no era incómodo en sí, había una tensión que no podías ignorar.

Tus ojos se encontraron con los de Enzo, sus labios y sus ojos endormecidos brillando en la penumbra del avión. Era como si el tiempo se hubiera detenido por un momento, y la conexión entre ustedes se manifestaba en el silencio compartido. Ambos parecían estar atrapados en la atmósfera íntima del instante, sin palabras pero con una comunicación palpable entre las miradas.

Ligeramente afectada por los efectos del alcohol, observabas cómo el brazo de Enzo estaba recostado en la puerta del baño, como si te invitara a pasar. Sin embargo, te quedaste mirándolo, notando que sus venas sobresalian, un detalle que capturó tu atención de manera inusual.

De repente, Enzo miró a ambos lados y se introdujo al baño contigo, a lo cual respondiste incrédula, diciendo: "Mijo, pero—" Antes de que pudieras terminar la frase, Enzo te agarró de los muslos y te hizo sentar en el mini lavamanos. Te sentías un poco incómoda, sin estar segura de cómo reaccionar, pero permitiste que Enzo guiara la situación.

Él te agarró suavemente del cuello y empezó a besarte apasionadamente, como si ambos tuvieran una sed desesperada de conexión. Respondiste a sus besos de manera igualmente intensa, sumergiéndote en el momento. La pequeña cabina del baño se convirtió en un espacio íntimo donde las emociones y los deseos se expresaban libremente entre ambos, desafiando la lógica del apretado espacio.

Después de tantos besos, Enzo te tocaba apasionadamente por todos lados, más — soltás un suspiro largo y él hace lo mismo, como medio agitado. "Me parece que ya es hora de pegar una cabeceada," te dice. Tú, con cierta preocupación, le tirás, "Pero capaz hay gente esperando afuera, ¿cómo hacemos para salir del baño?" Él te responde con un "Solo tenés que seguirme," agarrándote de la mano. Enzo abre la mini puerta del baño del avión, echa un vistazo a los lados y, medio incómodos pero satisfechos, se encaminan hacia sus asientos.

Al sentarse, tú y Enzo quedan en un largo silencio, procesando todo lo que había pasado en esos largos minutos en el baño del avión. Mientras tanto, Enzo te agarra de la mano y te da un besito en la misma. "(Y/N), me tendrías que pasar tu número de celu, quiero volver a verte," te dice, y tú, ya un poco cansada y recostada en el hombro de Enzo, le respondés, "Cuando aterricemos, te paso mi número," y él asiente con un "Dale."

Fin

#enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic fic #enzo vogrincic x reader #society of the snow #fanfic #my writing #la sociedad de la nieve #uruguay #latina #spanish #argentina #me enamoré de un uruguayo #enzo vogrincic x you #enzo vogrincic smut

[austinsastrology8991]

Mercury in da HoUSe (s) mercury and why you think your smart - you only think your smart, you don't even know if you are because you can't think any other way. I dont care if people tell you your smart, they don't even know if they are smart because they have the same dilemma as you....... but if you think your dumb your probs right.... okay enough chit chat we gotta do some astrollogy >> Mercury in the first - These guys talk the talk, hella good at talking, talk too much, but at least they know how to talk. but it gives everyone in the rooom a headache. also there voices go a million directions... they like to put on voices. actually i hate your voice. its too earpiercing its like your looking at there voice even if you look away. how are you able to make me look at yo voice, its meant to be auditory but i can fucking see it STFUUUU Mercury in the second - I like money but not as much as this guy. this guy will think of every scam, every business every investment possible just to prove his worth (typically with money) as kids they are hustlers with money, everyone knows they gonna make coin, but typically as they get older, money don't mean shit to them and they start investing into something substantial and if they dont grow outta this mindset, they become shells of themselves like bill gates or the amazon guy. mercury in the third - okay these guys are actually smart, but its almost hard to tell. because there intelljgence isn't attached to anything beside intelligence itself. so its hard to notice, but they are very smart people. quick learners but i notice not quick thinkers, or at least they don't voice it much. which i guess makes them smart because they ploying liek dat mercury in the fourth - subtle intelligence, almost manipulative intelligence, they are the types to make you make a point jsut so they can point out the flaws in your point rather than make a argument themselves.... then make an argument once yours has been smashed to pieces. assholes honestly... but i rate it its just smart tactics but make em talk first and they speechless lmao mercury in the fifth - funny yes your funny, yes i see what you did there, oh yes this next joke is also funny because it ties in with your last joke.. did i mention your funnY? oh im not that funny, well im sorry i can't do it like you becayse yourr liek for real funny. okay can someone else speak now, this guys voice wasn't annoying but now it is. fr comedians but every comedian over do it, and so do they mercury in the sixth - annoying intelligence, always pointing out the flaws in whatever the fuck you just said. like dude im trying my best to think, to then speak it, and to respect you as a person. and your lookjing for flaws, in my speech? oh you can't help it? well i can't help but not wanna talk to you. annoyingly nitpicky with what i say you say she say, why so serious? oh your too smart? thats what every dumbass has ever said to me stfu. mercury in the seventh - always on your back, but can you get off my back, im still working on my argument i dont need you to suck me off about it jeezes. id rather you criticize me honestly. oh now your critical of me. well why can't you just think for yourself. oh you don't know how to. you only don't know how to because you just wanna learn more and more and more and more and more. and now you dont know how to think for yourself. congrats you played yoself mercury in the eighth - so mysterious wow so profound, i never saw it that way. no you just were thinking of something cool to say this whole time and you jsut thought of it. your only quiet so you dont look like a fool. insecure bitch ass. oh but now you just wanna insult me yeah thats because i called you out. honestly these guys are just looking for a deep chat, and its only deep because they were digging for so long.

mercury in the ninth - these guys know way too much bullshit. like they read a lot and just spit random facts and its hard to talk to them without feeling patronized. like yeah we get it, you read a lot. most peole don't because we like to be a human, not live in a book. go outside its nice. oh thats where you get your information > outside, books, the world is your dictionary - god you really are annoying. oh you knew that already. fuck off man.

mercury in the tenth - shrewd; always thinking and saying the best possible thing to say for each scenario, and its typically just sayings they read in hustler books, or what they dad said once. yeah your street smart, but no one else advertises it as much as you, which means you don't understand the streets as well as you think. yep thats right re-strategise; they just wanna own the streets i swear. and no one tries as hard as them. and thats saying something mercury in the eleventh - stop protesting you mong, you really think convincing us the realities of the world, will change the world? oh itll start the butterfly effect, okay true go on, tell us how eating veggies gonna stop the meat industry. oh you were just saying this crap for bants. yep that was annoying. oh now you wanna talk about how attitudes has shaped the world, dude why you always trying to integrate everysingle philsophy of the world into one conversation. you do realise its all bullshit? but everyone likes em because they invite everyone in on the conversation... hey someone gota do it Mercury in the twelfth - these guys are the worst i swear, cant be more manipulative than these lot, they will act innocent, but come at you aggressivly, and itll just confuse ya. youll think they just dumb and naive but they klnow damn well what da hell they doing. play yo game with someone else... oh you don't like to play with them because they fall for your shit, yep so you only like people who set you straight ehhhh you should just come at me straight or ill set you straight. oh you just struggle with convos well it shows.

#astro community #mercury aspects #house placements #astrology observations #astrology notes #astrology blog #astrology #astrology houses #mercury astrology

[karylvsjuanii]

Holaaaa. Me encanta tu smut, por favor no dejes de escribir. Este ultimo con matias esta muy bueno.¿Puedes hacer uno con kuku por favor?

DILUVIO | Esteban Kukuriczka

tw: penetracion con dedos, groserías, orgasmo interrumpido, muchos chorros, masturbacion, sobre estimulación.

Los diálogos son en argentina pero mi narración es latina.

Dale mi amor, no pares. - Gimes fuerte aferrándote a los hombros de Esteban.

Tres de sus dedos salían y entraban de ti con fuerza y rabia.

Eso es mi princesa, dámelo todo. - Se acerca a tu oído dejando rastros de besos por tu clavícula.

Sus dedos seguían sus patrones y continuaba enroscandolos dentro de tus paredes, abriéndote aún más.

Ándate bebé, ponete en cuatro pa mi.- Y cómo debe ser, sus órdenes fueron concedidas por ti en menos de un minuto.

Te tenía de perrito como a él le gustaba, sus dedos entrando en tu entrada apretada te sacaron fuertes gemidos de placer.

Ah, la puta madre, metelo más “kuku”.- Empujas tus caderas hacia atrás, tratando de alcanzar más a sus largos dedos.

Te gusta?, te gusta cómo te follan mis dedos?- Esteban masajea tu clitoris en busca de tus gemidos.

Ay dale papi, me encanta.- sus dedos seguían en trabajo, sin hacer esfuerzo en tu clitoris ya estimulado por la palma de su mano.

Como me gustas así se apretadita, bebita.- Su mano izquierda se aleja de su polla antes masturbada por el, para atender a tu clitoris hinchado.

Su dedo índice empieza a palmearlo con suavidad, dio cinco leves palmadas antes de dar otras tres con más rudeza. Después de que empezaras a gemir, aplastó tu nervio rojizo con su dedo y tu cuerpo reboteó con brusquedad al ser restregado con la yema de su índice, llenándote de lagrimas por el placer.

Bajó la velocidad y con solo la punta de su dedo, cepillo con tortura a tu clitoris sonrojado.

Ah, mi amor, que rico. - Tus tetas saltaban dándole a Esteban la mejor película porno.

Mirate, bonita, babeando por mis dedos en tu coñito apretado. - La velocidad de sus dedos nunca cambió.

Te estoy jodiendo tan bien que no podes ni respirar. - De su boca dejó caer saliva a tus pechos.

Dale mi beba hermosa, mostrame que podes hacer con ese cuerpecito tuyo. - Su mano izquierda dejó de atender a tu clitoris para dar una nalgada en tu culo.

Follate en mis dedos. - Los azotes de sus dedos pararon.

No papi, no me hagas esto, ya casi termino.- Intentaste tomar sus muñecas para que vuelva a golpear tu coño.

Hacete chorrear, princesa, se buena para papi. - Esteban sonrió como nunca al verte así.

Comenzaste a deslizar tu entrada por sus dedos de nuevo, bajando tus caderas para hacer a sus dedos entrar duro a ti.

Solo bastaron 30 segundos para volver al ritmo anterior, estabas follandote en los dedos de tu novio sin poder razonar nada de lo que hacías. Babeabas y llorabas en las almohadas, tus dedos se enroscaban en tu cabello por la desesperación de tu cuerpo. Tu cuerpo sentía temblar y a recibir espasmos cuando tus dedos restregaron de nuevo a tu clitoris caliente.

Tu cabeza volvió a subir y tu boca se abrió en “o”, sacando un gemido agudo y cambiando tu expresión a un ceño fruncido, tus tetas se movían por tu dedo frotando tu clitoris.

Esteban metió y sacó sus dedos sin frenar el ritmo duro que habías tomado, volviendo a sacar un gemido agudo de tu parte y la expresión en tu rostro sin dejar de babear. Chorros salieron disparados de tu entrada mojando a Esteban del cuello al abdomen, sus dedos salían y entraban sin freno.

De tu boca no salía ningún sonido, solo eran tus ojos entrecerrados y tu boca intentando emitir un sonido inaudible. Golpeaste la mano de Esteban para que la sacara de ti, seguido de mas chorros fuertes empapando las sábanas.

Tu mano derecha cepillando tu clitoris fue retirada por Esteban para tomar su lugar y ayudarte a bajar de tu subidón.

Eso es mi amor, lo hiciste muy bien. - Tu novio besaba con dulzura tus mejillas sin dejar de atender a tu botón.- Te amo, pero todavía no acabamos. - Tomó a tus piernas con delicadeza y las jalo hacia él. Sus manos tomaron camino a tu falda aún puesta, bajándola por completo.

Al parecer Esteban estaba dispuesto a darte la mejor noche de tu vida.

#esteban kukuriczka #kuku #lsdln cast #x reader #smut #18+ only #enzo vogrincic #enzo vogrincic x reader #felipe otaño #felipe otaño x reader #matias recalt x reader #pipe otaño #pipe otaño x reader #juani caruso #la sociedad de la nieve #lsdln #lsdln x reader #lsdln smut

[layce2015]

The Boys (Soldier Boy x Female!Supe!Reader)

Chapter 4: Glorious Five Year Plan

Chapter 1 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Present Day

*(y/n)’s POV*

"It's Solid Gold, starring Marilyn McCoo. With Solid Gold recording stars Kim Carnes, the Oak Ridge Boys, Waylan Flowers and Madame, the Solid Gold Dancers, and our first very special guest of the night, Soldier Boy!" The announcer from the show said as I sit there in my living room, watching, Bethany sitting next to me.

The camera pans down on the stage to show Ben, wearing his superhero suit including that helmet, standing on the stage as he begins to sing.

Fab Five Freddy told me everybody's fly

DJ spinning, I said, "My, my"

Flash is fast, Flash is cool

François c'est pas, Flash ain't no dude

And you don't stop, sure shot

Go out to the parking lot

And you get in your car and you drive real far

And you drive all night and then you see a light

It comes right down and lands on the ground

And out comes a man from Mars

And you try to run, but he's got a gun

And he shoots you dead, and he eats your head

And then you're in the man from Mars

You go out at night, eating cars

You eat Cadillacs, Lincolns, too...

As he sings, he did dance a bit then walked across the stage as the female back-up dancers surround him, all of them placing their hands on any part of him they could touch. And even watching this old rerun now, I still felt a bit jealous of seeing this just as I was when I was there on that show. I remember being a bit annoyed while I was standing backstage watching this from a TV screen.

"Weren't you on this episode as well?" Bethany asked me. "Yeah, I was." I muttered.

Sure enough, when Ben's song ended the camera switches to show the disco ball hanging from the ceiling as the announcer said. "And now for our second special guest, Mystic Shade!"

And the camera pans down to show me, in my superhero suit, on the stage, leaning against a tall white platform and I hold the microphone up to my lips. "Oh, there you are!" Bethany said, in a teasing manner, and I rolled my eyes.

Girls! Girls!

Watch out! Watch out!

I turn my head to look out at the crowd and I stand up, straighter.

There's a two legged animal running about

If it smokes a great big cigar

And it hangs around at a bar

If it tells the biggest lies, wears the loudest ties

It's a man

If it acts just like a crossed patch

Has a face with whiskers that scratch

If it's stubborn as can be, mean and ornery

It's a man

I watched myself saunter across the stage as I sang this old song, I raised a finger as if pointing out to the crowd before I lowered my arm, continuing to sing. "Wow, look at you go." Bethany teased and I scoff out a laugh.

It if walks, if it talks

If its habits are a little bit peculiar

If it brags and tries to make you think it's wonderful

Be on the lookout, don't let it fool ya

But if it makes the moon up on high,

More than just a light in the sky

If it kisses you and you find you like it too

GRAB IT!

It's a man

At the point I sang GRAB IT I raised my right hand up and clenched it into a fist then unclenched it and placed it on my hips as I do a bit of a dance with a smile, continuing to sing the song.

"Good God, I look so ridiculous." I muttered. "No, you don't. You're now sounding like an old woman." Bethany said, a bit of sarcasm, and I look over at her, she of course had aged a bit, wrinkles had appeared on her face and her hair was turning gray but I could still see that young girl I met back in the 70's underneath all those wrinkles.

"Well, you do realize I'm a little over a hundred years old. I think I deserve to sound like one." I said, smiling. "And yet you still look like you're in your early 30's." Bethany said and I chuckle. "Yes, bathing in virgin's blood does have its perks." I joked and we laugh.

"What? That's the secret? Why didn't you tell me?!" Bethany asked me, in a fake offended voice. "It's a curse I must bare." I said, dramatically, and we laugh and go back to watching the show as I continue to sing the song.

It if walks, if it talks

If its habits are a little bit peculiar

If it brags and tries to make you think it's wonderful

Be on the lookout, don't let it fool ya

And then one of the male backup dancers, dressed in a suit, comes up next to me and gets down on one knee.

But if it's kneelin' down on one knee

Sayin' darling please marry me

Then don't hesitate, better name the date and then

I had walked over to the man and caressed his cheek for a moment then lowered my hand to his tie as I sang the next few lines.

GRAB IT!

HOLD IT!

HANG ONTO IT! 

I grabbed the man's tie, yanked on it to make him stand up and pull him close to me. The guy looked surprised but also seemed to like it as I give him a flirty smile.

For It's a man

I belted out that last line then I pulled the man down towards me and I kissed him. I face-palmed at this while Bethany said. "Ooooohhh."

The music stops and the guy and I break the kiss and we share a smile before the camera switches to a different guest. "I'm gonna guess Ben wasn't happy about that kiss, was he?" Bethany asked me and I shake my head. "No, he wasn't." I said. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" Bethany asked me, concerned, and I shake my head as the memory of what happened after I left the stage came to mind, a smile slowly forming on my face.

