#Custom Made Cigarette Case

[sevastiel]

Behold ye, my Protoframe oc, Darius.

(Ft @doggojin and @thatfluffyboi's Chanho n Sol, they make an delightful trio tbh)

Some extra deets (lots of notes on him be warned) post cut! :)

Separated into physical and psychological/lore.

Physical notes :

Spanish-Mediterranean, mid-to-late twenties, looms at a ridiculous 6'6" (200 cm I believe? around there.) but is normally hovering an inch or two off the ground. Thankfully, he's gotten into the habit of tucking his legs in a bit so he doesn't hit every single doorframe that he passes through. He lost his left leg from the knee down due to an unfortunate incident with a landmine, and had a prosthetic for several years before the techrot.

Darius's body is made up of connected pieces held together by sentient energy, and all of his organs have either been replaced by the techrot-sentient hybrid growths, or are no longer necessary and have been removed. He currently lacks the entirety of a regular digestive tract as we would know it, and subsists mostly on energy. However, should he require physical mass for either rebuilding/modifying himself, or creating other sentients, he can 'eat' by putting materials in his mouth, pulling his bodily pieces together, and allowing the techrot systems to dissolve things into more workable particles, or pushing things between separated segments of his body (usually his chest) and letting the sentient bits pick things apart and feed them to the rot for storage. (This takes longer and is less effective at energy conservation) Extra notes on this later when we discuss his abilities.

The connective energy between segments is manifested in string-like bundles of force, which are manipulatable and can be 'touched', though unless he's focusing on keeping his energy properly contained you will likely get a light zap, and with prolonged touch you'll likely be able to feel them hum with power. They normally have about the same tactile strength as woven spiderwebbing of the same thickness, stretching easily but ultimately severable with either enough effort or something sharp. Should you sever all the connections, the piece will just fall off. Removed pieces aren't controllable by him any longer, but are re-attachable, and although he's got a body plan that his form defaults to, every single bit of him is entirely modular except for his cranium. Removing his jaw takes some effort, as there are technically still segments of flesh (his lips, basically) holding it on, but it is possible. If he really puts his mind to it, though, he can remove a segment, and maintain the links through mental focus, or by tethering them to something that he/they can feed off of. Through this, he can make replacement limbs for others, or additional armor, given they've got the bio-energy to keep the segments active.

Bodily segments are almost entirely made of toughened armor plating, with the majority of flexibility being located on the twin pieces that make up his chest/torso, as this is also where the majority of the techrot based organs lie. Although he does need to breathe, each segment intakes oxygen individually, through the softer and more porous dark insides. He has full sensation in any piece of him that he's linked to, as the energy connections serve as a nervous system, and can 'digest' pieces if he's in desperate need of energy/materials in a pinch.

Being modular, he can, in the same way he summons other sentients, simply craft himself differing body parts whenever he so pleases. The larger the piece, the more effort/thought it takes, since it requires a greater complexity of systems for nutrient, oxygen, and waste management. Due to his own lack of knowledge, he doesn't manifest any replacements larger than his own legs, and would rather just spit out a patch and slap it onto injured areas and let the techrot do its thing. This is why his 'armor' looks less dramatic compared to actual caliban, because why the hell would he want that much weight throwing him off balance? He'll accept the techrot/sentient's desires and keep his form adjacent to it, though.

Ability wise, he's functionally pretty similar to a vampire. While he technically could subsist entirely off of regular food, it would require a lot of time and careful dieting to gather the proper resources his body needs, and his energy levels would be rather constantly low. So, instead, he just eats as much techrot as he can and prays for the best, or drinks directly from power generators when he can get away with it, or anything similar. Pure energy as a baseline keeps all his sentient systems running, and metals/proteins allow his techrot systems to keep going. Thankfully for him, he's got two boyfriends who are both quite energetic, and really don't mind his needs as much as they should.

Manifesting sentient fighters usually happens in the same way as he manifests new pieces of himself, but with the added caveat that they don't need functional internal systems for long term usage, and he can charge them up with his own power to keep them running as long as he needs. This is obviously extremely resource intensive, but if it keeps those he cares about safe, (and since it appeases the eternal need to consume and create and consume and create and consume and create) he'll do whatever he must.

Due to all of the above, he prefers particularly tight or comfortable clothing,, as it helps mitigate the changes that happen depending on his energy levels. The less he's got, the looser his pieces, and things will just fall off if he's dead tired (lol). So... Avoiding that is nice. Additionally, although he needs his chest cavity within reach for making sentients at a quick notice, he does like looking in the mirror and not seeing his own body immediately as so blatantly inhuman and monstrous. The straps he uses for his military harness are half to hold things and half to straight up just keep himself together. The mask is for keeping his eyes clear of gore while he's in the middle of shit, because that was a severe issue beforehand. Take a bite, get blinded bc there was more fluid than you expected, have to panic and try and fix that mid combat, leaving you even worse off than you were previously? No thanks.

--

Psycological notes and lore:

Before Entrati got his hands on him, he was a well respected mediator that worked on communications for the ICR, and worked directly with the Hollvanian government and its military to allow for the ICR to remain in the city.

Coming from a well off and well expecting background, from a young age he was put through his paces and taught to be the finest edition of a modern renaissance man, giving him very little time to do anything but his studies, and very little affection from anything but perfection. Even then, kinda mid. As such, he is a well mannered and well spoken fellow with a deeply repressed childish nature that only ever comes out at the worst possible times amidst the best possible company.

Having been tailor-made for communications work, he was also ensured a healthy dose in very many other skills that might come up from time to time while traveling. (Including, but not limited to, sewing (which he hates), cooking (which he has extremely low patience for), midwifery (which thank god hasn't come up yet), medical triage (unfortunately has), general electrical and mechanical knowledge (much better for him now than it was before), a few languages, and so forth. Post becoming a protoframe, much of his knowledge has degraded due to the changes required for his brain to be able to control his bio-energy, leaving him constantly irritated when faced with a challenge that he knows DAMN well how to deal with, but cant remember specifics on.

He deals with irritation and anger very expressly, not one for subtlety or sarcasm when it comes to his displeasure. This man will Not be the one making snide jabs across the table, he would instead pull you aside privately and explain quite logically the behaviors he's disliking and see if either an agreement can be reached or if another specialist should be put forth. A trait learned from his parents, no doubt, but also one that helps considerably when it comes to governmental relations and respect.

All of his emotions are generally delt with highly logically, which, when it comes to more positive or soft feelings, gets very awkward and confusing for him very fast. One might find have found him before sitting on a bench, staring up at the falling leaves. If you asked him what he was thinking about, he'd respond that he's trying to comprehend why exactly he should be feeling happy about witnessing something so mundane. He wouldn't leave, of course, he'd still watch, but there will always be a part of him that shies away from emotions as a whole. All the sweeter, imo, when he really starts feeling and letting himself feel. Love is a strange thing, isn't it?

During his time in Hollvania, he got infected through volunteer work, doing his best to actually be helpful past the eternal red-tape. He hid it for as long as he could, taking extra care to frequently wash, scrub down, and then properly bandage and ointment up the affected bits of his arms so he wouldn't risk spreading anything, but it didn't do much for him at all. He was needed to maintain good relations, often running intermediary briefing dialogues to keep both sides as up to date as possible on the ICR's doings, so duty really did pull him in half. (haha) As the rot progressed and claimed more of his body, leaving him weaker and more frequently ill, it was less and less ethically feasible for him to keep working, despite it more or less being the only thing he really knew how to do, and there being very few people who could replace him. If he wasn't doing something, if he wasn't being productive, solving problems, keeping people happy, then what was he?

And then he heard of a man with a miracle cure, our good old Doktor Friday, and the fact that it worked. Naturally, Darius paid him a visit, already having used his infected status as an excuse to let him do a bit more hands on assistance wherever he could. And Entrati indeed did give him a cure, listening and nodding along to all the reasons Darius gave as to why he would likely be a good test subject, especially if it meant that if it worked, Darius would be in an excellent position to grant Albrecht significant funding for expanding his cures to the greater populous, who needed them desperately.

Well, it sure didn't fucking do much, did it, leaving him visually better, but when word got out that the others who'd taken the cure had become super-spreaders, you bet your ass he started panicking immediately. He'd been in rooms for extended periods of time with everyone in command, just his presence might have been enough to entirely destabilize the local government, or absolutely gut the ICR. So, once more, he claimed a stomach illness to take some time off. This was a very big problem, so back he went, livid as all hell, to hunt down Entrati.

He got the whole spiel about unforeseen mutations within the techrot responding strangely, and although he didn't believe it, he already had nothing left to lose. He wasn't a soldier, sure, he had training in fencing, could handle a gun, but he couldn't help like the others could, and he could not go back to the one thing he'd been set up all his life to be. And Entrati had a bit of a twinkle in his eye when he said that there might be something that he could do, but it would take time, and multiple tests, to be able to make it all work. There was another strain Dr E was experimenting with that, as he was shown samples and heard the explanations, seemed to be able to nullify the techrot almost entirely. (It was actually just subsuming it, but visually, the two outcomes were nearly identical.)

So he said yes. Like a fucking idiot.

The initial dose laced him with the helminth strain, preparing his body, granting him strength, even though it hurt so very much, the pain leaving him borderline insensate, unable to do anything but lay there and cry as he felt his very flesh twisting and saw Entrati approach with the second dose after a few hours.

Number two was a low dose of the sentient strain, modified, following Caliban's biological approach, and the reaction between the two was violent, techrot subsumed with a rapid hunger and made to serve a new master. Darius's body quite literally began tearing at the seams, and Entrati took his time with the process, utilizing several more small injections, so he wouldn't die of pure blood loss.

When all was said and done, his twisted body was held together by a scant few threads of power, and he was very much unconscious, having fallen into a coma that would last multiple days, fed with an occasional battery set into the new cavity within his chest.

Wisely, Entrati was not there when he awoke, starving, terrified, and in great pain. All he could focus on was the hunger, that pulsating desire that screamed at him to consume, create, consume, create, consume, create, his human mind utterly overwhelmed by the twin techrot and sentient desires. It took him some time to figure out how to move again, much less walk, and the hunger only got worse by the second.

When the Hex found him, they came across a crying, shattered man, tearing into mounds of freshly killed techrot with his bare hands, stuffing wires and flesh alike into his mouth with an inhuman voracity. He was guarded by bizarre automatons, whos' origin was quickly made apparent by him reaching into that glowing gash that bisected his entire body and pulling out another, his own form splitting and reshaping as he dragged it free.

It took quite some time for him to regain his humanity. Quite some time to mediate the new desires of his reformed body with his own. The urges have not left him, but at least he's got a choice, now.

Prince of both worlds indeed.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

[Part 2] | [More original works]

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)." 

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock. 

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message. 

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

 It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

 "There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days. 

 You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows. 

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?" 

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window. 

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?" 

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied: 

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake. 

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused. 

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else." 

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing. 

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat. 

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport. 

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks. 

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society. 

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation. 

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly. 

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail." 

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary. 

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment? 

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously. 

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology. 

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office. Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa. 

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport. 

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead. 

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment. 

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans. 

Just you."

[octuscle]

Exchange student: Berlin, Germany

October 01, 2024

Brad had come to Berlin as an exchange student because it was supposed to be the party capital of Europe. He was looking forward to a semester of spring break. But he quickly became disillusioned. There was hardly anyone walking around at the Technical University who looked anything like Spring Break. Most of them were dressed in black, with short hair and pale faces. Brad stood out like a sore thumb. And apart from that, Berlin was very different from what he had imagined. He had been told that Germany was so incredibly clean. Berlin was dirty and run-down. The people were unfriendly. The weather was terrible. By the time he moved into his room in the run-down student dormitory, which had probably last been renovated in the 1980s, he was homesick for Providence.

Tonight was a faculty welcome party. The building was an old factory hall, a ruin. The music was just one thing: deafeningly loud. The people at the party were all stoned or high on pills. It stank of sweat, cigarette smoke and sweet energy drinks. Brad wondered whether he could still change universities. Munich was supposed to be much more civilized than Berlin. Someone gave him a funny-looking pill. It was about 02:00 when Brad left the party. His sweater had disappeared. But it had been better than he had feared.

November 05, 2024

Monday was the day Brad recovered. There weren't usually any really good parties on Mondays. And if there were, he could make an exception. In fact, Brad was the go-to person for many of his fellow students when it came to where to go anyway. Brad was usually extremely well informed. Not necessarily about life at university… He had let his attendance at lectures slip a little in the first month. But hey, there was still ages until exams. Tonight was encore.une.fois at the OX! Of course Brad was on the guest list. From 21:00 he was in the gym, pumping up his muscles. And from 01:00 he was on the dance floor. Shit, he had expected something like Springbreak. How boring Springbreak was! Real life was raging here. All it took was a few pills, Red Bull and the right beats. And that was definitely the case today!

At 05:00 the music went off and the cleaning light came on. Brad checked his messages to find out where the best after-hours party was. There were no important lectures on Wednesdays anyway. And he was still far too wound up to sleep.

December 20, 2024

Uni was over until the new year. Actually, he should have been back in Connecticut by now. But Brad wanted to take at least this weekend to Berghain. Moritz had become his friend and business partner. The two were the shooting stars of Berlin's party organizers. Brad had collected 39K followers in the last four weeks alone. His party outfits defined what bouncers wanted to see in the clubs. Normally, DJs had groupies. Or musicians. Moritz and Brad always had a whole cluster of guys and girls hanging around them, basking in their presence and hoping to get shagged by one of them. Particularly lucky ones claimed to have been fucked by both at the same time. Whether this was true was debatable. But as a legend, it was certainly a cool story.

Their gas masks were elaborate custom-made masks that gave off a well-dosed mixture of poppers and laughing gas. Not that the two of them needed it. But it made the intoxication of a party night perfect. There were always two spare masks and the necessary cartridges in their rucksacks. To recharge their gas masks. Or to let very privileged fans share in their intoxication. It was 03:00. Too early to decide whether anyone would get that privilege tonight. Now it was time to dance. The way they only danced at Berghain.

[ivhmavie]

it’s just a cigarette, my love

in-ho doesn’t like it when you smoke

a request!

