#it would be green for transactional).

[homunculus-argument]

I know it would probably be a logistical nightmare to also make this accessible to the actual people represented, but I think it would be cool to have a game where the whole point is that every character has different limitations, that make it impossible or at least incredibly difficult to get past the whole game without switching them every once in a while, and the way you switch is by going to another character and asking their help with something.

Like you start out the game with one character and go "oh huh, the colour sceme of this game is really cool, really interesting use of such a limited palette", play through the puzzles for a while, and then encounter something where you're supposed to arrange some slightly differently coloured puzzle pieces to the right order by shade or something, and it's goddamn impossible. No matter how many methods you try, it's just not clicking, no matter how logical your solutions seem, no matter how clearly they can't be arranged in any other way that'd make more sense.

And maybe you go online to ask people "hey I'm stuck in the colour puzzle, what the hell am I supposed to do to get past this?" and someone tells you to go find one of the other playable characters and ask for their help. Which sounds patronising and stupid but you're stuck so you might as well give it a try. You go to one of the other characters, choosing the dialogue option to go "hey I need a hand with something, I can't do this on my own", and when they go "sure, let's go", your controls now switch to the other character.

And the colour scheme switches immediately. The aesthetic limited palette has changed to a far wider range, there's details in the environment that you hadn't noticed, like the muted faint flowers on the ground are actually bright red, the greyish shirt that your first character was wearing is actually striped with orange and green. The first POV character is colourblind, this whole time you haven't been able to perceive the difference between green and red. Solving the colour arranging puzzle with the other character is a breeze.

And this is the repeating theme of the game - every character has their own limitations, and while none of the puzzles are easy, you learn to think "maybe I should ask someone to help me with this" whenever you've been stuck for an unreasonable amount of time. You need to grab a buddy along for the quests, or you'll need to go back to get one eventually, and the way the game is structured somehow ensures that you can't just tactically dodge the limitation puzzles beforehand. Deaf character's POV doesn't have the audio clues that different pieces of the same puzzle make a different clicking sound, the puzzle with garbled numbers on it stops being garbled when you're not playing the character with dyscalculia.

You slowly get to know the whole cast, and occasionally help them out with things, too. You know which character could probably help with something you're stuck with, but while they'd be glad to come help, they're unfortunately stuck doing some task that could take you 20 minutes but is going to take them all afternoon, and you can offer help. Sometimes the helping-a-buddy-out minigames don't come with any direct transactional reward, you can just help a friend with something just because you can.

And the game's whole goal isn't to just illustrate how different people have different strengths, and sometimes things that are easy for you are hard for someone else, and vice versa, but to condition the player to think "maybe I should just ask someone to help, instead of wasting time struggling on my own."

[steddie-island]

Broken

Written for day one of @steddie-week | Prompt: Secret relationship Rating: T | WC: 1,757 | Tags: Hurt/ Comfort, secret relationship, (referenced) canon-typical violence, coming out, slightly altered timeline ao3 | divider credit

No one was answering the phone at the Harrington house. There were no cars were in the driveway. There was a light on in the pool house, but Eddie knew that Steve left everything by the pool lit up as much as he could, though Steve had never explained why, and Eddie hadn't asked.

Eddie was starting to panic. No, that wasn't right, because he'd passed starting to the second day Steve hadn't shown up at school.

By day three, the radio silence had him chain smoking as he drove around town, looking for any sign that Steve still existed.

The fucked up thing was that Eddie wasn't supposed to notice. He wasn't supposed to care whether recently dethroned King Steve was okay, or whether he'd fucked off out of town. They weren't supposed to know each other beyond picnic table transactions while Hagan tried to get Eddie to give him a discount.

No one knew about the detentions they shared. They didn't know about Steve pulling up beside him when his car wouldn't start, didn't know about the hour they'd spent together figuring out what the fuck was going on. Or about the Saturday Steve volunteered to help him actually fix it.

They didn't know about the lunches spent in the back of Eddie's van, about the nights they watched the stars together through the open back doors.

They didn't know how soft Steve's voice had been when he'd whispered Eddie's name before they'd shared their first, and then their second, kiss.

Now the beautiful boy he cared about had fucking disappeared, without a goddamn trace, and Eddie was losing his mind.

One more sweep. One more sweep, and then I'm going to the police. Not like they hadn't ran into each other plenty, only maybe this time Eddie wouldn't end up in handcuffs.

The sound he let out at seeing Steve's car in the driveway was between a laugh and a sob. He barely had time to park the car before he was tripping over his feet all the way to the door.

"Steve! Steve, let me in!" His palm pounded on the door, and he knew Steve would yell at him for not even trying to be discreet when he'd warned about nosy neighbors more than once. "Ste—" The door opened, and Eddie stopped in his tracks. 

Steve's face was swollen and turning several varying shades of yellow and green, purple and red. Eddie's stomach dropped.

He'd expected a lot of things, was ready to be angry for being ignored for three whole days. There was anger, but it wasn't directed at Steve.

"Fuck. Fuck, sweetheart." Eddie slipped inside, closed the door, took Steve's face carefully into his hands. "Who did this to you?"

Steve winced as Eddie's thumb brushed against a fading bruise on his jaw. "This is really not a good time," he murmured. He meant to pull away, but he couldn't. Not now that Eddie was here, holding him, tugging him closer and tucking Steve so carefully against his chest. "Are you okay?" Eddie whispered. "I've been so worried, tried calling but no one answered…" "I've been staying with the Hendersons," Steve murmured. "Dustin's mom is a nurse, she was taking care of me. I haven't been home long." He turned his head to kiss Eddie's palm. "You should go, I'm okay now. I'm—" "I'm not leaving you." Eddie tipped Steve's head up and hissed softly at the discoloration on Steve's eye, where the white wasn't so white anymore. "Who did this, Stevie?" "Eddie, stop. Doesn't matter, it's been handled. It's fine. I'm fine. I don't have a concussion anymore. Claudia wouldn't let me leave until she was sure of that. I just need to sleep some more." Steve folded his fingers around Eddie's. "Go home. I'll call you in a couple of days." "No." Eddie pulled Steve in with an arm around his waist. "You're hurt, I'm not leaving you." He oh so carefully pressed their foreheads together before kissing the good corner of Steve's mouth. "I'm not going anywhere." "Dingus, you said it would be a second, but it's been— what the fuck—" Eddie looked up, his eyes wide. A girl Eddie had seen around school stood in the entryway to the living room with her arms over her chest. Her face was red, her mouth an open o of surprise.

Oh.

Oh.

Eddie's heart sank. This thing couldn't have lasted, he should have known that. Steve had someone else here, someone else taking care of him, why would Steve have called when he wasn't needed? When he wasn't wanted?

Before Eddie could drop his hands from Steve's face, though, Steve was gripping his wrists. "Eddie, wait, it's not like that. Robin's—" "Oh my god!" The girl— Robin— had both hands in her hair. "Steven, if you were not coming off of the assbeating of a lifetime I would give you another one. You made fun of my crush, but you didn't tell me you're screwing around with Eddie fucking Munson?"

The pink that flooded into Steve's face added to the rainbow painting the rest of his skin already. "God, you're as loud as Henderson." He shook his head, hissed when that made the world spin, then caught Eddie's fingers instead of his wrist. "Guess the cat's outta the bag." "Don't you mean you're out of the closet?" Eddie joked. He was staring at Robin, who didn't look pissed, or disgusted, or jealous.

Okay, maybe she was pissed, but not because he'd been kissing Steve.

"Is this why you kept asking for the phone?" Robin demanded. Even with sounding annoyed there was still a softness in the way Robin spoke to Steve as she adjusted the couch pillows for him. Eddie guided Steve directly to the spot Robin had made for him before sitting pressed tight against his side. There was a bag of frozen vegetables on the coffee table that Robin picked up and pressed into Steve's hand, meaning for him to cover his face again.

"I couldn't out Eddie to you," Steve pointed out. "But… yeah." He looked at Eddie. "I'm really sorry, but… I couldn't remember your phone number?"

"Concussions do that." Robin folded herself on Steve's other side and pressed the bag of vegetables into his hand, clearly ordering him to put them back on his face. "And this isn't his first one. I'm Robin, by the way. Buckley. I'm in band."

"Munson. I'm in a band." Eddie scratched lightly through Steve's hair, as if searching for any other places he was hurt that all that hair was hiding. "What the fuck happened?"

"Nothing," Steve said at the same time as Robin said, "Billy."

"Billy." Eddie looked at Steve and felt his stomach twist. "Fucking Hargrove did this to you?"

"Eddie, it doesn't matter," Steve said. He could feel an Eddie rant coming on— or worse, he knew Eddie, knew he didn't like fighting but he would fight for the people he loved. And he couldn't let Eddie get hurt on his behalf. "It's been taken care of."

"Taken care of. By the sheriff?" Eddie demanded. He looked at Robin, clearly expecting for her to answer as the person who didn't have the concussion.

"Max almost took out the Hargrove family line with Steve's bat," Robin said. At Eddie's confusion she made a swinging motion that landed between her own knees.

"Max is his little sister," Steve explained. "She stole my car, too."

"Hey, she did a better job than I would have," Robin pointed out.

Eddie shook his head— none of this made a damn bit of sense. "Why was Max driving your car?"

"Because I was in the backseat with Steve, trying to make sure he didn't die," Robin explained. She winced and reached out to take Steve's hand. "Billy broke a plate over his head."

"Jesus Christ." Eddie pulled Steve closer, kissed his temple gently. "How the fuck are you alive right now?"

"Spite?" Steve joked weakly.

"It was bad," Robin murmured. "Like… really bad. I didn't think Steve was going to wake up, and when he did wake up he kept getting sick…" She turned slightly green at the memory. "Claudia— Mrs. Henderson— she barely let him leave the bed for two days. He refused to get a CAT scan, but he listened to that much, at least. Stubborn asshole."

"Wouldn't have helped." Steve rested his head against Eddie's shoulder and closed his eyes. "We knew what happened, and we could guess how bad it was."

"Stubborn asshole," Robin said, waving at Steve with one hand while looking at Eddie as if to ask what to do with him.

"Claudia says you're okay?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Steve looked up at him with his one good eye. "I just… have to be really careful. No more concussions or I might not be so fine next time."

Once again Robin held on to his hand tightly, like they were anchoring each other together, keeping the Billy Hargroves of the world away by pure force of will.

"How long has this been going on?" Robin asked suddenly. "The two of you I mean."

"Few months," Eddie said, like he didn't have the date circled on his calendar, like he wasn't ready to get it tattooed over his heart.

Robin lightly punched Steve's thigh. "You could've told me," she said. "You can tell the rest of your kids, too, you know. They love you, too."

Steve smiled softly. "Maybe I wasn't ready before," he said. "But after seeing Red go after Billy… there's nothing those little shits can't handle."

"I need to know what happened," Eddie said. "There's still so much that isn't adding up."

Steve winced as he sat back up. "It is a… really, really long story. And it's not a pretty one. I'll tell you, but… maybe later? For now, can we just put on a movie and… and you two hold me?"

"Whatever you need," Robin said without any hesitation. She jumped up to grab the remote and to push the table closer to the couch.

"You'll tell me later?" Eddie asked.

"Promise." Steve kissed Eddie's cheek gently, then snuggled to him so Robin could take her place, too.

Anyone who looked at Steve could figure out this was a sad story, an angry story. It was a fucking horror story.

As the opening credits of Grease started playing, Eddie promised himself that he was going to make damn sure Steve got a happy ending out of it.

[artificial-transmutations]

Going Green

"Microtransactions!"

Charles looked around the board members.

"Micro. Transactions. Have you ever heard of that? Anyone?"

Slowly, heads nodded.

"Oh, good! So, you *have* heard of them. Does anyone care to explain to me then why our games barely have any? In fact, I have yet to see *any* microtransaction revenue from our latest release."

"But Sir, 'Orcs and Morcs' is a single player game - and not for a mobile platform, too. It doesn't even have an online connection. It would be highly unusual."

Charles M. Anderson cut the engineer up with a gesture. He didn't even know the other man's name, which wasn't too unusual. Even though he was the CEO of GreenGames for six months now, he didn't bother to learn his subordinates names until they proved useful. And this unnamed engineer could be happy if he still had a job after this meeting.

"I don't care about your techno-babble. Microtransactions is where the money is, so I want them in our products. *All* our products. And make sure to make them mandatory for any progress, too."

Charles usually talked about "Releases" and "Products". To him, video games were just a product like any other. Of course *he* didn't play any of those silly games, games were for children and losers. He only cared for the numbers, the graphs and revenues.

"What about the backlash? I mean, I understand that you want to generate more revenue, but GreenGames is known for providing high quality games that *don't* try to rip their customers off."

"So?"

"So, this could be bad publicity for us. Really bad."

Charles looked around the table and noticed most of the other board members nodding.

"Listen up, everyone. I think there is some misunderstanding here. You think that I care about our customers. I really don't, as long as they continue to buy our products. There is no such thing as bad publicity. So, I don't tell you how to draw your silly ogres and you don't try to meddle in the business aspect of the company, okay?"

Even though the inflection suggested a question, it was perfectly clear that it was neither a question nor a request. Again, heads nodded and tried to avoid eye contact. Good. Respect was very important for a leader.

One woman spoke up. Charles suspected her to be some lead writer or something.

"It's orcs, Sir."

Charles blinked. "What are you trying to say?"

"You said ogres, but our games are about orcs. That is our thing, we make games about orcs."

"There is no difference between orcs, ogres, unicorns and all that whimsy stuff. Leave me alone with your fantasy crap."

"But there is another thing. You are responsible for the story of our products?"

The woman agreed with a careful: "Yes, Sir?"

Charles looked her straight in the eye. "It has come to my attention that there are certain woke elements in our products. As a story writer, I expect you to take care of that."

"What... do you mean by woke? And by taking care of that?"

Charles sighed. Why was everyone so incompetent?

"Apparently, there is same-sex smut in our products, some even have pronouns. That crap needs to disappear asap. It is 'go woke go broke', after all."

The writer woman looked at Charles incredulously. "But Sir! Same-Sex romances are a well-accepted part of the industry for *decades* now. And it's not like the player has to engage in that, too. It's just an option - an option we actually received much praise for in the past. And about the pronouns... It's just a setting that influences some dialogues on how the player character is referred to. Again, it is perfectly possible to play as a straight green cis male if that's what you want to do."

Charles shook his head, his voice now dangerously low. "One more word of that, miss, and you can start looking for a new job. 84% of our customer base is male, and male customers want to see boobs, that's a fact. I won't tolerate wasting company resources on pacifying some noisy minority and alienating our main audience."

"But sir!" the writer woman objected.

Charles' look silenced her.

"One more word and you're out. We'll find another writer. Someone who does the job and keeps their mouth shut. This meeting is over. I expect results end of next week."

Nobody dared to speak up when everybody left the meeting room, and Charles returned to his office. What a productive meeting.

Just as he turned to his computer to check today's KPIs, he noticed a new email.

From: Employee Council

To: Charles M. Anderson

Subject: Going Green

Body:

Dear Mr. Anderson,

we here at GreenGames would like to take the opportunity to point out some concerns about your leadership role.

We have noticed a disturbing development since your takeover and would like to remind you of the values we stand for at GreenGames. We like creating games, and we identify with the work we do. Our players are important to us, and we strife to be open and accessible for everyone. Just like the protagonists in our games, we have honor and use our strengths to better the world. You in particular should be the living embodiment of this ideal. Please take this chance to re-think your methods and decisions and "go green" for real.

Sincerely,

The Employee Council.

Charles was outraged. How dared those subordinates criticizing him? He reached for his phone, ready to phone his secretary to find out who this "Employee Council" was but was interrupted by a ripping sound.

The right arm of his expensive suit jacket had ripped at the shoulder, which was unusual. He would have to have a stern talk with the tailor. Charles stood up and took off his jacket - or at least, he tried to. It was like the piece of clothing was way too small all of a sudden. He finally managed to get out of it, but only with several more rips in the fabric. Charles loosened his tie. He was sweating like mad, and when he looked down on himself, he was in utter disarray. His shirt looked like it was several numbers too small and as he was watching, one button after the other flew off with an audible "pling", exposing his torso underneath.

But was it really his torso? Not only was it *bigger*, it also looked way *hairier*. Charles had never been a man with much body hair, but now, he looked down on a stomach that was showing visible abs covered with a dense treasure trail of dark hairs. They continued upwards where they met with a true forest of curly dark hair that covered the slabs of pecs that were still growing as Charles watched.

He had to loosen his tie again before taking it off entirely. All of his clothes felt constricting, so, he peeled himself out of his shirt, too. His expensive watch was interrupting his growth painfully, but Charles was too occupied to notice, let alone care. With a dull cracking noise, the leather strap broke, and the watch flew across the room, hitting the opposite wall.

As Charles continued to grow, the chair underneath him creaked, but, again, he had other things to worry about. His lower body was still covered by his dress pants and shoes, but that was getting tight, too. His shoes especially were getting painful, and it was a relief when the front broke, exposing large muscular feet and toes. His pants were filled to the brim with heavy, muscled legs now, but there was another region where the capacity had been reached. His groin formed an obscene bulge. That alone would have probably fit - barely - but it was accompanied by an unusual feeling. Charles didn't *mind* his extreme change. In fact, the hyper masculine body turned him on, even. He watched as a dick print became clearly visible outlined against his groin, as his cock grew hard. It pulsed, once, and Charles felt a spurt of precum soak into his boxer shorts. A wet patch became apparent as the liquid seeped through his pants - all from a single spurt. His dick pulsed again, and Charles' head began to swim. The air in the room was thick with sweat and testosterone by now, and Charles groaned from arousal. Man, what would he give for a nice firm manly ass right now, giving him a lap dance.

Wait, what? Manly ass?

But it was true! Every time, Charles tried to think about sexy girls, but all that came to mind were men. Burly, hairy men, twinkish shaved men, green-skinned ogre-man. No, not ogres, he corrected himself. Orcs.

As he thought this word, his dick pulsed again and made Charles almost cry out from arousal. He couldn't restrain himself anymore. He *ripped* apart his dress pants and lowered his boxer shorts that looked like a pair of briefs on his massive body now, releasing a gigantic stiff rod and a matching set of heavy balls - along with a whole cloud of manly, musky smell that made Charles even hornier than before.

He closed his gigantic hand around his shaft and moved it up and down, in a slow, barely constrained motion. He had almost come by that one stroke, so horny was his mind. Fascinatedly, he watched as his cock and balls took on a deep, green color. It looked almost like a cucumber, or the penis of the incredible hulk. Or... an orc. As he moved his strong hand up and down again, the green started to spread in all directions.

Yes! There was no doubt: He was becoming a big, strong, sexy orc! Charles let all restraints fall away and started pumping in earnest now. With each stroke, the green spread, until his entire torso was of a rich green color. His head felt a pressure as his facial structure reformed, and his ears grew long and pointy. His hair lost darkened and grew out into a wild mohawk-like hairstyle. At the same time, a black beard sprouted around his entire jaw, underlining his masculinity.

Meanwhile, the green had swept across his arms and legs, quickly eliminating any leftover pink spots. The green color looked incredibly hot under the coat of dense, manly hair, and Charles felt himself getting closer. He grunted with each stroke like an animal and where his muscular green body touched the furniture or his executive chair, it left a film of manly sweat. Finally, he felt a short bit of pain on his ears and nipples, as small metal piercings appeared there: Short studs in his ears and small rings in his nipples.

That sent him over the edge. With a final bellow, he came, mightily. His large green balls contracted and his massive cock spew cum everywhere: All over his stomach, his chest, his furniture, even his face!

Charr panted in the afterglow of his orgasm. He was the epitome of virility and although he had just cummed all over his office, his mind kept creeping back to sexy guys again. He would be able to go again, soon - but that had to wait a bit. He used the remains of his suit to clean up a bit (although it was still clearly visible and smellable what happened here), stuffed his mighty tool into the cum-stained underwear and reached for the phone.

"Please send the board to my office, I want to issue an honorable apology, and announce our new strategy." He rumbled with his new, low voice. After a moment of consideration, he added: "And please send someone to install our games on my PC."

He rubbed his hands. This would usher in a whole new era for GreenGames - with the greenest possible CEO.

I have the feeling that a lot of companies could benefit greatly from a bit of a greener leadership!

[weasleyreidstyles]

Serendipity

chapter seven

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): this is quite long, canonical voldemort style violence, use of one wizard slur (bloodtraitor), one mention of torture, parental death (minor mentions)

series masterlist; previous part; next part

The weeks flew by after that day in the Room of Requirement. In those weeks, you and Mattheo had gotten nowhere with researching your newfound siphon abilities, as most literature was just a regurgitation of previous works. The two of you grew closer, sessions usually ending in a spontaneous make out or sensual tryst, but he still refused to go any further than that. Refused to be completely vulnerable with you. Safe to say that your days were a lot more interesting, but it was becoming harder to hide your clear feelings from the prying eyes of your curious friends.

Harry had been frequently visiting Dumbledore's office for his own lessons of sorts and he had learned more about Mattheo's father, Tom Riddle, but nothing about why he needed one of Slughorn's specific memories.

The four of you were slaving away in one of the Herbology greenhouses when Hermione brought up the subject of Slughorn's illustrious dinner parties, which Harry had been avoiding.

"There's no way you'll be able to get out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come." she said, wrestling with the weird pod-like creature that you were studying for that week.

Harry groaned as you snickered at his misfortune. Meanwhile, Ron, who was attempting to burst his pod in the bowl by putting both hands on it, standing up, and squashing it as hard as he could, shared a look with you and said angrily, "And this is another party just for Slughorn's favorites, is it?"

"Just for the Slug Club, yes," said Hermione, annoyance written on her face.

The pod flew out from under Ron's fingers and hit the green house glass, rebounding onto the back of Professor Sprout's head and knocking off her old, patched hat, causing you, Ron and Harry to let out loud laughs that died out at the Professor's unimpressed look sent your way.

Harry went to retrieve the pod while Hermione carried on, "Look, I didn't make up the name 'Slug Club'—"

"'Slug Club,'" repeated Ron with a sneer worthy of one of Malfoy's. "It's pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug—"

"You almost sound jealous, Won Won." you teased, using Lavender's cringe-worthy nickname that he clearly abhorred. Despite having a girlfriend, you just knew that somewhere deep down in his stupid, stupid brain, Ron still had feelings for Hermione.

"We're allowed to bring guests," Hermione, who had turned a bright, boiling scarlet, snapped, "I would have asked you, but I don't think your girlfriend would like that very much."

You turned to face Ron as he gufawed at your best friend. "Don't worry Ronald, I'm not one of his favourites either. Teddy's invited me as his plus one for this one, I'll let you know what we're definitely not missing out on." He only glared at you again in response.

Theodore had asked you to accompany him so that he wouldn't be stood alone as Blaise flirted his way through the other pureblood attendees. You had agreed and he gave you free reign of his Gringott's vault to choose a dress from a boutique that Pansy had graciously taken you to. It paid well to have a rich friend or two in this world.

It seemed that everyone knew of Slughorn's party and the chance of going as a guest with one of his members – you and Hermione caught Romilda Vane and her friends whispering about 'Harry' and 'Fred and George' and 'Love Potions' in one of the girls' toilets in the intermission between Transfiguration and Potions, and had watched in shock as they discreetly opened one of the twins' own Love Potions disguised as perfumes between them. You had both warned him to be wary of them, but of course Harry rarely listened to the two of you.