"No, he didn't. He, uh...he did something else." I said and Bethany looks at me then noticed my smile. "Oh, I know that smile. Give me details!" She demanded and I shake my head. "A lady never kiss and tells." I said and we share a laugh again. We look back at the TV and my mind began to wander back to that night of the filming of this episode.

Flashback

I walked backstage after the performance and a few people smiled and congratulated me as I walk past them. Then I look over at Ben, who did not look happy. “What the fuck was that?” He asked me, angrily. “What was what?” I asked, feigning ignorance. I start to walk past him but he grabs my arm and I turn to face him.

”You know damn well what I mean.” He growls and I smirk at him. “Ease up, Soldier Boy. Jealousy is not a good look on you. Besides, it was all an act.” I said. “You sure? Because it didn’t look like an act.” He said and my smile grew. Honestly, I was having fun messing with him. “So what if it was?” I asked him then I lean into him. “What are you gonna do about it?” I asked and I see his eyes darken as he glares at me.

Most people would’ve backed down from this glare but I didn’t. Because I could see the lust and desire in his eyes, which told me I was in for it.

I let out a moan that really sounded like it could've come out of a porno as Ben shoved me up against the wall of his dressing room, thrusting roughly into me, my legs wrapped around his waist.

"Fuck, Ben!" I exclaimed. "That's right, you better say my name! Not that asshole you kissed! You are mine!" Ben growls as his thrusts become harder. I let out a strangled moan as I started to feel drunk with how good Ben was making me feel until I felt his thumb rubbing my most sensitive spot.

I cried out again as Ben said, with a low growl. "This is mine! No one else's! Say it. Say that this pussy is mine!" Then his thumb works faster and my walls clench around him even harder. "Y-Y-Yours...always....I'm..yours..." I was able to say in between gasps and moans I was letting out.

"You damn right you are!" Ben growls in my ear as he pounds into me and rubs that sensitive spot even faster and harder.

And at that moment, I shut my eyes and felt them roll back as a very powerful orgasm washes over me. "BEN!" I screamed out in ecstasy and then he growls out my name in my ear as I feel him release himself inside of me.

The both of us stilled and catch our breath until we hear a knock at the door. Both of us look towards the door, lazily, when the voice of the producer of the show calls out. "Soldier Boy, you and Mystic Shade are up in ten minutes."

"Okay, thanks. We'll be out there." Ben said and we hear the guy leave. Ben turns to look at me then gives me a soft kiss on the lips. "Looks like round two is gonna have to wait." He said as he pulls out of me. I hiss at this and set my wobbling legs on the floor before he walks over to his table that was next to us.l

"There's more?" I asked, breathlessly, as he goes to grab a towel and wipes himself clean, puts his pants back on then zips it up. "Yeah...gotta make my girl know who she belongs to." He said as he comes up to me and cleans me up as well.

"Well, in that case...I should be punishing you in round two." I said, smirking, and zipping up my pants once he finished. "How so? I didn't go kissing anybody." Ben said, tossing the towel aside. "Oh, but you did let all those girls touch you, let them run their hands all over you." I said as I sauntered over to him, my legs still feeling a bit like jelly.

I get up close to him and I grab his crotch, he tensed up at this and he let's out a small sigh through his nose. "If my pussy is yours then this dick is mine. And no one else can have it, no other woman should be touching you, understand?" I asked him and I could hear a low growl coming from him as I tightened my grip on it.

"Yes, ma'am." He said, lowly, and I give a seductive smile. "Good boy." I cooed and I kiss his cheek then let him go and go towards the door. "Where you going?" He asked me and I turn to face him. "Gotta go clean up my face and hair. Probably look like a used whore." I said and Ben looks me up and down. "More like properly fucked, in my opinion." He said, with that cheeky grin, and I rolled my eyes.

"I'll see you out there, Soldier Boy." I said, in a sultry voice. "See you later, Mystic Shade." Ben said and I walk out of the dressing room.

Present Day

I sighed a bit as Bethany pats my arm and points to the TV. "I forgot you two did a duet!" She exclaims and I look at the screen as it showed me and Ben back on stage, I must've being off on la la land in my head for awhile cause I remember our duet was at the ending of the episode.

The music intro to Endless Love began to play as Ben starts to sing first, both of us facing each other.

My love

There's only you in my life

The only thing that's right

I smiled at him as I bring my microphone up to my lips.

My first love

You're every breath that I take

You're every step I make

Then we sang together.

And I want to share

All my love with you

No one else will do

And your eyes (Your eyes, your eyes)

They tell me how much you care

Oh, yes, you will always be

My endless love

"You know, even though you told me about the crap you two went through, I still think you two made a good-looking couple. Better than him and that, what was her name? Crimson Countess?" Bethany said, thinking. "Yeah..." I muttered as I look down for a moment then back to the TV.

Two hearts

Two hearts that beat as one

Our lives have just begun

Forever

I'll hold you close in my arms

I can't resist your charms

And love

I'll be a fool for you, I'm sure

You know I don't mind

'Cause you, you mean the world to me, oh

I know

I've found in you my endless love

I felt this great wave of sadness overcome me and I get up and head to the kitchen. "(Y/n)?" Bethany called out to me as I head to the fridge. "You okay?" She asked as she follows me while I grab a beer bottle.

"Yeah, I just..." I stopped then opened the bottle and started to chug down the beer. "Hey..." Bethany said as she comes up to me and places a hand on my shoulder. "I know I should be over it but....fuck, Bethany, it's hard." I said and Bethany nods. 

"I know, I mean, I wouldn't know how I'd feel or do if Steven died. Let alone forty years after the time." Bethany said. "I know he was an asshole and a bastard but he was the only one that knew what I was going through, what I had been through. He was mostly good to me; couple of things he did, did annoy me. But I still love him." I said then she hugs me.

*3rd Person POV*

Maeve was swinging her sword around, like she was getting ready for battle. She jumps, rolls and swings the sword around until she hears a knock at the door. She opens it and sees it was Starlight. “Hi. Can we talk?” she asked. “No.” Maeve said, flatly, and she goes to shut the door but Starlight stops her. “Maeve, please.” Starlight pleads and Maeve sighs then lets her in and Starlight closes the door.

”I heard that you stopped training.” Starlight said as she noticed that Maeve had moved her furniture around where there was a large space in the middle of the room. “Yeah? You also hear that I wake up six days a week hungover, tits-deep in some random fսck pile? People think what I want them to.” Maeve said as she walks over to the kitchen island. “Okay, listen. Have you ever heard of something called B.C.L. RED?” Starlight asked her as Maeve gets a drink.

”You mean a weapon that can kill Homelander, if Butcher can find it?” Maeve asked her, knowingly. “You know?” Starlight asked, surprised, and Maeve smiles. “Who do you think sent them down the rabbit hole? Actually, I should say I had help with that but still…I brought it up to them. It's why I'm training. Or haven't had a drink in four awful, shit-eating months. Maybe I can buy Butcher a second or two to get a good shot. At the very least, I'll get a couple of licks in.” Maeve said. “Wait, so who gave you the information about this weapon?” Starlight asked and Maeve glares at her.

”Why should I tell you that?” Maeve asked her. “Well, whoever this person is, could join us. I mean, this person obviously wants to help.” Starlight said. “She only wanted to give out the information about the weapon and that’s it.” Maeve said and Starlight furrows her brow. “She?” She said but Maeve doesn’t reply.

“Okay. Okay, okay. So there's you, me and your mystery friend. Maybe we can find some others.” Starlight said. “Right. Yeah. I'm sure you and Duluth's Most Mighty would really get the job done. And I told you, my mystery friend doesn’t want any part of this. This is my problem. I'm the one who was with the asshоlе.” Maeve said.

“Maeve...you cannot do this alone. He'll kill you.” Starlight pleads and Maeve rolls her eyes. “You really care that little about yourself?” Starlight asked her. “I got it coming.” Maeve said before she walks over to her sword and starts to swish it around again.

*(y/n)’s POV*

“Okay, here is one scotch for the pretty lady.” Steven said to me as he hands me a glass of the drink. “Thanks, Steven. I said as I accepted it. I had gone over to Bethany’s and Steven’s house for the night to just have something to keep my mind occupied. Steven is Bethany’s husband for almost forty years and he always had this cheery carefree attitude, even at the age he is now.

“And, of course, for the lovely lady…bourbon!” Steven said to Bethany as she takes it. “A man after my heart.” Bethany said. “I should be the only man!” Steven chuckles and Bethany pretends to think. “Hmm, I don’t know..there is that cute young man at the coffee shop…” she said. “Well, then I better go pay him a visit, show him what happens when you try to get my girl.” He said and the two laugh and I smile and shake my head as I take a drink.

”Oh, and how are you gonna do that? Hit him with your cane?” Bethany asked him, teasingly, as she gestures to the black cane leaning against their couch. “Nah…I’ll just send (y/n) after him.” He said. “And what makes you think I’ll agree to that?” I asked him. “I’ll let you keep beating me at poker!” He said and my jaw drops.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked him. “Well, not to brag but…my superpower is that I am really good at poker. I just didn’t want to show off and let you win so you wouldn’t feel bad.” Steven said and I scoff out a laugh. “Oh, really? Well, c’mon, sonny, put your money where your mouth is!” I said and Steven claps. “Alright, grandma!” Steven teased as he goes to grab his deck of cards but then Bethany looks over at the TV.

”Whoa, whoa, wait a minute! Look!” She said and Steven and I look at the screen to see that there was a news broadcast. It said Neuman Holds FBSA Press Conference on the news banner and Neuman gets up to the podium. “Good afternoon. Thank you all for being here. I'm Congresswoman Victoria Neuman, the director of the Federal Bureau of Superhuman Affairs. For the last year, the Bureau has been working with Vought International under one guiding principle. The most powerful among us are not above the law, including the most powerful man at the company.” Neuman said then she pauses, looks to the side and takes a breath.

”Homelander...has bravely come forward as a whistleblower and provided evidence of crimes committed within Vought by CEO Stan Edgar.” Neuman said and the crowd gasps while mine, Steven’s and Bethany’s jaw drops at this. “And in the coming days, the FBSA will be investigating charges of blackmail, perjury and obstruction of justice against Mr. Edgar. Vought International must be held to the highest ethical and legal standards. The people are entitled to the truth about their heroes...” She said while Bethany and Steven share a look.

”What the hell?” Steven mutters and I furrowed my brow. “I don’t like this. Especially if Homelander is the one that gave that information to her….” I said. “Why do you hate Homelander so much?” Steven asked me. “I don’t know…there’s something…off about him. And I know how things went there at Vought…” I replied. “Plus, Homelander dated a Nazi, isn’t that bad enough?” Bethany asked.

“But he didn’t know…I mean, didn’t you know her as Liberty, (y/n)?” Steven asked me. “Not really well, course I thought something was off about her too back then.” I said and he sighs. “Look, I’m not defending him, I mean, I’m not a huge fan of the guy either but…some men make mistakes when they love a woman. I mean, it came out earlier he and Starlight are a thing now.” He said. 

Bethany hums at this while I stay quiet about this. I don’t know but I think that whole Starlight and Homelander paring is a load of crap and trying to deflect his whole thing with Stormfront.

*3rd Person POV*

Meanwhile, in Russia, Butcher, Frenchie, Kimiko, Hughie and M.M. went to infiltrate a military compound to find the weapon, thanks to Nina. Nina was Frenchie’s old associate and he got tangled back up with her was because his old girlfriend, Cherie, begged him for help to get her out.

So, for that, the boys had to a job for her then she would have her people help them get to the compound. They were able to cut the power out at the compound to make the Russian soldiers leave and they make their way inside.

“Any idea what this Supe gun is supposed to look like?” M.M. asked Butcher. “Ain't the joy in the discovery, eh?” Butcher said and they look around until they see a large metal tube. What is it?” Hughie asked as they look at it then Butcher looks over some papers nearby while Frenchie looks at this large glass case.

“Hey, there's something here. Look.” Frenchie said as he shines his light into the case where he sees a small hamster inside. “Look, look. Oh.” Frenchie said and M.M. comes up next to him to see the hamster. “Hey. What does it say?” Frenchie asked as he shines his light at the label that was written in Russian. “Says his name is Jamie.” M.M. said before he chuckles. “Jamie. Hi. Are you okay, Jamie?” Frenchie asked the hamster as he taps the glass. “No, no, no, don't fսck with it. Just leave him alone.” M.M. tells him and Frenchie chuckles.

”Aw. Jamie. Who's a handsome, petite, little gerbil?” Frenchie said as the hamster scurried around in the cage and Kimiko comes up and smiles. “It's a hamster. My daughter went through three of them.” M.M. clarifies then suddenly Jamie rapidly pounds around in the case, scaring the others. “Oh, shit! Motherfucking V'd-up hamster.” M.M. said, surprised.

At that moment, alarms start blaring. “told you not to fսck with him. Damn it.” M.M. growls at Frenchie and Butcher turns to them. “Look lively!” He shouts and every pulls out their guns and get ready for a fight.

Immediately, the Russian soldiers come in and start firing at the team and the boys all take cover and fire back at them. One soldier was able to corner Frenchie but Jamie, who had gotten out, flies up and burrows into the soldier’s eye, making him scream out in pain before falling over dead.

“Merci, Jamie.” Frenchie said as he nods to the hamster.

“I'm out!” M.M. shouts and Butcher fires his gun but he stops and looks at the others as they try to take cover. Butcher looks over at Hughie, who was hiding, then smiles at him then walks out. “Oi! Evening, cսոts.” He shouts at the soldiers and he walks out. The soldier firing at him but no damage was done to him, thanks to the Temp V.

The others watch this in shock and disbelief as Butcher uses laser eyes to take out the Russians, then he grabbed the nearest one and breaks his neck. Hughie then noticed a soldier coming up behind M.M. “M.M.!” Hughie shouts and he starts to run then teleports to the soldier and punches through the soldier.

”Oh! Oh! Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Uh...” Hughie grunts and pants then pulls his arm out of the soldiers body, revealing him to be completely naked. Butcher glares at Hughie, realizing that he had taken some Temp V without him knowing, and everyone stared in shock. Kimiko covers her eyes as Hughie chuckles softly. “Your dіck's out.” M.M. said, plainly, and Hughie looks down at himself then goes to grab his clothes and puts them on.

”Butcher?” M.M. asked, angrily. “All right, all right, look, hang about.” Butcher tries to defuse. “You and Hughie both took Compound V? What are you two, fսcking Supes now?” M.M. asked. “Temporary V.” Butcher said then Kimiko signs at him while Hughie picks up the busted cast he was wearing, smiling.

”Oh, she say, Why do you do this to yourself on purpose?" Frenchie translates. “Only lasts 24 hours, all right? Break glass in case of emergencies, you know, like this one.” Butcher said. “And you give this to-to Hughie?” Frenchie asked. “I didn't give it to him. The thieving git must have broken into the case and nicked it.” Butcher said as he glares over at Hughie, who looks at him then stammers.

”Let's just find this thing and get the fսck out of here, all right?” Butcher said and M.M. turns to Hughie. “You're better than this, kid.” He said and Hughie scoffs. “Butcher, I'm...Look...I'm s...I'm sorry, okay? It's just, I...” Hughie said then he laughs softly and everyone walks away from him.

Butcher walks up to the large container and he grabs at the edges of the panel and pulls it open. Smoke billows out of it and everyone steps closer to it to see there was a person inside of it. The smoke starts to clear up and they see it is a man with long hair and a beard, a breathing mask was over his mouth and nose and he was restrained inside. The man lets out a breath which is filtered through the mask and he opens his eyes to look at them, Butcher recognized the man.

“Soldier Boy.” Butcher whispered, shocked. Soldier Boy moved his arms to break the restraints off of his arms then takes off the wires then the mask and starts to walk out of the tube, naked as the day he was born. He looks around at everyone then turns as Frenchie stands in front of him. “Ah... It's okay.” He tries to assure. 

Suddenly, a bright orange glow appears in his chest then bursts out of him, Soldier Boy yells as Kimiko runs to Frenchie and pushes him out of the way as she gets hit with the blast and crashes through the wall. The glow dissipates and Soldier Boy grunts then he stumbles through the hole in the wall and walks away.

“Kimiko. It's okay. Huh? It's okay.” Frenchie said as he goes to Kimiko, but she had a barbed wire through her abdomen and she wasn’t healing like she normally does. “She's not healing. Why she's not healing? Kimiko. Why does she not heal? Kimiko. She's not healing!” Frenchie panicked and the boys gather her up and carry her to their van.