༶ in-ho loves you, to the point of ignoring most of your bad habits. Did you sleep too much? No problem, you don't even have a job to worry about, it doesn't matter. Did you spend too much on purchases that may be unnecessary? Whatever, his black card has no limits.

༶ but he's still a man who cares about you. In-ho lost his beloved wife and his unborn child, he couldn't imagine if something happened to you. He wanted you to live long, even longer than his own life.

༶ so, when he discovered your cigarette consumption, he felt betrayed for a moment. How could you do something like that? Didn't you know how much he valued you and your well-being?

༶ of the many flaws he overlooked, this certainly wouldn't be one of them. In-ho would make a point of showing his disapproval of your custom whenever possible. Whether it was staring in disgust at the thin white material between your fingers or hiding your boxes of marbollo.

༶ but Inho also had his vices, in addition to his heavy consumption of whiskey, he used to smoke cigars. You found this contradictory, and it often led you two to fight

༶ while you insisted that smoking two or three times a week wouldn't affect you and that you could stop whenever you wanted, Inho argued that the more you consumed, the harder it would be to stop

"I don't understand you. That's not fair" your skirt moves according to your sudden movements as you walk stressed around the expensive apartment you and your beloved shared, looking for your last box of cigarettes.

"it's fair because I'm stopping you from acting like an idiot just to look cool" Inho responds by swirling his whiskey in his glass, leaning on the kitchen counter casually, watching you look for the box he had thrown away

You stop in your tracks abruptly, looking at him as you consider your options. It was still early in the morning, but maybe you could find a gas station store that sold average quality cigarettes.

"whatever" You say, taking the keys to your luxury car, the latest model, and heading towards the door.

༶ Inho didn't like the idea of trying to control you, but his paranoia and fear about tobacco use made him meddle more than he should. Hiding or throwing away the last boxes you bought, or trying to persuade you to give up your addiction by offering expensive gifts in return

༶ when you go more than a few days without smoking, inho would be excited to think that you had decided to try to quit, but then his expectations would be crushed when he found you leaning against the window of your living room puffing smoke between your lips

༶ in the latter case, inho would try to make a deal with you. He would cut down on how often he drank, and you would do the same with cigarettes. He wouldn't give up until he managed to get you to at least smoke less

༶ despite this, inho loves you too much to scold you in anger. If he couldn't get you to stop smoking, he would try to get used to it, and encourage you to be healthier in other areas to compensate for the damage cigarettes do to your lungs

[dsybouquet]

.. so what if u actually texted ceo! ellie ?

(read how it started here !<3)

you only left the bar after all chairs have been put up the floor was mopped cleanly and all customers have been (more or less) kicked out. your leather jacket covered the short work clothes you wore as you walk through the dark streets.

you for sure were freezing, but your home isn’t all too far. the empty streets where some what soothing. it was peaceful and quiet with only a couple of cars passing by.

when you entered your apartment, you dropped your little bag to the ground and took off your shoes. of course you had a long day ahead at uni and you knew for sure that if you don’t fall asleep right away, you will simply ignore 99% percent of your lectures. why, out of all mayors, did you choose psychology?

quietly, you dropped onto your couch and turned on the tv. with family guy playing in the background, you mindlessly scrolled though your social media accounts - despite you knowing that being sleep deprived will literally be the death of you.

all of the sudden you thoughts started to run. why did that ellie woman have such a chokehold on you? it’s not like you didn’t have plenty of people right on your doorstep. being a young barkeeper already arranged you all types of things and plenty of numbers.

but something about was different. she was so.. different.

or maybe it was just you being delusional about a woman a bit too beautiful. or maybe it was her flirty behaviour that made you nearly lose your mind.

either way she was all you thought about, and you only knew her for a couple of hours. you threw your phone aside covering you face with your hands.

“get a hold on yourself, ______.”

you told yourself. you were so delusional.

ellie was probably just a woman with too much money that went around and tried to be some what kind. but why was she being so.. gentle?

calling you a pretty girl and dear..

god you were losing your mind over her.

your eyes landed on your phone. the bill with her number on still plugged into your see-through case.

maybe you could try your luck..

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．

“are you kidding me?”

ellie exclaimed when she entered her office the next morning and found one of her managers sitting in front of her.

“jesse, what the fuck?!”

she took off her coat and put it on her hanger.

“calm down.”

jessie tried to help ellie contain her anger, but the young woman was about to snap.

she woke up late, she was still tired, spilled her coffee on her way to her car and was stuck in traffic. and now jesse is trying to tell her that one of his agents fucked up with one of her most important clients? leaked confidential data?

she was not having it.

“calm down ? oh i am calm, jesse.”

ellie pulled a cigarette out of her pockets and light it up. she knew the consequences, the visits with her lawyer. and she knew she had to kick this agent out. slowly, she blew out the smoke of her cigarette.

“action plan, now.”

jesse lifted his hands up in air, trying to defend himself.

“kick h-“

“exactly. i will remove all his accesses. i will call our lawyer and he needs to someone, and i don’t care who but i’d prefer authorities, to check all of his private devices for internal information.”

while she was talking, she unlocked her computer and got onto work. ellie exhaled the smoke of her cigarette and looked at jesse.

the man in front of her sighed. jesse was sad to let this agent go, but after all he will be heavily impacted either way.

“what are you waiting for?”

“aye. see you for a coffee later?”

though ellie was his supervisor, they still were sort of friends.

ellie just scoffed - which in her being stressed language basically meant “yeah. now piss off.” - and waved goodbye before putting herself onto it.

hours and hours passed by, phone calls with her lawyer, phone calls with the client, phone calls with authorities - she was so sick of it by now.

leaning back in her overly comfortable office chair, she turned it to the window. she may be owner of one of the most important business on the market right now, but she’ll never get over the view of her top floor office.

she sighed and took it in, watching the sun slowly set. the buzz off her phone ripped her out of her thought.

a unknown number ? texted her ? did this idiot agent now got a hold of her number and is threatening her ?

ellie was quick with unlocking her phone only to see..

‘hey ! it’s your bartender from yesterday !’

she almost couldn’t believe that you actually texted her. after all she was a complete stranger. but then again - you were a university student working in a kind of run down bar.

anyways, she still remembered your name and saved your contact - and good lord she was quick with texting you back.

and good lord you texted back and forth for long, ellie didn’t notice that the sun was down by now.

she should leave the office and probably go back to her penthouse apartment and get some sleep.

damn it, why did you have to text her that you’re still in your universities library studying for your upcoming exam.

and why did she have the urge to pick you up and take you out for dinner ? what was it about you?

usually, ellie picks easy-to-get girls. a quick one night stand with not a lot of talking, maybe giving them a lift home in her bentley - if she was being nice.

she didn’t even know why she wanted to treat you better.

before ellie knew she was sitting in her white bentley, on her way to pick you up.

and you didn’t even realise she was actually doing it until you saw her. until you saw the woman exiting her beast of a car.

your eyes got so wide when you saw her with that sleek black coat, white turtle neck and black suit pants. she looked so good.

„hello beautiful.“

ellie smilingly said before opening the car door on the passenger side door for you to enter. you hesitated for a second, being kind of overwhelmed to get picked up from university like this.

however, you greeted her back and entered her car.

„getting shy now?“

she joked, starting the engine and pulling out of the study property. her smile was wide when she looked at you.

„no. i‘m just not used to getting picked up with this kind of service.“

ellie smirked. she knew her cars and her money was impressive. after all, it is exactly what most girls are after so she stopped bothering. she had it, so why not make good use of it?

„wanna go grab a coffee? i know a nice cafe around here.“

she suggested, already driving in the direction before you could answer.

obviously you agreed with the idea. spending hours studying and beating up your brain made you deep fried and having coffee with a stunning woman like she is exactly what you need.

her car stopped in front of an overly fancy building. for a second you thought she took you too a designer shop if some sort, but when you glanced out the window it was an actual cafe.

you felt out of place looking at the business men inside. with your hoodie and skirt. basic university fit - comfortable and chill.

ellie looked at you, noticing the slight uneasiness in your body language and look.

"don't worry, you'll be fine, dear."

you exited the car and entered the fancy cafe. chandeliers hanging from the top, covered in golden paint. the walls were painted in a a dark green shade.

it seemed so royal.

apparently ellie was a regular there. the waiter already knew her and greeted her with her name before leading the two of you to a place a bit away from the other people.

"what do you want ?"

she asked after you received the menu. all types of coffees, teas and cakes where listed on it, with prices far beyond your imagination

"a simple cappuccino."

ellie nooded, smiling and passing the order to the waiter, along with ordering a latte for herself.

"don't worry, it's on me."

you smiled and thanked her. when she told you she'd pick you up, you expected everything but not.. this. you'd be happy with getting some takeaway coffee from a local bakery. apparently ellie wasn't.

the coffee came anfd you carried on with you conversation. talking about your interestes, hobbies - everything but not work and uni.

suddenly, her phone rang. it was ellies lawyer.

"excuse me, love. i have to answer this call. i will be right back."

she got up and walked out of the front, looking kind of nervous.

you watched her pass by the window, walking back and forth. her expression changed from anxious and nervous to furious. sipping your coffee, you tried to figure out what was going on but eventually dropped it.

after a while she returned, sitting down again.

"i'm so sorry, but i will have to go back to the office. it's quite urgent."

she emptied her latte and waited for you to finish just as well.

"don't worry, ellie. i get it !"

with an apologising smile, she payed the bill for you two and left the cafe with you by her side.

"may i still drive you home? it'll start to snow soon and i rather have you safe inside before you have to walk and freeze."

a smile painted on your face. to be exact, you weren't used to this kind of princess treatment. but you didn't want to be a burden.

"it's okay, really. i don't want to take more of your time."

"no really, i want to do this."

eventually, you gave in and agreed. the second ellie started the engine, snowflakes started falling from the sky.

„see ? it‘s good than i‘m giving you a lift!“

you quickly typed your adress into her navigation system anf let her drive off. 80s rock music played from her radio as she drove to your home. you enjoyed every second - even tho it was silent between the two of you. both of you enjoyed it.

ellie placed her hand on your thigh and had her other one on her steering wheel. you glanced over. she looked ethereal. her green eyes pierced the snowy streets and her head slowly bopped to the music playing.

a beam of light from the warm streetlights illuminated her face whenever she drove past them and you felt like you‘re in some weird fifty shades of grey fanfiction.

she stopped right in front of your apartment building, glancing over at you.

„i‘m sorry, really.“

„don‘t worry.“

a bright smile was painted onto your face, causing ellies stomach to almost drop. you were such a sunshine on a snowy evening like this. before you could exit your car, she got out, opening the door for you.

„thank you, ma‘am.“

you said and took the hand she help out for you to help you get out. did you need these type of gestures? no, but you certainly enjoyed it. you never were treated this nicely.

she even went to the door with you, watching you unlook it.

„drive safe okay? snowy streets are dangerous.“

the concern in your voice and the worrying look of your eyes almost caused ellie to get a heartattack.

„and thank you. for this afternoon and the coffee, i enjoyed it a lot.“

you added and ellie nodded.

and she did something she never thought she would do - she opened her arms to give you a hug. and you accepted it.

it was a overly long hug and it was so comfortable. you took in her scent, the smell if her very intense and expensive perfume and the warmth of her body.

„i‘ll text you, pretty girl.“

she said, still holding you there. ellie didn’t even want to let go, but eventually had to.

before you went inside, she eyed you again. so pretty even tho you looked tired and wore a normal, casual outfit. you probably were the prettiest girl she ever saw.

„please do. would love to see you again.“

ellie smiled before adding a simple:

„trust me, you will.“

and watching you go inside with a ‚goodbye‘.

and she didn’t know yet that if she would fall for you, she’d fell hard and could never get up again.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

there we go !! thank you for your endless support on what i suppose is part 1 - which was just a brain rot of mine haha. i hope you enjoyed it!

let me know if you want me to keep this going ! xx

update: here goes part 3!

people asking to be tagged:

@harrysslutsstuff @vwonnie @mikaaj

[tinydeskwriter]

Lando NorrisxWolff!reader

words: 2825

requested: no

A/n: This is going to be a multi-chapters, most of the chapters won't be social midia or something. It is going to 'follow' the 2023 F1 season. Reader is Toto's eldest child by a fictitious ex- first wife. I just watched Break Point, with is another sport Netflix docuseries from the same producing company that makes DST, and since then I have this idea of a prodigy tennis player reader.

next part»

GQ 10 things Y/n Wolff can’t live without

“Hi GQ, I am Y/n Wolff and here are my essentials.” The young woman opens her arms looking at the objects displayed on the table, before looking up and smiling to the camera.

# Sugar

“My trainer may not agree. My coaches may not agree. My performance coach may not agree. My parents definitely don’t agree.” She points out, “But I need sugar.” The young woman brings to the centre of the table a small pile of sweets, a tall cup of caffeinated drink and a can of Red Bull, “I live of sugar and… sugary things…”

“My day starts with this lovely peppermint iced mocha sweetened with vanilla sugar… a ton of vanilla sugar.” Y/n laughs taking a sip of her drink “I am weirdly obsessed with mint and chocolate combinations…” She comments looking at the camera, “I drink perhaps two or three of those per day,” The young woman then places her hand over the top of the Red Bull can, most people who follow her already know that she is an athlete sponsored by Red Bull, “sugar-free Red Bull, which ironically is sweeter than the regular one.” She puts her hand on the pile of chocolates, “Milk-chocolate, I am not going to lie and say that I eat the healthy stuff, I don’t, I have the taste buds of a child,” the tennis player smiles mischievously at the camera, “right now I am really into this Finnish chocolate, Geisha and the blue Fazer, daddy always keep those in his offices for me.” She wrinkles her nose a little, giving the camera a lovely—childish—smile.

“Aero Mint bar, Chocolate Orange, Maltesers, Bounty, Kinder, truffles…I'm honestly starting to wonder how we managed to get through customs.” She laughs looking at her entourage behind the cameras. “This is like… a fraction of what I usually travel with, this is more like what I have in my bag for the day.”

#Photos

Y/n played a little with a golden square object in her hand.