The three of you were walking out of the now-closed library, Ron off with Lavender Brown somewhere, when Romilda came up to him and offered him a bottle of Gilllywater. Hermione's i-told-you-so look had him declining it, but she seemed prepared and had shoved a pink heart shaped box of chocolates into his arms.

"Chocolate Cauldrons." the girl had said. "They have fire whiskey in them. My grandma sent them, but I don't like them."

Romilda smiled before walking away.

"Definitely firewhiskey in there," you say sarcastically. "Give it a whiff before you eat them. Make sure it's not Ginny you're smelling." you say before leaving the pair, laughing at Harry's disgruntled look and making your way to the Ravenclaw common room, intent on researching a book on Mermaids and Siphoners, but you weren't confident that you'd find information that wasn't in the books you'd already combed through.

~∞~

"I'm going with Luna." Harry said the next day. "To Slughorn's party. I'm going with Luna."

"That's wonderful, Harry." you say with a smile. "She really needs a pick-me-up bless her. Some idiot in her year keeps stealing all her things."

The girl came and told you not an hour later, an excited gleam in her pale blue eyes.

~∞~

A few days later, you were waiting outside the Slytherin common room, nervously smoothing out nonexistent creases from the fine silk of your deep green evening gown. You had agreed to meet Theo, Blaise and Pansy here before walking to Professor Slughorn's office together, where the dinner party was being held.

Hesitantly, you knocked on the door to the common room, not knowing the password for it, obviously. The person who answered it made you want to smite them immediately – Greggory Goyle was as nasty as they came.

"What do you want, bloodtraitor?" he spat as he glared down at you, before his beady eyes snapped to your body, namely your chest.

"Not that it concerns the likes of you," you say, voice full of venom, "But I'm waiting for my date to Slughorn's dinner party."

"What poor soul agreed to take you to something as sophisticated as a dinner party?" the boy sneered, his gaze beginning to become an uncomfortable hindrance before your friend's voice rung out into the empty corridor.

"I did, Goyle. Now kindly fuck off." Theodore snapped before his gaze softened on your form. "Tesoro, you look dazzling." his face lit up with a smile as he twirled you under his arm.

"Thank you, Teddy." you flushed, while giving him a once over. "My, my, don't you clean up nicely." he swatted away the hand that patted his cheek.

As you were greeting Theo, the rest of his friends exited the common room, Lorenzo announcing that you'd have to wait for Blaise to 'stop staring at his reflection' as he did. It was obvious that Theo and Pansy were regulars at illustrious dinner parties: Theo wore a tailored suit, with a crisp white shirt and a dark green silk waistcoat and tie (charmed to match the exact colour of your own dress); Pansy wore a sleek dress in a rich shade of deep plum and her face was painted exquisitely with makeup that accentuated her pretty siren eyes, her short black hair styled into a flattering bob. She had come right up to see you in the dress she'd helped you pick out: a dark green silky number that hugged your body in the most flattering way.

She was busy fawning over the way your hair fell over your shoulders gracefully, when the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and you felt a familiar prickle in the back of your mind. You turned to find Mattheo, white shirt partly unbuttoned, hair disheveled and eyes slightly bloodshot as he admired you with no shame. The way his deep, onyx eyes took you in from head to toe made you feel hot all over, and the words he spoke into your mind, made you melt even further. If that was even possible.

You look beautiful, love.

You smile at him in gratitude which was sent in waves to the forefront of his mind – a new trick he had taught you. He nodded his head with a proud smirk which sent flutters right to your core.

You look much better in Slytherin green than Ravenclaw blue, darling. You should indulge more often.

The boy was actually flirting with you and he basked in the sight of your flustered expression.

Pansy was the only one of the surrounding group to see your interaction and she gave you a look that you understood was her way of telling you that the two of you would be discussing this later.

Finally Blaise, who had just stumbled out of the stonewall entrance, said with an exasperated breathe: "Let's get this over with, please. I want to get there so I can leave earlier. If Slughorn asks me about my mother's latest husband one more time I may explode."

You stifle a laugh behind your hand as the tallest Slytherin glares down at you. "Were you not the one making us all wait in favour of admiring yourself in the mirror, Zabini?"

"When you have a face like mine, it must be admired Meadow." he replied with a self-assured smirk. Lorenzo practically guffawed at this, which is when you notice that his eyes were bloodshot like Mattheo's. But he was always a cheerful boy, seeing him laugh was a regular occurrence within this group.

Soon after Blaise appeared, you hooked an arm in the crook of Theo's elbow and the four of you began your walk to the classroom, completely missing the glare that Mattheo was pointing at the back of his best friend's head.

Compared to other offices you'd seen, Slughorn's was namely the biggest. Drapes of emerald, crimson and gold were streamed about the ceilings and walls, creating a tent-like effect about the room and thousands of faeries fluttered about the golden glow of where the apex of the drapes met, the faint fluttering of their wings could be heard over the music and chatter. The moment the four of you entered you'd commented on how crowded and stuffy it was as a live classical band played over the loud conversation from older wizards all around the room.

"I didn't know he invited elders here." you mumble to Theo who hums at you.

"It's all networking. A way to secure future positions in the Ministry." he said, resentment dripping from his tongue.

"And you don't want that?" you ask, staring at his profile, thanking him when he gave you a flute of champagne.

"I wanted to be a professional quidditch player, but my father wants me to follow in his footsteps." he says, before dropping his voice to a mere whisper. "And I mean that in all senses of the word, tesoro. It's not something I particularly want."

You hummed at his answer but squeezed his arm all the same. He sent you a sideways glance full of warmth. You'd almost forgotten about what he would endure during the upcoming holidays; it made you feel inexplicably guilty that you'd be having fun with your friends and family while Theo would be suffering.

Blaise and Pansy had already found themselves at the table of food platters with Daphne Greengrass, which is where you also found Harry, Hermione, Luna and Cormac Mclaggen. You grabbed Theo's hand and dragged him towards them, ignoring his discontent with being within radius of Harry and Mclaggen.

"Hi guys! Mclaggen." you say as you reach the quartet. "Mione, Luna you both look gorgeous."

They both thank you before all four of them frown at the boy behind you. "Oh for Rowena's sake, he won't bite, will you Teddy?" You sent him a pointed look over you shoulder, which had him instantly agreeing, albeit reluctantly.

"Only if they don't bite first." he says, his deep, accented voice dripping with uninterest. "Let's go and dance, tesoro. Make the night a little less unbearable."

You agreed and spent a majority of the night sipping on expensive wine and laughing with your three Slytherin friends, mindful to avoid Harry's looks of something that you couldn't name that he sent your way.

~∞~

The four of you spent hours dancing, only interrupted when Harry asked to steal you away to dance with him, as Luna had become caught up in a conversation with Ginny, Dean Thomas namely absent from her side. While you and Harry were contently swaying, there was a disturbance at the entrance.

You watched in the corner of your eye as Harry's face lit up with a sinister smirk at the sight of Malfoy being dragged into the room by Filtch who had him by the scruff of his robes.

"Professor Slughorn!" he said in his typically slimy voice. "Found this one lurking in the corridors upstairs. Claims he was invited to your party but was delayed in attending. Did you issue an invitation?"

If looks could kill, Filtch would be six feet deep.

Malfoy was glaring at the man with distain and fury as he yanked himself free of the caretaker's grasp, brushing away imaginary flecks of dirt from his rumpled suit.

"All right, I wasn't invited!" he said angrily. "I was trying to gatecrash, happy?"

Filtch was evidently not happy about this, but the look of immense joy that crossed his face sent shivers down your spine.

"You're in trouble, you are! Didn't the Headmaster say that night-time prowling's out, unless you've got permission, eh?"

Slughorn dissipated the situation with drunken ease, inviting Malfoy to stay for the remainder of the dinner party. Harry's face was a picture of bewilderment, mirroring Filtch's one of overwhelming disappointment.

"He looks a bit ill doesn't he?" you say under your breathe as Hermione comes to stand beside you.

"Who?" Harry asked, dumbly. You stared at him with a deadpan expression on your face.

"Malfoy. He does look ghastly pale." Hermione mumbled while you all watched as he chatted away to Slughorn about his grandfather.

"He's up to something." Harry said obstinately. You and Hermione shared a look and simultaneously rolled your eyes.

"You've got to stop with this Harry. You don't know for certain that he's a Death Eater." Hermione muttered, keeping her voice low enough that others wouldn't hear. "It's bad enough that you outright accused him in front of Professor Mcgonagall and Professor Snape."

"I still can't believe you had the audacity, to do that." you say, but Harry wasn't listening to either of you. In fact he followed right out behind Snape and Malfoy when they exitted the room, not ten minutes after the latter's noisy arrival.

"Oh for fuck's sake." you grit your teeth at your friend's stubbornness. Hermione shook her head before dragging you over to where Luna and Ginny were stood, having watched Harry sneak out.

~∞~

With the Christmas holidays finally upon you, you were spending a few days at the Burrow with Ron's family before you floo'd home to your family.

Hermione's lack of presence seemed to lay heavily upon you as you sat next to the empty seat in the kitchen that she'd always sit in. You don't know how she puts up with Ron and Harry without you – a headache was slowly building up in your temples as Ron asked Harry to repeat what he'd heard when he followed Snape and Malfoy out, for the millionth time, as the three of you polished Mrs. Weasley's cutlery.

Finally reaching a breaking point of sorts you snap at the pair.

"If you defy the unbreakable vow, you die. It's a sacred pact, Harry. Are you certain that Snape accepted one?" they turn to look at you as if forgetting you were there.

Ron nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Fred and George almost convinced me to make one when I was five, but Dad went mental when he found us. Only time he's ever been scarier than mum." he pauses before adding an anecdote about Fred being punished pretty severely, which seems to summon the two giant twins into the kitchen, clad in expensive slacks, making fun of the fact that Ron and Harry were still not of age yet – unlike you. Fred turned to you then, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"Hello gorgeous, how are you coping with these ninnies without Mione?" he had a dazzling smirk on his face, which you would've fallen for once upon a time, had a polar opposite, wicked smirk not taken up your entire mind.

"Barely, as usual. How've you been, Freddie?" you smile up at him as he sits on the edge of the table, leg brushing your's.

Ron dramatically gagged, interpreting this as a flirtatious interaction. This turned the twins' attention onto him once more.

"We've heard through the grape vine that you have a new beau, Won Won." George said with a smirk. Ron turned to glare at you and you held your hands up in surrender. If you could use your legillimens abilities on him, you'd be screaming "it wasn't me, I swear!", but Ron would surely have a heart attack if you so much as whispered into his mind.

"Lavender Brown, was it? That's what Ginny said in her letters. How'd you manage to bag a girl, Ronniekins?" Fred chimed and they snickered as Ron's face went bright red.

"Piss off, will you." Ron mumbled, you and Harry smirked at his discomfort. "She's sweet."

"And here I thought he and Mione would've overlooked their pride and gotten together by now." Fred murmured to you, his breathe hitting the shell of your ear. You turned to face him, finding his alluring blue eyes staring right into your own.

"I believe that means you owe me a galleon...or five. I recall a bet we made at the Yule Ball, Weasley. It's time to pay up." you say, your eyes glinting mischievously as you held out your palm expectantly.

"You and your memory will ruin me, woman." he mutters scornfully, but he gives you a stack of galleons, discreetly nonetheless. You smile victoriously.

"Good to know business is treating the two of you well, Freddie." he smiles and shares a look with George.

"When are you coming to visit the shop, Meadow?" George asks as he uses his wand to slow Ron's polishing down.

"Is that an official invitation, Weasley?" you ask, satisfied with the peace you feel by being in the Burrow again, despite Hermione not being there.

~∞~

Mattheo hates his father with a burning passion. Tom Riddle was a cold, manipulative and tyrannical man who was absolutely not fit for the role of 'dad'. It's ironic, he thinks, that he should have a father who was incapable of feeling love, in all senses of the word. But Tom had loved Mattheo's mother once, in some sick and twisted way. Maybe it wasn't love, but he had a sick devotion for the woman that Mattheo never got to meet. She died after giving birth to the Riddle heir.

When his father was defeated all those years ago, Mattheo was handed off to the first family that bothered to know of his existence. Theodore Nott Senior was even less of a good father, to both him and Theo. But Teddy's mother took on the responsibility of showing them what it is to be kind, loving and compassionate.

That all withered away upon her death when he was only eight years old. It broke him, but it broke little Theo even more to lose the only parent who ever cared for him. Over the years, the well-mannered, inquisitive little boy transitioned into a coldhearted, unfeeling person, but sometimes Mattheo wished that people saw him for who he truely was, instead of the person they painted because of who his father was.

It's the reason he feels so drawn to you, he summises.

Someone who should hate him, someone who should despise him for all that he is, looked past his carefully constructed armour and saw that broken boy within. He wondered how long that would last, when you found out how much of his facade was his true identity. In his eyes, Mattheo was a monster. A carbon copy of his father.

The vast dining room that he found himself seated in felt entirely too small. The atmosphere was ripe with anticipation as the Dark Lord himself stared down at them from his erected throne at the head of the table. Mattheo sat in the seat adjacent to him, as his 'right hand man'. Showing that he would never be anything more than a soldier to his father. Lucius Malfoy sat opposite him, Bellatrix Lestrange in the next seat as she nodded in rapt attention to whatever Voldemort was saying.

The doors to the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor swung open with a slow and menacing creak, inviting Draco to walk in, followed closely by Theo and Enzo.

This is the part of the holidays that Mattheo had been dreading the most.

"Thank you kindly for fetching me our guests, Draco. Please be seated boys, and let dinner be served." Voldemort's hand sweeped through the air and the three chairs beside Mattheo pushed out at their own accord; his friends took the seats wordlessly, Theo seating in the one opposite Bellatrix.

Shortly after, the family's house elves wordlessly clicked their fingers and a feast appeared before them all. Mattheo didn't touch a single piece of food on his plate. Neither did his three friends, his brothers. He was infinitely grateful that Blaise and Pansy were not here. He planned on maintaining that for as long as he possibly could.

After the food, some of which had barely been touched by the hoard of Death Eaters in attendance, had disappeared, Voldemort stood up, towering above them all like an angel of death.

"Now we indulge in my favourite part of the evening." he says, clapping his thin, boney hands together delicately. "Theodore, Lorenzo...please, join me."

He held out his hands, offering the 'stage' to his son's friends. Mattheo had to physically claw at the seat beneath him to refrain from stopping them as they obeyed. Theo's chest shook with uneven breathes and Enzo didn't dare look anyone in the eye. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unprepared to watch his friends submit to the same fate.

"Who wants to go first?" Voldemort asked the two boys, his snake-like voice coated in something akin to excitement and glee. When neither boy spoke up, he slammed a hand to the table, causing everyone in near viscinity to flinch. A vision of pure psychotic rage paints the monster's face.

"Fine." he snapped. "Mattheo, my son, come up here please."

Mattheo schooled his features and locked any thoughts of his friends, of you, up tight. When he was within reach of his father, Voldemort caressed his shoulders, strong from years of relentless Quidditch training, and whispered, his voice a mere hiss as he spoke in the tongue that only the two of them, and Harry Potter could understand.

Choose. He whispered. Who will go first? Choose and I'll spare you my wrath later.

Mattheo didn't know what to do, he was crumbling in front of his father's loyalist of followers, who were snickering and whispering amongst themselves. The insurmountable feeling of guilt festered in his stomach, a sick feeling persisting in his gut. How could he subject any of his friends to this?

CHOOSE! Or I will hunt down anything you hold dear. That is a promise, boy.

He couldn't let his father know about you. He knew the moment he discovered your abilities, Voldemort would seek you out and trap you with no hope of escape and use you for his own power hungry means. He couldn't let that happen.

"I'll go first." Theo's voice broke through his inner turmoil and Voldemort's sinister smirk travelled to his best friend's face. Theo was masking his terror well, but Mattheo saw right through him. Enzo visibly sagged in relief, no matter how short lived it was. He straightened when Mattheo entered his mind.

Don't show weakness. It'll be over soon, I promise brother. I'm sorry.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod. His features schooled into masked indifference.

"Theodore, my boy." Voldemort crooned. "What a good example you set for our young recruits. So...eager." a dig at Draco, who was yet to make headway in his task. "Come."

He beckoned Theo with a single come-hither motion. Theo moved with poised grace and knelt before the Dark Lord, staring up at the creature with stoney eyes. "Just like your mother." he tutted, and Mattheo clenched his fists tightly, fury painting his veins in vibrant fire. "It's a shame, truely."

Voldemort took hold of Theodore's left arm with bruising force but did the opposite of what Mattheo expected. "Mattheo, come. Since you failed to choose, you will do the honours for me. Mark him."

He began to protest, but Fenrir Greyback was behind him in seconds, pushing him to the ground with brute force. He struggled and fought until his father held a hand that physically stopped the fight with his magic.

"I won't do it." Mattheo spat. "No."

Voldemort's head contorted the way a snake's would when agitated and he shot a singular curse at his son with no hesitation.

Mattheo writhed as the effects of the Cruciatus curse overtook all his senses. Consumed in his agony he failed to acknowledge the sound of his best friends' grunts and screams as their skin was branded with the skull and snake of the Dark Mark, identical to the one festering on his scarred left arm.

There was no saving them now.

But at least Blaise and Pansy were safe in their own manors, not privvy to the price he would eventually pay in exchange for their own freedom and safety.

~∞~

hope everyone had a lovely christmas and a happy nye🫶🏼 thought i'd give you a long chapter by delving into a mattheo pov ;)

i love my degree but sometimes psychology makes me want to rip out my hair🙃🙂

taglist:

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[biblomaniac]

Supercorp headcanon:

Lena gives Kara extravagant gifts not because she’s rich and money is no obstacle, but because that the only way she knows how to show that she cares.

Lena grew up and a largely loveless home. Any gifts she received were most likely only for show, or had a practical purpose. When she was young, Lena learned that people wanted her for three things: her body, her name, or her money. Buying expensive gifts for fake friends and temporary dalliances became the only way she could express even the simplest of gratitudes.

When she meets Kara, she keeps up the practice. An office full of flowers for a positive article and a company to keep Kara happy and employed are only the ends of an extreme spectrum. Lena would give Kara just about anything to keep her happy, although Kara doesn’t ask for anything but Lena’s time.

By profligate present #50, Kara has to put her foot down about the amount of gifts the brunette gives.

“What do you mean you don’t want it? I can exchange it for something better.”

“No, Lena. It’s lovely, but I just can’t accept it.”

“I don’t understand. Why don’t you want it? Is it not good enough?”

“Lena,” Kara can hardly explain before Lena is on her phone ordering an upgraded model in three different colors.

“They have red, blue, yellow, green, purple… Y’know what? I’ll get the first three and we can go from there.”

Kara uses a small burst of SuperSpeed to grab the phone from Lena’s hand before she can press ‘order’.

“Lena, there is nothing wrong with it! I can’t accept it because you have given me too many gifts already. I appreciate them, you know I do, but it’s just too much. I don’t need you to buy me gifts to make me spend time with you. I just need you, Lena.”

Lena is stunned for a moment before she drops her head to hide quivering lips. When she looks up, her green eyes are misty. Kara wraps Lena in a hug before any tears can fall. A few minutes later, when Kara thinks Lena has calmed down enough to speak without crying, she pulls away enough to see Lena’s face while they talk.

“Lena, what’s wrong?”

Lena keeps her eyes pointed to the floor, feeling ashamed at her outburst. Kara’s right hand grasps Lena’s chin just enough to tilt her head up.

“Look at me, baby. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Tell me what’s wrong.”

In a voice meeker than Kara has ever heard from the strong, outspoken woman, Lena admits:

“I just… no one has said they wanted me for me. Any relationship I’ve ever had has been transactional. I don’t… I don’t know how to show you I care without giving you things. You mean everythi—a lot, to me Kara.”

Lena almost lets the extent of her feelings slip, but she isn’t so far gone as to get entirely loose lipped. Kara wants so badly to scoop Lena up and just wrap her in comfort, but she doesn’t want to overshadow the initial matter at hand. She decides unfiltered honesty is the first course of action, then the comfort can commence.

“Lena, I LOVE you. I don’t need the gifts, or your money, or anything like that. If you never bought me another present, I would still care as much for you as I do right now,” Kara leans down slowly, pressing her forehead against Lena’s.

Lena gazes up at Kara, eyes watery and searching. Kara never breaks eyes contact, content to hold Lena’s gaze until she finds what she is searching for. It feels like ages have passed when Lena finally replies, and even then, Kara doesn’t think she would’ve been able to hear the CEO if not for her SuperHearing.

“I…I love you, Kara. Not as a friend, but as more. I wanted to show you how much you meant to me, in hopes that you would want more. I was too afraid to say anything; too afraid of you deciding that one day, you couldn’t handle being friends with me anymore. I don’t think I could take it if you rejected me, Kara. I—“

The blonde cuts her off with a kiss. It doesn’t feel earth shattering or like an explosion of fireworks. It feels like coming home. Lena squeals, wrapping her arms around Kara’s neck when the reporter reaches down just far enough to grasp Lena by the back of her legs and lift her enough to comfortably hold Lena against herself.

With beaming smiles, they separate their lips but remain pressed against each other.

Emboldened by their newfound comfort, Kara presses kiss after kiss to Lena’s face. Lena giggles, squirming away as much as she can while held aloft by Kara.

“If I knew all I had to do to get you to kiss me was stop accepting your gifts, I would have put an end to this when you bought me that ridiculously expensive coffeemaker that I never figured out how to use.”

“Kara!”

[zepskies]

Hello. I was wondering if you could write an imagine in the BMD-verse (been following it for a while now; love, love, love it, by the way!) where Ben cries?

Like something really bad happens in general or to the Reader, and he losses it? I mean, personally, I have never known this man to cry, and I would love to see you conjure up something that could possibly elicite that reaction from him.

But no pressure - will definitely understand if you don't want to write it!

Oooh, so you really wanna kill me, huh? 🫠😭😭

Lol it's okay, thank you for loving Break Me Down!! It's one of my favorite story verses that I've been able to create on here. ❤️❤️

This request was difficult for me on multiple levels, but I think I was able to pull it off? (I'll let you be the judge.) This is set in the BMD-verse, shortly after "Love Actually."

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Word Count: 2,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst, show-level violence, hurt/comfort, "twist" ending (you'll want to read until the end, trust me).

Imagine: Ben loses you.

Ben restrained another sigh when he realized you were no longer walking next to him.

He turned and saw you stopping in another damn kiosk, this time looking at a selection of Pashmina scarves. As if you didn’t have enough clothes.

“We’re not here for a damn shopping spree,” he called after you.

He ignored the people who glanced at him as they walked past, a couple of them even shooting him an annoyed look.

One didn’t just stop in the middle of a busy sidewalk in New York City, but as with most societal protocols, Ben couldn't really give a fuck.

He almost started tapping his foot. Instead, he crossed his arms as he glared in your general direction. You were smiling and chatting with the woman selling her wares as you finished the transaction.

Ben at least could admire the view of you bent over in those tight jeans and ankle boots. You also wore the dark green winter coat he bought you last month, lined with faux fur to keep you warm.

When you eventually came back to him, you shot him an amused smile. You held a new scarf in shades of green and blue, to match your coat. But you also held out a new pair of leather gloves for him.

“Here you go, Grumpy. I didn't forget about you,” you teased. He raised a wry brow at you and took the gloves. He inspected them with a half-critical eye.