@winchestergirl1720 @deans-spinster-witch @mimaria420 @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @kitsun369 @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @deangirl96 @demodemo909 @cassiecasluciluce

#fandom #fanfic #fan fiction #reader insert #x reader #tv shows #tv show fandom #reader #tv #reader imagine #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy #jensen ackles #superhero #amazon prime

[kiestrokes]

i like had this thought in the back of my head of like what ateez would be like with an S/O who has a physical illness bcs i actually have one which causes a lot of pain to my bones and i'm like in a constant state of pain and discomfort, been going on for about 12 years HELL YA ✊🏻, if i don't keep up on my meds (currently don't have the proper meds so it only tides me over for a little while-) then im basically fucked so IDK i feel like there isn't a lot of stuff written about this kind of stuff (im a sucker for shit i hardly ever am able to read abt) ALSO IM NOT 100% SURE IF YOUR REQS WERE OPEN BCS I DIDNT SEE ANYTHING POSTED ABT IT SO- YA- if you don't want to write it obviously you don't have to !! no pressure at all lovely

ATEEZ Caring for You: Chronic Illness Edition | SFW

Pairing: ATEEZ x Gender Neutral!Reader/You/Yn Rating: SFW Genre: fluff, slice of life, headcanons, imagines, scenarios. Warnings: chronic illness + immunocompromised talk.

🗝️ Note: Hey atiny anon! You actually asked the right person; I have fibromyalgia combined with a few other annoying chronic illnesses. Because you can't just have one 😓 I hope that you can find a decent fucking doctor and get on the proper medication soon. That's the biggest part of the struggle, finding a physician that will listen and is competent enough. I hope this was enough, I tried to assign each member a caring task that I felt fit them! Has not been beta-ed.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below. 

Seonghwa 

He’s here to help you prevent all the chronic pain that he can. Booking you massage visits. Trips to the hot springs. All the arnica rubs. Silly little games the two of you play, to keep your mind off the pain and depression spirals. His favorite is seeing who can build their new Lego set the quickest. Hwa is the biggest advocate for you, he would never return a dish at the restaurant when its wrong. But he will fight for you at every appointment, every pharmacy, wherever you need him to. Because he knows you've grown tired of fighting all the time.

Hongjoong

HJ's specialty is flexibility. You have a sudden burst of energy? He’s down to go explore that new pop-up market with you. You’ve come down with a bout of bone numbing pain? That’s cool, you’re getting changed into comfy clothes and piled up on the couch. Swaddled in your heating pad with all the snacks. Where he falls asleep on your shoulder. HJ never gets frustrated with your rapid change in mood or plans. Nothing but the most understanding partner you could ever have asked for, and boy is he so cute and snuggly when dozing on you. Small hands seeking your face for drowsy kisses that soothe your aches just a smidge.

Yunho

The quiet presence, the one who knows what you need before you say it. Passing you tissues, making you a cup of tea and most importantly holding you so that you can cry. Shedding angry tears about how frustrated you are with your own body for betraying you. For feeling weak. For missing out on things. He's gently calming every frayed nerve in your brain. Reassuring you that you're exactly where you need to be in this moment, and he will bring all of the fun to you. And he does, in small, manageable doses.

Yeosang

His way of caring for you is through caring for your outside. All the skin masks, hair treatments, skin softening lotions because if you feel cruddy, at least he can make you feel cute and comfortable. They do heal though, in their own way. The extra moisture of the humidifier and every cream and essence he buffs into your skin helps keep some of the aches away. Subsiding the itchiness of the nerve pain, just a little. And you can’t get over how cute Yeosang looks in each animal themed headband or with his hair tied back into teeny space buns or how nice his hands feel every time they glide over your skin.

San

Where Yunho is quietly attentive, San is passionately attentive. You cry, he cries (while holding you). Quite literally your pain, is his pain and he’s here to be with you through each step. No judgment is ever passed when he has to pick up your extra chores around the house. Because to him, that is the smallest act of service he can perform for you. San is the one who wishes he could take on your pain, that he could fight it and destroy it and it pains him that he cannot. So he will simply have to do everything else.

Mingi

He thrives on making you laugh and smile through tough days, because he understands feeling burdensome. Mingi never wants you to feel that way, he wants to make sure you verbally know that your presence is needed and welcome. His favorite thing is cuddled up in bed with you wrapped in your heated blanket watching shows. You looking so small in his arms, giving him the feeling of protecting something. He reassures you constantly, because he himself seeks constant reassurance. Mingi never tires of this, he will reaffirm every single self deprecating thought with a compliment even on his worst days.

Wooyoung 

He cares for you with his skinship, which is incredibly healing. His happy heartbeat encourages yours. His strong hands make you feel loved and needed. Who would cuddle him if not you? Woo often reminds you, whispering the phrase into your ear as he traces his nails through your hair, or while rhythmically drawing circles on your spine. Making you float into dream land and anchoring you in the moment with him at the same time. Woo also loves making you whatever dish you’re craving, knowing you need energy to fight off fatigue and pain. And cooking is one of his many, many love languages.

Jongho

Needing to hoard all the extra rest you can get; you seek out solace at Jongho’s place for nap time. Jongho has taken notice, he’s also taken inventory as to which blankets of his you prefer, the pillows that keep you asleep the longest, what temperature you prefer the room to be based on what you’re wearing. All your favorite snacks before or after. New blackout curtains. He’s made his place your ultimate nap zone. New heated blankets. Duplicates of your fave lounge wear and socks. And he takes his payment in cuddles. Holding you tightly in his bed or sprawled on the couch. Sometimes he falls asleep himself and flips you onto your back to bury into your side like a full-sized teddy bear.

© COPYRIGHT 2023 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

#ateez #ateez headcanons #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #chronic pain #chronic illness #chronically ill #chronic fatigue #invisible disability #invisible illness #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x male reader #ateez x gender neutral reader #ateez x atiny #imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #atz #atiny #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #choi san #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi jongho

[salc3]

Prekjučer me babo pitao zašto samujem, i da li je moguće da ne mogu naći djevojku. Otvorim mu inbox, i pokažem situaciju. Čovjek gleda u poruke, pa gleda u mene.

-I? U čemu je problem? Zašto ne poduzimaš ništa?

-A šta da poduzmem babo?

-Pa vidiš da možeš biti s nekim, zašto ne budeš?

-Zato što me nijedna nije zainteresirala na način na koji bi trebala.

-Kako to misliš?

-Pa evo recimo prve tri, odlijepile su, mogu manipulirati s njima kako hoću, mogu ih iskoristiti, mogu ih izvesti van kad je noć i reći da je dan, one će se složiti. A ja to ne želim, što će mi takva žena kraj mene? Vidiš ova zadnja, ona je sva fina, kulturna, razumna na prvu, ali je užasan control freak. Što će mi i to? Ova ovdje, zaljubljena je, dobra, fina djevojka na mjestu, ali ne vodimo nikakav verbalni rat, nije mi izazov, nije mi napeto to, ne vidim smisao da samo klima glavom na svaku moju riječ i slaže se sa svime što ja kažem. Jednostavno, postanu mi nezanimljive jako brzo.

-Sine moj, pa ti biraš kao da si engleski princ, zato i jesi sam.

-A šta bi trebao? Uzeti neku od tih pod ruku, oženiti se, i živjeti konjski život samo zato jer je to red? Jer mi je vrijeme? Jer eto mora se? Koja je svrha toga da dobijemo i to dijete i da ono odrasta gledajući jedan nekvalitetan isprazan odnos između dvoje ljudi? Da li ja trebam djetetu od malih nogu priuštiti takvo šta, pa da se jadan pogubi jednog dana kada sam bude radio svoj odabir?

-Pa sine, s takvim razmišljanjem bojim se da ćeš ostati sam na kraju.

-Zar nije bolje biti sam sa sobom, nego sam sa nekim babo?

#balkan citati #ljudi #balkanski citati #crna gora #hrvatska #srbija #balkan #bosna i hercegovina #citati o ljudima #ljubav

[marijave]

Nije nasilje samo kad te udari. Nasilje je i kad manipuliše pa za sve loše što uradi krivi tebe. Nasilje je i kad viče i kad te vređa, i kad te bez zrna emocija gleda kako plačeš. Nasilje je kad te ubeđuje da nisi dovoljno vredna i da ti nigde neće biti kao s njim.

#citati #volisebe #nasiljenadzenama #nezaboravidavolissebe

[ace-of-zaun]

Pas de Deux pt. 9:

Silco x f!reader, 11k words, SFW

CW: obsessive silco, kidnapping (please see part 1 for the full series warnings!) 

Chapter warnings: canon-typical violence, assault, threats, arguments, angst, drugging, unresolved sexual tension, hurt/comfort, fluff, (also, this chapter is quite long, around 11k words!)  

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

A dulled click followed by a series of light footsteps across your bedroom floor is what rouses you from your slumber, as you disconcertingly try to blink away the headache forming behind your skull. 

It’s still pitch black in your room, so you surmise it must be the middle of the night, or at the very least, early morning. One hand covers your forehead as you squint into the darkness, pushing up on one elbow to get a better look at the shadows of your room. 

“Silco?” you whisper, your throat dry and scratchy. 

In your post-sleep daze, you assume that he’s either entered your room to look through your belongings while you sleep or maybe tonight’s the night he’s finally decided to try to sneak into bed with you. 

You squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to clear the last remnants of sleep from them when suddenly a wet cloth is shoved against your face, completely covering your mouth and nose. Instinctually, you try to gasp, but in doing so you almost inhale some of the wet cloth into your mouth causing you to splutter against it. 

Wrenching your eyes open, you try to get a glimpse of your assailant but before you can another hand is slapped over your eyes, violently forcing your head to bounce back down against the pillow below you. 

The mattress beside you dips as your attacker climbs onto the bed with you and your whole body thrashes against them until a knee is abruptly jammed into your stomach, knocking all the breath from your rapidly constricting lungs. 

With your vision blocked and senses disoriented, you desperately try to claw at the hands covering your face as your nasal passage quickly becomes overwhelmed by a sickeningly sweet odour. And despite the pure panic flooding through your heart, your limbs soon begin to feel numb and heavy, no longer responding to your brain’s signals to fight. 

Fuck. Fuck, why can’t you move your arms?

You need to get away from this person, you need to fight. 

In a last ditch attempt to save yourself, you try with all your might to scream Silco’s name, but instead it comes out as a soft, slurred mumble against the cloth, your mind becoming foggier and foggier with each passing second. 

“S…Sil…” you mutter incoherently, practically tasting defeat as you succumb to the murky depths of sleep.

And just before unconsciousness reclaims your exhausted body, you find yourself thinking of Silco, delusionally hoping that he can somehow hear your desperate, internal pleas to… just… 

save… me… 

please…

…

You’re jolted back into consciousness when a cupful of water is thrown onto your face sending a violent shudder through your freezing body. It’s not enough water to soak you completely, but it is enough to startle you, leaving you gasping for air in shock. 

It takes a second too long for you to catch your breath, only adding to your confusion as you try to figure what the hell is happening to you. 

For the second time in a night, you peel open your sore eyes, blanching at the sudden light that assaults your senses. You scrunch your nose up and release a pained groan as you try to lift your aching arms. 

It’s not until they won’t budge that you realise they’re tied somewhere above you whilst your legs are tied down. 

The next thing that you realise is that you’re lying flat out on a soft surface… 

…no, a bed. 

A confused blink down at the bedsheets leads you to slowly recognise them as your own bedsheets…

You’re still on your bed.

Great, the sarcastic part of your brain supplies, at least you’ve not been kidnapped from your kidnapper. 

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” a purposefully trill voice calls from your side that instantly annoys you before your sluggish mind has even identified its owner. 

Being the only part of your body that you can currently move, you swivel your head to the side, only to find Jinx lounging in your chair, staring down at you with her usual pissed off expression. 

You frown in confusion despite it absolutely killing your head to do so. 

Why isn’t she helping you? Or at the very least, why hasn’t she run to get Silco?

You’ve been attacked, you need-

It dawns on you far too late and it coincides with an impossibly smug look bleeding across her features. She’s the one who knocked you out and tied you up. That’s why she’s not rushing to get you help.

Jinx is the one who did this to you.

White hot rage blasts through your veins like heat rushing through the corridors of an exploding building.

“You little shit,” you snarl at her, struggling against the ropes around your wrists and ankles. “Untie me. Right now.”

The sardonic expression slowly curls into a dangerous smirk.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” she says, leaning forward almost conspiratorially, as if she’s telling you a secret. “Now, you’re going to answer my questions or I’m going to start removing fingers.” 

A quick spin of her pistol on her lithe fingers has your stomach dropping in spite of the murderous look you’re sending her. 

It strikes you that she’s acting far older and far more powerful than she actually is, which makes you wonder if this demeanour and these overly dramatic words are something she’s learned from Silco.

You really wouldn’t put it past him to teach her the fundamentals of torture. Real Father of the Year material…

Speaking of, you know just the thing to stop this outrageous behaviour. 

“Silco!” you abruptly scream at the top of your lungs, despite the pain in your throat making it feel like it’s been scratched into ribbons.

Jinx’s face drops in panic as she lunges off the chair towards you, grabbing a cloth from the bedside table and shoving it into your open mouth. You automatically grimace at the disgusting, sodden flavour that hits your taste buds. 

“Shut up!” she hisses.

You shake your head from side to side, trying to spit out or dislodge the cloth from your mouth, but you soon realise that it’s utterly futile, so you let your head fall back on the pillow. Your eyes slowly blink to look up at her, casually mumbling against the cloth until she gets visibly annoyed and promptly rips it back out. 

Now it’s your turn to adopt her favoured smug expression as you employ an awful, sickly-sweet tone of voice to match. 

“And how, pray tell, am I supposed to answer your questions with my mouth covered?” 

Her face tightens in irritation, revealing her youth and completely betraying her previous attempts to act like a ruthless chem-baron. She ignores your sardonic question and launches into her own line of interrogation. 

“Who are you? What does Silco want with you?”

You roll your eyes dramatically to mask how shaken up you actually are. 

“I thought we’d already had this conversation,” you say monotonously, as if you’ve never been more bored in your life. 

Jinx ignores you and continues her questioning. 

“Who do you work for? Who sent you here?” she demands. 

You splay your hands in surrender until you feel the ropes beginning to burn into your skin. 

“Alright, you got me,” you tell her with an exaggerated sigh. “I was sent by the council to spy on your father.” 

Her hand darts out to slap you across the face and you almost gasp in shock.

The stunned reaction quickly develops into pure ire as your anger returns tenfold, practically spitting nails as you swivel your head back to face her. 

It’s on the tip of your tongue to hiss that you’re her new mother and that you and Silco don’t want her anymore when the door to your bedroom abruptly slams open.

You jump as far as your bonds will allow you as both yours and Jinx’s heads snap over to the open doorway, revealing an out-of-breath Silco clutching onto the wood like it’s a lifeline. 

It completely passes you by how easily your body floods with relief at the mere sight of him. 

You take in the way he just stares at you, his mouth actually hanging open a little as his eyes trail up and down your body. It’s difficult to tell from across the room, but you’re pretty sure he looks flushed…

He instantly snaps out of it when Jinx huffs loudly beside you. 

Silco storms over to you in a few, determined strides, calling your name in a worried tone. 

And in true Jinx fashion, she angrily mumbles something under her breath before flouncing out of the room, breezing past Silco in a blur of blue and purple. He pays her no mind, his focus solely on you. 

“Are you alright, darling?” he asks, voice rough and low.

"Not really," you reply, as Silco gently rests a hand on your cheek.

He takes a moment to quickly scan over your supine form, eyes darting over each part of you in a way that you’re not entirely sure is solely in concern, before he reaches down to untie the ropes holding your ankles to the bed. 

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

You scoff. 

"Your daughter drugged me, tied me up, assaulted me, and interrogated me like a common criminal," you say haughtily, despising the way you sound like those snooty Pilties you always hated when you were living Topside. 

But it serves its purpose because Silco’s expression immediately hardens in response. 

Having released your ankles, he moves up the bed to undo the ropes around your wrists, allowing you to heave a sigh of relief when you’re finally free to prop yourself up against the headboard. 

Silco sinks down onto the bed, pushing his hair back with his own sigh, except his is borne out of frustration and worry. 

You realise in this moment, as the dull morning light mixed with the faux neon bathes his features in a diluted green hue, just how tired he looks. You force yourself to ignore the pang it sends through your chest. 

"I apologise for her behaviour,” he says carefully, like he’s searching for the correct words. "She has… difficulties trusting new people." 

It takes every little piece of energy you have left not to say something sarcastic. 

Receiving no response from you, Silco gently takes your face in both his hands, tilting your head up so he can search your eyes with his own in quick, flitting motions. 

You shuffle uncomfortably a little when you become aware of how close he is to you after you’ve basically just woken up. You haven’t washed or brushed your teeth since last night, and your hair must look a sight after having water thrown all over it.

Truthfully, you can’t remember the last time somebody saw you looking this vulnerable. 

But Silco doesn’t seem to mind, even tracing his thumb soothingly across your cheek to settle your nerves. 