“I travel a lot, I am on the road from January to November playing at tournaments around the world, so I can’t always be surrounded or in touch with the people that I love,” she says in a slightly more serious tone, taking the golden case in her hands and pressing the button to open, showing pile of polaroid photos, “those are mini Polaroids, so I can bring them with me wherever I go, I keep them inside this vintage cigarette case that belonged to my maternal grandmother, she was a absolute rockstar and I miss her very much.”  The camera takes a close-up on the golden case with rope motif and small colourful stones. “As I don’t smoke, I had to find another use for it.”

The first photo she shows is five adults together, smiling around a table, in what appears to be a ski resort.

“I have a very patchwork family, and somehow the adults in my life made it work…which I am very grateful for, not everyone is lucky to have so many amazing parents…so here I have my mum and my two other mothers, Stephanie and Susie, papa and my other father, Phillippe,” the second photo is her with a boy not much younger than her, two teenage girls and a small child in front of a Christmas tree, “my siblings, I have four, I am the eldest whatever way you go, huge flex,” the photo is followed by one of a pyjama party with several girls in matching pyjamas, and another of the tennis player with a blonde in front of the Eiffel Tower, “My gurls! This is my best friend, she is also my PA… so amazing to have someone I trust so much with me all the time…” a golden cocker spaniel with a crystal necklace, silk bows in its ears and a Gucci sweater appears on the screen, “this is Éclair Wolff, my emotional support dog aka my child, she actually goes with me mostly everywhere, but sometimes I leave her with my mum so she won’t be stressed by the long flights.”

She points to the next three photos, the first has the Mercedes drivers in Tommy Hilfinger, posing for the photo. “Lew and Georgie, the adopted older brothers I never asked for, but I love them.” The second photo has three other familiar faces making faces at the camera, “C2, my Ferrari boys, feat Pear, there is something wholesome about good looking men looking so silly, I love those guys and I love this picture, it is very on brand with them.”  The tennis player smiles at the camera. “Sharls, Carlitos and Pear are three of the nicest guys I have ever met, it is truly a blessing be able to call them friends and having them in my life.”

McLaren driver Lando Norris, in his third or fourth season, apparently not even realizing he was having his photo taken, it's a spontaneous photo, the soft sunlight highlighting the driver's profile as he smiles.

“Because of karting, I’ve known Lando since I was a head taller than him, he was my first crush…he was so shy, so adorable, so babygirl coded.” Y/n blushed a little as she shows the photo.

“I think most of the current grid is in here…oh, look, it’s Lance! Friends from life, from tennis…” She quickly changes showing another photo. “I think I easily have about sixty photos here..."

#Camera

“I don’t have a specific camera I like more than the others, but as a rule, I prefer vintage cameras just for the beauty of the final result, I inherited a few, I bought a few, I usually develop the photos when I'm at home for longer periods of time, edit the videos, digitalize a few…” She points to the cameras in front of her, a Bolex, a Digital Bolex, a very iconic Rolleiflex and a Super 8, “It is a very nostalgic experience to just go through a year worth of memories…” She says resting her face in her hand, “I have a hundred boxes with pictures and film rolls.”

“I love going through old pictures with my mom and Cass, my younger sister, from when we were babies, my parents in the 90’s, my mom when she was young, the wonderful life my grandparents lived, and is such a lovely moment to share with my mom.” Y/n has a soft smile on her lips. “One day, when I have my own kids, I want to have those moments with them, and not just scrolling through a phone or an iPad.”

#Journals

“I keep journals since I was a child, I get a new one every year,” She holds up the leather hardcover notebook, a deep indigo blue, a little worn around the edges, “after I turned thirteen years old, I started to get it in this specific shade of blue, with my initials in gold,” The girl opens the journal, leafing through it briefly, “I am never going to write an auto-biography, it’s kind of a little bit too egocentric to my taste,” She knocks it closed, but keeps it up, looking at the camera as she speaks , “but if someone ever write about me, fifty years from now… the facts will be straight, at least from my point of view… but even if no one ever writes about me… when I am old and grey and memory starts to fail me, I will be able to come back to the thoughts of twenty years old me…”

There is a moment of silence.

“That was kind of dark.” Y/n laughs to break the tension.

#Art Supplies

“I love to draw and paint, it eases the anxieties of life,” The tennis player shows the large sketchbook, a small aluminium case with the watercolours, and the rolling leather case with pencils and brushes, “I always bring a watercolour travel kit with my sketchbook wherever I go.”

She displays for the internet some of the landscapes she painted during her travels around the world.

#Hoodies

“I like to be comfortable after a match,” she spreads her arms across the perfectly folded hoodies on the table, “and nothing is more comfortable than a hoodie, feels a little bit like home.”

“I have my collection of hoodies with Adidas, they always provide me with new cool colours to try out and see if I want to add to the next collection,” Y/n opens sage green hoodie, running her hand over her initials and the Adidas logo. “Enchanté by Dani Ric, I have a bunch of those, Daniel is always kind enough to drop them at my house in Monaco, VIP treatment baby.” She points to the white hoodie. “Quadrant hoodies, Lando’s merch, ridiculously comfy, I would really like them in pastel colours or dusty rose… just putting out to the universe…” Y/n smiles and winks at the camera. “Valtteri, MV1… those all came with me for the US Open.”

#Skincare

“This is part of my daily routine.” The girl opens the toiletry bag, taking out the products inside, “I am always in different countries and different hotel rooms, so is nice to have this little sense of routine.”

She lines the pearlescent bottles with opaque round lids on top of the table.

“I launched Muse when I was seventeen years old, it is my skincare brand, and it is very me. I wanted it to be un-complicated and complete,” The young woman explains passionately looking at the camera, “skin is the body’s largest organ, and it is not only your face.” It affects the hair on your face, tucking it behind your ear before going back to the product bottles. “The line goes from body wash to suncream to night-time routine.”  

#Travel Pillow

“If I mess up my neck and shoulder, I am f***ed, my match is over and possibly the tournament.” She holds up a medium-sized pillow to the camera, the pillowcase light pink silk with red buttonholes around the edges and her initials in the corner. “So, this baby goes with me everywhere, it is a memory foam pillow with a silk pillowcase. Best sleep, best hair.”

#Sport Gear

“I generalized here, sport gear, I travel heavy, always,” she points to the array of equipment on the table, “this is my racket, I go to each tournament with around ten of those, just in case I wreak one on the ground,” Y/n passes her hand over the racket, “those are custom Yonex Ezone 98, they made it in Mountbatten pink with some cool pattern and my initials,” she smiles as she pulls the helmet close to her chest, “my helmet, also custom Mountbatten pink, with my initials in rose, I love to try new karting tracks, most people don’t know I used to race karts when I was younger, won a couple of trophies, went as far as F3 before I choose to go pro with tennis, car racing is a huge thing in my family…my dad used to race, my stepmom was a driver, my little brother probably going to be a F1 driver,” she recounts with a smile, “I joked once with my dad that we are at a window that if I have a kid in the next year or two, in twenty years we can have a Wolff’s drivers line-up for Mercedes.” The young woman smirks to the camera. “My dad almost passed out, and now I am not allowed to date until I am thirty.”

#Headphones

“Those are custom made for me, again, they are Mountbatten pink and rose with my logo, super comfortable on the ears, I usually have problems with headphones due to the piercings and earrings, but these didn't give me any problems, they fit well, and I can spend the whole day wearing them." She takes the gadget out of the case, showing the details. “It's not wireless, because I always forget to charge it, so it has a wire, they made this lovely, thick cord that is durable and super resistant,” Y/n wraps the rope around her fingers, “it is noise cancelling and it is always with me before every match as an essential part of my pre-match rituals.”

“The right music kind of puts you in the right mood, I usually go with Eminem in 80% of my matches, I feel like it unleashes my inner fighter, these are matches where I'm not really worried about my opponent, it is just raw and a little bit thoughtless, I just play,” she comments, “when I know that my opponent is going to be hard on the mind games, which is not an uncommon move in tennis, I tend to listen to calmer and more melancholic music, piano, it keeps me in a more peaceful zone, I don’t get pumped up and full of adrenaline, my game tends to be far more calculated…”

 #

“That’s it. Those were my ten essentials,” the young woman smiles, “thank you, GQ, for allowing me to share my essentials, much appreciated, and thank you guys for taking the time to watch it! Much love and see you next time!” The athlete says, blowing a kiss and winking to the camera as the credits shows up.

__________________________________________

2,109,963 views   Aug 29, 2022

978 Comments

 userone

i was todays yrs old when i found out that tennis superstar Y/n Wolff is the eldest child of THE Toto Wolff

            user1

            From what little she talks about her dad here, u just get the vibes that Merce boss Toto is a softie girl dad, he keeps her favourite candy in his offices and forbids her to date until she’s thirty, this is so sweet

haterone

a billionaire’s nepo baby, talking about her millionaire friends and her unrelatable lifestyle and things

usertwo

Y/n’s hair is probably the healthiest hair i ever seen i need her hair routine

userthree

I am so obsessed with her career! I want to see her continue to succeed and be one of the biggest tennis players of all times. She deserves it. Such a talented, humble kid.

userfour

i loved hearing her talk about her family and friends!!! it is so crazy that she is close friends with a bunch of F1 drivers.

            hatertwo

            Not so crazy since she’s literally a f1 nepo baby, her daddy is part owner of Mercedes.

userfive

She's like that one super popular chick in school who's actually a total sweetheart.

usersix

I totally relate to her being a sweet tooth

@userseven

I love that she was not talking to the camera. She was actually talking to the people there behind the scenes

usereight

i love how a lot of these items are usually a stereotype of being pretentious—a vintage cartier cigarette case, a film camera, a leather bound custom hermes journal, art supplies--but she talks about all of them with such genuine interest and attachment that it doesnt seem pretentious at all

usereighteen

U r the one name dropping the brands she uses…

usernine

Her nicknames for Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr and Pierre Gasly… I died dead…

            user9

            The fact that she’s gushing about lando and being so sweet about her childhood crush on him oml

            user10

            Omg it is so cuuute!!! Like, she had a crush on little Lando and not McLaren glow up Lando Norris

            user11

            I used to be so conflicted shipping her with the drivers, because she dates that tennis player, but her insta has a bunch of her and Charles and her and Pierre and her and Lance and it is so cute and kind of gives such soft vibes, those boys look half in love with her in most pictures, also ...the chemistry. but seeing the way she talks about Lando… they r my new diehard ship…

userten  

Are we going to ignore that she confessed that Lando Norizz was her first crush???

            user1

            They would be so cute together… and they ate both single now… at the same time… we can dream…

            user12

            i went ten steps further and in my head, they are already getting married and having cute future Mercedes world drivers’ champions…

user13

 Can we already dream of Lando at Mercedes???

usereleven

Ok… but didn’t Lando once commented like, very briefly, in a McLaren video, that he used to have a crush on a girl that used to go karting with him??? The girl who wore red ribbons in her hair… do you guys know who uses red ribbons in heir hair since she was an actual baby?? Y/n! There is a pic in her insta of her in a karting track with her dad, and she has red bows in her hair…

            user11

            Not gonna lie… It would be kinda of cute if they actually had a mutual childhood crush and then eventually end up together as adults…

next part»

[godlywh0re]

Angels with Filthy Souls

Rust Cohle x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Notes: No use of (y/n) because i hate it :)

The night is hot, and your hair clings to your face as you swipe it away. Sweat covering you in a light sheen, sticky as it holds to you like a second skin. The weak air conditioning of the small local store does nothing to help, but neither does the ecstasy you popped in the bathroom on your break. What else were you supposed to do in a town that was too small to do anything? Where luckily everybody but their mamas minded their own business. So long as your work got done, the sleazy old man who owned the place didn’t care. 

Your fingers tremble rearranging the lighter display. Your muscles itching for any sort of stimulation as the drug courses through your veins. You think your boss likes it better when you’re high on your shift, the drugs making you too hyperactive to stand in one place. The old man usually watches you in slight astonishment when you get into a cleaning spree, scrubbing down the walls and floors like your life depends on it, creating new displays for products that keeps customers happy. But tonight, he stays tucked away in his office. He muttered something about ordering a product, but it was lost on you now.

The bell that hangs beside the entrance door rings, signaling a customer had come in. You don’t notice him at first—too caught up in the rush, your heart beating too fast, skin buzzing with a warmth that has nothing to do with the heat outside. But out of curiosity and obligation, you look up. Breath almost catches in your throat as you size him up unapologetically. 

He’s tall, lean, an air of exhaustion hanging around him as he walks. His hair is pulled back low and his eyes— Jesus, they’re dark, as if he’s seen too much. He moves steady, purposefully, like he doesn’t have time for the world, but it still owes him something. He walks right up to the counter, tosses a case of beer down, Lone Star, before he settles his eyes on you. Really settled, peeling away layers you didn’t even know you had. His eyes narrow as he takes in your appearance. You know how you look, pupils blown wide, messy hair falling all over the place. But he doesn’t look at you like others do. There isn’t any judgment, no pity. He just looks.

“They let you be all doped up on the job?” His voice is rough, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, just a hint of it. The low southern drawl of his words isn’t lost on you as heat shoots through your body.

His words hang in the air. It could’ve been a jab, but the slight amusement in his eyes made it feel like a joke only the two of you were in on. You feel a grin tug at your lips, slow and lazy, your mind still swimming in a haze. “He doesn’t care as long as my job gets done,” Your tone soft and syrupy as you shrugged half heartedly. Your fingers move to trace your collarbone nonchalantly. His eyes follow, not in the way you want them to, but more like he was just curious. “Pretty young thing like me is good for business anyways.” 

He doesn’t react much, doesn't give you that look most men do when they see an easy target, just nods like he’s seen it all before. You can’t tell if that makes you want to impress him or piss him off. Instead, he looks as though he’s trying to figure you out, a puzzle he isn’t sure he wants to solve. You should’ve felt insulted, but all it did was make your heart pound faster.

"You know a place to get downers?" His voice drops low as he leans in slightly, almost like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear, though you two are the only ones on the sales floor. 