“And how much did these cost, five cents?”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking. He caught up with you and slipped the gloves into his pocket.

“My hands don’t get cold anyway,” he reminded you. And you often complained that his body heat was like a radiator, especially at night. Although, you hadn’t been complaining since the winter turned frigid this February.

“All right, whatever. Just don’t say I never get you anything,” you quipped. “Besides, you know you love to accessorize.”

A smirk pulled at Ben’s lips. The gloves were a half-assed gift, but he still wore the watch you got him for Christmas proudly on his wrist. That was a nice silver Rolex.

“All I know is, we’d better not be late for this damn meeting,” he said. “I don’t wanna hear Mallory’s fucking mouth.”

The two of you had made a day of coming into the city, hitting a nice brunch spot and ice skating at Rockefeller center before your date had been rudely interrupted—by a call for a new mission.

Grace Mallory had been a bit cryptic on the phone, but it had something to do with the mess Ben left of the drug cartels in South America. After they got back to the States, Ben left that “business” behind…he just hadn’t thought of how that would shake out in Colombia.  

So now, you two were headed to the Supe Affairs building. You slipped your arm around his, while his hands were in his pockets. You looked up at him with a smile.

“Try to enjoy the little things, Ben,” you told him. “We had mimosas and some bougie ass lobster tails with our eggs this morning. I skated circles around you on the ice. And now we’re going to get some work done.”

“On our day off,” he retorted.

“To be fair, you made the mess, Mr. Kingpin,” you pointed out. “We’ve just gotta clean it up…as usual.”

“Hey," he eyed you. But you both knew the warning had little heat behind it.

He still reached for your cheek and brushed his thumb across it. He felt how cold your face was, and he stopped for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk. Neither of you cared when pedestrians gave you dirty looks as they passed by.

Maybe you were right though. Maybe he should take stock of the small moments. Ben held your face with both hands and caressed some warmth back into your skin.

Your smile softened, and your eyes closed when his lips found their way to your forehead. He then took the newly bought scarf out of your hand and wrapped it comfortably around your neck.

“What a gentleman,” you said, with a small grin.

Ben smirked down at you…until his face fell.

He heard the whistle of the bullet before he saw it.

It took him another second to move, grabbing you and shielding you with his entire body when it hit his back. The bullet itself bounced harmlessly off his skin, but the inner compartment of Novichok exploded like a small smoke bomb. The smell was too familiar to him to be anything else.

Ben coughed and was forced to push you away from him before the gas reached you. You yelped and almost tripped on your feet, but you scrambled back against the wall of a drycleaners. Your wide eyes met his as his knees buckled; the gas had clouded around his head.

“Run!” he shouted through fits of coughing.

You hesitated, for just a second. But when another bullet ricocheted into the wall behind you, near your head, you ducked and had to take off running.

You wove through the busy sidewalk, pushing people out of your way as you went. Whoever was after him this time, you had a feeling these were the people Ben had pissed off in Colombia.

Fuck! You sprinted past an alleyway and saw the hand coming for your arm, but even when you turned, there was another man, dressed a black military-style uniform with his face covered by a black mask, waiting to grab you from behind.

It was muscle memory. You released an elbow into the man’s neck, a punch straight into his teeth and nose, then kicked his knee out with the heel of your boot.

You grabbed your gun from under your jacket and would've shot him, except the next man wheelhouse kicked it out of your hand. You stepped back on instinct, ducking the following punch, and the rest of his arm to run in the opposite direction.

The first man pointed a large automatic gun straight in your face. You gasped and put your hands up. With a quick glance in either direction, you realized that they’d cornered you.

Your hands were pulled behind your back by someone else. That’s when they started dragging you toward a black SUV parked in the corner.

Except that car was soon destroyed, by an old Honda Civic being shoved into it. The SUV's hood constantined like an accordion.

You looked up with wide eyes, and there stood Ben, at the crossroads of the alley. He was furious.

“Soldier Boy,” greeted the man who once again held the automatic gun poised at you. He pulled down his mask, revealing the tan face of a middle-aged man.

He moved over to you and grabbed your arm from his subordinate. He raised the gun to your back. With one press of his finger, your insides could become Swiss cheese.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to take in even breaths. You focused on Ben. His green eyes met yours, and briefly you caught the worry behind them before his steely gaze moved back to the man who held you.

“Pretty ballsy, Reyes,” Ben said. His voice was a drawl, more controlled than he felt. “You really thought this was gonna go down that easy?”

Reyes scoffed. “You’re the ballsy one. Taking off with all that product you stole.”

“You’ll have to take up with the CIA on that one,” Ben replied. “They confiscated all the smack from my place. Probably reselling it to a few hobos down the street. You’re welcome to check under the bridge over there.”

He gestured in the direction of the Hudson River.  

Reyes shrugged. The sound of a gun’s safety being clipped back resounded through the alley. You felt the vibration of it on your back. Your eyes closed for a moment.

“Bad news for her,” he said.

"Hey," Ben snapped. "There's no fucking need for that."

"I think I'll decide what we need," said Reyes. Your lips pursed as the gun dug into your back. "Maybe it's your bitch's insides at your feet."

Ben slowly raised a placating hand. Though his gait was still relaxed and arrogant, as always, you knew it was a well-crafted act. To hide his anger. His fear. To seem in control of himself, and to reinforce the intimidating presence he still was, even unarmed.

“Listen. If it’s money you want, we can work it out,” Ben replied.

His eyes once again found yours. He could see you were holding your breath. You were good at hiding it, but he knew you were scared. He wanted to tell you that he had this handled. That everything would be all right.

He focused on Reyes again. The other man considered the supe with a tilt of his head. He sucked his teeth and spit on the ground, out of the corner of his mouth. It was mixed with a bit of blood from when you'd punched him in the teeth.

“Okay, my friend,” said Reyes. “Let’s work this out. Pull out your phone.”

Ben made slow movements in grabbing his phone from his pocket. They all stepped further into the alley to avoid prying eyes and discussed the transfer of funds, and how much was fair. Ben claimed he was giving him a deal with his first offer.

Reyes demanded three times that amount. Ben raised his brows...but he complied. The money transferred from his bank account.

“Okay, we’re fucking done,” Ben snarked. He gestured at you with his eyes. “Let her go.”

In his mind, he was already contemplating how thoroughly he'd rip Reyes apart for this. After you were safe. He'd have a first class ticket to Medellin by tonight, ready to Colombian-necktie this cocksucker.

Reyes sighed through his nose. There was still about ten feet between him and Ben. He didn't seem to think it was enough. He took the gun off your back and backed up with you a few steps. Eventually, he released your arm.

“Come ‘ere, sweetheart,” Ben reached a hand out, beckoning for you. You met his gaze once again, and let out a subtle breath.

You took three hesitant steps forward.

And the gunshots echoed horribly through the alley.

As it turned out, Reyes always had an escape plan. You were merely the distraction.

It proved effective, as Ben’s protest rang out as soon as the bullets fired. He raced forward and caught you as you stumbled, but his hands soon became coated in your blood; it fled from your back in thin rivulets.

You gasped and clung to his arms. His ears rang with the sound, along with tires squealing and shouts and police sirens. All he could focus on was the color draining from your face.

Both of your breaths came out ragged as he slid with you down to his knees. He brushed your hair away from your face, even as his blood-covered hand stained your cheek. Your pained eyes drew up to his face. You tried to speak, but you didn't have the strength.

“I hear the sirens. They’re coming for you, take you to the hospital,” he promised. His voice was rough, but his throat was tight. His eyes scanned over you. “All you need is my blood and…Christ. Fuck it all.”

He laid you down on the dirty asphalt and hurriedly yanked up his coat sleeve until it ripped. It exposed his arm. He was about to drag a blunt nail across his own skin to bleed into you.

“Ben.” Your fingers twitched against his knee.

When he looked at your face, there was no longer life in your eyes.

His own were wide, almost uncomprehending. His breathing was harsh as empty hands fell to his thighs. His head felt heavy, though his ears were still ringing.

He drew enough strength in his hand to wipe the blood from your cold cheek…but your face was beginning to blur.

Or not, he realized, as the sting in his eyes took him by surprise.

In a fit of mania, he gathered you back up in his arms and ignored the wetness covering your back. He held you, impossibly tight. Tighter than he’d ever held you, because he was alone in the alley…because he was alone again.

And it was his own fault.

His eyes squeezed shut against the burn, but it was futile. Everything was. His breaths were sharp and stifled as pain tore inside. A pain worse than anything the Russian's could've inflicted on him.

His lips pressed against your forehead, trembling there. The first drops of wetness rolled down his cheek. He couldn't stop it from happening, but then again. He guessed he truly was a failure, after all.

You made the mess…

His first tears had been spent at his mother’s funeral, when he stood alone at her gravestone.

His last ones would fall and die with you.

“Ben,” your voice was soft but insistent.

He finally woke with a start. A sharp inhale through his nose.

He had been sleeping on his side. Before he even truly registered where he was, in the safety of his bedroom, he turned his head toward you.

His eyes found your face in the dark, over his shoulder. Your hair was frizzy from sleep. The strap of your nightgown had fallen off one shoulder. Your face looked bleary and tired, but you frowned in concern.

“You okay, baby?” you asked. Your hand soothed across the dewy skin on his arm.

Ben’s throat constricted. He was starting to remember bits and pieces of the dream…the nightmare. He rubbed at his eyes, then dragged a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said at last.

“Hmm.” Your gaze narrowed at him. “You sure?”

Ben had only enough energy in him to nod in response. His heart was still racing. Maybe you sensed that, because you leaned onto his arm and dropped a hand down his chest. You kissed his bare shoulder with soft lips, and he couldn’t help himself.

He raised a hand to cup the back of your head. He let out a long, relieved sigh through his nose, closing his eyes. Then he turned onto his back and brought you closer, with an arm slipping around your frame and pulling you against his chest. You made a sound of surprise, but you went willingly.

You brushed the sweaty strands of hair away from his face and pressed a kiss against his neck, to his jaw, his cheek and above his brow. He accepted it all and tried to calm his breathing with the feeling of your touch, and the smell of your flowery soap that lingered on your skin.

With a hand still cupping your head, he guided your lips to his. He claimed you slowly, but with purpose. You answered him by tilting your head, deepening the kiss for a moment.

You parted from him just as slowly. You knew everything wasn’t okay, but you also knew it wasn’t the time to push him for an answer.

Maybe in the morning, you thought. …I’ll make pancakes. Haven't done that in a while. And he’s always happier with something sweet.

You rested contentedly against his warm chest and let his heartbeat, gradually slowing back into a steady rhythm, lull you back to sleep.

Ben tangled his fingers into your hair. He laid one more kiss on the top of your head.

And for damn sure, he was going to cancel that trip into the city tomorrow.

AN: I know, I know. The "it was all a dream" thing is super cheesy, but I couldn't leave it on heartbreak. I just don't have it in me with these two. 🥲❤️‍🩹

Read the Sequel:

A friend of mine requested a sequel to this imagine: "You confront Ben about his fears."

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[charnelhouse]

would u ever write something about a jealous red fox??

A/N: Ghost x F!Reader (Red Fox). Bathroom Sex. Anal. IDK if this would even work without an insane amount of prep, but we don't need to follow the rules!

It turns him on.

It really fucking does because it’s very unlike her to lose her cool.

In the past, most women stayed away from him, offering him a wide berth because of his demeanor and the threat locked in his energy. He never minded it. He preferred to be alone because relationships were complicated. Sex, if anything, was transactional for him, especially when he was younger, wilder, and less careful.

Until Red, of course.

Everything was what it was until Red as if she was some natural disaster or global interference that irreparably changed the course of his future.

But even lovely, immovable Red Fox could still be very fuckin' human.

The new nurse, Lindsey, has latched onto him. A wasp shoving her stinger into his flesh and refusing to leave. Simon watches Red regard the woman with a palpable coldness. Her feline eyes are narrowed as she follows Lindsey’s movements. She touches his arm and then his chest and Simon doesn’t flinch or jerk away because a tiny part of him wants to see what Red will do.

She’s the one usually lusted after. She’s the one who has to pry wandering hands off of her skin. 

“It’s because you’re beautiful.”

“It’s because men are men, Riley.”

Simon is desperate to know what it would feel like to be possessed. He wants to be wanted in a way that burns because his desire for Red is an actual ailment. A physical wound that weeps and pulses hour after hour. It’s disgusting. It’s wonderful.  

There’s no doubt that his stock has risen now that Red has claimed him. 

Because surely why would a girl like her desire a man like him? There must be something and the honeyed mystery draws in the flies.

Lindsey sighs before sliding her palm over the tattoos that blanket his forearm. The crosses. The skull. “Where’d you get-”

“Excuse me.”

It’s Red, her voice unflinchingly cool, her expression flat and barren as an ice-frosted tundra. Simon blinks down at her and though she can’t see it, his lips tug into an amused smile. 

“Have you met Lindsey?” he asks softly. 

Red lifts her chin, squinting at him like she’s suddenly onto his game. “Yeah,” she says slowly, gifting Lindsey a brief glance. “She’s great.”

“Well - I was just admiring -” Lindsey begins before Red snatches his wrist and tugs him away. 

“Have to talk to you,” she mutters and he chuckles, dark and warm and he’s already hard. 

She drags him past Soap and Price, who frown. She drags him past the other women who have begun to study him with newfound interest. 

She hauls his ass straight into the narrow, ugly bathroom of the pub. The paint is chipped and the sink is dirty. The lights are green-yellow, illuminating the warped wooden floor. 

The second he shuts the door, she shoves his mask above his nose, wraps her little hands around his neck and forces him down to her mouth. 

He groans, a rough, broken noise swelling at the center of his chest. He grabs her hips, pushing her back against the wall. He kisses her like he’s dying, their tongues stroking each other at their own rhythm. He’s never fucked anyone like he fucks Red. They work in sync, they understand what the other needs or wants by their body language, the noises dripping from their mouth because it is one mouth now…a single pulsing part and your pain is mine just like your pleasure.

“Jealous?” he whispers against her lips.

She growls, slipping her fingers underneath the back of his mask to fist his hair. “Yes,” she admits as he flicks the button on her jeans. “Yes - I’m fucking jealous.”

He laughs again and she scowls until he rucks her panties to the side to touch her cunt.

“As if there would be anyone else for me,” he rasps, petting at her folds before ducking his head to root his nose against the perfumed skin of her throat that throbs with her heartbeat.

She’s soaking wet, hot as an oven and it makes him grunt. He’s incapable of anything else. Just primal noises forced out of him by his attraction to her and her arousal. 

She grabs his shoulders, lashes fluttering as he sinks a finger into her. Her pants are binding her knees together. She has nowhere to go, but fall prey to his exploration. He thrusts deep, turning his hand to place his thumb on her clit. He adds a second and she moans.

“I want you to do something,” she murmurs as he drives his fingers to the knuckle before drawing them out lazily. Her slick pussy makes a noise with every pump and it’s got him nearly bursting in his own pants. 

“Yeah?” he says, pressing his cheek to hers, nibbling her earlobe before capturing her lower lip between his teeth and biting her for fun. 

“Christ,” she gasps and he takes his opening, shoving his tongue into her pretty mouth to silence her again.

“No! No - you’re distracting me,” she protests and he pauses, easing back to look down at her. 

“Is it too much?” He’s suddenly worried that he’s overdone it. He’s so much bigger than her and he doesn’t always register his own strength when he’s enveloped by the smell of her, the feel of her walls clenching around his fingers. 

She swallows before smoothing her hair. “I want you to fuck my ass right here,” she says plainly.

“Come again?”

They’d done it that morning. He’d been stretching her for days, getting her ready with his tongue and his fingers and too much lube. 

“I want to be full of you,” she murmurs as she lifts herself up and places a tender kiss on his chin, his jaw and then his mouth.

He’s, quite frankly, blindsided.

“I don’t think we can just do it, duchess,” he replies. “We don’t have anything to make it easy.” It’s like he’s running around the process, unable to outright say that his cock is too thick for her and they only could with lube and plugs and patience. 

“It’s fine,” she replies. “I’m still ready for you.” She digs her nails into his shoulders. “I can take it. Just use your spit.”

Fuckin’ hell.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He’s swollen, pulsing with a desire that is nearly blinding him, eradicating all sense. They could at least try and if it gets to be too much, they can stop. 

He squares his shoulders as he unzips himself. “Turn around then, darling.”

She grins and does as he says, sticking her ass out and arching her back. He grazes his palm down her spine, enjoying the texture of her tight t-shirt before he hits the bare skin of her lower back and then the crease of her arse. “Spread yourself for me,” he orders and she wordlessly reaches back to grip her cheeks. 

He makes a feral sort of noise at the sight of her hole. It’s still raw from earlier and he touches it, his thumb snagging on the rim. She shivers. 

“You want me to spit on it?” he asks roughly. 

It’s dirty. It’s very fucking dirty to be doing this in a public toilet with her beautiful face glued to the chipped wall. Her pants around her knees as she opens her ass for him. 

“Please,” she husks and he collects the saliva in his mouth before spitting. She jerks and he clamps one hand on her hip to restrain her. With his other hand, he sucks his fingers into his mouth before swiping them through the spit he’s left on her hole and then burying them inside her.

It must be a lot because she yelps, her palm smacking against the plaster. He stops for a moment, but she wiggles against him - demanding - impatient. 

“You’ll take what I give you,” he warns because sometimes she really doesn’t understand how he could hurt her or rip her in two. He’d probably never fuck her again if he caused a serious injury.

He must be careful and composed as he can be with preparation.

He works his fingers into her, screwing them deep. He adds a third and he truly believes the spit won’t be enough, but she’s hot to the touch, begging for it. When he removes his fingers, he grips his cock and rocks it forward, gliding it through the mess of her sex from behind. She’s soaked and he coats his length in it, hoping it’ll make the whole ordeal somewhat easier. 

“Please,” she whines and he spanks her for it. The harsh crack of skin on skin echoing throughout the tiny space, smacking against the walls and bouncing back to them.

Finally, he grips the head of his cock and begins to force it into the tight, slick opening. It takes a bit, pushing and pressing until it finally gives way and once it pops inside, she releases a deep, watery breath.

“Fuck,” she hisses, muscles clamping down around him, ready to spit him out. “Fucking fuck.”

“Do you want me to keep going?”

“If you stop, I’ll murder you.”

He drives further. He gives her inch after careful inch. “Breathe with me,” he says as he holds her waist. She’s fragile, tender and stunning and he may crack open at the image of him defiling her asshole in a dark, dingy pub lavatory. 

When he finally buries himself to the hilt, she’s pulsing, throbbing with fever. She’s choking on words and he thinks he hears:

Ruin me. Simon. Simon. Fucking take me. 

He does as she asks. It’s not a fast screw with short, rapid snaps. No, it’s a lazy dance of sorts. He claims her in long, deliberate strokes. He pulls back three inches before giving her two. He stares down at where they’re joined, the place where her ass is sucking him dry, demanding more of him. 

He leans forward, wrapping an arm around her tits to pull her back against his chest. He drags his jaw along her cheek, he licks her throat. “Why this?” he murmurs.

Perhaps, it’s the filthiness of it or perhaps it’s the fact that they’re going to leave this room with his come dripping out of her ass and bruises on her thighs. Lindsey is long forgotten, a mere catalyst to their union - their obsession with each other because that’s what it is in the simplest of terms. He is enthralled, spellbound, ensnared. 

“Because you’re mine,” she breathes before he delivers another sharp thrust that makes her whimper. “Because I wanted to give you this,” she continues, though her words are bounding against each other, galloping into incoherence. 

“You’re doin’ brilliantly,” he teases as he pushes deeper into the restricting circle of her flesh. Her hands come up to squeeze his forearm, her nails biting into his tattoos.

He does not tell her how those simple statements have broken him open. He feels like a ripe piece of fruit that’s exploded on the sidewalk. He wants to burst with too much pulp and juice. 

Because you’re mine.

And Simon Riley has never been anyone’s before and how lovely it feels.

[just-french-me-up]

#48 for the ask prompts! ❤️

N°8 : A kiss out of habit

Now buckle up for a Dreamling Green Knight AU ! I had to fist fight myself not to go overboard with this!

It had caught Hob off guard, on the first day. The lady of the castle giving him a kiss had had him dread the return of her lord husband, for they had agreed to exchange the day's earnings, and what else had there been to trade, but the kiss he had been given?

The lord had accepted it, stoic against Hob's trembling lips. In return, Hob had been given a story, a tale of the lord's invention that day. His mind worked beautifully, and Hob had watched his lips as they gave life to unearthly tales, drinking each word in like sweet wine.

On the second day, the lady's kisses had gone from surprising to intriguing. Hob had passed them on that very evening, the lord's scent now familiar as their noses had brushed together, trading breath for breath. The lord had been less stoic then. Hob could remember the knock of his heart against his chest as the lord had pressed his lips to his, opening Hob's mouth into something beyond transactional. Less chaste.

Hob had paid little attention to the lord's tale, that night. He had pretended to, of course, nodding his head, interjecting here or there, but his attention had wandered elsewhere. In the sharp line of his host's jaw. In the pale shade of his eyes, where the flames of the fireplace seemed to burn brighter still. He had itched to kiss him again, feel that fervor again. Patience. They had agreed on three nights, hadn't they?

On the third day, the lady's kisses had become a habit. Hob had expected them. Hoped for them. The poor woman's advances remained unanswered, Hob politely refusing anything further. All he could think about was the evening, when the lord would find him and ask for his earnings.

But the lord was late.

Night had fallen, dinner had been served, eaten, plates taken away, and there was no sign of the lord of the castle.

When the hour had become unreasonable, Hob retired to his bedchamber, pacing the fine floors. The morning would see him leave his hosts' care, for he had agreed to meet the Green Knight at the green chapel. He would die then, he was sure of it. A blow for a blow. He would die without having given the lord his due. How could he bear it?

Someone knocked on the door. Startled, Hob approached it, apprehension and hope both tugging at his stomach. Could it be the lord? Or his wife, seeking him out to attempt to seduce him once more, in her husband's absence?

Standing at the threshold was his host, his black hair slightly damp. His clothes were perfectly dry, but Hob noticed the mud on his shoes. He must have come here straight away, he told himself, far from indifferent to the implications.

"Apologies," the lord said. "My duties have kept me away longer than I realised."

"I thought so," Hob lied.

"I could send for a servant to rekindle the fire in the hall, so we may trade there."

"The household has gone to bed," Hob countered smoothly, keen on the idea of them there, alone. "Let us not disturb them. Perhaps we may conduct our trade here?"

He stepped back, showing the inside of his chambers. The lord seemed to hesitate, but eventually agreed to follow Hob in, closing the door behind them. There they stood. Alone. Hob swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they were. They had stood close before, as one must when kissing another, but this felt... intimate. Illicit, almost, in the most intoxicating way.

"Well?" the lord asked. "What have you earned today, Ser Gadling?"

Without a word, Hob inched closer, his hands behind his back. The lord did not flinch at he leant forward, meeting his lips in a slow embrace. They came apart in a soft sigh, the lord's eyes fluttering open as Hob leant back.

"What else?" his host asked, almost as a challenge.

The second kiss was more daring, earning Hob a few more sighs. He held the lord's chin as his tongue brushed his, hunger pooling at the pit of his stomach, but he stopped himself, pulling back. The man was flushed now, his back almost to the door. Hob could not say he disliked the sight. If anything, it called to him, wild thoughts sprouting in his mind of how else he'd like to see this lord, pretty pink mouth and all.