"You said she drugged you?" he asks when you still don’t respond, too bewildered by his acceptance of you to even think about it. 

His words seem to snap you back into your role, the cogs in your brain slowly grinding again as you consider how you can use this to your advantage. 

Well, right off the bat, you should probably pretend that you have no idea what chloroform is. Whilst an ex-revolutionary from Zaun might know about the properties and uses of such a compound, a Piltie ballerina probably wouldn’t. 

And if you can somehow turn this so that Silco finally gets Jinx off your back, then even better. 

"Well, I think she did," you begin, purposefully making your voice sound small and confused as you explain what happened. "She put this wet cloth on my face and it made me fall unconscious." 

Silco’s lips thin in anger.

"I will send for the doctor to check you over," he informs you, words precise and neat. 

Your mind flashes back to that horrible examination you experienced all that time ago, when you’d pretended to be sick in an attempt to gather some chemical weapons. Even thinking about that torture chamber of a room sends a shiver down your spine, let alone the way Singed had examined you like a zoo animal. 

"No, it's fine," you interject quickly. "I'm fine." 

Of course, Silco looks entirely unconvinced by your sudden protests so you set about trying to reassure him, one hand placed on his arm. 

"I promise, Sil. I think it just shook me up, is all." 

He immediately stares at the way your fingers rest against him before taking both of your hands in his, turning your palms over to inspect the faint marks caused by the ropes Jinx had tied you up with.

You’ve honestly never seen him look so torn and you jump at the opportunity like you’re being handed a free meal. 

"I just don't understand why she hates me," you tell him dejectedly, trying to look as deflated as you possibly can. "I don't know what I've done to upset her. I'm trying my best, but I feel like she just has it out for me." 

There’s a brief pause where he’s undoubtedly considering the best way to fix all of this and you let him sit in it all, offering no more words of encouragement. 

"I will speak to her, my lovely," he eventually says.

You wait patiently for him to elaborate on just what exactly he’ll say to her but instead Silco leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, slowly placing and holding your hand against his chest until your palm is flat and your fingers are splayed underneath his. 

It’s not until you’ve felt a few, errant heartbeats that you realise he’s not quite fully dressed. Donned in only his shirt, trousers, and socks, your partner looks strangely domestic, especially without the usual amount of pomade keeping his jet hair slicked back. 

"No rehearsals today; you need to rest," he murmurs, good eye now closed. 

You pull back to look at him with a frown, for some reason, completely lost for words. 

"Give me a moment to speak to Jinx and then I'll take you to my office," he continues, placing a kiss on the hand that was previously held to his chest. "What do you say to some breakfast?" 

"Okay," you agree absentmindedly, finding yourself in a strange daze.

It must be the crazy morning you’ve just had. Anyone would be jarred if their ‘step-daughter’ had just snuck into their room and knocked them out. 

Silco gazes at you with an unreadable expression and you briefly wonder how he’s feeling. How he views this whole messed up situation. 

He speaks before you can even think about voicing that particular thought.  

"Don't worry, darling. I will fix this for you." 

And with that, Silco kisses your forehead ardently, gets up from the bed, and crosses the room to leave, the door quietly clicking shut behind him. 

You vaguely hear him speaking to the guard outside your door, but you don’t bother to listen in. Truthfully, you don’t think you have the energy. 

Instead, you lean back against the headboard and close your eyes. 

- 

Silco marches down the corridor towards Jinx’s bedroom, frustration coursing through him as he ponders his next move. Every attempt at mollifying Jinx thus far had been completely and utterly disastrous. 

Directly after he’d revealed his love for you the evening before, Jinx had stared at him intensely for a brief few seconds in a way that he’d never seen from his surrogate daughter. Then, she’d roughly grabbed his face with one hand and practically slammed the injector in place against the socket of his eye, pressing the button down so the medicated needle lanced his corrupted pupil before he could react.

Silco had grunted in pain, his limbs seizing for a millisecond at the unexpected agony rushing through his bloodstream. 

Unable to do anything but hunch over, he’d been powerless to stop her when Jinx had  dropped the injector on his desk and slunk out of his office, refusing to wait when he called out for her in a strained voice.

By the time his body had relaxed enough so that he could move, Silco was exhausted and Jinx was no doubt already halfway to her workshop. So, with a heavy sigh, he’d decided to give her some space, all the while ignoring the quiet, little voice in the back of his head that persistently worried he was losing his daughter. 

Now, Silco wishes he’d have made the trip to her workshop last night. Maybe then he would have had the opportunity to talk to her about the whole situation, perhaps even stopping her violent plan before it could be put into motion.

Silco finally reaches her bedroom door, pausing for a moment to gather himself and ensure he’s in the right state of mind for this conversation. Unfortunately for him, his mind is still locked on the image of you tied to your bed, a picture his fantasies had been supplying him for quite some time now, since the very first time he’d set eyes on you back in that gallery. 

And to actually see you in such a position? Lying prone and all breathless for him? Gods, it had felt like he was living in a wild dream, a wave of desire immediately washing over his stiff body at the sight. 

But right now he needs to focus on how he can fix this conflict between the two most important people in his life, not on his need for you. 

Silco takes a deep breath, and upon finding the door left open, raps his knuckles on the wood twice before pushing it. 

Over the years, Jinx had made it clear that a closed door meant knock and wait, whereas an open door meant that he was welcome to step inside the room. Regardless, Silco still preferred to knock, if only to announce his presence. 

He locates her immediately, sprawled on a bean bag chair between her bed and a chest of drawers, lollipop in mouth, nonchalantly lounging like she hasn’t just drugged you and tied you up so she could interrogate you.

The careless indifference instantly riles him up, undoing the precise steps he’d taken to approach her in a calm manner as his anger levels begin to rise once more. 

She’s not even sorry that she just attacked the woman he loves. 

“Jinx,” he barks, stepping further into the room once she acknowledges his presence with the tiniest inhale of breath. “Explain.”

“Explain what?” she asks, her voice dripping with faux innocence, still not looking at him.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Silco demands. 

She shrugs, her lips turning down exaggeratedly, head cocking to the side with the gesture.  

“Where did you get the chloroform? The ropes?”

“Stole them,” she replies, holding the lollipop up to the light, pretending to inspect it thoroughly. “I wouldn’t spend money on her.”

Silco’s fists clench tightly at the sides of his legs. 

"Jinx!" 

Finally snapping her head to look across at him, she mimics his sharp timbre, “What? I don’t get why you’re so worked up about it. She deserved it.”

Silco’s blood is slowly beginning to boil as the flames of his anger lick at his insides. As usual, Jinx barely even notices. 

“This has gone too far, you will-”

“If you ask me, it hasn’t gone far enough,” Jinx interrupts, shuffling in the bean bag chair to sit up slightly. “She’s hiding something.”

Silco huffs loudly at the sheer audacity. 

“Jinx, child. We are all hiding something.”

She rolls her eyes and tilts her head up to glare at him, rudely pointing the lollipop at his chest. 

“Yeah, but I think she’s trying to hurt you.”

He forces himself to take yet another moment to get his breathing under control before he accidentally lashes out and does something stupid like kick her wardrobe. 

Once he’s a fraction calmer, Silco makes a conscious decision to actually listen to her. Not because he believes her outlandish theories, but for the simple reason that it must be incredibly frustrating to have her father constantly dismiss her concerns. 

When he speaks again, the tone of his voice is much, much softer. 

“Why would you think that?”

“I just think there’s more going on with her, y’know?” she explains emphatically. “Like, there’s something… off about her.”

He sighs, coming to a crouch in front of her so he’s no longer towering over his daughter, finally able to look her in the eye. 

Silco needs her to understand. 

“Jinx. I assure you, she is not a threat,” he says in the most soothing voice he can. 

“You still haven’t told me why she’s even here,” she stresses when it looks like he’s not going to believe her. “If you’re ‘in love’, or whatever, then why doesn’t she sleep in your bedroom? Why don’t you let her leave the bar?”

“I-” 

Silco manages to cut himself off before he can launch into a rant about how he does let you leave and that he desperately wants you in his bed. More than anything at this point in time. 

Instead, he settles on a calmer, more careful explanation.

“She is… not like you and I, Jinx. She cannot take care of herself, especially not on our streets.”

It doesn’t really have the intended effect, leaving Jinx looking up at him with obvious confusion. 

He takes it upon himself to clarify before she can even ask. “She is from Piltover.”

Jinx scoffs loudly and pushes herself up from the bean bag chair with a scary amount of force, nearly knocking Silco over in the process. And when he tries to follow her, he has to fight to hide the grunt of pain that lingers behind his lips when his knees click loudly. 

As Jinx turns to storm out of her room, she mutters something under her breath that Silco can’t quite hear (naturally, he always blames it on the attempted drowning), but the way she says it with such vitriol leads him to suspect that it was something derogatory. 

Before she can stomp all the way out of her room, he catches her wrist lightly, allowing her to easily break free if she wants, pulling her to a stop. 

“Jinx, wait.” 

Surprisingly, she doesn’t try to shake him off. But she does grant him a half turn to look back at him, paired with an incredibly unimpressed expression, one that only a teenage girl can truly master. 

“I know this is difficult, and I know that it will take some time to get used to all these changes,” he begins, borderline pleading with her to stop this attack on you. “But I need you to promise me that you won’t hurt her.”

Her features twist in a look of uncertainty, biting her lip at his unusual display of vulnerability. Silco takes the opportunity to take a step closer to her, gently rubbing soothing circles on her outer wrist, like he used to when she was a child. 

“Please, pumpkin,” he says, voice dropping even lower. “You are both incredibly important to me.”

He holds his breath as Jinx falters, looking up at him with wide, wobbly eyes that remind him of that brave, little girl who’d tackled him into a hug outside his exploded factory all that time ago. Then, gone as quickly as it had come, she sighs heavily, gaze dropping down to the floor. 

“Fine,” she acquiesces. “But if she does anything that is even remotely sus, I’ll do much worse than tie her up.”

The threat obviously doesn’t sit well with him but Silco knows that’s probably the best he’s going to get out of her. 

“Thank you,” he tells her sincerely. “May I visit you in your workshop later? I’m eager to see what new inventions that brilliant mind of yours has conjured up.”

He thoroughly expects at least a half-smile at the compliment given how readily she usually eats up his rare compliments, but today she weakly shrugs, prompting Silco to let go of her wrist as she continues to avoid his gaze.

No longer in his grasp, Jinx continues her exit, suddenly appearing preoccupied as she puts the lollipop back into her mouth. Silco fights the automatic urge to tell her not to walk and eat, recognising that she’s no longer a child and that she definitely wouldn’t appreciate the concern. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” she tosses the comment over her shoulder, before adding as an afterthought, “Bring Jericho’s.”

And then she’s gone, more than likely disappearing to her lab to work on her latest projects, a hobby that was bordering on hyperfixation with the amount of time she’s spending there lately. 

Silco looks up at the ceiling and sighs for what feels like the hundredth time today, despite it still being so early in the morning. He resolves to fetch some of the aforementioned food, and perhaps some of those new materials she’s been asking for, and to visit her when he’s not busy taking care of you.

He knows that he needs to spend more time with his daughter, especially if he doesn’t want her to slip even further away from him than she currently is. But how can he simultaneously tend to you and ensure that he maintains a relationship with his only child with this unnecessary conflict shadowing everything?

Silco puts his hands on his hips and tips his head back to the ceiling. If only he had more time on his hands. 

-

It takes a few days for Silco to ease up slightly on the overprotection, finally agreeing to let you sit in the bar for a quick drink since he’s busy with work and you’re bored of just sitting around after your morning rehearsal. 

Of course, it’s under the strict conditions that it be during the early afternoon, before the bar is open to anyone not under Silco’s employ. In other words, all people you’ve encountered before. 

But it’s something. 

Making a slow descent down the stairs that lead you onto the bar floor, your mind flashes back to the last time you did this; desperately trying to shake off your bodyguard so you could get some resemblance of normalcy in your new, abnormal life. Back then, you’d had to fight your way through a bustling crowd, shouting over the pounding music to try and get a drink. 

This time the bar is practically, and almost startlingly, empty. To be fair, you do eye a couple of Silco’s goons drinking in the corner of the bar but the very moment they catch sight of you, they down their drinks and scarper before your feet can even touch the ground. 

You roll your eyes and scoff quietly. 

If only you could scare everyone else away with just your presence. 

As you reach the bar you spot the same bartender who ignored you that night you made your mad dash through the crowd. Funnily enough, he’s almost in the exact same position, back partially turned to you so he can put away some glasses below the bar.

You approach the nearest bar stool and place yourself on it, the squeak causing Thieram’s head to snap up, his whole body jerking a little as he momentarily looks absolutely terrified. And even after the shock has worn off, when you expect the fearful look to dissipate, for some reason he still looks just as panicked. 

Hmm. Interesting. 

“Hey,” you smile at him, trying to look as warm and non-threatening as you can. 

“Uh, hi,” he says, stumbling over your name for a second. “What can I, uh- what can I get for you?”

He tries to look nonchalant and overly casual but if you squint hard enough, it kind of looks like he’s about to burst into tears… or maybe it’s just the smudged eyeliner beneath his tearline. It’s hard to tell. 

“Just a soft drink,” you say, not really caring which one. If they’re made in Zaun, they’ll all taste the same anyway. 

“Good choice- no, great choice!” Thieram declares, smiling in such a way that you’re not entirely sure if he’s smiling or actually just grimacing. 

Then, he glances at you sheepishly before dashing beneath the bar to grab a glass. 

You press your lips together and stare at him in perplexity.

Maybe Silco has heavily briefed him about not upsetting you and therefore he’s terrified of saying the wrong thing to you? Or maybe he’s just nervous around women?

Either way, you need him to chill out if you’re going to make him your ally and potentially even your means of escape. 

“It’s Thieram, right?” you ask when he places the glass of lemonade in front of you, and miraculously, he doesn’t spill a drop even though his entire body looks like it’s being continuously electrified at a low voltage. 

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone look so stiff and awkward, despite the rugged features that make his Zaunite origins undoubtable. 

“Uh, yeah, th-that’s me!” he replies, pausing for an uncomfortable second before starting to nervously ramble. “Jinx always calls me Chuck even though I’ve told her my name is Thieram, but it must just be her sense of humour because she still… calls it me…”

His words trail off at the scowl that automatically crosses your face upon hearing Jinx’s name, and he looks as if he’s gone through the five stages of grief and gloomily accepted his own execution in just a split second. 

You let yourself be engulfed in bitterness for a few moments before suddenly realising what this means for you.

Thieram might be your key in learning enough information to get yourself out of here. 

What is it that people say? Bartenders hear everything?

Slowly, your demeanour changes, forcing your body to relax under Thieram’s petrified gaze. 

“Do you know Jinx well?” you ask, taking a quick sip of your drink. 

“Um… not… not really,” Thieram says, still noticeably on edge. 

You sigh. 

“Me neither,” you tell him, propping your elbow on the bar so you can lean your cheek against your palm. “I keep trying to connect with her, but she acts like I’m the evil step-mother,” you laugh dejectedly. 

He chuckles nervously like he’s afraid to show the wrong reaction. 

“Yeah, she’s…uh…” he begins, pausing for a second to choose his words before finally settling on, “hard to get to know.”

“Do you know anything about her? I mean, does she have any hobbies? Or friends?”

“Uh… well…” Thieram replies, looking upwards as he scratches his jaw.

For a second, you’re convinced he’s going to make some excuse, but he pleasantly surprises you when he eventually responds, saying, “I think she likes, um, inventing things. You know… building things.”

“What kind of things?” you ask, not daring to question the haunted look that sinks into his features. 

“Like, um… weapons,” he completes with an almost-whisper. 

“Weapons?” you repeat incredulously, although you’re not actually surprised at this point. 

“Yeah, like bombs, and guns, and um… stuff,” Thieram continues. “In fact, Silco once asked her to-”

The way he abruptly cuts himself off as his gaze reaches up and out towards the mezzanine is almost comical, his expression dropping into an exhausted sort of horror.

You turn, following his line of sight, fully expecting to see your partner glaring daggers into him, but there’s no-one there. 

Is this guy okay? Has something happened to him that’s made him this jittery?

“Asked her to what?” you say, swivelling yourself back round to face him. 

“Nothing,” he replies, far too quickly to be anything but a lie. “I don’t really know, nobody tells me much of anything.”

Now that’s a lie if you’ve ever heard one. 

As a bartender, Thieram definitely knows more than he’s letting on. 

Oh, the things you could learn as a fly on the wall at The Last Drop. 

His reluctance to share anything useful is honestly a bit frustrating, especially with the ever-present performance looming in the back of your mind, but at least he’s willing to talk to you. You can work with that. Besides, it’s a far sight better than everyone else in this damned building who all appear to have had their mouths zipped shut by the king of the Undercity. 

You make the decision not to push it, changing the subject to avoid breaking him entirely and accidentally closing him off to you completely. For all you know, Silco could be asking him to report back the details of your conversation. 