A shiver runs up your spine at his closer proximity, the smell of him coming over to you in wafts. Deep and earthy, the smell of a forest mixed with the scent of cigarette smoke that clings to him. “You a cop?” You ask low, a playfulness in your tone edging its way towards reckless. Hell, you couldn’t care less if he was. Whatever game that had been started was too captivating. 

He shakes his head, and for the first time, you see the hint of a smirk on his lips. "Nah," he murmurs, his voice low, gravelly. He says it without even trying to convince you. But you believe him anyway. 

"Stronger than alcohol? Not much round here like that. Whatcha sad for anyhow, Mister?" You tease, raising an eyebrow. There was something funny about it—him asking you for downers, like he was looking for something to drag him down even further. But the way he looks at you, you can tell he’s not in the mood to answer that question. Men like him don’t talk about what haunts them, not to girls like you. 

You don’t push. You lean in a little, closer now than before, letting your voice drop to a whisper. "I have some Nembutal, if you want that. Give me a ride home tonight." It was stupid, all your self-preservation draining away as you stare into his worn eyes.

There’s a pause, long, heavy silence where you think he might just walk away. He stares at you, weighing some kind of decision in his thoughts. But then he nods, real slow, like he’d already made up his mind.

 “Get your stuff.” His voice is detached, almost mechanical, but there was something in his eyes—something that said he knew exactly what he was walking into. 

You feel a rush of adrenaline run through you, or maybe it’s just the drugs. His hand digs in his pocket before pulling out a twenty for the beer. You take the crumpled bill from his hand, your fingers brushing his just for a second. It lingers, sending a jolt through you before sliding the bill into the register. The metallic clink of coins feels distant, like background noise compared to the thudding of your heart. Your palms are still sweaty, but you can’t tell if it’s from the ecstasy or him. Probably both.

His eyes stay on you as you punch in the numbers and drop his change into the tray. You could feel them—sharp, unrelenting—like he was waiting for something. You hand him the receipt without a word, the tension in the air hangs heavy, thick enough to choke on. You watch him tuck the case of beer under one arm, a cigarette already dangling from his lips as he turns and heads for the door. 

Jittery and buzzing with a thrill, you turn and head quickly to the door of the back office. You find your manager slouched in his chair, flipping through some old magazine like the world didn’t exist outside his little office. The smell of stale coffee filled the room, and the hum of the mini-fridge by his desk made everything feel even more claustrophobic.

"Hey," you say, leaning against the doorframe, "you mind if I head out early tonight? It’s dead out there, and I already closed up the till."

He barely glances up, his eyes heavy with the same indifference you’d come to expect. "Yeah, whatever," he grumbles, waving you off. "Just make sure you lock the back door before you go."

His words barely register. You’re already halfway out the door, pulse pounding in your ears. Each step toward the front of the store pushes you closer to something you can’t quite understand yet. 

After grabbing your stuff and locking the doors you head outside to the parking lot. His pickup truck rumbles low, waiting. He watches in his side mirror, cigarette pressed to his lips tight. Your heart races again—half nerves, half thrill—as you make your way to the passenger side. You notice the smashed tail light, but it feels distant, unimportant in the heat of the moment.

Sliding into the seat with a quiet shut of the door, the truck groans as it starts to take off. The Louisiana air is warm, heavy with the smell of dirt and pine, the windows are down just enough to let in a bit of a breeze. It’s quiet between you and him—this stranger whose name you don’t even know yet—but you feel the weight of his presence next to you and it’s sinking into your bones.

You glance over at him, sneaking looks when you think he isn’t paying attention. He’s focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near his lap, cigarette between his fingers. The smoke curls lazily into the air, mixing with the dusty haze outside. He’s older, definitely older than you, with lines on his face that time put there. His eyes are sharp, though, always looking for something, even when there’s nothing to see.

Your heart is still racing from the ecstasy, even though the high’s starting to fade. The tingling in your limbs is going, but the nervous energy, the buzz of the moment, clings to you. You’ve never felt this way before—this strange pull toward someone you’ve barely exchanged two words with. It’s like you’re waiting for something to happen, something you can’t quite name.

You shift in your seat, the leather hot and sticky against your skin, and finally, you break the silence. "You don’t talk much, do you?" It’s more of an observation than a question, but you can’t help yourself. You’re trying to figure him out, this man who walked into the store and made you feel like you were floating.

He doesn’t look at you, just takes a drag from his cigarette. "Not much to say." His voice is low, harsh, like he’s been chewing on the words before spitting them out.

You smirk, trying to play it cool, but the way his voice rumbles makes you shiver. "Could’ve fooled me. Seems like you got a lot goin' on up there."

That gets him to glance your way, just for a second. His eyes flick over you, sharp and assessing, trying to decide whether you’re worth his time. "What makes you say that?"

You shrug, turning your head to look out the window. The trees blur by, dark and thick, like they’re swallowing the road whole. "People don’t ask for downers ‘less they got something to quiet down," you murmur, your fingers tracing idle circles on your thigh, still feeling that lingering edge of the high.

He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s even going to. The silence stretches between you like a rubber band about to snap. Finally, he lets out a slow breath, and you can feel his eyes on you again. "What about you? What are you trying to quiet?"

You turn toward him, a little surprised he even bothered to ask. Most people don’t. Most people are happy to let you burn yourself out without asking why, so long as you showed up to church Sunday mornings. But there’s something in his tone that makes you think he already knows you’re not going to answer, that maybe he’s not even expecting you to.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Same as anyone else, I guess,” you say, deflecting, eyes flicking back to the road. “Ain’t none of it worth talkin’ about.”

He hums, like he understands, like he’s been there before. “Fair enough,” he mutters, eyes back on the road.

“Names Rust.” He grumbles out, but the way he says it, could have made you think he was talking to himself. The silence that follows isn’t as tense, but it’s still there, lingering between you. The only sound is the hum of the engine and the occasional crack of gravel under the tires. His presence next to you feels almost suffocating, but at the same time, it keeps you anchored, like you need him there even if you don’t know why.

As you near the turn to your place, you nod ahead. “Just down that dirt road,” you say, pointing. He flicks the turn signal, even though there’s no one else around to see it. The truck bumps along the narrow path, branches scraping the sides, making the whole thing feel like you’re descending into another world, away from everything and everyone.

When the small house you call home comes into view, you suddenly feel exposed. This is it. This is your life—a rundown little place surrounded by trees, no one else for miles. And here he is, this stranger with too many shadows behind his eyes, pulling into it like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

He kills the engine, and for a moment, you both just sit there in the growing dark. The air feels thick, like there’s something unsaid hanging between you, waiting to be acknowledged

“You wanna come in?” you ask, your voice softer now, unsure.

He exhales, tapping out his cigarette before glancing at you. His eyes hold yours for a long moment, searching. “Not tonight.” There’s something final in the way he says it, but it’s not cold. Just… resolute.

You nod, pretending like that doesn’t sting a little. “Suit yourself. I’ll go get those for you.” You push the door open and hop out, the cool night air hitting you like a wall after the stuffy heat of the truck. You don’t look back as you walk up to your door, but you can feel his eyes on you the whole way.

With a quick unlock of your door, you hurry off to your bathroom. It’s small, the sink not large enough to hold all the leftover medications you have. The bottles rattle as you rummage, the Nembutal is half empty as you pick it up. You think about giving him the whole bottle but you decide against it. The slight chance of him seeing you again, even if it’s just for pills, is enough to make you hold off. 

You step back outside, the Nembutal rattling lightly in your hand as you walk toward the truck. The night air feels cooler now, the weight of it settling on your skin, but it doesn’t do much to calm the nervous energy swirling inside you. The ecstasy almost completely worn off, leaving you with that familiar edge of anxiety, the dull ache of reality creeping back in.

He’s still sitting there, his truck idling low, the faint glow of another cigarette lighting up his face. You hesitate for a moment, just long enough to wonder what the hell you’re doing, before handing him the pills through the open window.

“Here,” you say quietly, your voice a little steadier than you feel. “That should do it.”

He takes them without a word, his fingers brushing yours just briefly, but it’s enough to send another jolt through you. You pull back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you try to play it cool.

“Thanks,” he mutters, slipping the small bag into the pocket of his jacket. His eyes meet yours again, and for a second, it feels like he’s about to say something more, like there’s a moment hanging there, fragile and uncertain.

But he doesn’t. He just nods once, almost like a silent goodbye, and shifts the truck into gear. You stand there for a while, watching the dark swallow him up, the buzzing from the ecstasy completely gone now, leaving you with just the weight of everything. You’re not sure if you’ll see him again, but something about the way he looked at you tonight makes you think you will.

[to-thelakes]

nothing but a pass time (lip gallagher x reader)

content warning(s); underage smoking, mentions of underage drinking, sad!lip, comfort, hints of angst (unrequited love)

summary; the summer had come around but you and lip were always the same. except it was harder to ignore your brewing feelings now.

series masterlist

i have edited and read this part over so many times that i feel like i'm not actually making it better anymore, so here it is! more of my babies, the next few parts are gonna get a little angst-heavy from both lip and reader's side but then i think it's gonna settle a bit and hopefully get a little better, i have the next three parts all partly/fully written and they're sad but also sweet (comfort is real and lip NEEDS iT, this poor man), so anyway, here's the new part hehe

“My dad would kill you if he found us,” You said as you rounded the corner with Lip. He had texted you, asking you to come and meet him. You didn’t mind. You’d been dying to see him after a too-long shift at the store. You had been there all day, sweating and dealing with shitty customers, and that one text was enough for you to be filled with a familiar sense of glee. 

You didn’t need a reason to see Lip, you never had but something about him asking to see you made you giddy. That text was enough to have you halfway out the door in minutes, changed, showered and beaming.

Though, that had always been the case.

The cigarette between your lips was new though. You had never been one for smoking but Lip had somehow gotten you into it. You only smoked with him though.

“They still think we’re dating?” Lip asked as you stopped by one of the pillars that held the El tracks up. The train only came every twenty minutes or so this late at night. So it was peaceful, quiet and you could smoke without being disturbed.

You were the one to plop yourself down first, feet aching from being on them all day. Working nearly a 10 hour shift was not for the weak and you were wondering why you’d bothered to do it to yourself.

“I dunno,” You shrugged as you took a drag of the cigarette Lip had handed to you. He sat down beside you, head resting back against the concrete. You let the smoke fill your lungs before you breathed it out into the night air. It was cooler than it had been all day, you didn’t feel like the air was suffocating you, just the cigarette, “Hard to tell with them at the moment,” You shrugged, the hint of something more beneath those words but neither of you dug into it. Lip simply nodded and you offered the cigarette back. He took it from between your two fingers and took a long drag.

He looked sad. You assumed that’s why he had even bothered you this late. He knew you’d been working all day and he had always used it as an excuse to keep to himself. But tonight, he seemed to want to see you. You were never going to deny him.

You hadn’t ever denied him anything.

You watched as he blew the smoke out through his nose and you leaned closer, resting your head on his shoulder. He briefly tensed up before relaxing. 

He had gotten so jumpy recently. 

You tried to ignore it.

“What’s up?” You asked after a moment of silence. He offered the cigarette to you but you waved him off. You could feel the nicotine buzzing through your system, not used to the high after nearly a week of not seeing Lip.

“Karen’s got this guy,” Lip said after a moment of silent contemplation, “Jody. Some fuckin’ asshole twice her age,” He explained, waving his free hand out. He then put the cigarette between his lips, breathing in the smoke and speaking as he exhaled, “Hasn’t even fucked her. She says it’s some Sex Addicts Anonymous shit. I don’t get it,” Lip said as he choked slightly on the smoke. You should have known this is where the conversation would go so you simply reached your hand out for the cig.

Lip passed it over without question.

Part of him hated himself for corrupting you. You had never touched a drop of alcohol until he convinced you otherwise. And you had resisted smoking cigarettes until one night a few months back at a party with him. 

You had been pretty drunk at that party and he had casually offered his cigarette to you. He hadn’t thought much of it, expecting you to shake your head and tell him to ‘fuck off’ as you always did. Instead, you had taken it from his fingers, taken a drag and coughed on the smoke. 

But that didn’t stop you from taking another drag.

Now every time he watched the smoke curl out from between your lips, he felt bad. Like he had doomed you to some horrible fate.

“And she said that they’re together and just sit under the stars and talk and shit. I mean, who does that?” He asked. You tried to bite back the reply that that’s exactly what the two of you did but you kept your mouth shut, “We’re teenagers. We’re meant to be fucking each other and doing stupid shit. Not- not watching cartoons and fucking cooking together. It’s- it’s just bullshit,” Lip was frustrated. You could tell and you couldn’t blame him. Not really.

Part of you just felt sorry for him. You knew that he had fallen for Karen but she never really shared those feelings. At least, not that you could tell. She liked him and she liked to fuck him but you were never sure if it was more.

Another part of you was happy she was fucking with Lip’s head. Maybe it made you spiteful but you wanted him to understand how it felt to have someone always keep you at arm’s length.

You tried not to think about that though. 

You were his friend. 

You were there to help him, not celebrate his pain.

“Are you still fucking her?” You asked after a moment. You weren’t entirely sure how to make Lip feel better. You weren’t well-versed in this shit.

He nodded.

“Yeah but it’s this guy. He’s a fucking asshole,” Lip bit back, cigarette hanging from his lips. You rolled your eyes and took the cigarette from between his lips to take a puff yourself. You stayed quiet for a minute, not sure what to say.

“At least you still get to fuck her,” You responded, trying to see the bright side. You wanted to make him feel better, “Clearly if they aren’t even fucking, it doesn’t mean that much. So, give it a few months and she’ll be past him.” The words felt heavy on your tongue, trying to ignore the truth in what you were saying.

Lip had never fucked you and you had always been nothing but a pass-time for him. A friend to cry to and seek comfort from but nothing more. You knew that you didn’t mean that much to Lip. Not as much as Karen anyway.

“Yeah, maybe,” Lip said as he glanced down to watch you blow the smoke from between your lips. You tapped the edge of the cigarette on your thigh, ashes flying through the air just as an El train passed overhead.

It was deafening but the noise gave you some solace. You hadn’t noticed Lip looking at you and so you let yourself feel the heaviness. It was just for a moment and then you put your guard back up.