"Is this how this earning was given to you?" the man whispered. He did not sound angry. He didn't even sound curious, really. Only wanting.

"No," Hob's thumb trailed from his chin to his lower lip, tracing the plump, glistening flesh there, hot breath blowing in his skin, threatening to undo him. "This is how you shape it."

"This was not in the rules," the lord pointed out, though he did not move. If anything, Hob could have sworn he was closer. "Is this all?"

"Not quite."

The third kiss was ravenous, Hob pouring his longing and desires into the embrace, pushing the lord against the door until their bodies were entwined, hands grasping for more, pulling fabric as though to meld them together. They were both out of breath by the time they pulled back, lips inches apart.

"I must be gone in the morning," Hob rasped. "I fear I won't come back. I shall meet my end there."

The lord observed him, almost intrigued.

"Stay," Hob asked, on the verge of begging.

"The trade―"

"Tell me your story in the morning, before dawn. Close the trade then. Stay."

"I can not, for you must receive my end of the bargain tonight."

Hob shook his head, desperate to keep him close.

"Keep it. I do not want it. I want you."

Slowly, the man raised a hand to Hob's hair, cupping the back of his head, and kissed his forehead.

"Have I ever told you my name, Hob?"

Hob stared at him, at a loss. Now that he mentioned it...

"No. You haven't."

"I am Dream, Prince of Stories. Such is the nature of my offering, tonight."

Hob frowned, confused. Prince? His host had always had a regal flair to him, but he could never have imagined...

"Dream? You're offering me a dream? How?"

"It hardly matters."

Dream's hand fell from Hob's hair to his cheek, his caress soft, but clearly meant to break the tension between them.

"Go to bed, Hob Gadling. Close your eyes, give yourself to sleep. I may visit you in more ways that one."

Hob pressed Dream's hand to his cheek, refusing to let go. Such promises could not be. The body against his was flesh and bones, he could feel it. He closed his eyes, trying to burn the touch into his memory, the warmth of his skin. By the time he opened his eyes, the lord was gone, as though he'd vanished into thin air, and he was left cradling his own hand, empty.

Hob stared at the door, dejected. Now that he was alone, what else was there to do but lie in bed, waiting for the morning of his death? How could he sleep, knowing where he was headed? Yet curiosity wormed its way through his despair, making him glance back at the bed waiting for him.

He was to be given a dream. One last dream. And his host had ever been gifted at telling stories. How could he refuse him?

Send me a kissing prompt?

[lovingapparition]

If Would Sure Do Me Good (to do you good)

Genre: Angst, Slow Burn, Smalltown American Aesthetics

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

A retired Simon moves to town. There are vibes.

Light warning for not very subtle sugar daddy implications that will ramp up later on.

AO3 Link

Modern civilization would be all but dead and gone, turned to dust, before this guy stopped talking. He's a regular at this dingy little convenience store, in at exactly 5:15pm Monday through Friday because it's, “just down the road from my job, and on my way home!” he reminds you, over and over as if you could possibly forget after being told for the second time that week. He insists you call him Pat but you never do, he's mostly just this fucking guy in your head. And boy, does this fucking guy love to yap your ears off. 

You blink rapidly, not that he notices, focusing in on his hands. They're dirty, always are, with some weird mystery grime that makes you vaguely queasy when he hands you his warm dollar bills. You think he might be a mechanic, he must have told you at some point, but information like that doesn't really stick during the evening rushes because hello dude there's like ten people behind you- 

Deep breaths. You are taking deep breaths, nodding, and smiling. The guy pauses for a breath, and you pounce. “So your total’s gonna be $13.47, the usual,” with a tight smile, your jaw a little clenched. Across the counter, he hums and digs his wallet out of his pocket. He's still describing something, gesticulating with his free hand before he pulls out a few bills. Through a couple of well-placed hums and nods you manage to focus on counting the proper change from the drawer. He pockets it without recounting his bills, too busy looking right at you as he tells you to, “Have a good night. Stay warm, honey.” 

Ugh. 

At least the next few transactions go quick, other people also getting off work but not as willing to talk your ear off. The weather was too cold for anyone else to feel like idly chatting. Your shift was just beginning, and already you felt worn out. Working evenings into the early hours of the morning wasn't ideal, but a job is a job. You value paying your rent more than seeing the sun or having time to hang out with your friends and family, at the moment. At least your cat was always happy to see you at one in the morning. 

When the first rush eventually slows down, you're able to take what feels like your first real breath since clocking in. You let your mind wander as you wipe the counters down, fill out the daily logs, and stare at the grimy spot on the ceiling that seems to grow inch by inch each time it rains or snows. It's all become a familiar routine, as horrifically boring as it is. You'd listen to a podcast or something in one ear bud if you could, but your phone barely got service inside the old building. A perk of the cheapest phone plan you could find.

The night goes without too much fuss, and when you've tidied the shelves and double-checked that your boss hasn't left any cryptic notes for you to interpret, you find yourself leaning against the counter. There's early 2000’s rock playing softly over the old speakers, and you desperately wish that your boss would give you permission to change it to anything other than 98.8 FM The Rock. 

Against your will you hum along to a Nickelback song as you watch the clock tick its way closer and closer to 9:30pm. Lunch. Also known as the only time you were allowed to lock the store. Your boss doesn't really vibe with the idea of paying two people at a time, so obviously you still had to help customers on your fifteen-minute breaks.

Halfway through the song you step out from behind the counter to go lock the front door. It's dark outside, and the street lamps cast everything in a warm, rusty yellow. The unshoveled and slushy snow looks like crushed gold, mixed with the oil and dirt from the parking lot. Inside, the lights inside Mo’s Mart buzz overhead. Their sickly green cast makes you feel a little ill if you think about it too hard. Looking outside just reminds you of it. You try to not feel disappointed as you trudge back to the counter to sit down for the first time in four and a half hours. 

The stool beneath you is only a little rickety, and you sigh as you lower yourself into it. For lunch you pull a bag of potato chips out of your bag. You'd bought them from the store yesterday and saved half for tonight. At a certain point the frozen burritos and hot pockets stopped being appetizing. This isn't much better, though. The chips are already going a little stale, gumming up in your molars as you chew. 

You're in the middle of digging at the crevices in your teeth with your tongue, zoned completely out as you stare at yesterday's crossword section from a newspaper your boss had left out. To be without. Six letters across and it ends in T. You're tapping your pen against the paper in thought, trying to ignore the urge to check the clock to see how much time you've got left on your break. You know you've got to have at least- 

The locked front door clunking in the frame snatches your attention. You sigh. There are three loud knocks on the glass. You set your pen down. Without a doubt in your mind you know you taped the handwritten, “On break! Back at 10!” sign up at eye level. When you look up and make eye contact with the man out front, this only seems to incense him. You recognize him, a regular who's never really happy about anything. Why he keeps shopping at Mo’s you'll never understand. He shouts something that's muffled through the door, like you're the asshole right now. A quick glance tells you that you've got eight minutes until the inevitably awkward confrontation where you have to let him in. You would rather sink into the tiled floor and never come out. It almost makes the rest of the break not even worth taking.

Almost. 

Trying to quell the unease his presence brings, you stay behind the counter. It's your break, and it's your right to take it without having to worry about some guy who wants his convenience store snacks in the middle of the night.

When you approach the door you try to avoid his eyes, you can practically feel him staring daggers already. As soon as the lock turns in your fingers he's pushing the door open, brushing past you as he haphazardly stomps the snow and salt off of his boots. You mentally add sweeping and mopping back onto your short mental to-do list. 

You count your breath on the inhale, and again on the exhale, as you walk back to the counter. The small monitor on the cluttered counter shows the store’s security cameras on three separate little boxes. You’re vaguely aware of the man hovering by the liquor section, but you can’t bring yourself to head out into the center of the store to bother him in the hopes of deterring theft, your boss be damned. His abrupt entry brought in enough cold air to make you shiver and jam your hands into your pockets. Standing behind the counter gives you an odd sense of security as the guy wanders from aisle to aisle. You know exactly where the store's panic button is under the counter should anything go away. Some cynical part of you wonders if it even works, knowing how cheap Mo is. 

The door chiming as someone else enters the store jolts you out of thought. You turn your head to greet the customer and you're met with probably the scariest individual you've ever seen. He's huge, wearing a heavy black work coat that doesn't hide the bulk of his body. The fact that he's wearing a skull print balaclava is what makes it worse. This guy could be totally normal and just wearing it because it's snowing out. He could also be about to ruin your night. 

He's looking right at you as he beelines to the counter. 

Anxiety bleeds into your hands, makes them feel like you've just stuck them in freezing water. Slowly, you take them out of your pockets and press them flat on the counter. You watch your own fingers spread out. From some job training or another, you recall that it's worse to look into the eyes of someone trying to rob you. “Hey there,” you try and fail to sound like you're not nervous. “What can I get you?” He's quiet for a long time. Too long. Risking a glance up at him, you find he's not even looking at you. The guy is carefully scanning the rows of cigarettes behind you.

You breathe a small sigh of relief. He doesn't say anything and you don't feel like pushing your luck tonight. You scoot over to the side and quietly thumb over your abandoned crossword. With a quick glance up you can see the man running a gloved hand over his jaw. There's a faint sound of his stubble rubbing against the balaclava. His eyes are dark, half lidded. Without moving his head, his gaze flicks to meet yours, and you look away without even thinking. Bright blue. Jesus Christ this is awkward. You tap your pen against the newsprint, wishing whatever was happening right now would just end. This guy isn't a regular, and he's certainly no one you've ever seen around town. Fingers crossed he's just passing through, never to be seen again. 

“Hey dickhead, anytime now!” Your head jerks up. The masked man slowly looks over his shoulder. The guy who came in earlier is cradling a bottle of cheap rum and a liter of coke, clearly pissed about the long wait. Your stomach feels like it's about to fall out of your ass. A stranger you've never seen and a pissy regular, what could possibly go wrong? Chewing at your lip, you take a step back from the counter. 

“Hey Marvin, I can get you over here. Relax,” you say over the stranger's shoulder, just barely managing to remember his name. You've carded him everyone else in this town enough to remember a few faces. The giant man in front of you steps over wordlessly as if Marvin hadn't just insulted him. Wanting to get him out as quickly as possible to avoid anymore confrontation, you check Marvin out. He's still grumbling to himself, working the toothpick in his cheek with his teeth. “Have a good night. Drive safe,” you tell him as you hand him his brown paper-bagged liquor. Marvin scoffs at you and yanks his items from your hands. You try not to react as he lets the door slam on his way out. 

The fluorescent lights buzz above you. Coldplay is on the radio, crackling softly. The man approaches your register, already reaching into his coat for his wallet. “I'll have your cheapest menthols,” he rumbles in an accent you've definitely never heard in town. What the hell was this guy doing in Mo’s this late at night? The vibes were sketching you the fuck out. You school your face into as neutral of an expression as you can manage and turn to reach for a pack of Marlboro Black Menthol 100’s from the shelf of tobacco products behind you. The man is looking down at your crossword, still unfinished, when you turn back to him. You were half tempted to ask where he was from. You don’t. 

When you ask him for ID he hands you a card from his wallet. Upon inspection, you find that it’s a British Military ID and heavily censored. It only tells you his first and last name initials. S. R. The photo is censored as well. As far as you can tell, it looks real to you. If it’s not, then he’s gone through an awful lot of effort for the worst cigarettes Mo’s has to offer. You weren’t in the business of prying. Most everyone else who lives in town you stopped carding years ago. Over time you just know through the grapevine who has what birthdays and when. Hard not too. Regardless, you nod uneasily at the man and carefully slide his ID back to his side of the counter.

You tell the man his total and he slides you a crisp twenty, avoids touching you directly. With a quick hand, you count his change back to him. It's all very normal until he neatly drops the cash into the dusty tip jar by the register. What the fuck? The cigarettes were barely five dollars, and you're pretty sure in your entire tenure at Mo's you've never been tipped anything other than the loose coins people don't want to keep. You're in the middle of trying to figure out how to thank him when he nods to you once, and turns to leave. 

Stunned, you have no idea how to react. Genuinely what the fuck was any of that? You eye the tip jar suspiciously as if the man had filled it with Monopoly money instead of enough cash to buy yourself a couple of hot meals. You entertain the idea of going to the local burger place you used to love as a kid. Hot, fresh fries and a large coke would probably fix you at least a little bit, you think. When you return to the comfort of your crossword you see in very neat, small handwriting, that the last word has been penned in. 

Bereft. 

The rest of the night goes without much else of note happening. You sweep the floors and mop the salt and grey sludge from the entrance. The coolers are stocked and the cash drawer is counted when your replacement arrives at two in the morning. Mo liked to keep the place open 24 hours since it was close enough to a busy highway that folks came through at all hours of the day. Your coworker, Olivier, arrives a little early so you can check them out at the register. Each morning they like to buy an energy drink in a tall pink can and whatever gummies they wanted to snack on that day. You enjoyed the little moments you got to have together. Olivier was one of the few people in this town who you could relate to. Their hair seemed to change color and style by the week, and they always had the best fashion sense. It seemed they were an expert at thrifting in a way you could only dream of. Layering different fabrics and patterns, they seemed to somehow never repeat an exact outfit.

“How was everything? Good night?” they ask, already rooting through their bag of gummies for the blue ones. You shrug, making a high-pitched noise somewhere in your throat. Olivier, bless them, immediately understands. “Did that weird masked guy come in again? He pulled in with a giant moving truck the other night.”

This immediately perks you up. “No shit?” That guy was moving here? “What's wrong with him?” you half-joke as you punch out on the register. Olivier chuckles with you, and the shared judgment over a new face in town reminds you how glad you are to have them. These small moments in the quiet hours of the morning made the town feel like it wasn't so small and empty. 

As you pull your heavy coat on you look out the windows into the parking lot. The lot had been heavily salted, but it was dusting snow. You could see the suspended motes in the yellow street lights outside. Part of you was a little jealous of Olivier. This time of the morning always seemed so peaceful and quiet. You knew you’d never want to work their hours though. Waking up at midnight to get ready for work? No thanks. You wish Olivier a good shift as you pull your gloves on, before pushing out into the parking lot. The air shocks a chill into your chest as you breathe it in. Your breath puffs in a heavy cloud as you exhale. Already you could feel your fingers burning as the cold licked it’s way through your heavy layers. Awkwardly, to avoid slipping, you shuffle your way across the lot to your truck. It’s a little blue beat-up thing. How you’ve managed to keep it running all these years, you have no idea. Apparently, luck and hoping for the best are good enough for the ancient beater. It takes a couple tries to get the engine to turn over, and you sigh in relief when it finally roars to life. After idling in the cabin for a few minutes, you shift into drive and begin the slow crawl home. The roads aren’t plowed, but it’s not slick enough to worry you. The sound of snow crunching beneath the tires, barely audible over the low hum of the radio, accompanies you home. 

When you pull into the driveway you can feel your shift finally weighing down on you. You turn the key and slouch down in the seat, eyes shut. Your feet are cold. Your shoulders sag under your heavy coat, but you're somehow not warm enough. The cold always finds a way in. After a few moments, you manage to drag yourself out of the truck and you make the short walk to your front door. The only benefit of small-town living was the fact that you could afford the rent on this little house. Never mind the fact that you were pretty sure your landlord lived about an hour and forty-five minutes up the highway and owned most of the houses in your street. 

Your nightly routine goes without much fuss. Tabitha, your cat, is pleased that you've come home on time to refill her dish with wet food. You undress, shower, and bundle back up in your warmest sleeping clothes. The house is cold, no matter how well you insulate the windows and the cracks in the baseboards. In the dark, you sit in bed with microwaved pasta in its plastic packaging with the instructions on the side. It's not good but it warms your belly and fills you up. As you eat you scroll on your phone, lazily browsing your social media and clicking through posts. Your mind wanders to the man you saw today. He was odd, and him moving here was even stranger. In all your life you can't really remember anyone moving into the town. Mostly your friends from high school have slowly trickled out, save for Olivier. You weren't sure why you'd never left for the bigger city, you'd just never felt the pull to get out and see more. 

When you sleep that night it's restless as ever. You wake up often, teeth chattering. Your cat is nestled somewhere beneath the blankets with you, and you're careful not to roll onto her. You vow to do a once over, just to see if you can stuff any more of your hand-me-down towels into the draftier baseboards. It feels like it's been winter forever now, but with Christmas barely around the corner, you knew it had just begun. 

—

You start seeing that guy around town. You pass by him in the grocery store. He's got a cart full of stuff, and you figure he's just stocking his kitchen. You grab your scant groceries, milk, and some canned goods that will last. While you're in the checkout line he pushes his cart behind you, leaving a respectful amount of space. You're not really the type to engage in the painfully long-winded Midwestern custom of talking about everything you possibly can, so you don't acknowledge him. You set your items down on the belt when it's your turn, and you offer a polite smile to the cashier. 

“Hey, find everything okay?” he asks, nice as you please. 

“I did, thanks Carter.” He was a few grades above you back in school. He also stuck around after his class had graduated. You vaguely wonder each time about his dreams of joining the military, and whatever happened to them. Maybe it was just life that happened. You know he's got a little boy to take care of with his high school sweetheart and another on the way. Maybe that was all it came down to, at the end of the day. 

Carter tells you your total and you mentally curse. You'd counted your cash twice before you'd come in the store, and you were certain you'd been doing the right math as you grabbed your items. Carter gently angles the register's screen to you so you can see the line items. God damn. You'd just plain miscalculated, probably too tired to keep it all straight in your head. You look down at the things you'd grabbed, trying to calculate what you could do without. You force a laugh. Humiliation roils in a dark pit in your chest. You find yourself speaking without thinking, “Oh whoops! Sorry, go ahead and take off the soup cans.” Carter, bless his heart, doesn't make a fuss. He punches the register keys quickly and counts the cash you hand him. You very much do not want to look at the stranger behind you. You pray to whatever god might be listening that maybe he wasn't being as nosey as everyone else was in this town, and that he didn't just hear that you can't really afford an armful of groceries. 

Carter hands you your single plastic bag, tells you to “Have a good one, hon,” You speed walk back to your truck, your breath puffing in clouds around you. 

–

The next time you see him you're driving to work. The radio is playing softly and your truck's heaters are blowing semi-cold air onto you. You're stopped at a light when you see the guy, dressed in a light coat and the same balaclava. He's jogging, somehow managing to work a sweat on the cold. You have no idea what kind of psychopath goes on a run in the dead of winter. When the light turns green you have to drag your eyes off of him before you accelerate through the light. 

It was rare that anyone in your town went on a jog. Unheard of in the winter. You were certain the old ladies would be gossiping up a storm at church. You figured it was no different than you and Olivier at Mo’s. You smile at the thought of sharing your sighting of the masked stranger with Olivier tonight. The little chats in the quiet morning hours were a light in the dark of winter. 

It was easy to get lost in the cold. It seemed all your waking hours were spent in the dark, during these months. You'd wake up later in the afternoon, always too tired to rise any earlier. It wasn't great for your mental health, but neither would being homeless. You'd take your victories where you could get them. Without much family nearby to rely on, you had to get by on your own.

The joy of adulthood.

–

You see him again that same night. He comes in around midnight. He's the first customer in around an hour. There had been a small rush of truckers passing through, trying to make it off the major highways before some snowfall was forecast to hit the area. You note that he's better dressed for the weather than he was earlier while he was jogging. He's in the same black work coat and leather gloves as before. You find it hard to meet his eye when he approaches the counter. 

Something about seeing him in town made the transaction feel off in a way that you've never experienced before. Getting Janet her pack of Marlboro Reds and ringing her son Nick up for his energy drinks was never sullied by the fact that you saw them at the Sonic Drive-In in their old beater from time to time. Seeing him now with the sense that he was apparently sticking around in town made you feel strange. You didn't know anything about him besides his initials and the skull print on his balaclava. Knowing he was likely some retired military operative from a foreign country was nerve-wracking and exciting and weird as hell for your little town. You had no idea how to interact with him. 

When you're getting the register open to count his change, you can't help but blurt out, “Are you liking it here?” Immediately you wish you could stuff the words back in your mouth when you see his eyes flick to meet yours. How on Earth could anyone be enjoying one of the worst winters your town has seen in years? 

To your surprise he humors you. “It's nice. Quiet,” he says after a beat. You blink at him, quickly looking back down to the cash you're supposed to be counting back to him. 

“Good. That's good. Folks can be weird about new people, but I'm glad you're settling in.” Oh God, you're rambling. Make it stop. 

To this, he hums. It's a low sound, almost silent, deep in his chest. You suppose that's the only response you're getting as he accepts the cash. You slide his pack of menthols across the counter. Your eyes widen as he doesn’t even recount the bills you’ve handed him, just folds them once and drops them into the tip jar. Sputtering already, cheeks red with embarrassment, you search for words but find none. This had to be about the grocery store. You were completely fine. Really, you were. You get paid this week and you would definitely go back to the store and probably pick up some extra groceries. None of this is coming out of your mouth though, as the man has basically vanished already. You can hear his truck starting up outside, the crunch of the snow and gravel as it pulls out of the lot. 

Guilt rolls through you, thick and familiar. You had no idea what to make of this guy. First, he blows into your dead-end town and starts leaving you ridiculous tips on the cheapest cigarettes possible? What the fuck? It makes you feel ashamed and unnerved. No one had ever given you more than the change they simply didn’t want to carry around, and you’d never expected anything more than that. 

When you talk it over with Olivier that night in the early hours, they eye you mischievously, clearly very interested in the man’s motives to give you excessively large tips. “C’mon, let the guy toss you a little cash here and there, it’s a free country. He can do what he wants, even if it's to give all his money away,” they tease over the lip of an energy drink. You hang your head, groaning in response. 

“I dunno… I don’t know what to make of it, is all,” you admit. That little pit of nervousness in your gut had been sitting heavily all night. Olivier gives you a pitying look. 

“Don’t worry too much about it, I think you should just let it ride. And tell me all of the details.” You can’t help but choke a small laugh at their insistence on being in the know. Almost nothing new ever came to town, of course it was the juiciest thing ever to Olivier. You give them a weary smile and wish them a good shift before heading out.

–

The next few weeks are more of the same. You see the man around town, like any other local. At the grocery store, he’s always got a cart full of food, and you’re sure to hurry off out of his way with your armfuls of items. Once or twice you’ve seen him meandering around the local shops, and you sort of dread the idea of running into him at the little cafe you sometimes indulge in when you’ve got a little extra cash on hand. Something in you wanted to be protective of your favorite spots in town, but you knew it was irrational. Soon enough he would be just as familiar to the folks around here as you were. 

Without fail, he continued to come into Mo’s with large bills. He’d ask you for his cigarettes, tip you far too much, and leave before you could really say anything about it. He never spoke to you more than you spoke to him and he was never anything other than perfectly polite. You hadn’t begun to have a single idea as to why he insisted on tipping so much. 

Eventually, you had come to terms with his insistence on leaving all of his excess cash with you. You started squirreling some of it away, using it specifically on groceries and smaller bills. It was nice to have a little extra padding in your wallet, especially during these cold months. You definitely weren’t touching the thermostat though, that’s for sure. Old habits, and all that. It was easiest to be thankful, to not look this gift horse in the mouth, and to do your best to just keep pushing through the winter. 