Hoping you’ve successfully masked your complicated thoughts, you nod your head in understanding and take another sip of your drink. 

“So, Thieram,” you begin, drawing his attention away from the glass he’s nervously cleaning and back up to you. “What do you do for fun?”

“Oh, uh, you know,” he says, trying his hardest to sound relaxed. “The usual.”

And it’s that tiny, completely nonsensical answer that unlocks a part of you that you haven’t explored in a long, long time. Mischief.

It’s something you used to do when the posh, stuck-up housewives of Piltover were driving you bananas and you almost relish in the feeling of being able to mess with someone again. 

You twirl the straw in your drink, trying your damnedest to hide the smirk that threatens to overtake your lips. 

“So, stealing people’s shoes so you can sniff them when they’re not looking?” 

Thieram’s head snaps up to look at you in pure shock before he sees your teasing grin and appears to understand that you’re joking. 

He still feels the need to protest it anyway. 

“What? No!” he exclaims, placing the glass down on the counter before he drops it. 

“Honestly, I’m not judging, Thieram,” you continue to tease him, offering a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. “I’m not here to yuck your yum and if that’s what you’re into, then that’s what you’re into.”

You can’t help but let out a giggle of your own when Thieram begins to laugh. Loudly. He takes a few gasping breaths in between laughs and tries to speak, but everytime he does, he devolves into more laughter. 

Eventually, he manages a croaky, “I’m not!” but the strangled way he yells it makes the guard waiting by the door frown at you both in clear disapproval. 

Thieram immediately notices and his lips slam shut, expression dropping as the tops of his cheeks become dusted with light pink. It feels like all the fun has been sucked out of the air as he fumbles for something to do, like he’s going to be killed for enjoying your company too much. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Silco had threatened him against getting too close to you. 

The drop in mood affects you more than you expect it to. 

You just want a normal conversation for once. Is that such an unreasonable thing to ask?

Raising yourself slightly off the bar stool, you lean over the bar to gently touch Thieram’s arm. He flinches at first, but tentatively allows you to keep it there. 

“Hey. It’s okay, I’m not going to let Silco hurt you. You’re not doing anything wrong,” you tell him softly. 

Thieram opens his mouth to speak but then promptly shuts it, choosing instead to nod his head. 

“I mean it. I’m not about to let my only friend in this place be offed by the Eye of Zaun.”

The corners of his lips quirk up at the word friend, nodding again, this time more confidently. 

“Okay,” he says with a tight, but grateful smile. “Thanks.”

You nod once and sit back down on your seat.

“No problem.”

And for the rest of your visit to the bar, Thieram asks a few questions about you, his anxiety slowly lessening the longer you both talk. 

You tell him about your life in Piltover (all the nice, fake bits) and how you were a ballerina (leaving out all the gory details) and most importantly, you carefully ensure that everything you say is in line with what Silco already knows about you, just in case Thieram is not the only one listening in. 

It’s nice. Regardless of the fact that you still need to think about what you’re saying and you still need to act, it’s nice. 

It’s been far too long since you had any real friends, and although you know you can never actually be Thieram’s friend, it’s nice to pretend. Even just for a bit. 

-

A mere few hours later, you find yourself back on the sofa in Silco’s office, tucked into his side as he reads over the never-ending pile of documents that seem to continuously overwhelm his desk. 

Book in hand, you’re supposed to be reading while you wait for Silco to finish his work, but as usual, your mind has wandered to thoughts of how you might be able to prevent Jinx from convincing Silco that you’re a threat.

She’s clearly sceptical of you and whilst you’d managed to shake her off this time, there’s no telling how far she’ll go to turn Silco against you. 

You trace the faint, barely-there lines at the bottom of your left hand, where the rope had grazed your skin after being tied to the bed. It doesn’t hurt. But it does remind you of just how dangerous the girl could be.

What if she-

A finger is placed underneath your chin, gently guiding you to look up until you meet Silco’s concerned gaze in front of you. 

“Darling…” he says, voice tinged in uncertainty.

You peer at him more closely recognising hints of guilt laced in his tight-lipped facial expression. 

A strange pinch catches in your chest as you try to picture all this from his perspective. His adopted daughter attempting to hurt and discredit his new girlfriend, who in turn is currently refusing to even kiss him, let alone sleep with him. 

No wonder the guy’s starting to get grey hairs. 

“It’s fine, Sil, honestly,” you tell him, putting on your best impression of somebody who’s trying to be reassuring but obviously isn’t telling the truth. 

Silco opens his mouth to respond but you jump in before he can. 

“You said you’d tell me more about her?” you say, grabbing the hand still holding your chin up and entwining it with yours on your lap. “You know, when she raided my bedroom that one time?”

For a split second, he seems perplexed at your statement before slowly dropping into recognition. 

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

You nod, gently discarding your book on the floor next to the sofa. You even try cuddling up to him a bit more. 

You know, just to get him talking… It usually does the trick. 

And even as you feel the warmth of his body seeping into yours, you force yourself to pay attention on the off-chance that you might learn something either to use against her, or to turn her to your side. 

It takes a little while, but you listen attentively as Silco tells you the story of how he met Jinx. How, growing up, her siblings mistreated her and then eventually abandoned her when an unfortunate accident killed the rest of her family. That this is the reason she’s so insecure and defensive. 

He explains how he adopted her in the aftermath of the explosion, taking her in and raising her as his own, slowly preparing her to eventually take over as the successor of his empire. That he relies on her just as much as she relies on him. He reveals just how protective she is of him and why she feels so threatened by you. 

It’s a lot to take in but it definitely puts some things into context. 

“Thank you for telling me, Silco,” you say when he’s finished, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw without even really thinking about it. 

He looks down at you fondly, reaching over to take your cheek in his free hand, the pad of his thumb carefully tracing a line across your cheekbone. 

“You and Jinx are the two most important people in my life; my beautiful, beautiful girls,” he says, voice dropping to a low, husky timbre. 

Eyes widening and heart slowly beginning to race, your gaze quickly darts over to the coffee table, looking for a way to remove yourself from the situation before he can notice that you’re blushing. 

Your eyes land on his nearly empty drink and you fold, practically throwing your cards down at this point. 

“Let me get you a new drink, dear,” you say, desperately trying to hide the slight shake in your voice as you extract yourself from his hold. 

And despite you ignoring his compliment, he practically beams at you. In his own Silco way, of course. 

You hurry over to the drinks cart, taking the time to calm yourself down a bit, (why are you so hot all of a sudden?) and pressing reset on yourself as you pour Silco’s usual drink into one of his favourite glasses. 

A quick glance over and you can just tell by the way that Silco is looking at you that he wants to devour you.

Fuck. 

“You’re out of ice-cubes,” you announce, prolonging the moment so you won’t have to go back over to him just yet.

But your plan is thwarted the moment that Silco responds, “They’re kept in the stockroom of the bar. I’ll send for some more when we order dinner.”

So, with no excuse to continue lingering by the drinks cart, you reluctantly make your way back over to the couch, handing Silco his drink and pointedly ignoring the way his fingers purposefully drag across yours. 

He doesn’t even bother taking a sip, placing the glass straight down onto the coffee table, where your book and his work are now conveniently resting out of the way. 

You take a seat on the couch again, this time a little bit further away from him, but Silco is apparently having none of it, pulling you by the waist until you’re pretty much sitting on his lap. 

He leans forward, lips touching the shell of your ear as his voice drops an octave. 

“My sweet, perfect, gorgeous girl.” 

Your breath catches in your throat when his fingertips begin to gently run up and down your thigh, slowly (almost as if he’s asking permission) inching further and further inwards each time, enough to send heat flooding down your body. 

You can’t bring yourself to stop him.

You don’t want to stop him.  

Silco’s teeth graze your ear lobe for just a scant second, the rough of his voice sending shivers through your blood. You grab onto his waistcoat for support. 

“I cannot wait to see you… perform for me again,” he rumbles, breath hot on your neck. “Just think, in only two weeks time I will be able to watch you dance in front of my subordinates, all the while knowing that you, my little ballerina, are mine and only mine.”

And those two little words roughly snap you out of the trance, turning to stare up at him in shock. 

“Two weeks?”

Silco pulls back a little, glancing down at you. There’s still a hint of lust in his voice, but it’s diluted by your reaction.

“Did I forget to mention that a date has been set?” he asks with genuine concern, now soothingly caressing your arm instead of your inner thigh, as if he senses your panic. 

“Yeah, I think you did,” you remark blandly, though not completely devoid of sarcasm. “I… I just didn’t think it would be so soon…”

“Is your choreography not completed? I was under the impression that you were simply rehearsing a finished routine,” Silco counters, seemingly a little confused by your distress. 

Perhaps you should lie but right this second, you’re far too busy panicking and desperately trying to come up with a plan to even think about what you’re saying to him.

“No… it’s… it’s done…” you trail off, urgently needing to put some space between you and his distracting self. 

“And with your costume finished, I see no reason to delay any further,” he continues, pausing for a moment to assess your distraught body language before his timbre drops into one of comfort. “There’s no need to be anxious, my lovely, I will be there the whole time.”

He doesn’t give you even a second to process this and you nearly snap, feeling an urge to just grab his face and shove it away from you.

You need to think and he won’t fucking shut up. 

The performance is in two weeks and you have no plan, no allies, no weapons, and absolutely nothing to help you escape this stupid prison. 

Fuck. You need to think of something now. 

Could you get in contact with one of the chem-barons before then? Would you have time?

What about Otto? Is he going to be there?

Could you lurk outside Silco’s office until he’s here for another meeting?

But what if he doesn’t show up before then? What if Silco sends him away again?

Or could you somehow get to Otto?

What if you convince Silco to-

“Will you take me to one of your meetings?” you blurt out suddenly, having the sense to tack on a reason before he even has the chance to ask. “I’ve never been to one before, I just want to know what I’m in for.”

Silco looks utterly bewildered. He considers your request for a grand total of three seconds, but does have the decency to respond with at least some level of kindness. 

“No, darling.”

“Why not?” you retort, your tone bordering the line of demanding.

“I made a promise to myself to keep you safe, sweetheart,” he says, frowning at your attitude. “Besides, none of the insolent rats I have the misfortune of working with are aware of your existence, so to abruptly take you along to a business meeting for no given reason would put you in an immeasurable amount of danger.” 

You just can’t help yourself from pushing back against him. 

“Otto knows I exist. Why don’t you let me sit in on a meeting with him?”

The look in his mismatched eyes immediately darkens as his timbre becomes edged with a glint of sharp silver. 

“He does not know who you are to me, and he will not.”

“But he’s going to when I dance at this meeting with the rest of the chem-barons, isn’t he?”  You’re a runaway train now, unable to stop yourself even if you wanted to. “They’re all going to know who I am.”

Silco stares at you hard, his expression difficult to read. 

“You think I would reveal our relationship to a group of power-hungry mongrels, who are not only out for my blood and my throne, but would practically leap at the opportunity to harm the ones I love?”

Is he fucking serious? 

You’re a respected professional, not some foolish amateur. You’ve worked hard to make a name for yourself in your field, just like he has. 

“So, what? You’re just going to pretend I’m some random ballerina?” you scoff. “You’re not even going to introduce me?”

He has the gall to look at you with incredulity and it sends your heart racing into an anger-fuelled sprint. 

“After all the work I’ve put in to make sure your move to Zaun is not tracked, you really think I would be so careless as to announce not only your name, but the nature of our intimate relationship?”

You want to scream. 

Intimate fucking relationship? He kidnapped you and forced you to act like his girlfriend, how is that an intimate relationship? 

He doesn’t respect you enough to let you go anywhere by yourself and now he’s just revealed that he thinks so little of you, he doesn’t even recognise the career you’ve built for yourself. 

The sting of it hurts more than you expect it to, so you roughly push yourself away from him, standing up from the couch to look down at his enraged face. 

“So, that’s it, huh?” you ask sardonically. “I’m just a fucking toy for you to wheel out and show off to all your pathetic little friends so you can just put me back on the shelf when you’re done with me?”

For a split second, he opens his mouth with indignation, but his expression soon melts into regret when your explanation finally sinks in. 

You couldn’t care less. You don’t want to be anywhere near the man right now. 

Silco says your name pleadingly, softness flooding his tone as he tries to take your hand in his but you rip it from his embrace, needing to get out of the room. 

“I’ll get you some more ice, sir,” you spit out, marching towards the office door as you mutter under your breath, definitely still loud enough for him to hear, “Since that’s all I’m fucking good for, apparently.” 

“Darling, wait-”

Silco calls after you but you ignore him, slamming the door behind you with a loud bang. 

You stomp all the way through the corridors and down the stairs to the bar, blood rushing in your ears as the features of the club blur around you, far too angry to focus on anything. Your attention briefly flits across some of Silco’s goons dotted around the club, but you barely pay them any mind. 

Reaching the empty bar, you spot the door that leads to the backroom hanging open slightly, so you presume that Thieram has just stepped away for a second and will be back in a moment. 

Hands clench onto the lip of the bar to stop yourself from throwing a bar stool across the club as you replay the argument in your head, anger flowing afresh. 

Why did you even come down here? It’s not like you’re going to deliver the ice to Silco once Thieram is finished in the back. 

You loosen your grip from the bar, trying to force yourself to relax, but the very moment you do, a sudden sense of déjà vu floods through your body when a hand lands roughly on your shoulder.

Except this time, it’s definitely not Sevika because before you can even think about turning, the hand swiftly wraps around your sternum, violently pulling you back against a large, flat chest. 

Oh, shit. 

You stumble backwards as your captor’s other hand snakes across your waist, holding you firmly to him, close enough that you can smell the putrid scent of cheap alcohol on his breath.

He begins to yell incoherently, something about Shimmer and the Eye of Zaun, tugging you backwards with each step until you’re in the centre of the room. 

Nah, fuck this. 

You brace yourself to break out of his hold, a valuable skill learnt as a young teen on the streets of Zaun, about to take your opportunity as he makes the mistake of removing his hand briefly from your waist…

Only for you to freeze.

He’s pressing a broken bottle against your throat. 

Your heart rate skyrockets as you try to keep yourself as calm and still as possible; there’s not much you can do from this position without accidentally getting yourself hurt. 

Before you can come up with another way out of this mess, Sevika’s voice abruptly cuts in from somewhere off to your side, causing the man to turn sharply towards her, superficially nicking you in the neck with the bottle as he pulls you with him.

You cry out at the slight sting, desperately trying to keep him from moving anymore when, seemingly out of nowhere, a flash of silver slices through the air. 

The man screams, letting you go and dropping the bottle to the floor with a smash, allowing you to stumble away as Sevika rushes towards him. But in your panic to get away, you trip and fall backwards, landing on the club floor with a dull thud. 

It’s completely on instinct for you to scramble away as Sevika easily tackles the man to the ground, your heart beating in your ears when someone grabs you from behind, roughly scooping their arms under yours.

You shriek, thrashing against their hold until a smooth voice fills your senses. 

“It’s me, sweetheart, it’s just me.”

Silco gently pulls you backwards until he can lift you to sit on the bottom step of the stairs, moving in front of you to block the view of the one-sided fight happening across the room. His hand rubs little circles on your lower back, gently guiding you to focus on him instead.

And by the time your breathing has returned to normal, Sevika has knocked the man unconscious in a matter of seconds, drawing Silco’s attention over to him.

He stands up and you watch in muted detachment as he begins to bark out orders to the goons that have now jumped to attention. 

Truthfully, his words seem to cut in and out, unable to bring yourself to listen to all the rapidfire orders.

“-will take him downstairs and wait until I arrive,” you vaguely hear Silco command before sharply turning on his heel to face the bar. “Thieram!”

The poor bartender finally emerges from the backroom, a dishcloth clutched to his abdomen. 

“Upstairs with me,” Silco orders with unquestionable authority.

Then, he kneels back down in front of you, voice instantly dropping both in volume and intensity, so only you can hear his gentle question. 

“Are you hurt, darling?”

“No, I’m okay,” you tell him quietly. 

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I can walk.” 

You’re just repeating him really, still a little bit in shock over the rollercoaster of events that you’ve just experienced. 

He carefully helps you stand and keeps a hold of your elbow as you both ascend the stairs, Thieram in tow. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, you’re doing brilliantly,” he whispers assurances the entire way.

The shock wears off surprisingly quickly, although, it shouldn’t be a surprise at all given your childhood years in Zaun. It’s just been a while since you’ve been grabbed and threatened like that. 

Maybe you’ve gone soft after your extended time living in Piltover, you internally scoff. 

By the time you reach Silco’s office, you’re pretty much back to normal.

But, of course, Silco doesn’t need to know that. By now, the one thing you’ve learnt is that it’ll be far easier to take advantage of his emotions if he thinks you’re relying on him. 