But for a moment, you let yourself frown. Let yourself feel sad. Feel lonely. Feel fucking stupid.

Then you were back to normal.

Once the train had passed, you spoke again.

“The way I see it, he’s either gonna break up with her or they’re gonna fuck. Either way, she’ll come back to you,” You decided after a moment. You weren’t sure if it was true. You had no experience with relationships. You’d only ever kissed people drunk at parties so you were talking out your ass.

But Lip just hummed along and took the cigarette from between your fingers. He took another drag and then smushed the butt of it against the grass, putting it out.

“Everything okay with you?” Lip asked after a beat of silence. Your head lifted from his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. You couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked if you were okay. Usually, you told him anyway but he never asked.

“Yeah, why?” You responded, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He shrugged, meeting your gaze. Your eyes were boring into him and he felt guilty seeing the confusion. The way your eyebrows furrowed at his question as if you weren’t his best friend. As if he didn’t care about you.

“Y’just seem tired, that’s all,” He responded, shrugging. He was trying not to be defensive but it was hard not to be.

“Had a long day, it’s fine,” You retorted as you reached into the top pocket of his shirt. You didn’t ask before you grabbed the pack of cigarettes. Instead, you just plucked a stick out and grabbed his lighter. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asked. You looked up at him, a teasing smile on your lips.

“Bumming a smoke,” You stated before you placed the cigarette between your lips. You used your hand to shelter the end of the cig before flicking the lighter on. The bright flame illuminated your face, eyes shining in the light. It was there for a split second before you had successfully lit the cigarette.

“You been smokin’ with someone else?” He asked. You scoffed, dropping the cigarette pack and lighter back into his pocket before you took a drag.

“Fuck off, as if,” You dead-panned as you exhaled. You then took another drag, leaving the cigarette hanging off your lips as you blew the smoke out of your nose. It was Lip’s turn to take the cigarette from your lips now. He made eye contact with you as he took it, placing it between his own.

Fuck. You hated when he did shit like that.

The way he looked at you like he really gave a shit.

You tried not to think about it.

“Good,” He said before he took his own drag. You two sat in silence like that for a while, sharing the cigarette. You knew it was bad for you. You had told yourself you’d never be a smoker but the summer was long and being around Lip was painful. The nicotine made it easier to deal with.

So you just smoked until Lip - once again - put it out in the dirt. He then just stared, another El train passing overhead. You were both quiet for a moment before you sighed. You needed to go home.

“Got work tomorrow,” You muttered after a beat. It was you saying you needed to leave without really saying it at all. But you did, you needed to get out of here.

“Stay at mine tonight?” He asked. You shook your head.

“Gotta leave early, starting at 6. Would just wake you up. You’re grumpy that early,” You stated as you looked up at him. He frowned. You didn’t know what else to say to him and so you just looked at each other for a moment.

“Want you to stay over,” He mumbled, looking away. You ran your hands across your face, wondering if you were really gonna let this happen. But you already knew the answer the second he had asked the question.

“Let me grab my shit,” You gave in. Lip couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face. It felt like a victory, a small victory. 

[scentedpepper]

Cinderellas Slipper

BILLY HARGROVE X MALE READER

Summary: Billy tries to apologize but loses his slipper instead.

Content Warnings: "Queer" used in a derogatory manner. Brief mention of Billy and Reader having sexual relations. Established Relationships/Lore

Other Pairing(s): Steve Harrington x Male Reader, Jonathan Byers x Male Reader, Will Byers x Male Reader, Nancy Wheeler x Billy Hargrove (implied not said)

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Writing specific scenes that pop into my head is much easier than committing to an entire fanfic :p

Feeling kinda meh abt this one guys idddkkkk

Uhhhhh Billy is gay bc I say so

No but that headcanon really gets my writer loins spinnin

The depth

Anyway

Billy's a wee bit jealous

👍

_________________________________________

Billy's not sure what lead him to this point.

But the moment he steps out of his Camaro he has to pause, place his hands on his hips, and pace. Once. Twice. Three times for good measure before his attention is redirected to his destination.

Depot Central.

"Hawkins for the Family" Or so the sign outside had stated.

It's 4:30 in the afternoon, you've only been on shift for 30 minutes.

Three and a half hours to go.

Billy has memorized your schedule like the back of his hand.

The depot wasn't small by any means, but most of its stores closed at the latest of six due to its small town status. The depot itself mainly used the second story to hoard it's products, what couldn't fit through the windows displayed itself like an open antique shop on the 1st floor, the remaining area that couldn't be utilized by the display lay store merchandise.

This was the third time in a row he'd come back to the depot.

The first time he'd be stepping inside.

If the place had more customers he would've stalled a little longer, maybe considered another 3 rounds of pacing the parking lot but there was no one in front of him when he stood off to the side, peering through the windows.

His hands find his hips again, pressing agaisnt the brown leather belt adorning his dark blue jeans. It was new. He'd went out and bought it a few days ago. Even went as far as hiding between the aisles of the women's section trying to scope out style.

He didn't buy the pink or purple belt, regardless of how "nice" you said those colors were on him. Instead, by a random struck of luck that felt unwarranted, he'd found one even more perfect. One in which the gems were arranged in a way that made it look like the night sky.

Fucking space because you were into that shit or whatever.

Gemstones on top of silver. And Billy felt like a star on the belt, big and prominent.

Maybe that was wishful thinking. He couldn't really reject the feeling of suffocating when the gems shined in the sunlight through the window panes beside him.

Girly.

Feminine.

Queer.

Billy tries to ignore them and in the process, he considers ditching his clothing choices for today and giving in to his original idea. But even so, with all he's been through, Billy isn't really aware that the things he's learned from you have stuck this long.

He'd scrubbed himself raw in the bathroom just 30 minutes ago. And he made sure to perfectly place the top portion of his maroon button up that was peeled open. And he dabbed cologne on every inch of his body, just in case the amount he had initially put on wasn't enough. And while he was driving he made sure to keep the cigarettes in his dash because he knew the smell, reminiscent of your father, was the sole reason you had never picked them up throughout your teenager years. Not even to just try.

So once more, everything right down to his clean socks were an item of scrutiny. He even had spare deodorant in his car if he started to sweat.

And for what? He didn't fucking know.

The urge to repeat his pacing however came and he knew very well what that meant.

He was thinking about turning around.

But to make sure his body isn't going the opposite direction, he checks his front pockets where two cards were securely nestled in.

Dare Billy say he was almost scared.

He feels sweat starting to prick on the back of his neck, underneath his perfectly defined curls –he didn't even want to think about the measures he went to learn how to make them look so pretty– and he ducks back into his car, deciding he should just put the deodorant everywhere.

As he fumbles for the anti perspirant in his dash, feet sticking out of the car and body pressing against the middle console awkwardly, he realizes that he's almost forgotten the singular rose that he specifically taped to head of his passenger seat so he wouldn't forget it.

Quickly, Billy retrieves the rose and proceeds to rub himself down with the light spray of deodorant.

And despite his previous antsy nature, when he finally goes to walk to the entrance of the store, his face is the perfect mix between cool and ready. But his eyebrows are furrowed, a giveaway to the turmoil going on in his head.

Once the doors slide open, the chimes on top barely audible in the distance, Billy's face twitches ever so slightly when he realizes who is bent over the checkout counter, chatting you up, eliciting deep, rumbling laughter from your wide chest.

Steve.

Billy makes sure the displeasure is gone from his face with a blink of the eyes before he's approaching the two with nonchalant grace. He makes sure his gait is perfect and makes no noise against the flooring of the store, this way he can spy on your conversation from behind the taller shelves of canned food.

He listens close enough to pick up the murmurings of some new ice cream recipe you had apparently tried over the weekend with Will and Jonathan. Sounded absolutely disgusting to Billy. There was pecan and raspberry involved, as well as a hint of honey which would be fine if it wasn't inside frozen food.

But Billy found himself not really paying attention to the words being exchanged, moreso the tone.

Or, more importantly– how Steve said them. Emphasized certain vowels that he wouldn't unless he was in the presence of someone really close.

Just the thought tightens his grip on the small rose clasped tightly in between his fingers and he decides to finally make himself known by making a detour into the candy aisle beside the front desk, going over to get a pack of black liquorish and throwing the item down at the counter for you to ring up.

Your eyes fling up in startle, as though you hadn't noticed Billy at all until the very moment he slammed the unsavory candy on the counter, the plastic brushing a strand of Steve's hair on the way down.

Maybe it was a little bit of an overreaction, but he couldn't help it.

There were instances in which Billy acted purely upon instinct or impulse. Moments in which he let those feelings go to his head and not only let it manifest into words, sometimes that energy even moved his entire body without asking.

You had paused mid-sentence to take in the scene before you. How could you not?

Steve was dumbfounded. Not because the candy was an offense to his palate but because the intensity with which Billy pushed the packaged item towards you was a big one.

Steve moved away from the man looming over his shoulder, offended for his friend across the counter.

The first time Steve had walked in on you two, Billy wanted to kill him –almost killed him. Whatever he was about to retort would most likely have the same outcome.

Because it didn't matter how nicely Billy dressed or spoke to you, Steve could still see the shadow of Billy in his mind, a storm all his own lurking underneath flesh.

"We're still talking. " The brunette finally speaks up, motioning back and forth between himself and you.

Billy snorts and rolls his eyes, trying his hardest not to call the boy across from him something more obscene than asshole because he knows it would lose him any chance of speaking to you.

"You're a worker, right? " Billy plants his forearm on the counter, mocking Steve's pervious position.

"Work. " He spits.

You stare back at him pointedly, hands on your waist before you grab the item and run it across the scanner. A green light graces you skin and a beep fills the empty room.

"52 cents, sir. " You retort simply.

Sir.

Sir.

"Sir?" Billy reels, face controrting into disgust. The word burned all over, and surely the older boy in front of him knew how much that word would affect him. He must've known that it'd make Billy Hargrove piss his pants.

You did.

But nevertheless, Billy pulls his wallet out and drops a five on the counter, telling you to keep the rest.

The plastic covering of the candy crinkles under your fingers as you lift it from the counter, passing it back to the blonde.

Your fingers brush beneath the packaging and all air seems to whoosh out of Billy's lung in response.

You meets his eyes in the middle.

It's silent for a moment.

–Save for Steve who's munching on the same type of candy just off to the side.

The blonde blinks, once, twice. His brows raising again like they had in his car. Billy can feel it, and he fights the urge to pull his fingers away but he doesn't, both of your hands just dangling there for a minute longer.

"Mm!" Steve chokes suddenly, wincing right after as the liquorish becomes a glob in his mouth and his body jerks backwards in discomfort.

It breaks the moment but Billy has an easier time collecting himself than his competitor.

"Steve. " You exclaim and you make a move towards him, patting your friends back with exaggerated aggression.

"I'm okay. " He rasps. "I'm okay. " He raises his hands up in the air but his words deceive him as he starts another fit of coughing.

After a minute or so of more gagging and choking and violent beatings on the back, Steve finally manages to swallow, with a loud groan of course.

You manage a laugh at the boys struggle, masking the noise the bell atop the door makes when it flies open.

And when you turn back around, half a grin still on your face, you're met with emptiness.

That, and a singular rose haphazardly placed on the counter.

[baby-tini]

what do you think would be shuji's main kinks? it can be in general or in each timeline!~)

(plus: i love your headcanons, scenarios, etc!!! you're an amazing writer!!!!)

Aww, thank you baby, that means a lot!!!

Power Play- He most definitely takes on the authoritative role in the relationship. He likes too be in control, it's a must for him, all of the time. He likes not only the physical part of it, but he takes it to a whole new level with just how much he likes too play with your head. Your relationship turning into a psychological mind game most of the time. Physically, he likes too play around with you. Hold you down, treat you like a doll... like you're no threat; because, well.. you aren't- not to him anyway. He likes too have you sit at his feet on the pretty poarch, connected to the luxury penthouse he owns, petting your head and treating you more like a puppy- rather then a human being, as he smokes a cigarette. Holding you to his chest as he chuckles in your ear, spewing mocking phrases at you as you struggle against hold, he's not even using much of his strength, that's quite sad, don't you think? Just how easily he holds you down- holds you to him... that's honestly quite pathetic of you, too be struggling so much and he's not even bothered. Psychologically though? He likes too get in your head, you are below him, he makes that clear, very quickly at that. He's so... dehumanizing, talking to you in a high-pitched voice, having you lick his hands, in place of kisses. Pouting at you in a tease when you give him those big watery eyes of yours as he tells you that he got you custom made dishes... puppy bowls, fitting for a puppy, no?

Degradation- This should be no big surprise with just how mean he can be, to not just you, but to people in general. It's not just the verbility in this case, it's also the actions he has you perform for him and to him. Whenever you don't listen to him or refuse too make eye-contact with him; like he asked. He'll fist your hair and pull your head back, making you look up at him and if you still persist in keeping your eyes averted, he'll give your cheek a nice couple of quick pats, his eyes low as stares you down. Before grabbing you by the cheeks, his fingers tight as his knuckles turn white and shaking it. His voice low and mean as he asks you too behave- telling you that you will behave for him, using his head too nod and shake your head forcefully at his persistent questions. Making you verbalize your compliance before giving your, forcibilly, pouty lips a soft kiss, contradicting his actions as he sends you off, with a pat on your ass, to your room.

Spit Kink- It's another method of degradation, of humiliation he uses on you. Plays into his little hand kink as well; his lips split into the widest grin as he watches your glossy swollen lips wrap around a couple of his fingers; pushing them down on your spit-soaked tongue. Fucking his fingers into your tight throat- a preparation for something much... bigger too be shoved down your throat. Spreading the digits so that your tongue is slipping in between them as he plays with the little muscle, pinching it in between his index and thumb as he pulls it from your mouth so that he can lay a fat glob of spit on the soft pink muscle. Smearing it around the length of you tongue as he makes you thank him. Your voice coming out muffled and barley understandable as you give him the appreciations he's so eager for; the same appreciation that has his eyes rolling back as he hears the little sobs coated in your hiccupped admiration. His own spit dripping from the corner of your mouth, mouth over-flowing with the mixture of saliva.