–

A winter storm was forecast for your town. The weatherman you’d grown up watching warned this would be one of the worst in years, and to stock up on the essentials. You knew you had about a month’s worth of cat food and a few cans of something or other in the back of your cupboards and called it good before heading to work that day. Calling out wasn’t really a thing Mo liked you to do. It didn’t help that you’d woken early today, sweating through your layers of blankets and somehow still chilled to the bone. 

Getting ready for your shift had taken about twice the time. You’d taken a cold shower, teeth chattering and your stomach turning the entire time. You did not look in the mirror while brushing your teeth and getting dressed. It had to be bad, the way folks looked at you when you arrived. You were bundled up in a hoodie and an oversized flannel. There was something about being ill that just made the cold weather feel so much worse. The black K-95 mask you’re wearing isn’t doing much to hide the puffiness or dark circles under your eyes. The near-constant sniffling and perspiration aren’t doing you any favors. 

Between the little rushes of your shift, you unabashedly sit on the floor behind the counter, not caring if Mo saw you on the cameras and wanted to give you a pissy little talk about it later. You hadn’t had any medicine to take at home and all the store carried were caffeine pills and Tylenol for eight dollars per two-pack. You do your best to stay hydrated, refilling a small styrofoam cup from the soda machines often. The water tastes vaguely like Hi-C Punch, and you try to not think about it. When you’re able to focus on your own hands, you see them shaking as they bring the cup to your lips. 

You think it’s around one in the morning when you hear the door chime. Close to the start of Oliver’s shift, the end of yours. No one has been in the store since around eight, you think. Time has stopped feeling real at this point. Breathing heavily, you muster the strength to stand. You lean heavily over the counter, trying to wet your mouth against the sudden nausea crawling up your throat. Under your layers, you’re sweating and chilled and just so uncomfortable. Whoever’s just entered the store stomps the snow off of their boots, and you can hear their steps squeak on the linoleum straight to your counter. A quick glance up and you’re making eye contact with the masked man who has become strangely familiar to you. 

You can only manage a nod to acknowledge him, before turning around to grab his cigarettes. He’d been in the night before, so you weren’t expecting him tonight. Normally his packs last him a few days. Why would he come out so late, especially during this bad weather? You can’t really bring yourself to think too critically right now, instead choosing to focus on not passing out before you can clock out and go home. When you turn around, pack of menthols in hand, you find that the man is eyeing you more intently than normal. You think? The mask made it hard to tell. Your hands are shaking, you realize it just as the cigarettes slip from your fingers. 

“Fuck, ‘m sorry-” You bend to pick them up and are met with a rush of blood in your ears. When you rise you lean against the counter for a moment, eyes closed. It would later come back to you as an embarrassing moment, but currently, you’re focusing very hard on staying upright. 

“You're sick,” the man says, so plainly it's kind of funny. You huff a small laugh, nodding. 

“Why’re you here? Storm’s gonna get bad tonight.” It’s a poor attempt at deflecting the obvious statement. Something bristled in you at him, it was enough that he’d seen you at the grocery store. Being seen by him like this now, especially after all the cash tips he’s been leaving you, makes you feel cagey and defensive.

“I could ask you the same.” He slides you a twenty as he says this. You meet his eyes, briefly. It’s easier to look at him with half of your face covered, you realize. Maybe that’s why he’s never been seen around town without his balaclava. He meets your gaze evenly, seemingly unaware of the shame that pulses under your skin. You sniffle loudly, not looking down at the bill on the counter. You’ve got about a dozen questions for him, but your jaw is clenched so tightly you’re not sure where to even begin. Just when you’ve worked up the nerve to fire a question at the man, the door chimes. 

Both of you turn to see Olivier entering the shop. They wave one mittened hand at you. “Oh hey! You’re here too, Simon. Nice to see you again.” Simon? Somehow Olivier had failed to mention his name after all this time. Admittedly, you’d never even thought to ask. He’d never introduced himself formally, and you weren’t one to pry, especially into the lives of odd men who only buy their cigarettes after sundown. Simon raises a hand to greet Olivier, the most human thing you’ve seen him do so far. 

“Hey Liv,” you croak, clearing your throat a little. At the sound of your wrecked voice, Olivier grimaces at you. Already, they’re reading into their tote back and donning a mask. 

“Stay over there, and disinfect the counter when you leave!” They harp, only half joking. You nod wearily and quickly check Simon’s cigarettes out on the register. It feels strange to even think of him using his first name. Simon takes his leave, and as soon as you've got your coat on you’re following right behind him, waving a quick goodbye to Olivier as you go. They’re immunocompromised, and the last thing you want is to make their life harder by getting them sick.

The snow falls heavily, immediately sticking to your eyelashes and blinding you. You drag your gloved hands over your eyes, trying to clear them. Blinking rapidly, you see that the parking lot is a smooth expanse of honeyed yellow. The street lamp makes the area look warmer than it is. You can already feel the cold sinking into your fingertips. The trees on the edges of the lot are bowed heavily under the snow’s weight. When you step into the lot, the snow is powdery soft, but icey beneath. Not good. It would be a very slow drive home once you got your truck moving. The snow is only about halfway up the tires, but you’d still need to shovel it out to give it a fighting chance of leaving the lot if you could get it started in this cold. 

When you get it started. 

Historically, your beloved fossil of a truck has not done well in the cold. You’d been meaning to replace the battery and get the transmission checked out this Summer. You had forgotten. 

The sound of snow crunching behind you tells you that Simon has not left the lot, and is apparently watching you have your silent meltdown now. Great. “You want some help getting that snow shoveled?” It’s strange hearing him outside of the contained environment that is Mo’s. The wind changes his voice. It’s odd to be shoulder to shoulder with him, and not talk about cigarettes. Dejected, you know when to choose your battles. You nod your head and lead him to the driver's side door of the truck. 

“I might need a jump, it really doesn’t do well in this weather,” you admit wearily. Simon nods like he knows that already. Maybe he did, it’s not exactly the nicest-looking vehicle anyone’s ever seen. You crank the door open and hop in the seat. When turning the engine over multiple times does nothing but pitifully crank the engine, you lean your forehead against the steering wheel in defeat. Before you can say anything you can't fight the urge to suddenly cough. You turn away from Simon, who's kind of hovering near the open door of your truck, to bury your mouth in your elbow to cough. You've honestly had enough of being gross and embarrassed in front of this guy for one night. When your coughing fit is done you lean back, exhausted, against the seat. Your throat is raw, and your entire body feels weak. The thought of shoveling out your truck and waiting on the battery to charge fills you with dread. “Fuck this, man.” 

Snow has started sticking to Simon's coat, dusting white onto the black fabric. He's standing a small distance away with his hands in his pockets, giving you a decent amount of space. “You want a ride home? Can come deal with it in the morning with you, if you like.” You turn your head to regard him, thankful again for your mask to hide behind. There's plenty of security footage of him coming into the store over and over again. You supposed if he wanted to kill you there would be at least a half-decent physical description. Plus Olivier probably knew more about him, given that they're a chatterbox no matter the time of day. 

Your eyes flick out to the lot. The snow shows no sign of stopping. Fuck it. 

“My house isn't far from here.”

[goosewriting]

Dinner Disaster

summary: after some flirting, reth finally asks reader out for dinner, but it doesn’t go as planned (follows the dinner disaster quest)

relationship: Reth x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for Reth’s backstory and interactions, smooching

word count: 5.1k 

A/N: literally no one asked for this but this game is consuming my very being to a molecular level, and this man is a big reason i’m obsessed. btw if any of you play palia or are interested in playing, hmu and we can add each other lol this is set some time after the flirting starts, after reader gets involved in his uh, side business. this is more or less how the quest played out in my head so, yeah, enjoy~

Navigation: Part 1 (you're here) | Part 2

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

Since you developed a real green thumb, to the delight and pride of Badruu, you have some extra apples from your tree that you don’t know what to do with. So, as with most of your garden surplus, you decide to bring them to Reth, who will surely find a good use for the produce.

You spot the freckled Majiri behind the bar when you enter the Inn, thinking that he’d probably make an apple pie with the fruit, and that you’d surely get a slice. Your mouth waters at the thought. You wonder when the cook will teach you the recipe; maybe you should ask him. 

Reth’s working the register, finishing some transaction with another human customer, when you place the wooden crate of apples on the bar, and proceed to take a seat on the stool you usually occupy when you visit him at the Inn. Reth gives the apples a curious glance, and talks to you over his shoulder as he hands the customer some change.

“Thanks, babe,” he says without thinking, and you both freeze at his words, as does the human who just paid for a recipe. They shoot you a quick look with raised brows, then silently turn on their heels and walk out of the Inn. Reth slowly turns to you. 

“Sorry, that kinda slipped out,” he says sheepishly, unable to meet your eyes. “Are we at the babe status yet?”

To be honest, if he had asked you first, you probably would have said no. It’s not your favourite pet name, and he could surely come up with something better. He often calls you sweet tooth, which you’ve actually come to like a lot. But hearing him call you ‘babe’ so matter-of-factly out of nowhere… You’re surprised to realise that you actually like how it sounded, how it sounds coming from him.

“I mean… If you want to be,” you answer after a moment, deciding to tease him a little. “Sure thing, babe.”

Except that it backfires and it ends with both of your faces burning up, which he tries to play off by clearing his throat. 

“Yeah, I’ll still have to get used to it, too,” you chuckle, bringing a hand to your face in an attempt to cover up how flustered you got. “But I like it when you say it.”

“Noted,” he replies, then looks around the Inn to see if someone else will approach the register. As there’s no one else, he fully faces you, leaning slightly over the bar. “Say, what are you up to today?”

“Oh you know, the usual,” you reply, starting to count on your fingers. “Hunting, fishing, foraging. Then tending to the vegetable garden. I also need to craft a new chair. Why?”

“A-are you busy later tonight?”

You prop yourself up on your elbow and give him a lopsided smile. 

“I’m never too busy for you,” you offer, and he smiles amusedly at your answer. “You have anything in mind?”

“I was thinking we could have dinner. At your place, maybe?” he asks. “I’ll take care of the food and everything. You just have to show up.”

Up until now, no one has actually visited your house. Sure, you upgraded from your first precarious tent to a proper building, and the Majiri came by every so often to say hi or bring you something, but no one has actually gone into your house. And for some reason the thought of Reth not only being at your place but also being the first one to do so, it makes you a bit nervous… but in a good way.

You realise that he’s still looking at you waiting for an answer, fidgeting with a loose nail on the wooden crate still on the bar. 

“I’d love that, actually,” you reply.

“Great!” He looks actually relieved. As if I would have said no to you asking me out, you think, smiling to yourself. He’s so innocent sometimes. Reth takes the crate and shoves it under the bar somewhere. 

“Then let’s say around 6pm?” he proposes.

“Sounds good,” you agree with a nod. 

Ashura enters the Inn, giving you a warm smile and a wave from afar as he spots you. Given that it’s his boss and you shouldn’t be distracting Reth from work, you take it as your cue to leave.

“See you later then,” you say in a low voice so Ashura can’t hear you.

“Don’t miss me too much,” Reth gives you his usual goodbye. He winks at you and you merely roll your eyes as you turn to exit the place. And just in time, so he can’t see your flustered face. You can’t remember when exactly the winking started, but it never fails to make you weak in the knees.

Once down at the plaza, you refocus on your tasks for the day, mentally making a list of the things to buy, resources to mine and places to go. Then you head for your first stop with a spring in your step. Tonight can’t come quickly enough.

— — —

You come home with a backpack full to the brim of crabs, plants, stones and other goodies. As you set down your things on the grass with a grunt from the weight, you see your palcat coming out of the house to greet you.

“Hey there,” you say, crouching down to scratch her head. She purrs and meows happily. You recently got this companion, and it’s been nice having someone at home to come back to. She often accompanies you when you go out as well, but this morning she was feeling especially lazy and cosy so she stayed in bed. You walk to your storage crate, starting to put everything away, and your cat looks at you with a light tilt to the head as you tell her about your day.

“Oh and actually,” you finish your retelling with the big news. “We’re having a visitor today.”

“Mreow?”

“Yeah, him… So you have to be on your best behaviour, you hear me?” you tell your cat with an accusing finger pointing at her. “We have to make a good impression. If you’re good, you can have lots of treats later, okay?”

She meows again, and you like to think she just agreed; bribes with food always work, after all.

There’s still some time until six, so you tend to your garden, clean yourself and change into a new set of clothes, the nicer one. It’s the only one you own, and it was a gift from Jel. In fact, all the clothing you have was given to you by him in some way or another. You make a mental note to prepare a gift for him for helping you out so much.

Next to your house there’s a nice spot among the trees, near the pond, where you can hear the trickling of water. You grab a big blanket and a lantern, and set everything up for a picnic corner. Even if whatever Reth brought was more of a “plates and cutlery at the table” kind of meal, you could still come out here after and look at the stars a bit. Then, maybe you’ll find the courage to make a proper move on him… You imagine the both of you sitting on the blanket, illuminated only by the warm glow of a candle and the gentle moonlight, you take his hand, he leans in, and… 

You mentally slap yourself to get rid of those thoughts, cheeks ablaze. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, you reprimand yourself. He may be a bit of a flirt at times, but Reth doesn’t strike you as the type of person to take such feelings lightly. So you have to make sure that he even is into you in the first place. Like actually into you. Suddenly your whole mental scenario shifts, and as you take his hand, he pulls away, disgusted. But wait. Dinner was his idea. He even called you ‘babe’. Surely he must have some interest, right? You’re not just… a side piece? 

Before you can spiral down further, you hear your name being called, although it’s not the voice you were expecting; this one is higher and has a slight lisp. You turn around to find Auni by the gate to your yard. You jog up to where he stands, smiling curiously. Sure, he delivers the mail twice a day, but usually you just find the letters in your mailbox as if they magically appeared; you never saw him actually deliver anything. You wonder if he has a new cool bug to show you.

“Hey Auni!” you greet the boy as you approach him. 

“Hi, I have a delivery for you,” he announces, holding out something for you to take.

“Oh, what is it?”

“Reth paid me in cakes to have this brought to you asap, said it was really important.”

“Oh?” 

You take the letter from him with a thanks, and he says his goodbyes. Why would Reth send a letter when he’s supposed to show up himself? Maybe it’s a treasure hunt kinda thing? 

You open the folded piece of paper, which isn’t even in an envelope, recognising Reth’s handwriting, but it’s even messier and more hurried than usual. The curious smile on your face disappears, your brows furrowing as you read.

Hey, I feel like a HUGE jerk for doing this, but I have to cancel our plans tonight. Something came up that I can’t ignore. Next time we see each other I promise I’ll explain.

- Reth

It feels like your whole body suddenly runs cold, and your hands drop to your sides, your eyes looking ahead at nothing in particular.

Your cat, who had poked her head out the door when she heard Auni, seems to sense the shift in you and approaches, meowing softly, as if asking if everything is okay. You look down at her, and give a light shrug.

“Looks like we won’t have visits after all…” you explain, reading over the letter one more time, then letting out a deep sigh. “Let’s get you something to eat, c’mon.”

She seems to know those words, as she immediately stands up and circles around your legs. Following you inside, she waits for you to get the bowl ready, and once you set it on the ground, she happily digs in.

“Well, at least one of us got a nice dinner.”

You stroke once from her head to her long bushy tail, to which she comically lifts her behind, then you decide to turn in for the night and head to bed, not really feeling hungry despite the eventful day.

— — —

The next morning you wake up to the sunlight shining through your window and fully hitting your face; you forgot to close the blinds the night before. With a squint, you look down at the weight you feel on yourself and find your cat curled up on your lap, which gets a sleepy half smile out of you. 

Picking her up in your arms, you go to close one of the blinds, then make your bed and head to the kitchen for breakfast. You start your routine like normal, having breakfast, taking care of the garden, going through your inventory to check what you need and what you can sell. You take your time, though, not really wanting to head into the village just yet. 

By the time you’re ready to go, it’s almost noon. Usually you’d be at the inn in the morning to say hi to Reth and chat a bit before starting your day. And while you really don’t feel like talking to him after leaving you hanging yesterday, you also know that he’s probably beating himself up about it, even more so if you haven’t been seen all morning. So after heaving a deep sigh, in hopes of letting all anger and frustration exit your body, you walk through the gate down into the village. To your surprise and delight, your cat follows this time.

You make your way towards the central plaza, exchanging greetings with those who walk by you, stopping to have a short chat with Chayne, whom you probably don’t talk to enough. You make a mental note to remedy that.

Somewhere in your mind though, you know you’re just stalling; you should just get it over with. Reth probably has a good explanation. Besides, you don’t want to be mad at him or give him the silent treatment or anything. You miss him, and you do want to see him. You’re just… disappointed. 

Taking one last deep breath as you stand before the Inn, you look down at your palcat and give her a nod. She meows encouragingly. You walk in through the open door, relieved to find it mostly empty. There’s very few people sitting at the tables in the corner, and Ashura isn’t at the reception desk. 

Your eyes find Reth’s behind the bar, and he freezes for a moment. You approach him like you normally would, about to take a seat on your usual stool.

“Wait,” he says before you’re able to fully sit down. You merely shoot him a questioning look. He lowers his voice, shooting a quick glance at the people eating at the tables. “Let’s talk in the back.” 

Reth scribbles something on a piece of paper and places it next to the till, indicating for you to follow him with a nod of his head. You pat the seat you meant to take while commanding your cat to hop onto it, and she does, so you tell her to stay there and wait. Then as you walk to where he said, you take a quick look at the paper; it reads “back in 5”.

You follow Reth into the back room, and you both come to stand in the farthest corner; since there are two archways but only one has a door, this will have to do to stay away from prying ears and curious eyes. You both talk in hushed voices.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says with a sigh, scratching his neck. He drags his eyes up to meet yours, scared of what he might find.  “Please don’t be mad. Are you mad? You can be a little mad. I’m such a jerk–”

“Hey, no need don’t say that,” you interrupt him, and you just look at each other in silence for a second. “I mean, I’m upset, but not in a ‘mad at you’ way. More in a… ‘I was really looking forward to it and was bummed that you had to cancel at the last minute’ way.

“I was really looking forward to it too, it’s just…” Reth runs his hand over his face with a groan. “Yesterday was kind of a mess.”

“What happened?”

“Ashura caught me sneaking into the back rooms after hours. I panicked, so I lied and said I was actually planning a party for him, as a thank you. He liked that idea, so he got off my back, but now I actually have to throw him a dinner party with other people.”

You look to the side, unable to stop the scoff that escapes you. But it isn’t a mocking or offended scoff, it’s more of an amused sharp exhale. 

For a moment, you think back to how you kind of ended up roped into his side hustle of smuggling illicit goods (especially Flow and ancient artifacts, which are very illegal), which is why he was sneaking around in the first place. You’ve been covering for him with Ashura and many others for a while now, and while at first it was more of a personal favour, now you're in too deep. Not that you mind, though. If you’re being honest with yourself, it adds a bit of an exhilarating factor to everyday life. You’re not entirely sure yet about the actual power and meaning of Flow in this society, but it seems to be connected to humans in some way, so you’re at least a little bit interested in it. If you have to investigate and interact with it in secret, then so be it; you also want answers as to what happened to humanity and how you landed here. Besides, it’s one more thing you two can bond over. Literally partners in crime. The thought makes you smile to yourself.

“You’re kind of bad at this whole criminal thing, you know?” you tell him with a playful grin. “Getting strangers involved, almost being caught by your boss.”

He doesn’t seem too amused. 

“I know, I’m…” his demeanour shifts from annoyed at and with himself to almost shy, and he looks down as he bites the inside of his cheek. “I guess I’ve been distracted lately, is all.”

You hum in response, somewhat intrigued. When his gaze comes back up to meet yours though, eyes filled with yearning, the look he gives you makes your heart skip a beat, and suddenly you’re all too aware of how close you’re standing to each other. You need to wrap this up.

“So is there anything I can do to help you out?” you ask him.

“What? No, you really don’t need to. You’ve already saved my hide so many times,” he’s quick to dismiss your question. “Besides, cooking is one of the few things I’m actually good at, so I got that covered.”

Suddenly he looks like he just thought of something that you could in fact help out with, but he doesn’t want to say. You give his upper arm a soft push with your fist.

“C’mon, out with it,” you encourage him with a playful smile. 

“Well…” His eyes linger for a second where you touched him. “I need to prepare everything, so I can’t be out and about actually inviting everyone to the dinner party.”

He takes out a paper from his pocket and hands it to you. You skim over it, seeing a list of names.

“If you could invite everyone and let me know how many guests will come, I can make sure to cook the right amout.”

“Got it,” you reply with a nod. “I’ll ask around and probably send Auni back to let you know. He told me you’re paying him in cakes for special deliveries. Think you can sneak another baking session in today on top of dinner? On my tab.”

“Sure thing,” he chuckles, then gets serious again. “And hey, I really am sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Reth, it’s okay, really,” you say, and he’s so close and he looks so sad, you want to hold his face so badly. In fact, your hand is already going up, but you pull back midway, fidgeting with the collar of your shirt instead. “Just… be more careful next time, okay?”

“Yeah…” he sighs. “And thank you, for the invites. I owe you. Again.” 

“Yes, you do,” you chuckle. “Maybe I should start charging you with interest.”

He starts patting down his pockets. 

“I don’t have any cash on me at the moment,” he says with a smile, playing along. 

Your answer comes quicker than you can anticipate and you’re unable to stop your words. 

“I was thinking more along the lines of kisses maybe…”

Both of you look at each other a bit shocked.

“Oh. O-oh,” is all he stammers.

Whatever confidence came over you for you to say that, immediately dissipates as Reth turns several shades of pink darker. The tips of his ears look like they might actually catch fire any moment.

“But we can talk about payment later,” you’re quick to add, and clear your throat. “I’ll uhm, get your invites out. You better start on that food.”

“Right. Yes,” he says stiffly, and you both put some space between each other. “Thanks again. And sorry too. And–”

“Reth,” you cut him short again, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. See you later.”

“B-bye.” 

You exit the backroom, calling for your cat, who walks around the bar to find you, and you make a hasty exit through the back, walking down the stairs to your left. As you pass the river, you consider for a moment jumping into the water to cool down. Maybe that would get your heart to slow down again. You fist your shirt over your chest where you can feel the pounding against your ribs. 

An inquisitive meow from the side gets your attention back, and you look down at your companion, who’s looking up at you confusedly.

“Right. We have a job to do,” you say and go to take out the paper with the list from your pocket, except that it’s been in your hand the whole time, and it’s now crumpled and slightly damp because of how clammy your hands were. You cringe a bit at that, commanding yourself to calm down at once. Geez, get a grip on yourself, you think.

It takes a while to track Auni down after everyone else, given that he’s always out on his mail route or out and about exploring, probably trying to catch some bugs. When you finally find him, you give him the list of people who plan to atttend Ashura’s dinner, and send him to Reth to deliver the news with the promise of getting his sticky hands on more cake. This seems to do the trick, and he happily jogs off with the new list stuffed into a side pocket of his gigantic backpack. You look after him as his figure gets smaller and smaller, wondering how he’s even able to carry all that. His equipment is bigger than himself. 

With a shake of your head, you bring your attention back to your own equipment, and get your bow and arrows ready. Today you’re hunting chapaas; Hassian asked for some meat and fur earlier this week and you haven’t been able to deliver yet. 

— — — 

You get back home relatively late, and when you do, the flag on your mailbox is up. Setting down your haul next to it, you get out several letters, looking for a message from Reth. And lo and behold, there’s one from him, this time properly written and folded into an envelope. 