He leads you to sit back down on the couch that you’d stormed away from not minutes before, although it feels like a lifetime ago since you’d argued with him and slammed the door in his face. 

Silco kneels in front of you again, holding your cheeks to ensure your attention is solely on him. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, my sweet?”

You nod. 

“Will you be alright if I go downstairs for a moment?” he asks, nodding behind him to the nervous bartender waiting on the opposite side of the office. “Thieram will stay here with you and there are multiple guards outside the office.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you reaffirm, hoping you sound like you’re putting on a brave face for him. 

Silco scans your countenance for a second longer before suddenly darting to place a kiss on your head.

He stands, striding out of the room with a pointed glare to Thieram, who honestly looks like he’s seen a ghost. Either that, or he’s seeing visions of his own ghost when Silco kills him for not saving you.

“Hey,” you jump up and pace over to him, feeling slightly awkward as you try to comfort him. “Hey… it’s alright, Thieram, I’m okay.”

He looks at you, unconvinced. 

“Y-yeah?”

You grab his arm and lead him to the sofa, a close mimicry of the way Silco had just done with you, sitting him in the exact same place you’ve just left. 

“Here, have some water,” you tell him, grabbing a glass from the drinks cart. 

Thieram takes the glass when you hand it to him, but he still has the look of someone who’s just convinced themselves that they’ve completely and irreversibly fucked up their entire life. 

“Sorry we’re out of ice,” you say with a slightly amused, slightly apologetic smile. 

“Th-that’s alright…I don’t like ice anyway,” he replies, clearly still haunted by the uncertainty of his own future.

You sit down next to him and awkwardly put a hand on his shoulder. 

The simple touch seems to jolt him into remembering that not only does he work for the most infamous crime lord in the Undercity, but that same crime lord gave him a very specific job to do mere minutes ago. 

Thieram puts the glass of water down and turns to stare at you in concern. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You drop your hand to wrap your arms around your middle, curling in on yourself as you avoid his gaze. You’re meant to be a sheltered ballerina from Piltover, not an ex-revolutionary who grew up in the violence of Zaun. 

You’re meant to be at least a little bit traumatised after being held hostage. 

“Yeah, I think so,” you tell him shakily. “I mean, it all just happened so quickly, I didn’t know what to do.”

Thieram shuffles closer to you until you’re practically side by side. 

“Hey, it’s- it’s okay. You’re safe now,” he says.

And then he wraps an arm around your shoulders. 

You stiffen, dread flowing through you at the unexpected touch. 

Shit, you really hope Thieram doesn’t see you in that way…

You dare to glance up at him, finding him smiling at you nervously. He opens his mouth, taking a short intake of breath as if he’s about to speak when the door to the office swings open. 

Silco traipses into the room, stopping short at the view of Thieram with his arm around you, mismatched eyes narrowing at the sight. 

Your heart feels like it’s falling through your chest (why do you feel so guilty?) as Thieram quickly scrambles away from you.

There’s a part of you that’s worried Silco is going to absolutely lose it, but you’re relieved when his tone adopts that imposing, authoritative quality instead. 

“You’re dismissed,” he grunts, glaring at Thieram with a sharpness that is almost cutting. “The bar is closed for the night, you may return home.”

The poor guy practically leaps up from the couch, a stoic, hardened expression on his face.

“Yes, sir.”

Thieram exits the room as quickly as he can without outright running, eyes glued to the floor and no doubt panicking that he’s either getting fired or killed in his sleep. You stand, itching to tell him thank you for trying to comfort you, but you’re pretty sure that Silco will read it wrong, so you keep your mouth shut.

You’ll have to do some clean-up work at a later date. Showing Thieram your appreciation whilst not under Silco’s watchful eyes, and convincing your partner that the bartender does not deserve to be harmed for simply being nice to you. 

Once he’s gone, Silco immediately paces over to you, pulling you into a tight hug against his hard chest. You’re startled when he quickly jolts back, methodically checking you over as if he’s scanning you for injuries.

It doesn’t take him long to notice the little scratch on your neck and you swear you can see his eyes darken, hands squeezing your biceps just a bit too harshly in his anger.

You yelp, attempting to squirm out of his grip when he releases his hold and strokes your arms soothingly, as if in apology. 

“Sorry, my lovely,” he murmurs.

And then, he’s picking you up without any warning, his strength completely stunning you as he carries you over to his desk and places you on it like you’re lighter than a feather. 

He leaves you for a brief few moments to fetch the first aid kit from a drawer in his desk, but before you know it, he’s back in front of you, standing between your legs and carefully cleaning up the scratch. 

You can barely keep up with him as he thoroughly cleans and bandages the tiny wound, finishing by pressing a gentle kiss to the bandage that your traitorous body completely misinterprets. 

Luckily, your brain is fixated on the way that Silco is not really looking at you, gazing off into the distance beyond your shoulder. He’s probably imagining the thousand ways that the whole situation down in the bar could have gone wrong and you need to stop it before he does something drastic like decide you can never leave his office again. 

“Sil, I’m fine,” you say, cupping his cheeks to bring his gaze back to you. “It’s just a scratch.”

“It could have been worse. It could have-”

“But it wasn’t…” you cut him off, somehow only just realising that it must have been him that threw the knife at your attacker. You stare at him in confusion, your brows furrowing. “...Because of you.”

He says your name, a little unsteadily, and begins to trace slow circles up and down your waist. 

“I would do anything to ensure your safety,” Silco whispers, staring at you like you’re the ninth wonder.

You think you catch his meaning and it fills you with a weird mix of feelings. Dread, and awe, and utter drowning. 

He would kill for you. 

This man would hurt anyone and anything to make sure you were okay.

How many people could truly say they have that? 

Silco wraps his arms around you once more, holding you to him like he’s never going to see you again and you can just feel the way he slowly sinks into your warmth, clearly exhausted both physically and emotionally. 

You let him rest there for a brief moment before managing to lead him over to the couch where he immediately re-attaches himself to you, sweeping his hands up and down your back and through your hair over and over again, all the while mumbling into your hair. 

You can’t quite tell what he’s saying, but you think he’s reassuring both you and him. Truthfully, you don’t have the energy to listen, hugging him back until your eyelids begin to droop… letting your body succumb to the sweet lull of sleep…

When you wake up, you find that you’ve both shifted positions in your sleep, and you’re now lying pretty much on top of him, his back against the armrest with your head against his chest. You’re lying in between his legs with his arms still around you, both stretched out along the length of the couch. 

Did Silco move you? Or did you both just naturally drift into this position? 

Groggily, you stare up at him, feeling his chest move up and down underneath you with each slow intake and exhale of breath. 

He’s still asleep.

You take the rare opportunity to just stare at him unabashedly, without having to control your expression or think about how you can manipulate him. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him asleep before; he’s always woken up before you. 

Janna, he looks so… peaceful. 

All those worry lines have faded and his mouth is slightly agape, snoring softly under the cool, green glow. 

Without thinking, you carefully reach up to smooth back the loose strands of hair that have fallen down onto his forehead, slowly and tenderly sweeping them back with the rest of the dark strands, never once taking your eyes off the swirling iris of his corrupted eye.

You push up slightly to stretch your aching joints, hands splayed on the sofa below you with your arms straightening until your elbows pop. 

Gingerly, you crane your neck from side to side before trailing your eyes down Silco’s body, brushing over the most obvious places until your gaze lands on something that makes you pause.

The knife that Silco keeps in one of his boots is poking out, the silver glimmering in the neon light that pours through the stained-glass window. 

Oh. 

Quietly staring at it, you tilt your head to one side. 

Then, your eyes slowly climb all the way back up to Silco’s unconscious face. 

You hover above him, studying his face with a calm intensity. 

…Do you really need to kill him? 

Sure, he’s no saint. But he’s also not entirely evil, is he?

He saved your life tonight. 

And he’s gone out of his way to protect and care for you in a way that no-one in your life ever has before…

You can still escape. You can still get your life in Piltover back.

But maybe you don’t have to kill him in order to get there. 

You know, if only to thank him for saving your life when he could have easily let it be thrown away. 

There’s got to be some honour among thieves, right? 

Beneath you, Silco stirs a little and you freeze, holding your breath in anticipation of him waking up. But it doesn’t happen, so instead you carefully place your head back against his warm chest, subconsciously snuggling up to him when his arms tighten around you in his sleep.

Perhaps if it was any other day, you might force yourself to stay awake and think of a plan to get out of your eccentric prison.

But right now, wrapped up in Silco’s secure embrace, you choose to go back to sleep.

After everything you’ve been through, you deserve that much.

Don’t you? 

a/n: Is Thieram ooc in this chapter? Probably. Did I have entirely too much fun making him a complete nervous wreck regardless? Appolutely <3

-

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @ursawastricked @astralkiss @breadsticks2004  

#silco #silco x reader #silco x f!reader #silco x you #silco fic #silco arcane #part 9

[pisemdaklepostojis]

Da mi je neko dao papir i olovku na početku 2023. i rekao da napišem tačno kako želim da mi izgleda godina, šta sve da mi se desi odnosno ne desi, kako stvari da se poslože i kako da bude, ja bolje od ovoga kako je bilo - ne bih znala. Sve što je trebalo da bude, svaka sitnica koja je bila prvi korak u leptirovom efektu, svaka ogromna životna promjena (a bilo ih je više), svako novo lice koje je doslo u moj život i svako koje je otišlo iz njega, svaka suza i cigara (od one sa vrha planine do one kraj obale mora), sve to naučilo me jednu stvar. Naučila sam da zapravo nije važno imaš li jednog ili više prijatelja, imaš li para, goriva u svom malom Ferrariju, snage u svom iscrpljenom tijelu, jesi li se posvađao s nekim, hoces li proci ispit, da li će ti produžiti ugovor na poslu itd itd. Jedino važno u svakom trenutku jeste da budeš ZAHVALAN za svaki taj trenutak, za svaku tu brigu. Zahvalan Bogu na prvom mjestu, pa dalje sebi i ostalima na koga se u kojem trenutku oslanjaš. Biti svjestan sebe i okoline, neprocjenjiva je moć nad svojim životom. To je tajna uspjeha. Kada znaš da ako već imaš tu privilegiju da se probudiš ujutro, popiješ kafu, središ, sjedneš u auto, voziš i ideš za svojim obavezama, ako ti je sve to dato na raspolaganje, onda si pola posla već završio. Biti zahvalan na svakom trenutku i biti svjestan da je svaka milisekunda isplanirana - već :)

Tako da narode, ellhamdulilah.

Bože zdravlja, hljeba i cigara :)

Sretna nam 2024. bila❤️‍🩹

#sarajevo #poezija #ljubav #ljubavnapoezija #citati o ljubavi #pjesma #stihovi #citati #beograd #zagreb

[oh-saints]

Would you write a fluffy imagine for Benji Pavard? Like having a little french session and he kisses reader after they get something right? <3

ahjjsskdkl 🤯🤯🤯 oh to be taught by ben.........

but hope you like it nonny! <3

lesson

French is notorious for being a hard language to master and knowing this, your boyfriend is more than happy to provide an extra motivation for you…

benjamin pavard x you

tw: google-translated French words so pls cmiiw

wc: 0.8k

note: this was fun to write but also the hardest bcs I’ve forgotten the French lessons I had during high school. damn, so old. but anyway, I happen to write this during my layover so this is not yet beta-read.

request still open until tonight & you can submit them here!

it was a rather slow day for ben.

having won another Bundesliga trophy, thomas tuchel granted his players a cut to their slacks for this entire day—knowing his players must’ve celebrated wildly at their favourite local pub till the wee hours in the morning—before continuing another rigorous session tomorrow.

so ben decided to surprise you at home with some of the pastry delicacies you’d come to love from his favourite bakery—which was rather hard, finding an authentic French bakery in munich—and your favourite tub of ice cream. your choice of hangover remedy was odd, he found at first, but now he couldn’t ask for anything else to cure his buzzing head.

ben was expecting you to be sprawled in your working station—which happened to be the coffee table in the living room—with sheets and papers and numbers all over the place, as usual, so he was the one getting surprised at the only sight of your laptop and your hair was not tied in a pucca bun. the latter would’ve meant you were dealing your work with stress and that would’ve been something he could take on well by now.

“gauche means left…” you spoke to yourself as you jotted down the meaning. “droit means right… so that means c'est à gauche du four?” (it’s to the left of the oven)

“c’est à côté de four sounds better, no?” (it’s next to the oven)

you were startled at ben’s voice, the owner placing down his shopping bag at the kitchen island. you panicked instantly—not because you thought it could be somebody else, but that would mean ben just found out about your little secret. the one that you’d been working on since you started dating him six months ago.

“ben!” you jumped to your feet, albeit standing awkwardly because you weren’t ready to reveal the reason why you were enrolling yourself to a French lesson. “I don’t know you’re coming home early.”

“coach dismissed us early,” ben chuckled at your weird stance, noticing your nerves, so instead of getting his usual welcoming embrace from you, he was the one who pulled you to his arms. “too many of his players left their heads at the club.”

fuck your initial thoughts, your mind was being taken over by your favourite scent—ben after showering with a bit of his perfume spray—and your favourite kind of warmth exuding from your boyfriend’s body. naturally, you hugged him back, your hands trying to reach one another at ben’s back.

“never thought you’re picking up French, ma chérie,” he placed a well-positioned kiss on the crown of your head. “tu t’en sors?” (how are you managing?)

“pas trop, non,” not really, you replied and ben smiled wider, despite you not being able to see them. for someone who was previously confused about left and right, you were doing better than average in accent and simple phrases like this. “can you help me out?”

“thought you’d never ask,” and when you flashed him those eyes that reminded him of a lost puppy, he was a goner. he didn’t think he could ever say no to that, so cute he could die. instead of dying, though, he kissed your lips. “what topic are we covering today?”

“I’m having troubles with directions...” you said sheepishly as you sat back down, him following suit. “you know I’m generally not good with them too.”

ben laughed because you were right. you and maps shouldn’t belong in the same room without assistance. but he pecked your cheeks anyway. “but I’m already proud of you figuring out how this whole feminine and masculine thing, just so you know, okay?”

a praise from the native certainly uplifted your mood again. you were on the verge of breaking down before ben stepped into the house because god damn, that was difficult. if you weren’t planning on giving him a surprise for their 1st anniversary, you would’ve given up.

but later, you realised that it was rather ben’s preferred method of teaching. he never scolded you if you got any of the pronunciations or the articles wrong, he just corrected you gently. whenever you nailed a difficult word, you’d always get praises from him. and whenever you figured out a sentence on your own, your boyfriend would always add a kiss at the end of his praise.

“bien joué, ma chérie!” well done, my love and followed by a peck, was the most common form of his praise.

but there was also times when he was truly blooming in joy and proud as you aced a more complicated sentence, both by structure and by grammar, on top of not getting confused between left and right. that was when he slipped in a longer sentence because he knew you love his kisses so much, anywhere everywhere.

“félicitations, mon amour,” he whispered after giving you a longer, deeper, more deserving kiss before diving in again for another peck. “tu l’as bien mérité.” (congratulations, my love. you deserve it.)

you really should’ve asked for his tutelage in the first place instead of subscribing to duolingo if this was what you’d get every French lesson.

#anon asks #oh-saints answers #oh-saints writes #oh-saints writes requests #benjamin pavard #benjamin pavard drabbles #benjamin pavard blurbs #benjamin pavard imagines #benjamin pavard one shot #benjamin pavard fics #benjamin pavard fanfic #footballer x you #benjamin pavard x you #benjamin pavard fluff #footie fics #footballer fics

[bramblewhisker]

Warrior cat relationships were better in arc 1

I just hc that they never changed. I think it opens the door for so many more interesting relationship dynamics if we don't force two cats having kits together having to mean that they are monogamously tied to each other, or even anything more than friends, necessarily.

The broader warrior cat society has undergone some interesting changes since the first arc. The clans' inevitable move from several independent at-best-non-hostile groups to an interconnected and interdependent society of "nations" is natural and interesting. It's been what's driven a decent chunk of the narrative for multiple arcs now. That's all cool.

But the way interpersonal relationships worked in arc 1 is significantly more interesting (and fun for shipping) than the heteronormative, monogamy-driven shift that happened starting with arc 2. I don't even think "mate" was uttered a single time prior to arc 2.

The key element, raised several times throughout arc 1's plot, is the idea that a queen is under no obligation to say who the father of their kits is. You get the sense that it's a social faux pas to ask or even wonder publicly (though I'm sure it was the source of untold amounts of gossip every time). This could be because the father is from a different clan (something that's ~illegal~ but everyone realizes is necessary for some good old genetic diversity), but it could also just be because the kit-making was a purely transactional thing.

Take Brindleface, whose kits were retroactively assigned to Whitestorm. Were they "mates"? The text doesn't really support that. More likely the two of them decided that they would make some good, capable ThunderClan kits together, had the necessary interactions to make that happen, and then went about their separate lives again.