Hand Kink- I can see this being a definite for him, but it's not in the usual way. It's not that he's attracted to hands.. more like, he likes seeing his hands on you, in anyway possible. His hands are his favorite part of him, they're pretty, tatted and very, very dangerous to anyone but himself. He likes too keep his hands on your thigh as he drives, running his thumb over the soft skin. Even sliding his hand, the one marked with "Sin", into your panties. Rubbing his index and middle fingers up the whole length of your cunt. His fingers drenched in your slick as he pushes them into your pussy, your legs spreading as your back arches against the seat of the car. Tears dripping down your cheeks as your voice breaks from the sputter of stuttered out pleas. Your hands shooting down and closing around his wrist only too have them slapped away as he makes you put them through the opening of the headrest and pushes it down, trapping your hands as continues too play with you, ripping orgasm after orgasm from you. Only stopping when he reaches his desired destination, your panties soaked, slick dripping down your thighs as it soaks into the expensive leather.

Dacryphilia- I can't even explain how hard he gets when he sees those fat little tears rolling down your cheeks. The hiccuped sobs that leave your bitten lips, teeth marks engraved in the soft flesh. Your lips tasting of copper, from the blood that flows freely from how hard you dig your teeth into them. His tongue licking at the brownish-red liquid as he leaves quick soft kisses on the corners of your mouth. Making you keep your eyes focused on him so he can watch the salty liquid gather in your optics. The twitching fingers on his right hand, caressing your cheek as he buries his face in your neck. The sounds of your blubbered sobs causing his hips too snap harder- rougher against your own, only for more sniffling too be ripped from your vocal cords, leading you into the occasional coughing fit that he quickly quiets down as they turn into soft whimpers.

[jc96]

[this story is currently in its early development stage.]

The world is divided into two—the “normal humans” and the “powered humans”; people with mutations and abilities that put them above the rest.

It is unknown how the powered humans came to be but it started, one day, when a baby was born with gills on his neck—Case Zero. As the boy grew, so did his mutations—his hands and feet became webbed and it became clear how the boy was born to be in the water.

The next one was a girl—Case One, who was born with wings on her back, which only grew larger as she grew older. Soon, her wings grew so large it dragged on the floor. In a matter of years, her ability to fly and speed became even greater than planes and jets. A girl born to be in the skies.

What started with a baby every few months soon became a baby every month, to a baby every other week to a baby every week.

Today, 1 powered baby is born every 100,000 babies.

With the increasing number of powered humans, the governments of the world decided to implement the Powered Registration Act which aims to, as with normal human beings, register and regulate the powered humans. In line with the Act, the governments of the world created the PHSO - Powered Humans Statistics Office, the governing body solely for the powered humans, led by powered humans for powered humans.

With the emergence of the powered humans, a new occupation is created-heroes.

Registered and regulated by the government, heroes are employed by the PHSO to maintain order and peace while working together with the non-powered force.

Of course, when there are heroes, there are villains—powered and non-powered alike who do not agree with what they call “hero worship” given to heroes.

A never ending cycle of fights between good and evil, peace and chaos which span decades. Nothing new.

Of course, all of these do not concern you. You are not a hero nor are you a villain.

You are a barista with your own café in Sinagtala City.

[rating: 17+ for depictions of blood, non-detailed descriptions of violence, alcohol and cigarette use, off-screen character death(s), and others. this is subject to change as the story progresses]

You are a barista. Sure, your cafe may be a bit odd, compared to others but it is a cafe, nonetheless. Your pride and joy.

You’re the most ordinary citizen in Sinagtala City. Sure, you have secrets you’d do anything to keep, but who doesn’t?

This is a story following your daily life as you entertain customers, buy ingredients and stock your cafe.

...Sure.

— customize your mc! customize your name, pronouns and appearance!

— name your cafe!

— note: this story is set in the philippines and the mc is canonically filipino. as such, customization options are limited to those that are common in filipinos.

— romance 1 out of 3 love interests! are you going for the classic, best friends-to-lovers route? or maybe you'd prefer the enigmatic regular customer? how about the no-nonsense police captain?

— ₜᴿʸ ₜᴼ ᴹₐᴵₙᵀₐᴵₙ ʸᴼᵤᴿ "ₙᴼᵣᴹₐᴸ" ₗᴵᶠᴱ

The Best Friend 

Miguel Rivera [28 years old, he/him][ro]

— your best friend since childhood, Miguel is a constant presence in your life, the one person who has been with you through everything; from childhood quarrels with bullies to the death of your father. Miguel was the first person to come in during your opening day and has been your #1 supporter from day 1.

— going by the hero name “Torch,” Miguel has the ability to control and produce fire, able to use it for short-distance flight, shoot fireballs as well as turn his whole body aflame for a short period of time. 

— tall, at 188cm, with a muscular build (but not bodybuilder muscles) from years of training. Brown (kayumanggi) skin, black, wavy hair that reaches his ears and light brown eyes. All of Miguel’s clothes are made from a special thread created from his hair to ensure their resistance to his fire.

The Regular

Kahel [26 years old, they/them][ro]

— a regular customer, Kahel is one of your first customers. They’ve been coming to your cafe for the past 5 years almost daily, with no fail. Through the years, the two of you have formed a friendship. Despite your years of knowing them, you know almost nothing about Kahel’s past and what they actually do for work (they told you they’re a ‘writer’). You don’t know Kahel’s abilities, only that they have physical mutations.

— average height, at 170cm, with a thin build. Pale skin with long, straight hair they keep to their lower back and tied into a braid. Kahel often changes the color of their hair, so often, you don’t know their real hair color. Their eyes are a light gray, and their ears are pointed, like an elf’s ears.

The Captain

Cristina Solomon [34 years old, she/her][ro]

— the captain of the Sinagtala Police Force, Cristina is tasked in ensuring the peace and safety of the inhabitants of Sinagtala City. The youngest to ever hold the position of captain, Cristina holds deep confidence in her abilities and in the pride her colleagues have of her. In her 2 years since becoming captain, the number of crimes have decreased even further, to the point that other cities have called on her expertise and guidance.

— Cristina has the ability to produce shields and force fields which are able to withstand even a direct hit from a bomb. Cristina possesses amazing control of her abilities, even using them for maneuvering. Although powerful, the more shields she produces, the weaker they get until they’re barely stronger than a glass panel.

— tall height, at 178cm, with a thin but muscled build because of her training as a police officer. Brown (kayumanggi) skin and short, straight, dark brown hair she keeps in a bob, stopping just above her jaw. Cristina has dark, almost black, brown eyes and a beauty mark under her left eye.

The Part-timer

Lib Santos [20 years old, they/them]

— a college student who works part time for you. they’re very happy to work for your cafe because it’s the only one they applied to that’s able to accommodate their schedule. They’re able to attract small objects to themself, an ability they use in working.

— short, at 150cm, with a round build. Brown (kayumanggi) skin with freckles on their face. Round glasses hide their dark brown eyes. Their hair is short, a pixie cut, and dyed a light blue.

The Mayor

Penelope Pascual [45 years old, she/her]

— Sinagtala City’s mayor. Unlike past mayors that were personally chosen by Sinag, Penelope was voted for by the public. A well-known figure in the city, it was only a matter of time before Penelope was voted mayor. Penelope is able to control and manipulate air. She mainly uses it to allow herself flight while patrolling the city.

— tall, at 175cm, with a curvy build. Tan skin accentuated by her light brown eyes and long, straight dark brown hair usually tied in its tight bun.

Papa

Lito [45 years old, he/him]

— your father.

hello! jean here, bringing you a new story. of coffee beans, heroes and villains is an interactive fiction in it's early development stage. the story will be released in chapters and will be completely free from start to finish.

[veala2]

“ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ.”

SYNOPSIS - It was just a simple day at the market, and yet something about him seemed off than what you usually know. Not a bad off, just an off… and then you realized something more.

CW - fluff to the max, fem!reader (no mention of certain physical attributes), just a sweet read before you go to sleep. (´∀｀)♡

A/N - life is getting tough once again, so this was a good pick me up to write. hope you all enjoy it as I did making it!

Sometimes it’s often forgotten how bustling an island market can be while on a ship. The many vendors exhaustingly attempting to sell their goods, customers haggling and bargaining while they can, the loud noises and over all craziness that can ensue in just one day. It was easy not to miss.

So, when your dear cook asked if you’d like to come along with him to get groceries, you agreed in the hopes of a quiet day. But that was far from the case, at the moment.

“Damn, I forgot how crazy this place can be.” You said, astounded and a little nervous. Sanji simply laughed and motioned his hand towards you.

“If you feel overwhelmed, just grab my hand. I promise I won’t let go, Y/N- swan~”

You giggled at his sweet advances and intertwined your fingers with his. Making his eyes go wide and blood start spilling down from his face. You laughed once again at his silliness, and the two of you made your way through the bustling markets. Hand in loving hand.

The day seemed to go by like a breeze. It was funny how a simple day of buying groceries was as adventurous as discovering a new island. Sanji taught you which fruits and vegetables were ripe and firm, using charm to get the best deal on food, and enjoying the many food stalls scattered throughout the marketplace. With the sun shining brightly up in the sky, and not a single cloud in sight, today was starting to look like one of the best days you’ve ever had since joining the Strawhats.

Though, something peculiar was noticed by you as the day went on. Something that was unusual for anybody who knew Sanji.

During the duration on your trip, not once did the- usually love- sick- cook fawn or glance up at another woman. Which was strange, because even you could notice there wasn’t a lack of them. Women who, once Sanji noticed on his mental radar, would be engrossed by his antics until the moment he sailed off the island.

The chef simply kept his hand in yours. Doing his business and having a good time with you. It was sweet, but suspicious.

You thought maybe there was something more, but never thought deeply about it.

Curiously, you made your way up towards a stall selling different pieces of jewellery. Eyeing them all, almost mesmerised. The love cook noticed how your eyes glistened with the bright and colourful gems and stones.

“Fancy anything you see, dearie?” The elderly vendor asked, a gentle smile on his face. You smiled back and nodded, examining a particular pair of jewels that caught your eye. It wasn’t too heavy, and looked amazing against the colour of your skin. That smile of yours slowly dropped knowing you had just spent all your money on all the other vendors you passed.

Sanji noticed the expression on your face, thinking both to how cute you looked with that puppy-like pout and how many berries he managed to save in his pockets. He fiddled around before scourging up just enough money to pay the man.

“We’ll take it, sir.” He said. You were shocked and confused, grabbing Sanji by the shoulder.

“Sanji! It’s fine, I don’t need it.” You whispered. The old man had already packaged it and handed it to you. Sanji gave you a toothy smile, pulling you closer towards him by putting his arm around your shoulder. You made contact with the side of his body, taking note of his scent. Fresh, warm and spicy cologne. A cool aftershave. And the lingering of his signature cigarettes that somehow added to his incredible smell.

“It’s my treat, don’t worry about it. Any man would buy jewelry for such a beautiful woman as yourself.” He insisted, already thanking the man and walking away with you by his side.

A warm and fuzzy feeling grew from inside the pit of your stomach. You peeked inside the bag, a smile forming on your face. Cheeks round and glowing. That adorable smile that made the love cook fawn over you. Causing yet another round of nose bleeding. It was a safe bet to say there was nothing wrong with Sanji today, but the fact that he wasn’t swooning over the latest women he found in the market had you suspicious. But, you decided to put this off until later. Maybe then you’d figure out why he was being so… himself, but not himself.

As the night started to fall, the crew had rallied up and taken their positions at the dining table for their 5- star meal tonight. As per usual, since their chef wouldn’t make anything but. You peeked around the corner of the kitchen, noticing Sanji adding the finishing touches to the food. The delicious aroma wafting through the air and into your nostrils. If you hadn’t come to the kitchen specifically for Sanji, then you most certainly would have just a taste of his latest dish.

“Sanji!” you called, jumping up from around the corner. The man spun around, his eyes turning to hearts at the sight of you in front of him.

“Mon cheri! I’m so happy you’ve come to see me!” he announced, a stupidly cute grin plastered on his face. He noticed something shine from near you, stopping and gawking at what it was. The piece of jewellery looked even better on you than he ever could have thought or even dreamed. His face said everything it ever could have, and you couldn’t help smiling like an idiot, too.

“I take it, you fancy it?” You asked, in the same manner the vendor. He shook his head up and down fast. Going down to grasp one of your free hands and planting a soft kiss on it. You felt the heat rise up inside of you.

“You look like a true goddess, an enchantress of another world! My dear, you truly don’t know what kind of hold you have on me.”

God, could he be more idiotically charming?

“Do you mean that? Cause I saw how you weren’t really… yourself in the market today. You didn’t fawn or swoon over all the girls there like you usually would.” You expressed, awkwardly shuffling your feet and gazing at the ground. He gave you a look of confusion, tilting his face to the side, puppy- like.

“Why would I when I already have a beautiful lady here, right by my side?”

It felt like your heart was about to explode. Explode into small bits as cupid’s arrows have struck you right in the centre. You lunged at him, engulfing him in a bear hug. Hiding your face in his shoulder and taking in that scent that you loved so dearly. Sanji soothingly patted the back of your head and caressed your back with loving circles.

“Your stupid, you know that…” was all you could mutter, still hiding in his shoulder. He simply laughed and held you tighter.

“Sweetheart, the food is starting to get cold. So let’s go enjoy it before that happens.” He advised, having you quickly agree and already start to drool at the thought of eating. Sanji couldn’t help but laugh some more at your antics.

The entirety of the night, you couldn’t help but glance at Sanji at the dinner table. Him doing the exact same. Besides Luffy’s grabby hands at the others' foods, and Brook causing Nami to yet another angry punch, and everybody else’s antics, you felt as if it was just the two of you at the dinner table. Neither of you knew, but you were both thinking about how lucky you were to have each other in this lifetime.

Turns out there was something more. And you loved it.

[thrashyraccoon]

Jealous Guy (Jealous!Eddie Munson x Reader)

___________________________________________

Summary: Another guy starts hanging around you at work and Eddie is concerned about it.