He says that in the end everything worked out, to which you sigh in relief. Ashura doesn’t suspect a thing apparently, and everyone had a great time. He tells you to meet him at your “private spot” tonight, he has something to give you. 

You look at the time, then down at yourself; you’re looking pretty shabby after hunting for hours on end, kneeling down in mud and such. So you quickly change into clean clothes, wash your face and prepare food for your loyal cat. As she happily munches away, you grab your jacket and leave again. Nights can get pretty chilly here, you’ve learned. 

It doesn’t take long for you to make your way to the inn, given that you’re essentially bee lining for it. Checking that no one’s following you or sees you enter the inn from the back, you quickly take a left and go down the stairs towards the storage room. Reth gave you the key to it, so you unlock the door and enter, quickly closing it behind you. 

When you turn around, you’re met with the cook on the other side of the room, stopping whatever he was doing on the table, and he stands up to come and meet you.

“Hey sweet tooth, thanks for coming,” he greets you. 

“Hey,” you smile up to him but he looks tense. “Is everything okay? I thought you said the dinner party worked out? “

“No, it did. It’s- It’s not that,” he curses under his breath at himself. 

“What is it then?”

Reth sighs, and you can tell he’s trying to find the right words. So you give him a moment to gather his thoughts, waiting patiently.

“You know… I’m not used to asking for help,” he starts explaining. “Even as a kid, I wouldn't, and I didn't expect others to help, either. It was always just me and Tish against the world. And now there’s you.”

His cheeks flush ever so slightly, and you can start to feel yours mirroring his.

“Here you come, busting into my life,” he says with a soft smile, but it quickly vanishes. “And even though I keep messing up… somehow you’re still here. You’re not sick of me yet.”

You want to interject, as that “yet” doesn’t sit well with you, but he doesn’t let you.

“And more than that, you've put yourself on the line for me, more than once. I honestly don't understand why you keep putting up with me but… I really do appreciate everything you've done and how much you've helped me out, and Tish as well. But the cartel… I- I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. And I don’t want to scare you off either.” He lets out a shaky breath. “Whatever is going on between us, I don’t want to lose this. So let me make it up to you.”

He steps aside to show you what’s on the table: a container with your favourite food. 

“And I know this is barely enough for everything–”

“Reth, please stop,” you interrupt him before he can spiral further, your voice soft. “I’ll take the food, thank you. It looks delicious. But you really don’t have to try to make up for any of the, uh, side business stuff. Sure, the dinner didn’t work out, but if you say we just have dinner another day, then that is enough for me.”

You step a little closer, your hand tentatively reaching out for his.

“And you don’t have to worry about scaring me off.” Your voice is nothing more than a whisper now. “I also don’t want to lose what we have. I’m not going anywhere.”

Reth looks down at your hands as he shyly intertwines his fingers with yours, and when his eyes come back up to meet yours, they’re full of something… new. His gaze flickers down to your lips for a second and back up, and you wonder if he can hear your erratic heartbeat. You’re standing so close to each other right now, it wouldn’t take a lot to close the gap.

“That said, though, about that payment I mentioned…” you trail off.

His jaw clenches, and he looks to the side, pulling back away from you ever so slightly.

“Are you sure about this?” he questions rather bitterly. “About me?”

“What do you mean?” you ask. He sighs, eyes cast down at the floor.

“People will talk. They probably already are. With my reputation and all… I strayed from my Path. Most days I’m convinced people don’t even like my soup. I’m nothing more than a scoundrel.”

Your free hand comes up to gingerly hold his chin and turn his face to make him look at you.

“First of all, I don’t care what people say,” you start refuting his arguments. “Maybe I still don’t understand Majiri tradition, but I think you should be free to choose your own path with no expectations, and change it if you find it doesn’t suit you. And I like your soup. Also, I think being a scoundrel is part of your charm. Is that a bad thing?”

He doesn’t reply immediately, and when he does, his voice is so small you almost miss it. 

“You’re too good for me.”

You pull back slightly to fully look at him, and it breaks your heart a little how earnestly he means that. So you let go of his hand and hug his torso instead, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“I don’t know what happened that makes you think that, but I will try my best to show you how wrong you are. You deserve good things, Reth. Whatever it is you want, you’re allowed to pursue it.”

He hugs you back, tightly, so you place a kiss to the only place you can reach, which is his jawline just below his ear. You feel him tremble, but if it’s from relief, anticipation or something else, you can’t tell.

“Right now what I want is you,” he says after a moment. 

“Then what are you waiting for.”

Reth lets go only enough for you to come back face to face with him, and he doesn’t waste a second to capture your lips with his. At first it’s shy, new, a sequence of soft pecks, testing the waters. When your hands travel up his chest to cup his face, he relaxes a bit more, kissing you more confidently. His hands slip underneath your open jacket, holding onto your waist and pulling you to him. 

His kisses grow more intense, hungrier, and his tongue finds its way to yours. You can’t help the low moan that escapes you when he presses you further into him, and he practically swallows it. 

As he takes a step forward, you take one backwards, then another and another, until your back hits the door, and you’re being squished between the rough wooden surface and Reth’s body trying to get impossibly close to yours. The impact makes you grunt, and he responds with something between a sigh and a growl, moving away from your lips to attack your neck. You welcome the break to take a breather, panting, and you remember something.

“Wait,” you say between breaths, and immediately Reth stops his soft bites and licks on your throat, also out of breath, and worry starts spreading on his face.

“W-what? Is this okay? I–”

Your hand on his face gently covers his mouth to stop him from talking, while with the other you turn the key below the doorknob to lock the door, which you had forgotten to do when you arrived.

“Just don’t want to risk getting interrupted, is all.”

You take a moment to admire his slightly dishevelled form: the bandana is a bit askew, his pupils are blown out, his cheeks and ears a deep pink. You probably don’t look much different, to be honest. He looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to give him permission to continue. 

“Let’s move away from the door, maybe–” you start, and within an instant, strong arms are picking you up under your thighs, carrying you over to the other side of the room and setting you down on the table. 

“Better?” he asks, placing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Better,” you reply with a smile.

“You said you’re charging me with lots of interest,” he mumbles into your skin as he starts again where he left off earlier. You can only hum in response. “And I plan on paying back what I owe.” 

You pull back a little to look at him, and the newfound confidence and assertiveness in his eyes and voice send a pleasant tingle down your spine. 

“I’m very much looking forward to it.”

— — —

A/N 2: what? goose being attacked by brainrot over a freckled red-head who seems confident on the outside but is actually riddled with insecurities and does some illegal stuff to keep his family safe? huh, bet no one saw that one coming 🙄 guess i have ONE TYPE, smh.

A/N 3: if this is something you'd like to see more of, feel free to let me know and i'll add palia to my taglist fandoms for you to sign up :D palia has now been added to my taglist! link in my pinned post~

[themidnightcrimson]

OnlyFans—w. maximoff

summary: in which wanda needs your help filming an onlyfans video.

warnings: top!wanda, fingering, cumstrap, breeding, corruption, degradation, filming during sex, porn, everyone go subscribe to scarletstraphexsex on onlyfans

this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.

masterlist.

You weren’t quite sure how you ended up sitting naked on Wanda’s bed with a camera standing on a tripod aimed directly at you.

It had started with a discreet mention of Wanda’s ideas for a secondary income. She mentioned that she wanted to start an Onlyfans to get a little bit of money, but she wasn’t quite comfortable with merely posting pictures and videos of herself and wanted to have a sort of business partner to help create content and share the profits. You and Wanda were only friends, despite your growing feelings for her and her unknown mutual feelings for you. Naturally, she didn’t ask you right away. She wanted that seed of information to plant in your brain and give it some time to grow so that when she did ask you to film a video with her, you would be more inclined to oblige.

When she finally asked you, it didn’t go over so smoothly. It wasn’t that you were necessarily uncomfortable with the idea of filming a porn video with Wanda—it was the fact that you knew you would thoroughly enjoy every second of it while Wanda would only see it as a business transaction.

But Wanda was persuasive, and you needed some extra cash. She told you that she had already built a little fanbase off some anonymous photos of herself, which made you have to swallow down the extreme jealousy you felt at that admittance. She told you exactly what you would be doing in the video, and even though she told you the filming plans with a tone of cold hard business, the sound of Wanda describing how she would fuck you made your thighs squeeze shut tightly.

When you arrived at her house freshly shaven and weak in the knees that night, Wanda was delectably surprised that you actually wanted to go through with the plan. Wanda set up her camera in the bedroom, situating it on a tripod and aiming it right at the bed. It wasn’t going to be a porno with any kind of plot, so she told you to just relax and let her lead the way. Once everything was set up, she told you to get undressed and left the room to go get herself ready.

You weren’t aware that the camera was already turned on as you peeled your clothes off and did breathing exercises to calm your unsettled nerves. When your clothes were in a neat pile in the corner of the room, you sat down on the bed, covering yourself with your arms because of the deeply exposed feeling you had, and waited for Wanda to come back.

When the door suddenly opened, you nearly jumped. You watched as Wanda walked into the room wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black bra, and her strap bulged slightly through her pants. The sight brought a quiver between your legs, and you felt even more exposed as the redhead’s green orbs cast over your naked body. Wanda looked so sexy like that, and the subtle smirk on her face enhanced her attractiveness as she closed the door and waltzed towards you.

You gave an awkward smile as she sat down on the bed next to you, reaching towards you and tucking a strand of your hair over your shoulder.

“You look beautiful,” Wanda whispered, and you looked up at her to see a comforting smile on her face. She could sense an uneasiness about you, her eyebrow crinkling. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t owe me anything, you know. I only want to do this if you want to, and we can stop at any time.”

She scooted closer to you, her bare shoulder touching yours, making you feel how warm her skin was. Her hand came to rest on your upper back, rubbing gentle circles into your skin that somehow eased you.

You really did want to do this. You had already built yourself up to prepare for this moment, and the more you had thought about it, the more you desperately wanted to do anything to get Wanda’s hands on you.

“I’m just a little… shy,” you whispered, your voice coming out barely audible.

Wanda chuckled softly and nudged against you. “Don’t be. It’s just you and me. You trust me, right?”

You stared up at her for a moment, admiring her warm smile and familiar face. Her red locks were down and scattered over her shoulders, reaching down to her visible cleavage. She was so fit and so fine, and although it inadvertently made you shier, you did trust her, so you nodded and smiled.

Wanda mirrored your nod and scooted a bit closer to you, wrapping her arm around your waist. Leaning down, she pressed a kiss right against the edge of your shoulder, letting it linger before she kissed further up. You relaxed, feeling Wanda kiss her way up to your neck. She suctioned her lips against the crook of your neck and suckled softly, luring you to flutter your eyes closed as your skin warmed up. Her hand around you slid up and down your waist as she started sucking another place on your neck, her warm breath flooding your skin and generating blush on that side of your face. She used her tongue to lick a slow line up your neck and to your jaw, pressing rapid kisses across the side of your face until her nose was touching yours and her lips hovered above yours.

Wanda’s other hand cupped your face as she took a moment to let her eyes read over your face, zoning in on your lips which her thumb brushed over. You were entirely absorbed by the woman who was making you anticipate the kiss, taking her sweet time in staring at you and touching your lips with her thumb. Finally, she leaned in and kissed you, and you instantly melted upon her buttery lips. The kiss ignited warmth in your belly as she held your face and kissed you slowly, savoring every second of it.

Dazed under this woman’s trance, you felt the tip of her tongue graze against your lower lip, asking for permission to enter. You obliged, parting your lips which allowed Wanda’s tongue to slip into your mouth. Pressing her thumb against your jaw to slack open your mouth wider, Wanda filled your mouth with her tongue, letting it gently wrap around yours. You couldn’t help but give a whispery moan as she slid her tongue down your throat, her minty taste buzzing your tastebuds.

After she had properly explored your mouth and had you melting under her, she pulled away, eyes flickering to your lips that were puffy and wettened. You were both breathless, gently panting across each other’s faces as she stroked your hair.

Nearly forgetting what you were there for, you suddenly asked, “Aren’t you going to turn the camera on?”

Wanda looked over to the camera as if she had forgotten it was there, too. “Oh, yea, I nearly forgot,” she said with an airy chuckle as she got up, her warm embrace leaving you cold as she pretended to turn the camera on. “Okay,” she said as she walked back to you, crawling back onto the bed. You started to move so you could lie down, but she stopped you with a hand on your thigh. “Wait a minute.”

You stopped, waiting for her to instruct you. Without realizing, you had uncovered yourself, fully revealing your body to the woman whose eyes ate up the sight of you. Wanda licked her lips and looked back up at you, letting her hand on your thigh travel upward.

“Sit on the edge of the bed again,” she huskily demanded in a quiet tone, and you obeyed, resuming your sitting position on the edge of the bed.

You were confused as Wanda got up again and went to the camera, lowering the tripod a bit and moving it closer to the bed. It was about eye-level to your stomach now, focused on your entire frame in the center of the shot.

Wanda watched you darkly as she crawled back onto the bed, this time crawling behind you. She hadn’t talked about this when she told you what she wanted to film, but you remembered when she told you to let her lead the way.

You looked nervously at the camera as Wanda leaned up behind you so she could look at you, and she brought a hand to your shoulder, trailing it down to your breasts where her eyes followed. She cupped your tit and leaned down to kiss your neck, the feeling making you whimper quietly.

“I knew you would be so perfect,” she whispered into your neck as she fondled both of your tits with both hands, pinching your nipples with her thumbs and causing to them to harden even more.

You arched your chest into her hands and leaned back to rest against her chest, craning your neck to look at her. She smiled and brought her lips to yours again, this time not even asking for permission to slide her tongue into your mouth. As she kissed you deeply, you felt one of her hands slide down against your tummy, lowering all the way down until it cupped your sex.

Wanda pulled away from the kiss for a moment to whisper, “Spread your legs wide for the camera, baby.”

You did as she said, spreading your legs open wide and revealing yourself to the camera. Having more room between your legs, Wanda trailed her fingers over your slit and moaned at how wet you were. You tried to ignore the fact that your entire slit was exposed to the camera as Wanda found your clit and started to massage it. You whimpered into her mouth as she expertly touched you, making you wonder how many times she had done this before.

Pulling her mouth away to breathe, Wanda looked over your face to make sure you were okay. “That feel good?” she whispered, and you nodded, your cheeks already alight with blush as she rubbed you. Your blush deepened when you caught the noises of your wet pussy, knowing that the camera could pick it up, as well.

Wanda worked you up for a moment until you were growing antsy, squirming against her and needing more, so she dipped her fingers further down and found your entrance, slipping two of them inside you.

“So tight,” she gasped as you screwed your eyes shut, mouth falling open as Wanda’s fingers curled deep inside you and pulled out, glistening with your juices. She made sure to angle it so that the camera could see everything as she fingered you, taking no time in pumping her fingers fast inside you.

You moaned, a hand reaching behind to grab her knee as she hammered her fingers inside you, the dirtiest of wet noises filling the room. “You’re so pretty, baby,” Wanda whispered in your ear, and her praise gave you enough confidence to not stifle your moans.

By the time your wetness started to drip on the bed beneath you, you were already coming close. Wanda was grabbing your breast with one hand and simultaneously pumping inside you and thumbing your clit with her other hand, along with sloppy kisses against your neck.

You tried to ward your orgasm off because you realized that this wasn’t real. It was all for the camera, and you had forgotten to ask Wanda about climaxing during your conversation about this. Were you allowed to really cum? Or would it weird Wanda out? As much as it seemed like Wanda was really enjoying this, you reminded yourself that it was just business.

Luckily, Wanda stopped before you were about to uncontrollably cum on her fingers. You panted as she pulled her fingers out, a shiny string of your juices attached to them. You were surprised when she wiped her hand over your tits, spreading your juices across them which made you feel incredibly dirty.

“That was so fucking good,” Wanda breathed as she stood up from the bed, obviously trying to recover herself from the heat of the moment. You were far from being able to recover yourself with your clit throbbing from the near orgasm and your inner thighs shiny from the amount of wetness you had which was borderline embarrassing.

You knew that the main event was about to come as Wanda again moved the camera even closer to the bed. “Okay,” she sighed once she had it all set up, looking at you with evidently dilated pupils. “You can lay down now, baby.”

Realizing how shaky you were, you carefully moved to lie down on the bed as Wanda crawled over you. The camera was zoomed in right between your legs, and Wanda was sure to spread them wide as she situated herself between them.

“Are you ready?” she asked eagerly as she gently rubbed your thighs, biting her lip at the sight of you laying all open beneath her.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes flickering down to the strap bulging from her sweatpants. Her face was tinted with her desire, and the lines between real and fake had started to blur and merge for the both of you.

Smirking, Wanda bent your knees up and leaned forward, pressing her strap right against your pussy. You bit your lip and whimpered as she started to grind herself against you, the pressure causing her to groan and squeeze your knees where her hands were.

“Wanda,” you moaned as she slowly humped you through the fabric of her pants, and when she had enough of teasing you, she moved away, revealing a dark wet spot on her crotch from where it had rubbed against you.

Her hands left your legs to pull her sweatpants down, and when you saw her large maroon strap spring out from the hold of her pants, you gulped.

“Touch it,” she ordered you as she kneeled confidently between your legs. Hesitantly, you reached out and took hold of her strap, sensually rubbing your hand down it. Wanda clenched her jaw and suddenly snatched your hand, grabbing your other one and slamming them down on the pillows by your head as she hovered over you. You looked up at her in surprise at the sudden movement, but she was looking down to align her strap with your entrance, and suddenly she forced her cock inside you all at once.

“Fuck!” you yelped as Wanda’s cock buried itself deep inside you, and although it was large, you were so wet that it was met with only a little resistance.

“Holy fuck,” Wanda breathed as she shuddered, her nails digging into your wrists as she moved her cock around inside you. She pulled it out halfway, looking down to watch, before she snapped her hips harder than the first time and slammed inside you, meeting that sweet spot hidden in your depths.

“Wanda,” you breathed as she started to thrust at a faster pace, slamming harder each time. She kept your hands pinned as she fucked you, the friction of the strap on her clit driving her mad.

“Such a fucking dirty whore,” she suddenly groaned, and the surprise of her words made you gasp. “You liked getting filmed while you’re fucked, huh?”

You couldn’t respond as she started hammering into you, pain mixing with pleasure as she ravaged your pussy.

“I knew you would say yes when I asked you. You may act like a prude, but everyone knows you’re a pathetic slut deep down.”

Her degrading words burned something deep inside you, and your walls started to pulse around her cock as it bulged them open.

“You’ve always wanted to be my little fleshlight, huh? I bet you’ve dreamed about me making you my personal cum sock.” She released your hand for a moment to give a sharp slap across your face, and shame filled you when you moaned in reaction.

Squelching noises filled the air as she pounded you into the mattress, your legs hooking around her waist to somehow anchor yourself. The camera was far away from your mind as Wanda fucked you and degraded you.

“I know you’ve had a crush on me forever. I bet you hump your pillow at night pretending to ride my cock, huh?”

You couldn’t even look at her as she spat the degrading yet truthful words, and now reality and pretend had no separation, and you were unable to stop yourself from coming close to the edge.

“You want my cum, bitch?” Wanda huskily grunted as her thrusts lost their pace and turned into sloppy, fast, eager pumps. Her voice wavered as she demanded, “Beg for my cum. Say ‘Wanda please, cum inside me. Knock me up like a slut.’”

Your mouth opened and closed as fire burned hotly inside you and deprived you of coherence. Your nails were scratching wildly at Wanda’s back as the bed creaked and thudded against the wall from the force of her thrusts.

“Say it,” Wanda spat before she slapped you again, knocking some alertness into you.

“Wanda, p-please,” you stuttered, feeling pressure form deep inside you as you desperately tried to ward it off, but Wanda was fucking you closer to your climax with every thrust. “Cum inside me. Knock me up like a s-slut.” The nasty words only burned you closer, and you felt hot tears start to flood down your fiery cheeks.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit,” Wanda cursed helplessly as she squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth wide, and the sight of her cumming above you was enough to send you over the edge.

Wanda’s hands moved to your hips to keep them still as you moaned her name loudly, going blind from your orgasm as she pounded herself deep against your cervix, reaching down to the base of her strap to shoot her faux load deep inside you.

Her cum splattered your walls as she buried her face into your neck and sharply moaned right into your ear. Your skin was hot to the touch and your insides boiling as she came inside you, fucking you full of herself until she had nothing left to give and fell limp against you, crushing you between the mattress and her body.

“Fuckkkk,” she breathed against your neck, her body twitching above you as you both recovered from your blinding climaxes.

Hands loosely resting on Wanda’s warm back, you glanced over to the camera, having entirely forgotten about it. Something inside you (Wanda) made you wonder if everything that had just happened was just to put on a show for the video. You could barely believe that to be true with the way Wanda had just acted with you and the way she was holding onto you as she weakly kissed your neck, but you reminded yourself that it was all just for the Onlyfans.

What you didn’t know was that there was no Onlyfans account. When Wanda handed you a roll of cash and slapped your ass as you left a couple hours later, she didn’t tell you that the video she had just filmed would never reach father than Wanda’s eyes.

[eiightysixbaby]

i’ll be home for christmas

PART TWO: Run Run Rudolph

previous part || series masterlist || next part

word count: 5.1k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie isn’t enjoying life in chicago, but he’s been too stubborn to admit it. when he's at his breaking point, what comes next?

cw: switches between past and present tense, mentions of food/eating, lots of angst, eddie is an idiot but we love him, reader’s nickname is ‘sunny’

author’s note: just wanted to say thank you all so much for the love on part one! i’m so excited to be sharing more of this story. part three is in the works and should be out in the next couple of weeks :) thank you again for giving my story a chance, it means so much to me.

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

The droning, repetitive sound of the cash register’s scanner is giving Eddie a migraine. Beep. A sweater is thrown into a bag. Beep. Some cooking utensils. Beep. A toy truck and a Barbie doll.

The impatient face of the woman who stands before him only makes him want to move slower, and she scowls when he “accidentally” purposefully drops one of her items to the floor.

“Oops!” he says, giving her a fake innocent grin, shrugging dramatically before he bends down to pick it up. He debates how feasible it would be to fake a stroke or a heart attack or something while he’s down here, but ultimately decides against it and stands straight again.

Beep. He scans a tie with green and red stripes on it, presumably for the less-than-amused husband who stands at the woman's side, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

He can hear the woman’s foot tapping on the waxy floors beneath them, her arms crossed over her chest and her checkbook clutched in one hand. He gives her her final total, watching as she scrawls her pristine cursive writing onto the thin piece of paper before handing it to him. He hands her several bags once the transaction is finished, pressing his lips into a tight line when she yanks them from his grip in a less-than-pleasant manner. The husband follows absentmindedly like a puppy on a leash, paying absolutely no mind to Eddie whatsoever. He might as well not have even been there.

“Happy Holidays to you, too,” he says, perhaps a bit too loud as they walk away.

Sighing, he leans onto the countertop in front of him, pressing his face into his open palms. The store’s speakers play a consistent loop of popular Christmas music, and Eddie thinks he’s heard The Chipmunk Song enough times today to last him the rest of his life. The squeaky voices of the fictional rodents ring out through the decorated space, eliciting laughter from children who can’t help but sing along.

There’s been a non-stop wave of shoppers over the past couple of weeks, and it only seems to be getting worse the closer it gets to the holiday. People in Chicago aren’t friendly about it, either. Everyone seems to be going about their lives transactionally, angry and frustrated that they have to be picking up gifts and baking cookies and wrapping boxes in the first place. Eddie isn’t used to it.