I think about Firestar and Sandstorm. They're the subject of the first use of the word "mates" in the series iirc. But are they? Sandstorm definitely had a crush on him, and they spend a lot of time together, but mates? I think they work a lot better as really good friends and confidants who decided to have a litter of kits together. Sure, she still shares his nest sometimes, but we all know that Graystripe is in there as much if not more. Firestar's got a wife and a boyfriend and no cat has a problem with it. It's great.

As another example, think about Lionblaze and Cinderheart. They spend a huge chunk of Omen of the Stars boring everyone to tears with their relationship angst. I say it's better if the two of them decided, hey, Cinderheart's brains and Lionblaze's brawn would combine to make some pretty great kits. So they decide to periodically have some kits, but everyone knows Lionblaze is dating Berrynose, come on.

It doesn't always have to be transactional. Dustpelt is the ultimate "I love my wife so much" guy, and he and Ferncloud have kits as a natural consequence of their romantic relationship. But arc 1 gave us such a better vehicle for storytelling by letting us decouple romantic/sexual relationships for the act of making more kits for the clan. I choose to believe that never changed.

#bramble ramble #warrior cats #warrior cat shipping #warrior cat ships #GrayFire #FireGray #LionBerry #if you force the cats to be monogamous what do the elders even have to gossip about

[eddies-whoreee]

Thinking about punishing sub!kurt kunkle

He’s always so whiny 🙄

-

“N-no please mommy!” Kurt cries as he’s nearing his 3rd orgasm in a row. His hands are tied above his head and his legs are tied apart. “You want me to stop? Want me to have mercy on you?” You ask with a fake pout. He shakes his head ‘yes’ vigorously. You giggle as you speed up the pace of your hand jerking him off. “You were so needy you decided to touch yourself without asking. You can take it.” You tell him in a mocking tone giving his nose a boop. “B-but I’m sorry..” he whines. “You’re sorry?” You question with faux sincerity. “Yes! Mommy, I w-won’t- fuck!- do it again!” He yelps as you take your other hand and rub it over his sensitive tip. “You’re so fucking pathetic” you coo giving the tip of his nose a kiss. “Mommy! I’m gonna- oh! Fuck! Nononono” he whimpers voice cracking as his 3rd orgasm washes over him, his body felt like it could give out, he felt fireworks exploding through out his body. You squeal as his load spurted out of his twitching cock. As he came down from his high. He was trying to catch his breath as you gave him a small break. Key word, small. You then took his soft, weeping cock in your hand. You didn’t move or jerk it you just held it. Letting the pointer finger of your other hand trace gently along his shaky thighs. Caressing his soft toned stomach with your hands, soothingly. “You’re so messy, I’m not cleaning this up” you tell him harshly. “S-Stop, you’re being mean! M-Mommy.” You felt his dick becoming hard again with your words. “Look at you, getting hard again because I’m mean?” You smile teasingly. “Since you’re so pathetic, mommy’s gonna take one more from you and then it can be done, m’kay.” You say calmly him. His pretty watery eyes look up at you, he beautifully flushed face, heaving chest and swollen lips coated with spit as he had to bite down on something trying not to lose his mind through out the torturous orgasms. “Mommy.. p-please I can’t, I don’t wanna” he pleads softly. He was so cute when he was all subby like this, but you still weren’t over the fact he broke a rule, a big rule. He had to pay, if you take it easy on him he’ll never learn. You kissed his little pout and wiped his tears away. “I wasn’t asking honey” you say with a sadistic smile. He whines throwing his head back as you starts to pump his cock at a relentless pace.

#kurt kunkle smut #kurtsworld96 #kurt kunkle #joe keery spree #joe keery #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson smut

[maraschino-girl]

pachinko 🎰 { part 1 }

✐ Yoshikage Kira makes a gamble when New York City becomes his new hunting ground, and he soon realizes the prize he's heading toward isn't the one he bargained for. Yoshikage Kira / Patrick Bateman

moriohpsycho AU

~6k words

multi-chapter, 80's-90's era

blood and gore, homophobia, drug use, explicit content

warning ‼️ two depraved serial killers being themselves

✦ NOTES : i have no words... except idk how this happened LMFAO ♡✮☁️✧˖ AO3 °⋆💿。°✩

My name is Yoshikage Kira. First name is Yoshikage. Last name is Kira. I’m partially named after my father, and I was considered his pride and joy. 

I’m 33-years-old, not married, and I used to live in the villas of Morioh. I had worked in Kame-yu Department regional management office. It was menial work but I enjoyed it. It was repetitive, it was a routine, it was predictable. I lived a quiet, humble life. My favorite movie is The Remains of the Day, and my favorite designer brands include Valentino and Gianfranco Ferré. 

I no longer reside in Japan due to an incident, one I prefer to not discuss at this moment, but this little incident forced me to flee my town and take refuge somewhere where those ants can’t find me. They can’t find me anyhow, all thanks to my Bites the Dust, though despite this, I’m cashing in my insurance just in case.

If I had to pick any city in the world, I wouldn’t say New York City was my first choice; it’s an overwhelming, bustling metropolis with eyes everywhere, both robotic and human, and from what I’ve heard, riddled with crime and filth. But, I’ve soon learned that it’s easy to be alone in a crowd, and there’s nothing wrong with ‘competition’, petty criminals who can take all those mechanical eyes off of me. They want to be seen, they want to be noticed and even hailed for their art. I do not. I have no need for it. 

What I do need though is a way to perfectly mesh with this new crowd of mine, and this group of… what do you call them? Yuppies, preppies? Or, Ivy League brats if you’re bitter and sipping beer on the side of 5th Avenue (She had the most disgusting hands I’ve ever seen). 

These preppy scholars and businessmen on Wall Street and inside Pierce & Pierce, my dwelling for the next whoever knows how long, adorn themselves with muted hues and statement accessories. I have to switch out my ‘lilacs’ and ‘baby blues’ for ‘eggplant’ and ‘elegant navies’. My ties at least can stay as far as I’m concerned; I’ve seen worse patterns on arguably more fashionable people. 

Manhattan has a plethora of designer stores, so many in fact I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack. I’ve had a painful lunch with a Charles McBride, an audacious man but a colleague first and foremost, and I tried to discuss the plans for the fiscal quarter but he wasn’t having it– the entire conversation replays in my head while I’m attempting to maneuver the streets, only serving to worsening the panic inside me. Any store will do, any at all, and so I slip inside a Bergdorf Goodman. I nearly go in a circle due to the revolving doors but luckily no one catches my faux pas.

I didn’t know what a Bergdorf was, but now knowing it’s a department store relieves my anxiety. 

Kimiko, my lady since I arrived in New York, hardly comforts me now when I entwine my fingers with hers, and the sickeningly sweet scent of rot is beginning to put me off, so I walk towards the fragrances. 

I could get her something with notes of orange blossom and peony, or something sultry with cinnamon and leather, but that thought is cut short when a woman hunts me down from behind. I’m looking at the collection of Dior perfumes when she pops up, her voice extremely loud and shaky. A new girl, perhaps?

“Hello, sir! I see you’re checking out our Miss Dior! This is a very lovely perfume, suitable for the very lovely lady in your life! Um, would you like a sample?” She waves a thin white strip in front of me, and oh my god, her—

Spritz. 

I gasp when the perfume incinerates my eyes, her string of apologies piercing my ears just as badly. She immediately fetches me a wet napkin, trying to help me rub my eyes but I yank the napkin away from her. Through my stinging, blurry vision, I hold up her right hand.

“That is a beautiful, uh, ruby ring you have on,” I swallow thickly, blinking frantically. “Sterling silver and ruby, very nice.” It’s a bead of blood atop of a milky white canvas, oh my. 

“Why, thank you!” she gleams. I hold her gaze, enticing her, and forcefully crinkle my eyes. She has rather pretty eyes and a bright smile, albeit overlined with a crisp apple red. The red doesn’t shine as well on her face as it does around her fingers. Her name tag says ‘JENNIFER’. 

Jennifer briefly checks me out, then scrunches her brow. “Gosh, I’m just a klutz today! I’m so sorry.” 

“No need to apologize, really. Mistakes happen,” I reply, a tad confused, until she holds up Kimiko. My heart freezes, the blasting muzak slows down as she casually handles my now ex-girlfriend. 

“Matthew, one of the assistants must’ve dropped this when setting up the display. We’re not usually so messy!” 

The gold bangle I gifted Kimiko hides the jagged edges of her wrist, and her decomposition has sucked out the apricot tone she used to have. I continue to stare because frankly there’s nothing else I can do at this moment. Except, maybe cry— that’s a big possibility. 

Jennifer giggles, “Listen, I’ll take this back to our storage and I’ll ring you up for the Miss Dior, yeah?”

I open my mouth but it takes great strength to speak. “Yes. Yeah, that’s fine. Um, are the registers near your storage?”

“Yeah, there’s one right by the cosmetics, if you don’t mind following me.”

“I don’t mind, no.” Go. Go! Go! Go! “I actually need to hurry to my office after this, so please, with haste.”

“Of course! C’mon, follow me.” She plucks a plastic-wrapped package of Miss Dior off the shelf and points toward the glossy collections of cosmetics. I ensure no one is really paying attention, and of course, the few patrons around are engrossed in their shopping. 

Jennifer sets the item on the cash register and tells me she will be right back. I huff, and give one last sweep of the store, and trace her steps into the EMPLOYEES ONLY swing door. I don’t bother to hide my footfalls due to her heels echoing through the concrete maze of these back rooms. All I need is privacy, and I need something, anything to aid me, although simply choking her isn’t ruled out yet. 

She doesn’t have a care in the world, doesn’t have a single instinct to look over her shoulder. There’s another door at the far end of the narrow hallway that she disappears into, and I’ll follow her there too, but first:

A giant sapphire and glass star-shaped perfume bottle on a wire shelf catches my attention. It’s asymmetrically shaped, and looks like it belongs atop a Christmas tree, but I deduce it must be for advertising purposes. It’s dense, sturdy, and particularly sharp. I may have had an incident but it seems my luck has yet to run out. This is not an ideal location, none of this is remotely ideal, but there’s not much to be done about it. Besides, Killer Queen didn’t gift me intelligence and charm, only an easy way out. I will do as I’ve always done and I will win. 

I will do what it takes to retain my comfort and happiness, and live my life to the fullest. 

✃ ✃ ✃

I’m having lunch with Patrick Bateman, a coworker, and his friends slash fellow coworkers Timothy Price, David Van Patten, and Craig McDermott at a “trendy” restaurant called Flamingo East. Apparently, a couple other bankers will be joining us but they have yet to do so; I’m fine with that. 

I’m familiar with Mr. Bateman. He has the office right next to mine, but I see more of his secretary than I do of him. The scarce moments we share are somewhat bizarre, and I can’t quite place my finger on what exactly makes them bizarre, they just are. He’s cordial, refined, and narcissistic, much like the others— they’re a breed of their own, a species known only to the rich New England coast, but he still stands out. I’d like to say I’m perceptive, I have to be, and if I have suspicions about someone I’m usually correct. 

I also notice that Mr. McDermott and I are wearing the same cologne, Drakkar Noir, a scent laden with lemon, mint, lavender, and bergamot. Either this cologne is thicker than I anticipated or he’s doused himself in it— either way, it’s comforting blending in. 

I’m wearing a double breasted linen-and-cotton suit in the shade ‘imperial violet’, a subdued deep purple, a ‘nude periwinkle’ button down cotton shirt that looks off-white in this bright lighting, all by Cerruti 1881. My silk tie is by Alexander Julian, and it has a striped pattern in shades of ‘egg yolk’, ‘vanilla’, and ‘charcoal’; the pattern reminds me of the candy sticks in a sweets shop in Morioh. I met an ex-girlfriend there, now that I look back on it. She always bought matcha tea cakes, every day at 5 pm, like clockwork. 

Well, there’s no time for nostalgia right now. I open the briefcase that’s sitting on my lap. 

“Mr. Van Patten, I have papers regarding the—”

“Hey, hey,” he holds a hand up, “We’re not doing that right now.” 

He then makes a neck-slicing gesture, probably telling me to shut up. He’s at least nicer than his friends. With his round glasses and round brown eyes, he looks borderline puppy dog-ish. I avert my eyes and purse my lips to avoid smirking, lest they start naming me that vulgar word they assign to any man in a one meter radius. 

“My apologies.” 

Mr. McDermott speaks up next. “This is lunch, we’re drinking, having a good time, no time for that shit.”

I nod my head in understanding and put away my briefcase. Does anyone here actually work, or is it purely kept to the office? Hm. 

“So, what are we having?” Patrick asks the table. 

I pick up the menu then, and furrow my brows at the options. Fine dining is, uh, fine dining, I suppose. 

“Two J&B’s, or three?” Mr. Price asks me. 

I clear my throat. “Two, I’ll just have the dry martini.” 

“Fruity,” one of them says under their breath. I don’t even bother. 

There’s a salmon plate topped with chives and soy sauce, with a side of mashed red pepper sweet potatoes and honeyed zucchini and squash. That’s appetizing. There’s also an ‘organic’ strawberry jello salad mixed with manzanilla olives and cream cheese. Less appetizing. 

Mr. McDermott decides to bestow a secret upon us. “I heard they serve shark here.”

“Yeah, and there’s a leprechaun in Turtle Bay that hands out free vials of crack.” 

“No, really man, if you tell the waiter a code or something, the chef will hand you a cloche that has a fucking shark fin under it.” 

Mr. Price rolls his eyes. “You think the waiter would care if I asked him to drown you in the fountain over there?” 

“The waiter looks like a faggoty actor-in-training, so give him a good tip, or just like, you know, your dick and maybe he will.” 

“Did I tell you guys that Sabrina—”

“Which one?”

“You don’t know this one. Anyway, she was blowing me the other night and the stupid bitch used her teeth.” Mr. Van Patten gags. 

Everyone at the table including me inwardly cringes. 

“I was like, the fuck you using your teeth for? I’m already circumcised, and thanks to you, I’m now soft. She kept trying to suck on my flaccid dick and the whole thing was just fucking weird.” 

“She was what?”

“You didn’t slap her? Kick her out?”

“I kicked her out right after that. And she’s been blowing up my receiver ever since. Give me another chance, David, please!” he mocks. 

“I mean, if she’s willing to suck a softie…”

“She does have nice tits,” Mr. Van Patten admits. Their conversation dies down and slowly they turn their attention on me. I hold my breath and pretend I’m deciding on my order. 

“What’s your type, Kira?” The million dollar question. 

This is no group to be cheeky with, and too intelligent of an answer will cause me more harm than good. I choose carefully. “I do, uh, have an affinity for blondes.”

They nod.

“You like ditzy? Ditzy is cute. Patrick?”

He shrugs; I don’t know him well but he’s quiet this morning. I answer instead. “I’d prefer ditzy over arrogant and obnoxious.” 

“Yep, yep.” 

Mr. Bateman suddenly gets up and mumbles about heading to the bathroom. Mr. Price follows him with his gaze and has an amused smile, a knowing smile as he sips his drink. I shouldn’t be nosy but it’s common here apparently to gossip. I too watch him then lean over and whisper. 

“Is he sick?” I feign concern. For a moment I wonder if he really is sick, placebo already hitting me with a bomb of nausea in my stomach. 

Mr. Price scoffs. “He isn’t sick, he’s balls deep in Halcion. Did you see his eyes?”

They laugh at him. “His pupils are bigger than the fucking plates.” 

I’m not entirely sure what that is but I refuse to ask for obvious reasons. The waitress, caked up in makeup and her hair crunchy with Aquanet, takes our drink orders and promptly skitters off. I noticed these things because her nails were crooked, one literally twice the size of the others, and she was noisily smacking gum in her mouth. So garish. 

Mr. Bateman returns simultaneously as our drinks arrive, and he wastes no time in downing his. He whispers, “Nice tits” under his breath as our waitress leaves, and then says something else that astounds me. “Did you know I chopped off an East Villager’s hand and jerked off with it?”

I stare at Mr. Bateman as he announces this. He sips his whiskey, and annoyingly shakes his leg, vibrating the table. I look toward our colleagues, back to him, to his friends, back to him. No one says anything. Actually, his friends are too busy fawning over a ‘hardbody’ writing down another table’s order. 

“C’mon, she’s smokin’!”

“Nah, nah, no.” Mr. Price is as picky as ever. “Look at her hips.”

“What? You don’t like Coke bottles?”

“I like coke-caine. And Diet Coke, which maybe she should drink more of.” 

“Wow.”

“Yeah, he’s kinda right. I think I saw her before, in the strings section of the New York Philharmonic.” 

Mr. Bateman and I are in our own little bubble. I almost want to reply, but with what? Oh, that’s a hobby of mine as well! Are you like me? Did you also see the wonderful ad in Times Square for Tiffany & Co. and had to rush home for relief? 