___________________________________________

You and Eddie have been together for a year and have known each other for two years since you moved to Hawkins. You met in high school, but you've already graduated and work at one of the few grocery stores in town, which Eddie is struggling to finish his senior year. Your relationship is still going very well, as it was at the beginning, but now the boy had reasons to be jealous. A nondescript Harry started hanging around your workplace, or more precisely you. A guy five years older with short blonde hair who wears leather almost 24/7. Of course, Eddie had never seen him. He heard that description from you because you told him about Harry, that he was nice and loved metal as much as Eddie. Then the boy thought to himself "it's cool, I won't forbid my partner from talking to customers in the store. Until he met one of your shift colleagues while picking you up from shift." Be careful, young, a certain guy comes up too often during your girlfriend's shifts. " He heard from a middle-aged woman in a work T-shirt, blond, medium curly hair, currently smoking a cigarette during her five-minute break, which usually lasted forever. And that's when fear and jealousy appeared in the boy. If he says she's a woman who ignores everything that's going on around her (including angry customers), so there must be something to it. A week has passed since the previous information and Eddie couldn't be bothered about it. He really hated being jealous of you and didn't want to be with you to argue about this guy. Eddie knew you loved him, but what if you realized he wasn't a good match for you after all and started dating Harry. After all, you were young, you had just finished school, many dreams were still ahead of you. And he? He couldn't even pass school, twice. So, not wanting to start a misunderstanding, he decided to drive over to your workplace after school, when you still had a few hours before your shift started, to meet the employee he talked to last week.

…

Boy got deya vu. Just like that time, a bored blonde was standing in front of the store door, smoking her cigarette. "Hey, can we talk? I have a case." said Eddie, who was glared at by the woman in response. After a second, however, she returned to her previous activity. “It's about the guy who hangs around y/n.”

This time, without even looking at the metalworker, the employee extended her hand towards him, gesturing for him to give her the cash.

"I have 5 dollars on me," he took out a bill, which she took literally in less than a second and put it in her cleavage.

"He often comes for a Marlboro and they reheat the pizza, it's usually when your partner is there. They always talks eachother" She said, taking another puff of the cigarette

"I know that he's coming. Do you know what they're talking about?" The blonde once again made the payment gesture. The boy took out cash and gave the woman "I have $3 more."

"He hangs around and that I've heard him compliment twice, but y/n seems unfazed by it. You don't have to worry about it."

On the one hand, the metalhead breathed a sigh of relief after this statement because he knew that his partner was not going to leave him for someone else, but on the other hand, he lost $8 irretrievably because of this information. However, he didn't feel confident about the fact that his lover was surrounded by a other guy. For peace of mind, he decided to talk to you about it without any secondary conclusions."

"Thanks so much for the information."

"No problem. Now get out of here or you're disrupting my shift, shaggy."

…

A day has passed since the conversation with your supervisor. Eddie was sitting on the bed in his room planning the next d&d campaign for next Friday since we had nothing to do until you got back from your noon shift. Just then, the boy heard the front door open and Uncle Wayne's voice announcing that "Eddie's in his room." The bedroom door opened, but the metal man didn't bother to look who came in because he knew full well it was you.

“Hi Eds,” you said, giving the boy a kiss on his full head of hair. After a while, you placed a few patches on the bed your boyfriend occupied, and the boy immediately looked at them out of curiosity.

"Thank you babe." He said, reaching for the first one on the bank, caressing it between his fingers. "Oh cool, Black Sabbath. Where are you from?"

"I got it from Harry, he said he didn't need it."

After that sentence, a confused Eddie fell silent and threw away the patch. The feeling of jealousy came to the fore again. He had to be sure now.

"Hey, what's going on?" You said, looking worriedly at your boyfriend as you sat on the edge of his bed.

"Honey, will you be honest with me?"

"Always with you, Eds."

"Do…do you like Harry?" In response, he heard quite loud laughter, but not loud enough to wake up the neighbors around him. "Babe, I'm serious!"

You decided to keep a straight face and answer him with complete honesty "Eds, honey, for me he's just a friend with whom I talk when he comes over. In fact, he tries to flirt with me, but to no avail. Anyway, first of all, I told him that I have a boyfriend, and secondly, Harry isn't even my type, he looks like the lead singer of Judas Priest-"

"Good, now I have no chance at all with him!!!" The metal man shouted, cutting you off by dramatically slamming his weight onto the bed.

Watching with amusement, you decided to continue your statement, moving closer to Eddie, "Eds, I prefer guys with Van Halen looks…"

"There's still some Eddie Van Ha-" hanging around! He continued to dramatize until he felt a tap on his shoulder, "Ouh, baby, for what?"

"You're the guy with the Van Halen look, idiot!"

After Eddie analyzed the statement for a moment, the only thing he managed to choke out was a sound of understanding.

"Besides, even if Van Halen came in here, I wouldn't leave you for him, stupid," you said, giggling slightly, then brought your hands closer to Eddie's face and gave him a quick kiss on the lips and hugged him. "I think you and Harry should get to know each other."

"You know, honey, this is actually a good idea." He replied, hugging you closer to him. “It's time to explain that you don't flirt with other people-ouh,” he stopped after you smacked him lightly on the forehead a second time, this time.

"No fighting in the store, Eds!"

"I know, I know," Eddie said, laughing, "Just kidding, sweetheart."

[weaponizedvirtue]

The Face I Hide Behind, Pt. 1 {Peaky Blinders}

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: You met Thomas Shelby as Eli Carter, your hair shorn short, your chest bound, the Royal Engineers crest proudly adorning your uniform. You find him again as discarded Marie Tillerson, a woman shamed but remembered.

Notes: I discovered recently that many woman enlisted in the world wars disguised as men. It made me wonder what being in a high-stress environment like the tunnels would be like as a woman, especially if you were trying to hide that secret from someone like Tommy. Soft Tommy, implied romance, reader can be viewed as gender fluid or female with gender norms defied.

Part two can be found here.

*

"Carter?"

You know that voice. Like the back of your own hand, you know that voice. You turn sharply and sure enough, pale blue eyes and squared shoulders stoop to meet your own.

"Shelby. Jesus, haven't seen you in awhile."

He lifts his eyebrows at that, his gaze still piercing through you like a spotlight. You’d almost forgotten how unyielding the man’s focus could be. His silence says more than he does, shouting and cursing at you even when he won’t. You rock back onto your heels, gesturing behind you with a shake of her thumb. You know what comes next, know what it looks like just before the dog bites, and your knees ache with anticipation.

“I can go. Sir. If you’d prefer.”

Thomas blinks and it cracks the smooth glass facade of his face, something of a tell that you’d always tried to drag out of him before. He considers you carefully, tapping his cigarette back against the palm of his hand before shaking his head.

“You still drink?”

It’s unexpected, though certainly not unwelcome. You nod and wonder if he even knows the half of it, then open your mouth to ask him the same question. But Thomas moves again before you can, his cigarette disappearing between his teeth with practiced precision. He turns, confident as always that you’ll follow without question, then strides back towards the outskirts of town.

“Come on then.”

*

The Garrison. He's as strategic as ever, it seems.

Your eyes rove slowly across the sign in the window as if there's some other message inside of it. You can feel Thomas's eyes watching you, but he always did know the importance of pacing. When you glance back at him, he opens the door a little wider and beckons you inside with a jerk of his head.

As you enter, you mark each and every detail down in an invisible ledger- three haggard customers, one a good deal younger than the others, four dimmed lamps, eleven tables, give or take, and a waitress sweeping in and out of view as two drunkards sling cards across their table.

It's comfortable, somehow. Lived in, loud enough to be familiar, soft enough to be ignored.

"What'll it be, Tom?"

The bartender leans forward with a smile, running a hand towel across the bar counter as you and Thomas settle behind it.

"Whiskey. And a scotch for Marie."

Your heart jolts to a stop and you turn to stare at Thomas. Normally, you'd have been annoyed at a man ordering you a drink without consulting you on your preference first. But a former sergeant major is a step above the regular smitten drunk at the bar and besides the point-

"You remembered."

"You have odd taste."

You don’t dictate that with a response, your eyes frozen on his face as you try to jumpstart your own heart.

"My name, Mr. Shelby. I didn't think you'd remember my n-"

"You were a special case. And it's Tom." His eyes flick over to you for the briefest of seconds as you open your mouth to protest, a command unto itself.

"You're in Birmingham now, not some hole in the mud. It's Tom."

"Tom. Okay."

The use of first names seems too personal somehow and for a moment, you miss the familial barking of last names and orders and swears that you had become used to on the field. There is a sealed promise of companionship in such actions and a wall of formality to hide behind in the absence of confidence. Here, you’re exposed.

The bartender returns quickly with your drinks, blessedly oblivious to your conversation, before disappearing again. You and Thomas sit in silence, sipping slowly at your glasses, and a loathsome wave of longing rolls through your gut. You’ve missed this. The comfortable camaraderie of someone you know simply inhabiting the same space.

“Thought you had family in Shere. What’re you doing in Small Heath, mm?”

You swallow, a long-stowed explanation waiting to spill from your throat. You want to admit just how poorly the past few months have gone, want to lift a mirror to Thomas’s face and ask if he thinks he’s done any better. You want to search Thomas Shelby’s pockets and pluck out a medal or two, just for penance, just for something to keep for yourself.

But it’s a flood of anger you know he doesn’t deserve and it tears out of you in cascading waves and a crashing tide to consume everything in its path. Instead, you take another slow sip of your drink and focus solely on the taste as it passes over your tongue. The torrent in your stomach slowly settles and you shrug instead, your eyes circling over the lip of your glass.

“Shere is small. People talked.”

They’d done much more than talk. They’d whispered and shouted and scowled and you’d grown tired of it quickly enough. You had stood at the base of your parent’s house and they’d spoken to you like you were a stranger, guarded and grieving as if their child hadn't really come back from the war. And there had been a moment, somewhere between your mother drawing the curtains and your father’s quiet request for you to leave, that your chest caved in on itself. Some part of you had clawed at the thought, screamed and cried and pleaded with him inside the walls of your mind. But you’d given too much of yourself to the tunnels and to a team who no longer considered you one of their one. Some part of you had wondered if it was just a consequence you should have expected.

So you’d nodded, swallowed your pain, and the next train out of town had carried you with it.

“England is plenty big enough. I can go somewhere they don’t.”

You can feel Thomas’s gaze, as pointed as it ever had been, but you can’t bring yourself to check if it’s sympathy on the man’s face or the smug understanding of a disappointed parent.

You both fall into silence again, but the quiet itches against your skin this time, a drenched blanket too heavy to remove from your shoulders.

There are things you’ve meant to say, words that demanded to be spoken, and if the universe was kind enough to lend you his company even one more time, it would have to be enough.

You frown, flinching in nervous anticipation, then down the half glass of scotch you have left. Liquid courage, they called it. Your hands clench around your elbows and you drag in one last breath before turning your body to face your former officer completely.

His chin lifts, somewhere between confidence and curiosity, and he takes a sip from his own, slow but no less invested than your own.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to you.”

Your hands flutter forward, aimed for Thomas’s own for a fraction of a moment before the muscle memory of the past two years kicks back hard. You hesitate, swallow back the need for physical comfort, and stow your fingers flat beneath your thighs.

“I’d wanted to say goodbye, Tom.”

But you hadn’t. Hadn’t been allowed to say goodbye to anyone really.

Your last day is still hazy in your memory, another battlefield mess where time didn’t work the way it should, where every element of reality bled into the next. You remember a hissing. A warning, half forming in your mouth, and then a flash at the edge of your vision. The earth collapsing around you and someone’s hand, grabbing at your collar and yanking you forward. Dust and grit filling your lungs where the oxygen should be. There was no goddamn air. No goddamn air and the heat and the damp and the darkness crowded around you like smog.

The path leading out of the tunnels had locked shut with a boom and something large and heavy had collided with the back of your head. The surrounding torches had gone out in one quick burst, swallowing up the world in black.

A snap sounds loud and sharp inside of your ears and you startle; the Garrison slides back into place around you. Air rushes back into your lungs, spinning through your bloodstream so fast it makes your head spin. Beside you, Thomas lowers his hand from your face, his fingers slowly relaxing from where they’d clicked together.

“Hmm.” It comes out as more of a burst of air than an actual word. You blink back at him for a moment, breathing in through your nose, picturing your heart beating slower and slower until it returns to an almost normal pace. “General was there when I woke up. Said I didn’t have time for goodbyes. Said ladies shouldn't be on the field and that I was being sent home. Honorable discharge.”

It’s strange, that you can’t remember an explosion or the pulsing moments of fear in all the life or death situations you’ve faced. Yet each and every expression on your fellow soldiers’ faces as you crept from the medic’s tent would forever remain stamped on the back of your eyelids. It had been a moment you’d prayed to avoid- that the war would end with you still standing and the fury and shock and silence that came with an exposed lie would pass with no consequence.

Thomas Shelby could have remained the man across the fire. He could have stayed the companion who shared the little food he had while you were on watch, the friend who had muttered playful barbs and quiet encouragement to you after your first week in the tunnels, the confidant you trusted with all but one secret.

And you could have avoided the look of solemn judgment chiseled into his face as you pulled the car door shut behind you.

“I was angry with you.” There's pain in Thomas's voice as he speaks. His eyes glance down at his glass and he takes a long, slow draw of his whiskey.

The words burn, though you’d guessed at the fact months before. You nod, swallowing back something like a sob, and tuck your chin down sharply.

“Had the right to be. I wanted to tell you. If I’d told anyone, it would have been you. Was just… scared you’d turn me in.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

He could shatter bones with his words, you think.

A quiver of sound sits in the back of your throat and for a moment, you allow yourself to imagine what it would have been like. It still would have been difficult, to hide your true identity for the sake of being able to fight for what you believed in. But you wouldn't have been alone. Would have been protected in the way only sharing one's secrets could ensure.

And there would have been Tom, walking beside you, where before you'd taken the road alone.

You stare back at Thomas, searching for the tiniest hint of a lie, the flicker of a fuse igniting him into cinders. You wait for the rage, for the silent dismissal, but it never comes. A breath of shocked disbelief breaks from behind your teeth and you lean forward into your hands.

"Jesus, Shelby, you always did know how to render us speechless."