Back in Hawkins, everyone was cheerful around Christmas. The otherwise quiet town seemed to light up in December, bringing even the grumpiest of residents out of the woodwork to celebrate. The funny thing is, he never thought he'd miss it. Never imagined he'd yearn for that town, for that community. But there's a lot of things that hadn't gone according to his plan, so what's one more on that list?

Eddie can feel his name tag poking his skin through his shirt, his argyle sweater that was so impossibly opposite to his taste in fashion but that was strongly recommended by his boss; "to look put-together", he'd been told. And so he'd picked out a few "nice" outfits, for nothing if not to keep his damn job. But the material of the sweater makes his skin itch, and paired with the too-bright lights and the too-repetitive music, this job was a sensory hellhole. The smell of over-priced perfume is engrained into his nostrils at this point, and Eddie literally winces as he catches a customer spray a cloud of the fragrance out of a sample bottle.

He rolls his eyes as Donna, head of the fragrance department, dishes out her usual sales-pitch to the clueless man that stands before her, utterly and devastatingly unsure of what to get the lady in his life for Christmas. I could never be that clueless, Eddie thinks to himself, I know how to get a good gift.

And then, his heart aches as he stares blankly at the man holding two different perfume bottles in each hand. Because he remembers that the last real gift he'd bought was for you.

December 5th, 1988.

The mall was packed full of holiday shoppers, everyone in a mad rush to find the perfect gifts for each person on their lists. Eddie typically wasn't much of a shopper himself, really only coming to the mall to bother Dustin and Will at Scoops, but today was different. You wanted to start getting your shopping out of the way, and didn’t want to go alone, so of course Eddie was going to tag along. He’d been spending every possible second he could with you, running errands or getting food or seeing a movie. Even just hanging out at your apartment or his trailer. With you, everything seemed magical. Every item you picked up and marveled at in each store, every Christmas song you sang along to, it was all shiny and wonderful because it was associated with you.

You currently have him at a jewelry store, looking into a glass case filled with glittering gold and silver accessories. Some of which probably cost, individually, more than all of his possessions combined. A low whistle leaves his mouth before he hears you chirp beside him.

“Eddie! Look at this one!” you coo, pointing eagerly at a flashy necklace that sits in the case.

He’s at your side in an instant, looking where your finger directs him. His eyes land on a dazzling pendant, adorned with jewels that sparkle glamorously.

“Oh, Nancy would love this,” you muse, taking a closer look at the price tag. “I could get this for her… or I could tell Robin about it so she could get it for her. I don’t know, is it too much if I get Nancy a necklace?” you debate out loud, making Eddie smile at how flat-out adorable you are.

He loves your heart, the way you always think about your friends. You truly aren’t looking for a thing for yourself, you just want to get your friends the best gifts possible, physical objects that remind them of your gratitude for them.

“I don’t think it’s too much. Or, why don’t you give Robin a call so you can ask her straight up? Here, use the pay phone,” he offers, pulling some quarters from his pocket and handing them to you.

“You’re right, that’s the easiest idea,” you say with a cute little relieved laugh. “Wait here, I’ll be back in like, fifteen.”

He gives you a little salute with two fingers, continuing to glance around at the selection once you’ve left. His feet stop him instantly when his eyes catch a delicate gold necklace with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. It’s engraved with the letter M, and a card sits beside it that informs potential buyers that you can get it customized with any initial. It’s simple, exactly how you’d want it to be, but it’s far from ugly or bland.

Eddie knows immediately that he wants to get it for you, eyeing the price tag nervously before breathing a sigh of pure relief at the fact that it’s far more affordable than he’d have suspected. You’re the most special thing in his life, and it feels right to give you a piece of him. His initial, to wear on your neck, so you can keep him close at all times. His stomach does a little flip of excitement at his idea, and he’s grateful you’ve left him alone so he can keep this a surprise.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he says to the worker after you’ve left. “I’d like to get this one, please. Engraved with an E.”

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

He's pulled from his melancholy daze by another customer snapping their fingers in his face, polished nails standing out at the tips of slender fingers.

"Hello? Anybody home?" the woman asks, chewing her gum too exaggeratedly for Eddie to be able to take her seriously. "Are you too stupid to understand me or what?"

Yeah. It's going to be a long rest of his shift.

•

Cars roll past on the busy streets as Eddie makes his commute home, the holiday chaos evidently in full-swing on the outside of the department store, too. He winces as a car’s tires slosh through the slushy mixture collecting on the sides of the road, sending it splattering all over his coat. He sighs, moving off to the side of the sidewalk that’s furthest from the road, brushing half-melted snow off of himself.

His body is frigid with the cold, his eyes heavy with his incredible lack of sleep and his fatigue from the most draining shift at the world's most boring job. He trudges inside of his apartment building, the tall structure looming over the Chicago streets. The large Christmas tree in the lobby makes Eddie frown to himself, resurfacing that ache he’d felt at work. The ache that really hasn’t fully gone away since last Christmas. It’s always in the back of his mind, always tapping away at his heart, a dull soreness like a bruise that won’t heal.

“Oh shit, what’s goin’ on, Edwardio?” Eddie’s neighbor, Argyle, greets him as he climbs the stairs to his floor.

“Hey, man,” Eddie responds, feeling guilty at the monotony of his voice compared to cheerfulness of his acquaintance.

“You wanna come in for a smoke sesh? Just picked up some new stuff,” Argyle offers, sticking his thumb in the direction of his door as he grabs his keys from his pocket.

“Nah, man, not tonight. Some other time,” and then Eddie’s slinking into his apartment, shutting his door promptly behind him.

Eddie never turns down a smoke sesh.

Once fully inside, he throws his things haphazardly onto the ground. He couldn’t be bothered to care about where they land — his whole place is a mess. A reflection of his mental state. Soft wool fabric of his sweater is tossed onto his bed, traded for a t-shirt so well-loved it has holes in the neckline. He goes to his dining table as he tugs the shirt fully over his head, grabbing the phone off of the wall and anxiously curling the cord around his fingers as he dials a familiar number. It rings a few times before there’s an answer, each droning dial tone making him anxious.

“Hello?” he hears Robin’s voice ring out on the other end.

“Rob, hey, it’s me.”

“Eddie!” she says excitedly. “Guys, Eddie’s on the phone!” her voice sounds further away, and he knows she’s holding the phone away from her face as she calls out to whoever else is there.

Steve shouts his name and he smiles, hearing the commotion on the other end as other people shuffle towards Robin to try and grab the phone.

“How is everything? How are you?” Robin asks him, shushing Dustin as he begs her to let him say hi.

“I, uh, I’m alright. I miss you guys,” he says, resting his forehead on the heel of his palm. “How’s everything there?”

“We miss you too. Things are….” Robin pauses, and it makes Eddie’s stomach drop. “—They’re okay,” she finishes, but she sounds unsure; like there’s something she isn’t telling him.

“Who’s there with you right now? I know I heard Henderson and Steve,” he says, trying to force some happiness into his voice.

“Eddie! You’ll never believe how the D&D campaign is going!” Dustin says excitedly into the receiver, and he can hear Robin’s voice telling him to give it back.

“I bet it’s great, you’ll have to call me on your own sometime and tell me everything.”

“I definitely wi— HEY!” Dustin says, yelling as the phone is seemingly snatched from him.

“Give me the phone back, you turd! Okay, to answer your question…” Robin’s voice is back again. “It’s me, Nance, Jonathan, of course Steve and Dustin, and then, uh… Sunny,” she trails off, getting quieter at the end.

It hurts Eddie’s heart, the way she says your name softly like she doesn’t want you or him to hear it.

“Can I… can you put her on?” he tries, wanting so desperately to hear your voice.

You haven’t talked to him since Christmas Eve. Since the night he told you he was leaving. Every time he’d call home he couldn’t manage to get ahold of you. The one time he called your personal number, the second you’d said hello and he’d announced his presence, you’d hung up. Sometimes, when Eddie happens to call Steve or Robin or Nancy during a group hangout, they’ll tell him you aren’t there, but he knows it’s a lie. Not that it matters much anyway, because even the times they’re honest with him he’ll ask to speak to you and you’ll refuse.

It hurts him, how much you’ve distanced yourself. He obviously wanted you to move forward, but he’d hoped you could at least catch up every once in a while. How stupid he’d been to think that this was a fair thing to ask of you. How stupid he’d been to think the right decision was to leave you behind, the one person who he adored, who was right for him.

“Eddie…” Robin says on the other end, her voice wavering.

“Forget it. It’s okay,” he says, immediately looking to change the subject. “Look, I just wanted to check in and see how you guys were doing. I can let you go.”

“We miss you, Eddie. We’re always thinking of you,” Robin says, and he hears Nancy say a quick “love you!”

“Tell Wheeler I love her, too. I love all of you guys, okay? We’ll talk later.”

And then the call is over. The phone clicks into its place on the wall, and Eddie is alone again. Deafening silence rings in his ears, taunting him as he stares blankly at the wall in front of him.

If he’s honest, truly honest, nothing has been right since he left Hawkins. He tries to grin and bear it, to pretend like his shitty dead-end job is making him happy and that he made the correct decision moving here. But deep down, nearly this whole time, he’s known it was wrong.

Last December, he’d been at a breaking point, feeling like he was unwanted in Hawkins and like he was just a burden to you and everyone else. He’d genuinely convinced himself that you’d be better off without him, had it in his head that you’d move on with time and that you’d be okay in his absence.

He couldn’t be more wrong, but he wasn’t aware of how much you missed him. He didn’t think he was something worth missing.

December 16th, 1988.

Steaming hot plates of scrambled eggs and bacon are placed in front of you and Eddie, followed by two sides of toast with extra butter. Taking a tentative sip of his scalding coffee, Eddie’s eyes meet yours over the rim of his mug. You do a happy little wiggle in your seat, more than content to have a meal after your drinking session at Nancy’s the previous night. Eddie’s stomach was begging for food, and he knows you must be feeling the same way.

You waste no time digging in, and he watches you with a cute smile on his face as you raise your fork to your mouth, groaning when you take your first bite of eggs. You look ethereal, with your hair unbrushed and your mascara messy around your eyes, one of his big t-shirts on your frame beneath your winter coat. His smile falters, then, as he considers how perfect you are. How you’re effortlessly flawless, and how he doesn’t come close to deserving you.

You catch him staring, poking his wrist with the dull end of your fork and breaking him out of his thoughts.

“You can’t absorb my food just by watching me eat, you know that right?” you joke, smirking around your mouthful of toast.

“I can sure as hell try,” Eddie says, pressing his index and middle fingers to either side of his head, humming while he does it as if summoning the food to him.

You laugh, the brightest little sound, before you go back to eating as normal. You don’t see his smile fade yet again as he starts to pick at the food on his plate, his appetite suddenly dwindling.

The last week had taken its toll on Eddie, to say the least. This time of year always tended to be a bit hard on him, making him reminisce on the days when his mom was still alive and reminding him that his dead-beat father couldn’t be bothered to spend the holidays with his only son. Christmas was a time for family gatherings, and Eddie didn’t have family to gather with. He had you, and the rest of the friend group, and Wayne, but it just isn’t the same as having a complete and loving family. He found himself wishing for the Christmas-card picturesque familial comfort, and his heart ached at the lack of it.

Then, to bring his mood down even more, there was the incident at the grocery store. Just last night he’d been at the store with you, picking up some alcohol for the get together at Nancy’s. You’d been following close behind him as he’d roamed the aisles, your hand wrapped around his arm. Soft laughter and warm smiles were exchanged as you waited in the checkout line, inviting the eyes and judgments of onlookers.

“What a shame that poor girl got roped in with the Munson boy,” an older woman had said to her friend as they walked by. “She could do so much better than that…” she remarked, looking Eddie up and down in a way that could only be displeased. He met their eyes, only to have them turn up their noses in response and walk away.

You hadn’t heard the comments, had been too busy selecting a candy bar to snack on, your fingers sifting over crinkly paper before deciding on a Kit-Kat. Eddie tried to shake the stranger’s comment off, really he did, but he found his brain clouded with it. Sometimes he was so good at letting things roll off of his shoulders, but he’s felt it getting harder and harder. The whole night at Nancy’s, he couldn’t stop thinking about what the woman had said; couldn’t stop thinking about the way she looked at you like she pitied you, simply for being near him. The worst part is, this isn’t the first time he’s noticed people judging you and him together. Not even close. Everywhere he goes with you, he feels like he catches dirty looks.

It makes him feel like even more of a screw-up than he already does, simply adding to the emptiness that resides within his body. In his head, he feels like that woman at the supermarket was right. You could do better than him. Why did you bother with the town freak when you could have anyone?

“Hey,” you say now, blinking at him from across the sticky tabletop. Your voice is like a shining flashlight through the fog of his thoughts, bringing him out of the murkiness. “Are you alright? I thought you were starving,” you worry, concern etched into your facial features.

He looks down at his plate, realizing he’d been dancing his fork around the porcelain and stabbing mindlessly at the now-room-temperature eggs. He’d taken a single bite of his toast and nothing more.

“Did those eggs do something to you?” you ask, playing tough, trying to get a smile from him. “Do I need to teach them a lesson?”

“Yeah, actually, they called me some pretty mean names,” he joins in, rolling his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. You notice this, able to read him like a book, but you don’t press the issue.

Instead, you simply reach across the table, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. Squeezing yours in return, he tries to brush away the depressing thoughts that had berated him, and he eats his bacon and the rest of his toast before you both get up to leave. He knows he shouldn’t torture himself like this, but it’s hard not to when his whole life he’s felt like he wasn’t quite good enough.

When you arrive at your place, he walks you to the door of your building, ever the gentleman. Trying desperately to savor these moments with you without letting the town’s collective opinion of him ruin them. His heart flutters when your pretty eyes look up at him, your gentle fingers brushing against the sleeve of his coat.

“I don’t really want you to go,” you say, laughing a little but turning away as you do it, like you don’t quite want him to see.

“I don’t wanna go either. Hate leaving you,” he says, tilting his head to the side as he gives you a tiny pout.

You stand in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. The tension hangs thick in the air, and Eddie swears he could reach out and slice it with his fingernail. His heart thumps in his chest, he wonders if you can hear it from where you stand. And then, before he can truly even process it, you’re leaning in and he’s leaning in and then his lips are on yours and oh, god.

He’s never felt lips softer than yours, never felt sparks like the ones he feels right now. The kiss doesn’t last long, but in his mind it felt like he’d been frozen in that moment for hours. He can feel his cheeks flush when you’ve pulled away, but as he looks at you his heart just sinks.

You could do better than him. This is a mistake. He can’t let you do this to yourself.

He suddenly wants to sprint as far as he can away from you, he wants to curl up into a ball and hide away for eternity. He feels unstable, like the earth beneath him could crumble at any minute. His gut is telling him to leave, to go home and shut himself in to think. But at the same time, the way you look at him makes it so hard to go. You chew on your lip, giggling as he gives you a soft look and decisively tells you he has to get home. His breathing is a little shaky, and he hopes you didn’t notice.

“I’ll see you soon?” you ask, holding onto his arm.

“Yeah, see you soon.”

Your smile is persistent as you open the door to your building, waving at him through the small glass window. He offers a wave in return, before he turns heel and all but books it back to his van. He feels like he could collapse, like everything is crashing down around him.

To this town, he’s a fuck up, and maybe they’re all right. Maybe he needs to get out, to go somewhere where he can start fresh. Be someone new, not just a Munson.

His mental spiral only worsens as he drives to the trailer park, his thoughts racing in his mind. He hears principal Higgins from a few years back, he hears his neighbors, he hears the PTA moms all calling him a failure, a freak, a weirdo. A burden.

By the time he gets home, he feels like the answer to his problems is already decided. It’s been a slow boil over the course of the last week, a nagging thought that fades in and out of his brain. Now it’s finally coming to a head. There’s too many bad memories in this town, too many people that want him gone.

He needs to leave Hawkins. He needs to leave you.

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

Initially, right after he’d left, the gang had tried reasoning with him, begging him over grueling phone calls to just come home. He’d felt horrible about it, but he said no every time. He truly wanted to make something of himself, something that he felt Hawkins could never give him.

But then, getting his foot in the door in the music industry like he had hoped was not as easy as it was made out to be. The guy at the local recording studio had laughed at him when he’d inquired about booking a session to record a demo-tape. He’d laughed harder when Eddie had asked if the recording studio itself was hiring. He couldn’t even land a job at the local record store, and he felt like his failures were just piling up. His first job in the city had been at a small book store, but they ended up letting him go due to their lack of need for his help. Not enough foot traffic, the owner had said. Not worth keeping Eddie around for one shift a week, he’d grumbled.

He’d had several failed job interviews after, growing more and more frustrated after each one. Bills and other expenses were piling up with each passing day he spent jobless, and he guiltily accepted the little bit of money Wayne insisted on sending him to help him get by. He struggled along until he finally scored a job at the big department store down the street from his place. It wasn’t glamorous, by any means, but it paid the bills… barely.

That was another thing. His rent raised unexpectedly a couple months after his move, and he’s been living essentially paycheck to paycheck ever since.

He finds himself missing Hawkins more than he ever thought he would, and it kills him every day. More than anything, he misses you. Every day he thinks about you, yearns for you, wonders what you’re up to. Most of all, he thinks about that kiss. That single, stupid kiss that you’d shared. It had been earth shattering, and looking back he isn’t sure why that wasn’t his reason to stay. Instead, it pushed him further away.

His pride had gotten the best of him, not letting him admit defeat and move back to Indiana because he wanted to seem like he had everything figured out. He couldn’t stomach the thought of returning after a couple short months and looking like a failure to everyone. Frequent phone calls home to Wayne helped him stay sane, and he tried to keep his tone upbeat for his uncle but he should’ve known all along that the man knows him too well to buy it.

That’s why, when Eddie picks up the phone for the second time tonight and dials Wayne’s number, the man on the other end isn’t surprised to hear the way Eddie’s voice cracks or the sniffles that he tries to hide. It’s why he instantly requests that Eddie tell him what’s going on, because he just knows.

And Eddie pours his heart out.

“I can’t do it, Wayne. I can’t fucking do it,” he sniffs.

“Don’t talk like that, boy, what’s got you worked up?”

“I’m miserable here. I thought this was the right choice, but it couldn’t have been further from it.”

Wayne is silent on the other end, but Eddie can hear his steady, calm breathing. He keeps going.

“Sunny won’t talk to me, and— and I deserve that, but I miss her. I miss you, I miss my friends, I fucked up, Wayne,” Eddie’s voice is raw as he talks, frustrated tears streaming down his face. “Chicago is not what I wanted it to be. It didn’t create some magical new life for me. I have virtually nobody here that gives a shit.”

There’s silence again. In this moment Eddie is so wound up he almost snaps at his uncle, but then he doesn’t need to, because his voice comes through the line.

“So come home,” Wayne replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“What?”

“Come home. Book a flight and get your ass here, I’ll help you pay for it. There’s still time to make it by Christmas.”

It’s like a lightbulb goes off for Eddie, in that moment. Why can’t he just come home? What’s so hard about it? He’d been telling himself no, acting as though he had to stay in Chicago. But what was he running from?

Maybe he just needed that final push. Someone to tell him point-blank to cut the crap and come home. He should've been confiding in Wayne all along. And then it all falls into place, as Eddie stews in the realization that there’s nothing truly holding him back from going home except for himself. He’d created this narrative in his head; that he needed to leave Hawkins and that no one benefited from his presence. What if that was all… bullshit? He’s been forcing himself to stay in a city he hates… for what? He slumps back in his chair, letting Wayne’s words sink in, nodding his head slowly as he thinks.

By the time he gets in bed for the night, he knows what he has to do. He knows he’s made a lot of mistakes in his lifetime, but his worst one was leaving you. Settling in under his thick comforter, his stomach turns with anxiety and excitement. He barely sleeps a wink, but for once, he isn’t mad about it when he wakes up the following morning.

Present Day: December 21st, 1989.

Eddie’s hands shake as he steps out of his cab, his breath shallow with his nerves. In a couple of short days he’d packed up his life in Chicago to leave this place behind for good. He’d left a note on Argyle’s door explaining his departure and thanking him for all of the smoke sessions, and he’d tossed his keys at the always-rude front-desk receptionist before walking out of that building for the last time.

He shuffles in through the revolving doors at the airport, hands nervously wringing around the strap to his duffel bag. Wayne had been right, of course, there was plenty of time to make it home for Christmas and Eddie had secured a flight to Indiana rather easily amidst the holiday craziness. He hadn’t told a single other soul he was coming home, and he knew Wayne certainly wouldn’t share the news without his permission. He wanted to surprise everybody, wanted to fix what he’d broken last year, and he could only hope that he would be welcomed by his friends. You were his biggest obstacle, the thing making him the most nervous, but he was more than ready to see your face again and to never let you go this time. Somehow, he’d make it right.

He takes a deep breath as he heads towards his gate, then another.

This is it. He’ll be home in Hawkins for Christmas.

taglist: @hellfirenacht @writethrough @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @trashmouth-richie @succubusmunson @likedovesinthewnd @tlclick73 @mrsjellymunson @idkitsem @svbrbnlegends @eddiesxangel @munsonzgf @hereforshmut @eggo-segual @joannamuns9n @lavendermunson @leenameh @micheledawn1975

[venus-haze]

Night Shift (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: Your car’s totaled after driving over god knows what on those dark country backroads. A handsome mechanic named Bo works the night shift. You can’t believe your bad luck.

Note: Woman reader, but no other descriptors are used. This is inspired by the deleted intro scene to House of Wax, except with Bo rather than Vincent. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Extremely dubious (non) consent. Threats, transactional sex acts, spit, degradation, rough oral (m. receiving), implied kidnapping. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Hour nine of driving. You were feeling fine, really. At least, you would be once you found a place to park for the night. Worth it to save money on another motel. The coffee from the last gas station you stopped at was long gone. The radio dial couldn’t go any higher. You tried to stay awake and alert by singing along to the staticky radio. 

“Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are—“ POP! “What the fuck?”

The pop sounded more like an explosion the second time around. Your iron grip on the wheel was in vain as your car swerved across the road. The speed limit sign took out your passenger side mirror, a metallic scraping sound accompanying the impact. Switching your foot from the gas to the brake, the scent of burnt rubber overwhelmed you. Finally, your car screeched to a stop, but your heart still raced.

Your hand shook as you put your car in park. Turned on your hazards. Stared blankly at the blinking headlights on the pitch black road. You hadn’t dozed off at the wheel. No way. 

A dull pain pulsed through your chest, and you brought your hand to it. The seatbelt had locked, digging into your sternum as it kept you from any further damage besides the cut in your skin that began dripping blood. Not deep enough to need stitches, at least. You unbuckled the seatbelt, opening the door to stumble out of the car. 

Both of your driver’s side tires had popped. The front passenger tire deflated from skidding on the uneven asphalt. You looked at the section of the road you’d just driven over. Country backroads were riddled with potholes. That could’ve been the culprit. Hard to see so late at night, even with your headlights.

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and flipped it open. No signal. Calling 911 only resulted in a dead dial-tone. At least you tried. Two options left. Stick around and hope someone would drive by and be able to offer help or walk back to the main road. In the hour or so you’d been driving, you’d only seen an old pickup truck drive in the opposite direction. The whole point of going this way was to avoid other drivers and get to your destination that much quicker. Walking back to the main road sounded torturous. There was nothing for miles, and it’d probably be daylight by the time you reached a sign of civilization. If you could even walk for that long. Either way, you were fucked.