No, no— he might’ve said this expecting a response. He must know. How could he know? It wouldn’t make sense, I’ve covered my tracks! Or, so I thought. Is he stalking me? Is he aware of how often I daydream about my past girlfriends? Does he know about Jennifer? Has he seen Jennifer? There’s no other reason as to why he would make such a remark unless to evoke me! But what would he gain? What could he possibly gain from terrifying me?

I don’t realize I’m breathing hard until Mr. Van Patten nudges my shoulder. 

“Dude, you okay?”

“Pretty sure he’s tweaking.” 

I snap back, “No, I’m not. I’m fine. Um, I apologize.” I wipe my brow with a handkerchief. “It’s quite warm in here.” 

They don’t believe me but luckily, they don’t care either. I glance back toward Mr. Bateman who’s silently mouthing the appetizers as he reads off the menu. He’s unaffected. He’s strange. 

I don’t care for strange men. 

✃ ✃ ✃

I didn’t think I’d replace Jennifer so quickly, but with a city so vast and brimming with the prettiest the States has to offer, I guess it was inevitable. And in that same vein, it’s inevitable that I would end up erasing evidence in the fashion of a stereotypical killer. 

I drag Heather’s remains, a garbage bag stretched wide with the unnecessary parts of her, and a few miscellaneous things I filled it with to rid the bag of its human body shape. Again, this is not suitable for me, and I don’t like being reminded of what life was like prior to attaining Killer Queen. The act feels dirty, in a more ragged, mask-wearing type of way, and elementary, too. This is how others do this? Who has the time? Who has the attention to detail, and how do they deal with the constant anxiety of covering their tracks?

It reminds me of the last night Heather drew breath and she made me watch a horror film about a deadly surgeon. Despite eagerly returning home with me, she refused to let me get any closer to her even when she squealed and jumped at horribly-designed reanimated zombies. I even tried to kiss her on the lips, which mind you was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was a perfect segway to twist her figure around and hack off my prize, the true beauty, the love of my life. 

And yet, she freaked out when I touched her waist, and lo and behold, a brand new suit was ruined from head to toe (which is also stuffed inside with Heather). The film kept playing as I cleaned up the mess, and—

Oh, yes, that’s why I brought that up… Well, it doesn’t matter. The clean-up of a botched murder is the bane of my existence. That’s all. 

My stroke of luck shines when I find a dumpster right behind the apartment building I live in. It’s somewhat hidden, though not entirely thanks to the splattering of windows, some lit some completely black, that look down on the alley. Considering I’ve caught domestic violence, passionate love making, and other embarrassing acts through neighbors’ windows, there’s definitely nothing interesting about an innocent man and his garbage. 

I wipe my brow and drag the bag another few meters before pausing again. You don’t realize how heavy a dead woman is until you have to dump her body. I’m tired, and want this over with so I can finish my stretching routine— I bought a book the other day that lists basic yoga positions to help loosen the hip flexors, a recent issue of mine— and listen to Mariya Takeuchi’s Variety album on the turntable I bought at Radio Shack. If I can hurry through this, expertly, I will be rewarded a lovely evening with my new girlfriend. 

“Ha! Look at us! Both dumping bodies!”

Freeze. I slowly turn my head while feeling for the handle of the knife in my coat pocket. 

A man carrying two bulging garbage bags of his own stands at the opposite end of the alleyway where it opens up to the main street. The shadow of the lamplights briefly obscure his face but he walks closer, and I see a goofy grin and wrinkles. 

“This is the only dumpster I’ll go to ‘round here honestly, because the college kids that live below me fill the other one up to the brim, can you believe that?” He closes the distance between us and he lets go of his bags to place his hands on his rounded, lumpy hips. 

“Uh.” I lick my lips then smack them. “Yeah, I can.”

“I mean this city is crazy, real crazy, and my wife always told me that this wasn’t a good decision but I couldn’t stand the heat down in Austin anymore, I just couldn’t. I mean, us old folks, just me by the way, not you, haha, you’re a handsome fellow, very sharply dressed! You should have a raincoat or somethin’, it’s been real stormy out, you don’t wanna ruin your like, Gew-chi suit, anyway—”

I’m still hunched over, Heather’s casket clutched in my hand. He hasn't studied its’ off putting shape, thank God, but this is too close for comfort. 

“Are you new to the city?” he suddenly asks. 

“Well—”

“There’s not a lot of neighborly love ‘round here, at least that’s how it feels to me. There’s no more lemonade on the porch and chit-chattin’ with Bobby, just drinking Bud Light and sweepin’ cigarette ashes on my balcony ‘cause of those gawd-dayum NYU kids. That’s so selfish, ain’t it?”

“Sure.”

“I just don’t care for it. That, and the winters are real brutal. Cold and icy as all hell.”

I don’t even want to entertain this, and yet: “I would say Hell isn’t very icy at all.” 

As expected, he doesn’t hear me. “It’s irritatin’! But my wife, you know, she loves the lights, the hustle and bustle, the cute little shops and the expresso machines.” 

I’m beginning to get a migraine. 

“Also, the Chinese food. We only had one Chinese buffet when growin’ up, and I got food poisoning every single time. They told me it was the MSG. What do you think?”

Sir, sir, this is so very interesting, I’m genuinely engaged and wish to further this arousing conversation but I would much prefer if you just turned around so I can get this over with. 

Beyond this man, I catch a Valentino suit and head of slicked-back brown hair standing at an ATM. He looks stick-like from this far out, but I can pick out those broad shoulders and tense stance out of a sea of stockbrokers. It’s as if he can’t relax, always coiled up like a viper readying to attack; that’s smart of him, especially while I’m around. 

This man is rambling on about sales taxes and humidity, grating my ears and blocking my vision every time I peer around him. Mr. Bateman counts clean cash with elegant, black gloves on and starts walking with confidence he doesn’t deserve. Frustration is getting the better of me— he’s finally alone, very likely unarmed, and I’m about to lose a golden opportunity all because of this man!

Even when I attempt to interject with kind courtesy and ‘oh, of course, yes, but you see’, he steamrolls me. I give up then, and heave Heather and her garbage over the rim of the dumpster. Thump! She goes. This is your cue now, sir. Throw your things away and leave me alone. 

“Sir,” I cut through him with a stern, deep voice. “I have to get home, if you excuse me. I have to… feed my girlfriend, she’s been alone all day.” 

Awkward pause. 

The man chuckles. “Is your girlfriend a cat?”

“Yes. Excuse me.” I brush past him and with great relief, he shuts up. 

I count ten steps down the street, hearing the thuds of him tossing his garbage in the dumpster, and I count two seconds exactly before I turn on my heel, speed back the way I came and pounce on the defenseless man while his back is turned. My knife is sharp and easily cleaves through his spine and shoulder blades as I relentlessly stab him, enough so in such rapid succession he can hardly scream. By the time he can open his mouth, his lungs have already filled with blood and so his agonized cries are guttural and bubbly. He reaches out, for what I don’t know, maybe trying to crawl away from me, but it’s no use. His thick denim jacket soaks up most of the damage, and it’s only my gloves that are soiled. That’s fine, really, it’s a miniscule consequence. 

Now that he’s mincemeat and paralyzed, on the verge of death if not deceased already, I flick my head to fix the tendrils of hair that have fallen in my face. I’ll leave his corpse; there’s a stabbing or a mugging printed every morning in the newspaper, and I doubt anyone will be questioning an older gentleman being assaulted on his nightly routine. The alleyways are dangerous, as you know. Wrong place, wrong time; it can happen to anyone. 

I take another deep breath and search for Mr. Bateman, who is nowhere to be found. He went west, but there are a million doors and stops and shops and whatever else that way. Besides, even if he were right in front of me, it’d be hard to conceal bloodied hands and my frenzied disposition. I lust to take him down and for that reason, I have to be careful.

Sigh. 

Until next time, Mr. Bateman. 

✃ ✃ ✃

The next excursion that the fine men at Pierce & Pierce have decided on is a rendezvous at a place called Nell’s. It’s not quite a dance club, and it’s too unpleasant to be a chill rooftop bar. The shift between neon and darkness is nauseating, and they seem to have both the ceiling fans on full blast as well as the heated conditioning. I’m sweating yet chilled to the bone. I had to skip lunch due to the piles of paperwork stacked on my desk and I’m feeling the effects of an empty stomach. Apparently, the others have secretaries who do the menial work, but I am without a lady to sign off and look at these documents for me so I wasted my entire day, all 10 hours of it on reading what might as well have been hieroglyphics. 

The silver lining to my mundane day is that I managed to find Mr. Bateman’s full address in his secretary’s desk once everyone else had left. That woman didn’t bother to lock any of the drawers, how naive considering there’s sensitive financial information in those folders. Not my problem. What’s next is figuring out when to use this key— I realized he lived rather close to me, another stroke of my luck, but I have to plan ahead. I could directly follow him home and stage a break-in; still easier said than done. 

I stash away my plans for now. 

It’s nearly 8 pm, right when I would be winding down for bed, when I’m interrupted. A colleague named Tom Hamlin called me asking if I minded meeting him tonight to discuss ‘important matters’. Like the hardworking man I am, I readily accepted and very shortly after, ‘important matters’ became a party invitation. Mr. Hamlin had me start at Harry’s to join up with none other than Patrick Bateman, Craig McDermott, and two other men I didn’t recognize, Victor Powell and George Reeves.

I hanged in the back of the group, intently watching Mr. Bateman who was glaring razor sharp daggers at Mr. Powell— I was oddly curious about why that was, as the former had a semi-permanent scowl, and to see this visceral hate directed towards someone who wears Valentino like him (like me), had slicked-back hair like him (and like me), and even had a resembling smirk, is fascinating. What is so striking about him? One might think of the common petty reasons: found cheating on his girlfriend, stole a deal from him, maybe even openly mocked him, like a bullying situation, but my perfect intuition tells me it’s much deeper than that. 

Hm. It shouldn’t matter anyhow. Mr. Powell won’t have to worry about his “biggest fan” much longer. 

Inside Nell’s, we sit in an open circle-shaped booth with me at one end and my target at the other. When we make eye contact, I smile but he doesn’t return it. How snobbish. 

They’re sharing the menu and I patiently wait my turn, my hands clasped on my lap. I want to leave. I planned a date with Heather, and it’s unacceptable that I can’t even attend my own planned date. I’m starving, I’m thirsty, I refuse to look at the menu right now. So, when the waiter comes by wanting our orders, I ask for a glass of ice water, to the bemusement of my colleagues. 

“Hard liquor ages you,” is what I say when one of them persists to bug me. My response hits where it hurts, and I hide my joy when he then questions his drink of choice. 

“Hamlin, can you score tonight?”

“Uh, duh! I’m way ahead of you.” 

“It’s not from that same guy, right? What’s his name, Carlos?”

“Ricardo.” 

The waitress at the booth behind us has wonderfully long, luscious fingers. Her jingly diamond bracelet accentuates her tan skin so well, and those curved, almond-shaped purple nails. My god. I wonder if I should drop Heather (we’ve only dated for 5 days, that’s a little short, isn’t it?), and too late do I look over to them shuffling out of the other end of the booth. I briefly panic. 

I might stay and rope the waitress into coming home with me, but I also don’t want to be left with a pricey bill because I’m the ‘newbie’ from Japan. Irritated, I follow after, barely keeping them in my sight through the winding hallways. They end up in the men’s bathroom, half of the group idling at the sinks while the other half, including Mr. Bateman squeeze into a wider stall. 

I manage to fit in at the same time that Mr. Price sprinkles a mound of white powder onto an upside-facing mirror bolted to the wall. I may have been a mere office worker, but I’m not naive— that is a drug I recognize. I only knew of one person, a dolt from University, who had the guts to snort it before exams. I almost snitched on him when he was licking it from his hand in the middle of the train platform, but I figured his idiocy would be his downfall. I figured too, not my business. I was proven right during the exams themselves! I don’t know what cocaine entirely does, and it’s very likely he had a cocktail of substances in his system because he was whispering to his pencil as if it was an omniscient deity. 

Anyway, I prefer to not begin whispering to inanimate objects as well, and I let my turn pass me up. Mr. Van Patten uses a handkerchief and wipes his brow, staring me down. Please don’t. 

“Not interested, huh?”

I ponder this deeply, ignoring how Mr. Bateman judges me too. “I’m not fond of it, to be honest.” 

“Have you tried it? I bet the stuff in Japan isn’t as good.”

“Not particularly,” I stutter a bit, and that entices them further. 

“He’s scared, dude.” 

“He’s a straight-edge, of course he hasn’t had the good shit.”

“What are you afraid of? You’re not gonna explode from it. It’s fucking cocaine, not bath salts.” 

Mr. Bateman fixates me with a lopsided grin. “What a loser. More for me, I guess.” 

I’m not acting right. This isn’t me. I don’t give into peer pressure, this isn’t Mr. Kira, and yet before I register it, I’ve picked up the rolled dollar bill and sniffed a skinny line. I clear my throat and at first, I don’t think I even snorted anything, until my nostril burns. They hoot and holler, congratulating me on popping some cherry. I blink rapidly, my right eye now stinging. What am I doing?

I just stand there, back against the metal stall. Deep breath, in and out. This too shall pass. I’ll wait it out and then go home, stretch, have my glass of milk, and sleep peacefully with my girlfriend. Remember, anything that gives effects fast, exits the body fast. I nod to myself. It’ll work out! It always does!

Besides, I don’t feel different but I might be expecting too much from a drug that resembles sugar. Actually, one of them just commented that the last gram was ‘NutraSweet’, so, there’s a chance this is all a placebo effect. Watching these men in their tight suits, wallets stuffed with cash and their ‘AmEx’, glittering jewelry, and they’re high off sugar. Damn sugar. Ha. That is hilarious. 

My, my, just like the girl I dated after I finished my college education! She would sip sake, wait, no it wasn’t even sake, it was water! Water! She had made an utter fool of herself, and jumped onto a table at the restaurant she had stringed me along to, and she subsequently fell, nearly cracked her skull open. 

We were kicked out, both of us, even though I was the pinnacle of elegance in my seat. She made a whole show, basically an educational presentation, of why I should come home with her, and yes, she was an easy catch, and her hands were softer than velvet, prettier than her objectively attractive face, but I couldn’t stand her whiny attitude so I had left her crying on the street. 

She really thought I would have sex with her after that? 

“What’s so funny, dude?” Puppy-eyes says. Why does he look so sad? So concerned? 

My cackling echoes in the steel stalls, matching the thunderous tempo of some pop singer’s hit song upstairs. I don’t know what’s so funny, to be honest, but I can’t stop. I cover my face for a moment, my shoulders shaking, and I find solace in a cold corner. 

My diaphragm aches and my sinuses are unbearably dry, yet my teeth rattle and the corners of my lips twitch into a smile I can’t stop. I lick my lips, tasting metal, over, and over, and over—

“Victor, how tight was Francine?” 

“Pretty sure she’s a virgin. Or, was.” Hiss, smoke pours out of his mouth. 

“Ha, Bateman said she was loose.” 

He furrows his brow and frowns, as if it pains him to say, “Loosest fucking slut I’ve met.” 

Another plume of smoke. I’m dizzy. “Really? She was tight, man. Maybe your dick’s tiny.” 

They guffaw like hyenas and I make eye contact with Mr. Bateman. This isn’t the first time, and surely won’t be the last, that he’s the target of their pissing contests. Judging by his expression, the routine is stale. He’s looking through me, briefly, and indifference morphs into unbridled, sinister glee. 

“I think I might chop your dick off, fry it, and throw it to the pigeons.” 

The booming laughter doesn’t cease, in fact, one of them slaps his shoulder while he barely contains some need for violence. He pierces his cuticles with his thumbnail, much like I am doing right now.

Is that all you want to do? After he humiliated you?

“No. I actually might fry your whole body and feed you to the homeless, you bucktoothed bastard.” 

Mr. Bateman rubs the rest of the powder onto his gums, and the sight of his fingers caressing his wetted lips, going inside his mouth, it’s—

It’s—

What? It’s what? 

I clench my eyes. I need to leave now. I can not be here anymore, it is not worth it. I am vulnerable and in a state I do not wish to be in.

Someone pats me, hard, on the back but I don’t turn around, feeling stuck in place. In slow motion, his voice reverberates. 

“Killer.” 

“What?” My heart sinks. 

“Kira, your nose is bleeding, dude.” 

I wipe at my nose and brush away the stains on my bloody knuckles. I am not feeling well. 

I’m growing erect, for an unknown reason, and I’m acutely aware of everything around me. The stifling cologne, the fluorescent lighting, the waterfalls crashing in the sinks outside the stall, the snorting and flushing, the vibration of my own hands. I haven’t trimmed my nails in quite some time. I should do that when I return home. 

⭀ To be continued⥫

#american psycho #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo's bizarre adventure #patrick bateman #writers on tumblr #kira yoshikage #moriohpsycho #teehee #make sure you listen to sussudio and love my way when reading !!