Giving in to your defeatism, you walked around to the passenger side of the car. Your duffle bag had flown to the floor, not that you were too worried. It mostly had clothes, along with a few toiletries. When you opened it, however, you found your small shampoo bottle had opened, coating your belongings in soap, including the book you’d brought along in case you needed to pass the time somewhere. 

“Worst night of my fucking life,” you muttered to yourself.

Not bothering to close the door behind you, you sat on the hood of your car and waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

You checked your phone’s clock just as it was about to die. A little after two in the morning. Half an hour and nothing. Just you and the sound of crickets. The occasional howl in the night. Rustling in the trees and bushes. You had turned off your headlights to save the car’s battery. There was no reason for anyone to know you were there, hidden under the cover of darkness.

“Hey, you alright?” a disembodied voice asked.

You blinked, bleary-eyed and squinting at the bright lights that assaulted your vision. Throwing an arm up to shield your eyes, you sat up, your back aching. 

“Thought you were dead or something,” the man said, motioning to the bloodstain on your shirt.

“I think I fell asleep,” you mumbled, before jolting awake. You were talking to someone. Someone with a car. “My car got wrecked from the–I don’t know exactly, potholes I guess. I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

“Happens a lot out here. The DOT don’t keep up these roads much. Boss has us drive around some nights just to check,” the man said, throwing a thumb in the direction of the truck behind him. A tow truck. You nearly cried in relief.

He offered you his hand, helping you off the hood of your car, keeping you steady as you got your footing on the road beneath you. Your legs felt sore too. As your eyes adjusted to the odd lighting, you tried to get a better look at your hero. His face was obscured by shadows.

“Mind headin’ over to the truck with me? I just gotta get a look at your license,” he said.

You nodded, following him to the tow truck as you pulled your wallet from your purse. He stood in front of the headlights. He glanced over your license, and you allowed curiosity to get the better of you, looking at his face better. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear, nestled next to the cap he had on, dark curls peeking out from beneath it. His work shirt had a name patch sewn into it. Bo. If that was even his real name.

“Checks out to me,” he said, handing you your license back before your mind could begin racing too much. 

“Thank you so much, Bo.”

He pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, placing it between his lips. You watched as he lit it with a lighter he fished out from his pockets. “Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll get your car hooked up.”

“Thirty bucks right?” you asked, digging through your purse for the fee listed on the side of the tow truck. Two crumpled twenty dollar bills were outstretched in your hand for him to take. 

“Hold on now, night shift is double.”

“I can give you my credit card.”

“Cash only.”

“Well, this is all I have.”

He grinned, taking a drag from his cigarette. “You got a lot more that I’m interested in.”

Didn’t even hide the way his eyes raked over your body. It was pitch black out apart from the tow truck’s headlights. How much of you could he even see? You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat. 

You scoffed. “I-I don’t—“

“‘Less you wanna rough out the rest of the night on your own. Not sure when the next car’s gonna come through here.”

Your lower lip quivered at the predicament you found yourself in. Whatever. He’d probably make you blow him and be done with it. Hopefully never have to recount the humiliating situation to another soul. 

“What do you want me to do?” you asked.

“Get on your knees.”

You hesitated.

“Ain’t got all night.”

With a shaky breath, you knelt in front of him, eye level with his crotch. The cracked, uneven road wasn’t kind to your knees, but Bo didn’t care. He flicked his cigarette aside, grabbing your face with his rough hand. 

“Lucky I found you,” he said, his gaze burning your skin. “Lotta people wouldn’t be as nice as me if they found a pretty little thing like you alone out here.”

You tensed when he began undoing his belt buckle. “I changed my mind. I’ll wait here for someone else.”

He chuckled. “Too late for that, girl. No refunds.”

That was all it took to keep you there. Trapped. Your gaze kept fruitlessly looking for some sign of help from the road behind him. He seemed to know that no one else would come, smug as he palmed at his crotch before unzipping his jeans.

“Let me see you open that pretty mouth ‘a yours nice and wide for me,” he said.

You opened your mouth, presenting your tongue to him and trying to look at anything but the cocky expression on his face. He spit in your mouth, and you nearly gagged at the taste. Tobacco and beer. Stale. Bitter. You held his spit on your tongue until he said—

“Swallow.”

You did, trying to ignore the feeling of his saliva sliding down your throat.

“Attagirl,” he praised, giving you a patronizing pat on the cheek before prying open your mouth again with his fingers.

Your knees were on fire, and he hadn’t even shoved his cock in your mouth yet. You watched as he pulled it free from his underwear, already half-hard and intimidatingly big and veiny, twitching as if eager to break you. He gave it a few strokes, precum dripping from the head as he positioned it in front of your mouth.

“Give it a kiss.”

As soon as you pressed your lips to the tip of his cock, cold and chaste, you knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. 

“C’mon now, like you mean it,” he chided. “Get a lil’ tongue in there.”

You could hardly see his shadowy grin, but it was clear from his voice he was getting off on your humiliation. Pervert. You shuddered to think of the other women who’d been in your place as you made out with his cock, your lips wrapping around the head, tongue flicking at his leaking slit before pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along his shaft. His scent was strong, a sweaty musk that threatened to overwhelm your senses as he pushed your face against his hardening length.

“Shit girl,” he groaned, “you’re a natural whore.”

Suddenly, you felt a painful tug on your scalp, your yelp muffled by his cock forced down your throat, gagging as you tried to breathe. Your vision blurred with tears at his force, ears ringing as you could swear you heard him laughing at your struggle. 

There was nothing you could do but take it, choking out sobs around his cock as he fucked your throat, hips thrusting with a punishing brutality that almost made you wish you’d driven into a tree instead. His cock filled your mouth, giving you little reprieve from him. Your throat burned at the relentless friction, head pounded from the lack of air.

“You’re gonna let me cum in your mouth, ain’t ya?”

You realized when his dark blue eyes pierced yours that he wanted an answer. Humiliated, your ‘yes’ was hardly intelligible with his cock in your mouth. To your shock, he slapped you.

“You ain’t gonna let me do shit,” he taunted through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna swallow it all, slut.”

Tears rolled freely down your cheeks as he pushed the limits of how much of him you could take, your throat constricting around his throbbing cock in panic and bringing him over the edge. He thrust hard when he came, nearly knocking you over if not for his hand firmly buried in your hair. His warm, bitter cum pumped in your mouth, down your throat, though you knew some of it spilled out from your lips despite your best efforts to swallow it all.

When he finally pulled his cock from your mouth, you took a painfully deep breath that burned the back of your throat. He reached down, a sinister gleam in his eye when you flinched. His thumb collected the cum from the corners of your lips, bringing it to your mouth. You sucked it clean, hoping you could silently communicate how much you hated him. He returned your death glare with amusement.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, inspecting it with a grin. “Good girl.”

You winced as you pushed yourself to your feet, drool and cum dripping from your puffy lips, knees split open and bleeding, grit and asphalt deep in the fresh wounds. You could hardly stand, leaning against the side of the tow truck, watching in disgust as he tucked his cock back in his pants and adjusted his cap.

“Alright, I’m a man of my word. Take a seat in the truck,” Bo said, the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. “I’ll get your car hooked up, bring you back to the garage. Might be there a while.”

[crybaby-magic]

Trouble Maker

Lloyd x reader

contains:jealousy,angst-ish,fluff,choking,oral,um smut,semi not really edited

this request is long overdue lmao

As tech support you did thinks like help Nya or jay with machinery,help Zane or Pixal with there software,give the ninja intel that could help them with a mission.This also included watching there every move thanks to borg putting in cameras everywhere in ninjago you can easily keep up with them and give them directions.

Your other job was seeing who they save or defeat.You make sure to put it in a file to see who’s more prone to danger or how the ninja can defeat a certain criminal easier.It made your life much easier.Though lately your starting to hate this file.Mainly the one with civilians.You set it up so you can see how much the ninja saved someone; tiring yes, beneficial to them also yes,annoying you definitely yes.

over that past couple of months there’s been this girl who kept getting in dangerous predicaments.At this point you think it intentionally because she only insisted on the green ninja saving her even going as far as pushing the other ninja or having a complete breakdown of its not the green ninja.

Today just happened to be another day with her putting herself in a silly situation and demanding the green ninja save her.Watching him jump to her rescue the bashful praise from her after it was slowly driving you to insanity.What kills you the most is when you point it out he just brushes you off.

“Tch,honestly i’m tired of this Tiblit take care of coms i’m going to my room.”you had stated as you slowly got up leaving the computer to your fox familiar.

Wandering down the hall you continue to think about the situation.Lloyd tends to be dense to the point it gets him in stupid or dangerous situations.For example trusting a serpentine….that didn’t end well.You would think he’d learn but at this point you think he just likes the attention.

You pause at your door for a moment ‘Attention’ you thought then suddenly you came up with a wonderful idea.You hurried into your room to plan out this wonderful idea.

————————————☆————————

You could see it in lloyds eyes, the annoyance directed towards you.Though you weren’t paying him any mind as y’all were in the check out.You two were supposed to grab some groceries for zane but the trip soon turned into you getting hit on by the cashier at the register.After the transaction(and the guy giving you his number) you and lloyd headed out with him huffing.

Honestly you would feel bad seeing as you been doing this for the past two weeks but at the same time him being annoyed is so funny especially when he pouts like a toddler.Sighing to yourself as you to wander back to the monastery you wonder if you should just stop seeing as he's still hasn’t confronted you.After a long travel of him staring daggers in you head and you acting oblivious you wander into your room to nap knowing you'll have to pull an allnighter to catch up on a couple documents.Stripping yourself of clothing to lay in your cool bed.As soon as your body made contact you felt your eyes heavily close.

Through you semi consciousness you felt weight on your bed along with the shuffling of the blanket that lifted a bit from you body letting the cool air prick at your exposed skin.choosing to ignore it knowing who it is you turn your body to face away from him to go back to sleep.

That dream was short lived when you were force onto your back eye forcing themself awake to see green to red eyes before you.Lloyd breathing is very harsh like you'd even say you see faint fog coming out with each breath.You slowly grow nervous about his behavior feeling sweat bead start to form you stutter out “W-what’s wrong lloyd?” All that followed was his eyes glinting towards you.you opened your mouth to say something only for him to shove his fingers down your throat gagging you.

Clenching your legs by impulse to soothe the aching that awakened in your nether regions.Your hand grab at his hand that currently assaulting your mouth.Lloyds mouth proceed to attack you body in bites and hickies.At some point he wanders farther down your chest his unattended arm gripped at your bra in a moment of shock he ripped it off your body.The impact mad you whine out in protest.His fingers moved out of your mouth letting you gasp for breath only for his hand to hold you throats.Shaking gulping you looked at his face that had a smirk and eyes that fully went red.You tried to make noise only for his hand to tighten up.”What? You wanted to say something to me?I don’t know why when you've been ignoring me for the past two weeks” he said with a cheeky tone that soon lead to gruff laugher “You don’t get to complain you did this to yourself”

You breathing slowly started to pick up either from excitement or fear.Your breath hitched when you felt him tearing your underwear off.While distracted his mouth slotted against yours fighting for dominance that you quickly lost.Your legs soon started to shift again to tame the heated feeling in between your legs.Lloyd quickly gripped your thighs separating them with force.You whined out at the cool air touching you fully exposed body.He released your mouth and moved lower to your slit.

His hot breath made you squirm with anticipation.Your eyes widened immensely at his hot long tongue that started to make out with your pussy.Your hands reaction was grabbing at his hair thought it did make him grunt it didn’t deter him from stopping.Your mind blanked out once his thumb started to mess with your clit.You soon started to moan out louder when his tongue intruded your insides.Your walls started tightening up around it while you impulsive grinded on his face to the best of your abilities in attempt to reach your climax that so close.

You nearly cried as soon as lloyd removed his mouth off of your edging you from your climax.He moved his face towards your mouth shoving his tongue against yourself letting you taste yourself.All while not noticing that he had pulled out his dick and tapped it on your clit.He rubbed against you collecting your juice to lubricate his dick.He grasps at your thighs spreading them wider while slowly entering you.You didn’t know whether to move with him or pull away from him.

The pain was there but it only made you much wetter as it was also pleasurable.He moved his thumb back to start messing with your clit again to add more stimulation.At some point his thick length made it to the base.He pause to let you adjust.While he was semi quietly groaning you were whimpering from the constant throbbing of his dick against your walls.His hands grasp at your waist slowly lifting you up.At instinct you wrap your arms around his neck slightly grasping at his hair in the process.

Lloyd subtly starts moving his hips, gaining speed as he goes.As he moves he leans his head next to yours nuzzling into your neck as he vigorously thrust into you.he lets go of one of your legs and pushes the one he still had his hands on closer toward your chest.He starts to fondle you breast while sucking on you neck and chest area once again.

The squelchy from the constant pounding is dizzying to hear plus y'all's moans combined made you tighten up.Your nails started to scratch at his back as you writhe from the pleasure.You soon felt that coil start to tighten making you moan out louder.He groaned at the sudden tightening of your walls.At this point you were just babbling random things while he took pleasure in utterly destroying you mentally and physically.

He speedup seeing as yall both were wreaking that peak.The coil tightening until if finally burst.You came to the point your mind blanked into white.He soon follow pouring his seed deep into your walls.Once yall paused for a moment he slowly pulled himself out letting his seed fall out of you.You sighed out heavily.Lloyd fell onto his back panting he used the last of his energy to pull you onto him.

————————————☆————————

It was quite after yall had caught your breaths.Lloyd gently rubbed you back while looking at the ceiling.Glazing your eyes up at him you made a giggling noise “Pfft you could have just told me you were pent up!”

Lloyd just glared at you unimpressed.He pinched one of your face cheeks and started pulling it back and forth putting you in discomfort. “You’re a brat,you know that right?!” he said in a monotone voice.You tried to say something along the lines of “im sorry” but struggled against your face being pulled.

[thornedrose44]

There are so many good ones in the 100 dialogue writing prompts!

But I'll choose: 67. "What if we make a deal?" For supercorp if you will!

I love your writing so much! And hope you have a brilliant day😘

(Angst ahead, with a hopeful end)

“What if we make a deal?”

Kara turned round slowly, back pressing against the balcony balustrade as she watched Lena approach tentatively.  “What kind of deal?”

“With clear terms, if I do X that means Y. We can have a standard deal in place when you need my assistance.” Lena explained, clasping her hands in front of herself, pale skin glowing as she was backlit by the bright glow of monitors through the window. “I gain access to the tower’s laboratory and it’s resources, provide consultancy on the approach to dealing with the alien but no vote in how it is handled unless I provide a key element then I get an equal stake vote to the other Superfriend team members.”

Kara’s gaze narrowed as she accused, “You want to turn ‘helping’ into a transaction?”

There was a flicker of hurt that flashed through green eyes but Lena blinked it away quickly enough, expression returning to the blank one she sported whenever she was called upon to assist Supergirll and her team. “No.” Lena said simply, the syllable shaking under the weight of all the emotion it was holding back. “I want to help. But I don’t know the parameters that I’m allowed to operate in.”

“Look,” Kara’s jaw clenched, stomach swirling with regret and shame, head dipping low, “I know things are awkward-“

“Awkward is an understatement.” Lena corrected, with a harsh chuckle that Kara didn’t bother to deny. “I feel actively unwelcome, Kara. I try to help and give an opinion and I am met with silence and you actively choosing the option in opposition to mine.”

Kara shifted her weight from foot to foot, “I just don’t agree with you.”

“No, you just don’t want to.”

“That’s not-“

Lena’s expression hardened for the first time then, a flash of Luthor might that she had buried since coming to Kara with an apology and a request for aid with her brother. “I know you were all for using a containment method rather than risking Alex’s chemical compound on that last alien until I put forward a way to do that. Then you switched because I suggested it.” 

Kara winced, wanting to argue back and deny the accusation but she was trying to get better with the instinct to lie to Lena - an ingrained reaction that initially grew from a place of sincere good intentions but became twisted with each betrayal on either side.

 “This isn’t working because you don’t trust me.” Lena said, shaking her head mournfully, “And I… I understand that. So… let’s remove trust from the equation.”

“With a deal.” Kara guessed.

“Exactly. With parameters and terms and conditions.” Lena asserted, taking a shy step closer - Kara leaned ever so slightly further back over the balustrade, prompting Lena to shuffle backwards in response. “You know what lines I have to operate in and I don't need to tread on eggshells since I know what I’m allowed to do and what the response to my actions will be.”

Kara sighed, glancing away and staring out over the city skyline as she admitted, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She knew how difficult it was for Lena, knew that when she came to the tower everyone stayed away - a bubble of distance to keep her isolated, knew that Lena pre-emptively flinched when offering a countering opinion because she knew it would be met by Kara instantly digging in her heels. Brainy and Kelly bridged the gap, doing what they could to keep the tension low and make it so Lena wasn’t without any allies. Kara knew that Lena was doing them a favour by jumping to their aid, and the least they should do was recognise that. .

“Yes, you do.” Lena whispered, shattering the rose-tinted glasses Kara had tried to wear. “I know because I was doing it not long ago and you’re doing it for the same reason I did.”

“Which is?”

“I hurt you and seeing me hurts all over again.”

Kara absorbed this, her heart shriveling up into something tiny as if by being smaller it couldn’t contain as much hurt and love as it currently did. She cleared her throat, finally looking back to her once best friend, “And this will help?”

“I don’t know.” Lena confessed. “But it’s different and right now it’s all I have. If it doesn’t…” She paused, gaze going far away as she considered her options before saying, “I’ll go.”

“Go? Go where?” Kara asked, the sharp tang of adrenaline and fear flooding her system.

“Away from here. Away from you.” Lena murmured, and Kara could see Lena’s throat bob as she swallowed back a lump of emotion. “I know I’ve done wrong but I don��t think I should make myself miserable as penitence…” Lena’s brow furrowed and she added in a mutter, “at least that’s what Kelly said. And you don’t deserve to be miserable either.”

Kara’s hands shifted to her hips, fingers digging in tightly, her head feeling suddenly light like she was floating above all this - she was instead watching the events play out, a version of the future where Lena wasn’t there at all. 

“Okay, then let’s make a deal.” Kara said quickly, words spilling out in an eager bid to extinguish the nightmarish vision she was seeing.

Lena looked surprised but didn’t question Kara’s decision, “I will draft a contract and send it to you for editing?”

“Okay.” Kara breathed, turning away and back to the city, unable to bear watching Lena leave. She could hear Lena’s heartbeat, and knew Lena waited a couple of seconds before making her move. “Lena?” Kara called out before she had a chance to stop herself.

“Yes?” Lena replied, her heartbeat rising in tempo to match the pounding beat of Kara’s own.

Kara licked her lips, eyes slipping closed as she whispered, “You leaving would make me miserable too.”

[sarioh]

rio i miss and love you and your analysis posts. what are your thoughts on the clethubs dynamic this season (in anticipation of the new episode tmrw)

hi aleph thank you so much for giving me a green flag to just drop a 1000 word rant about clethubs also sorry i missed the deadline and also sorry about the length. anyways personally i think clethubs is what you get when you put 3 people who are burdened with Remembering in a world where no one else really seems to. like, of course the other players remember and make references to events of the past, but they don’t remember in the way these three do.

to me this is best explained through a breakdown of Trust and how it manifests between each of them indiviudally. etho, especially, is so distrusted by most of the server. he’s a schemer, he has a reputation of being really unreadable and also unpredictable, but if you actually try to understand him it’s really easy to see that he’s actually the most straightforward person alive. he operates purely on debts and repayments. not debts in a trade sense—those are a business transaction and subject to being logically dissected and exploited. but debts in an emotional sense. etho offered grian mercy in limited life because of the diamond sword in episode 1, which grian had forgotten about entirely all the while etho had been biding his time and waiting for a chance to repay it all season.

cleo is the only person on the server who seems to really understand this part of etho, and therefore is the only person who seems to be able to read his true intentions. not only that, but she's the only one who really seems to approach the concept of loyalty in the same way. in the life series, alliances are feeble and fleeting, and for the most past actions hold no bearing in the future. it doesn’t matter what happened 5 episodes ago—if you’re not on my side now, you’re against me. there’s no such thing for cleo—loyalty and betrayal are not just momentary states of being. if you took something dear from me 5 episodes ago, i will never fully allow myself to need you again. even if we're in the final five and our survival depends on each other.

cleo and etho were direct antagonists in the last season and have no reason to trust each other now, but they trust openly despite it because better than most they understand the burden of a debt unpaid, and the burden of remembering in a way that no one else seems to. to them, loyalty isn’t about who you arbitrarily align yourself with, it’s a gesture. it’s “you gave me an extra pair of diamond leggings 3 episodes ago for no reason when you could’ve given it to your allies and now you have no idea that youre in my good books forever.” you can be on opposites ends of a war from someone but if they extend you a moment of mercy, well, how are you supposed to forget that? how are you not supposed to spend the rest of your life repaying that? they both subconsciously keep lists, not just of people they want to kill (like so many other players seem to), but of people who have extended a hand to them in a time where it didn't really make sense to. of gestures that were silently meaningful towards people they care about. "i trust you because bdubs trusted you" etc etc.

it makes so much sense that cleo and etho would both go immediately to becoming sworn allies this season after being bitter enemies in the previous series. because they both understand that there’s no such thing as fleeting alliances, and when they've decided to choose each other, it’s more than just a shared base or a team name—it’s something unshakable. it’s a thousand debts you take turns repaying.

and then theres bdubs, where remembering takes a different form entirely. for him, remembering manifests as shared history. if i chose you before, really chose you, then i’m going to choose you again and again and again. i’m going to hover in your orbit even if you don’t choose me the next time, because you and i both know what we had, even if we’re not supposed to acknowledge it. “that was a different universe, this is a different world. you’re just cleo” but i’m going to spend the rest of the episode hovering longingly by your base anyways. “this is our old thing, if it comes down to it we don’t betray each other” because the loyalty created its roots years ago and has been growing out of control ever since. you ask bdubs where his team is and he shifts uncomfortably and refuses to explicitly call them his allies, insisting that they just showed up around him but he's not really sure.

and just like etho, the other players never fully trust bdubs. he’s fickle with his loyalty and seems to be a split decision away from turning on his friends at any second, but cleo and etho both know that’s not really true either. their trust towards him comes from that Remembering, that fundamental understanding of shared history.

for etho, it’s the push and pull. it’s the knowing that we go so far back that what happens in between never really matters. you got caught in an explosion or a trap that i set in your base? well, good thing we have a hundred more lives to play with so we can just laugh it off like we always do. a stray explosion or a firing squad aren’t an act of betrayal, any more than a mocking comment about your height or a casual threat of violence. and when it really matters, we both know we’d put down our swords.

for cleo, it’s something unshakeable. bdubs, the known traitor of 3rd life, was fiercely protective of her and her alone. so she’s never wary of him the same way anyone else is—she knows that when bdubs really chooses you, then you’re marked for life.

so yeah. clethubs is three guys who share the burden of remembering. and also have some kind of unspoken understanding of each others motives and intentions that no other player seems to have concretely picked up on. but in a way that ultimately just culminates in them acting like freaks around each other and not actually making any direct effort to team mostly because, as usual, etho and bdubs have no idea how to communicate their intentions directly and sincerely like normal people and instead opt to hover in the fringes of each others alliances and make really weird and loaded comments . Anyways