"It's Tom."

It's Tom. Even after her fall from grace and the bruising lack of trust she'd placed in him, it's still Tom.

Your eyes flutter back to the man and something like hope blossoms inside of your chest, warring with the shame that churns in your stomach. 

"Tom. I'm sorry."

"I know."

He does, you think. His voice is just as quiet as your own, just as soft and calculated as it used to be around the torchlight of your camp. His lips curl neatly around each word, purposeful and focused, and when he looks at you like he does, accusing and forgiving all at the same time, it feels like your cracks seal up just enough to consider yourself solid.

It’s easier after that. The two of you fall into conversation, the kind that you remember from before, where you talk of nothing and everything and the hours pass like seconds. The glasses pile up quickly enough and the walls begins to tilt just a little to the left. The glow of the lamps around you softens the ache in your bones and the room seems to shrink to the bar alone, to the two seats you occupy, and the cocksure figure of the man sitting across from you.

By the time you look around again, the bar sits almost empty, only a straggler or two hugging onto their tables or so deep into their cups that they won't recover till morning.

"It's late."

There's hesitance in your voice, an unwillingness to leave what you've missed for so long. It had been easy enough to convince yourself since your discharge that you were fine alone, happy with solitude, but the idea of losing Thomas’s company so soon is startling. 

“You got a place to stay?”

You shake your head, shrugging. You’ve been traveling long enough now that you’ve learned the alternatives to a roof over your head. There are places to go, groups you can fit yourself into if it just means a place to sleep for the night. Summer is on its way anyhow and you always did enjoy being out underneath the stars.

“Right.” Thomas slaps his hand against the counter, his expression resolute. It’s one you’ve grown used to, a look that says something is an order and not a suggestion. You don’t disobey orders. “My place then.”

The offer still isn’t one you expect and you hurry to get to your feet as Thomas adjusts his coat and heads for the door. 

“It’s not necessary, Tom.”

He slips out of the bar quickly, his gait focused, and you hurry out after him. Your feet shift unsteadily beneath you as the street tilts slightly, but you manage to slide forward to stand in front of the man. Without thinking, you drag both hands up onto Thomas’s shoulders, as much to keep you standing as it is to give him pause. You blink for a moment, admiring the scratch of wool against your palms, and a chuckle sounds in your ears. Fingers slowly pluck your own from Thomas’s jacket and his hand squeezes around your wrist.

“Come on.”

Thomas’s tone leaves no room for debate, but his stance does, and appreciation rolls slowly back to you. For all his insistence, he’ll still wait long enough for the decision to be yours.

Still, you’re afraid you’ve misunderstood. Afraid he wants more than you can give or means less than you could hope.

“By stay, you just meant-” You roll your balance onto your heels, well aware that the action could have tremendous consequences with the amount of liquor you’ve consumed over the past few hours. “-to… stay, yeah? Not…” The words escape you and heat rises into your cheeks. 

“You never were very good with words.”

Your right arm jerks upward almost by habit and you clap your left hand down across your bicep before you can stop yourself. A bark of laughter escapes from Thomas’s throat and a traitorous grin climbs onto your lips. The man’s moods are alarmingly infectious.

“I like numbers better.”

Light from the nearest streetlamp glances off of Thomas’s face as his expression softens; he takes a slow inhale from his cigarette and the tip sends a flare of orange over his cheeks that sets your skin alight.

“Respite from the storm. That’s all I’m offering, Tillerson.”

“Mmm.” You consider him carefully, wishing you had the courage to tell him that he had been just that a hundred times already. Instead, you nod, and follow him home.

*

It’s a modest flat, smaller than you can imagine Thomas Shelby normally fitting into. But that’s Thomas to a tee, carefully remaking himself to match his surroundings. And it’s quiet and warm and if that’s not reminiscent of home, you’re not sure what is.

“It’s not much. Not yet.”

“But it’s something.” You turn and smile softly back at him, grateful to even somewhere that’s warm and dry.

“Bed’s all yours. I’ll take the floor.” 

He sheds his jacket off with a shrug and his knees bend as if to drop out from beneath him. Stubborn insistence rises inside of your chest and you pat the spot on the bed beside you, shaking your head.

“Tom. How many nights have we slept beside each other?”

“This is diff-”

“It’s not.” A yawn forces its way out of your throat and you blink sleepily back at the man. “Come on, mate. It's still me.”

Thomas remains standing for a moment, his lips twisting as he watches you stretch towards the ceiling. Your hand pats the bed again and without waiting for his response, you turn over on your stomach, pressing your face into the sheets. The day’s events catch up to you suddenly, dragging you under in a wave of fatigue; it’s been too long since you’ve found yourself in a safe place and sleep beckons.

Slowly, so slowly you're not sure it isn’t a dream, a weight settles on the bed beside you. A body comes to rest at your back and with a pleased murmur, you fall asleep.

[porcelainseashore]

Ghosts from the Past (2)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agent! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Informant! Fem! Reader

Summary: 7 years after leaving behind everything you’ve known, you’re suddenly thrust into facing a ghost from your past, Leon. Navigating where you stand with him brings up old memories, painful truths and countless questions. At the same time, you have to deal with a bunch of strange occurrences at your dance company. Set after Resident Evil 4 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Canon-Typical Horror and Violence, Blood, Injury, Torture, Infection, Medical Experiments, Psychological Trauma, Nightmares

Content: Post-Resident Evil 4, Exes to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Romance, Fluff

Author's Note: This chapter is a lot more dialogue-heavy to set up the scenes for the next ones. It was originally going to be angstier, but my heart wouldn’t let me. Oops. I hope you still like it though.

AO3 Link

Chapter 2: Baptism

Outside the embassy, Leon hailed for a cab to get to the bar. The journey there was in complete awkward silence, except for the occasional question raised by the cab driver, who quizzed you on why you were headed to such an unsavory place. Somehow he could tell that Leon didn’t quite belong and cautioned about certain areas being unsafe for tourists. Leon just snorted in response, while you laughed inwardly at the irony of his cover story, where he was meant to be your American tourist friend embarking on a Eurotrip.

To be honest, it really wasn’t as bad as people made it out to be. Berlin was a smaller city and felt safer than New York. However, you still carried around that Swiss Army knife Leon had won and given to you back in the day wherever you went, just in case. You ran the tip of your finger along its metallic surface in your pocket. The world could be cruel to little girls after all.

As you exited from the cab, you were greeted by a lively, eclectic neighborhood, sprinkled with night markets, kebab and shisha shops, independent art spaces and late night bars. The buildings were noticeably more rundown than Mitte, the district you had traveled from, and the community a lot edgier. With both of you now dressed casually, you had no problem blending into the midnight crowd.

You swung open the doors of an unmarked establishment and found yourselves shrouded in thick wafts of cigarette smoke upon entering. Leon frowned, coughing as he swatted the air in front of him. Even though you were used to smoking being allowed pretty much everywhere in Germany, your eyes still watered as you pressed up against and squeezed past the mass of bodies in the dimly-lit, dingy bar. The smell on your clothes and hair would take days to get rid of later. It was noisy and chaotic, with nearly every inch of the space occupied by chatty, drunk customers, some more boisterous than the others. You were lucky to find a small, rickety table with two precarious-looking stools at the extreme corner of the room.

Setting your coat and day bag down on one of the stools to claim it, you folded your arms, turned to Leon and remarked, “So… an agent, huh?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Whiskey first. Then, we’ll talk.”

You rolled your eyes at his standoffish reply, wondering what his problem was. After all these years where he had led you to assume he was dead, and with the circumstances both of you had found each other in, this was the kind of attitude he took with you? A prickling feeling of agitation grew in your chest as you pushed past him, storming towards the bar in annoyance.

Upon approaching it, you breathed out a sigh of relief when you saw that you knew the bartender who was on shift tonight. He usually popped a little extra into your drinks whenever he sensed you had a shitty day. Tonight was no exception.

“Zwei doppelte Kurze Whiskey.” (Two double shots of whiskey.) You raised two fingers at him to spell out your order.

He grunted out an acknowledgement as he got to work, filling two empty glasses with the fiery amber liquor, one glass topped up significantly more than the other.

“Macht er dir Probleme?” (Is he giving you any trouble?) He asked, without looking up from pouring the shots. It seemed like he had noticed your little commotion with Leon from just before.

“Aktuell nicht,” (Not for now.) you answered guardedly.

At this point, Leon had caught up to you, watching as the bartender placed the glass with more whiskey on the counter top in front of you and the one with less before Leon. 

Leon huffed at the slight and shook his head. “I’ll take the bottle too.”

The bartender eyed him suspiciously as he plonked the whiskey bottle on the counter loudly, like there was an unspoken competition going on between them.

“Here,” Leon mentioned coolly, sliding a couple of euro bills along the counter to pay for all the drinks. “Keep the change.”

You sighed at the childish display before you, giving the bartender an apologetic look as you took your glass without a word, and settled in at the small table you had informally reserved earlier. The people around you were far more interested in drinking than any conversation you were about to have. Occasionally a fight started, but those responsible were easily cleared out by the staff. 

There should be no issues with privacy here, you thought, as you downed your first round of drinks simultaneously with Leon.

The sharp alcohol burned your throat, warming you from the inside. You noticed Leon wincing as he brought the glass to his cut lip, finishing its contents in one clean gulp and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Did he get hurt in the field? You wondered, but chose not to question it, instead pouring yourself another shot as Leon did likewise.

Frustrated by the ongoing silence between the two of you and Leon’s seeming reluctance to speak, you decided to break the dead air, stating sarcastically, “Anything else you need before we get started? Room service? A hot bath, perhaps?”

He threw back another shot, twisting his lips into a wry smile. “Hm, don’t tempt me.”

“Leon, what happened? All these years… I thought you had died.” You were getting tired of this game and wanted an honest exchange for once.

“I did,” he replied softly.

“Huh?”

Averting his gaze quickly, he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “It doesn’t matter.” 

But you wanted answers. You needed to know what had been haunting him too. “It does to me.”

You reached out to him cautiously, but just as your fingers ghosted the back of his hand, he moved it away, his voice turning cold as ice. “Look, I don’t know what you’re expecting, but it’s been a long time-”

His reaction took you by surprise as you interjected defensively, “Yeah, I can count.” 

A long time? If anyone should be able to comprehend that, you were more than qualified.

“I’m not the same guy you used to know back then,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard you.

“And I’m not the same girl you knew either,” you countered, in a mixture of anger and confusion. He was talking to you like he was blaming you for something. It wasn’t fair and you weren’t going to put up with it anymore. “Stop avoiding the question, Leon.”

“Still as stubborn as hell though,” he muttered.

Your blood boiled at his non-answer. “Is this some kind of joke to you?” You seethed, raising your voice. “I mourned you. The past 7 years. I heard nothing. Your parents heard nothing.” You emphasized each point, taking another shot afterwards to calm your nerves. Your face scrunched up in response to the harsh bite of the liquor. “And now this?”

He paused for a moment, fiddling with the empty glass in his hands, before hesitantly responding, “I got out of Raccoon City. Then, the government asked me to work for them.”

You caught the drift of what he was implying when he stressed the word ‘asked’, like it wasn’t by choice. But you didn’t understand what hold they had on him.

“That’s all you need to know.” Placing his glass back down on the table, he took a swig from the bottle itself this time. The few sentences he gave you had taken a toll on him.

“Why? How did they-”

“The rest is classified,” he snapped through gritted teeth, as a form of warning not to push it any further.

You slumped back in your chair in defeat, realizing that you weren’t much closer to understanding him and what he had gone through.

“Why did you join Silje’s company?” Leon questioned out of the blue, his tone filled with resentment, so much so that you bit your lip in reflex as guilt seeped into your heart.

“After you… die-disappeared, I-I didn’t know what else to do.” You cast your eyes downwards, your voice choking up with emotion as the memories you had suppressed came flooding back, like a gaping wound in your side. 

“I had to leave. Everything just-” you paused, clenching your fists so hard that you could see the imprints of your fingernails against your palms. “-reminded me of you.”

At this, his stony gaze faltered slightly and a look of despondence slowly spread across his face. 

“You could have gone anywhere else, but you just had to choose her, didn’t you?” He uttered somewhat accusingly. “You really shouldn’t get involved in this.”

“A bit too late for that,” you argued. Did he think you couldn’t hold your own?

“You can still walk away,” he offered.

Shaking your head, you peered back at him defiantly. “I’m not leaving you.”

“That’s what you said last time,” he retorted bitterly, his brows etched together in a frown. “Look at how that turned out.”

Your mouth ran dry, and it felt as if you had been given a tight slap across your cheek. 

So this was what it was all about? He still faulted you for what happened in the past? The most troubling thing was that you had nothing to say to that. You truly held yourself accountable for whatever that had gone wrong.

“Is this why you want to get rid of me?” It came out as a bare whisper.

He shrugged impassively, unable to meet your eyes like he was hiding something. “It’s just better this way.”

Your mind was going round in circles as you were put on the spot. However, something inside you kept rebelling against what Leon had to say. You couldn’t abandon him again. Not like this, even though he claimed it was the better route to take. Didn’t he once tell you to trust him to make his own decisions? Then, he should offer you the same courtesy. You weren’t about to throw in the towel and give up now.

So instead of running away like he expected you to, you pushed back. “No.”

Leon narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I said no,” you repeated again resolutely. “We have a job to do. I’m helping you to infiltrate this base whether you like it or not.”

His lips were drawn into a thin line as he brooded quietly in the corner, but he continued to hear you out.

“Once that’s done, we can go back to our own separate lives if you want,” you stated. “Just like how it was.” 

A fair compromise. Although deep down you hoped it wouldn’t mark the end of your interactions with Leon. Well, you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it.

After a while of considering your suggestion, he agreed warily, “Ok.”

His gaze was impenetrable while both of you drank in silence. At some point, you decided to call it a night, since you had an early start with him tomorrow to go over your next plan of action. It was drizzling when you came out of the bar, the water droplets falling on your face like a baptism of a new chapter. You had made your bed, now you had to lie in it.

As Leon called for another cab to take him back to where he was staying, you left without a word, walking on your own to the nearest U-Bahn station. He watched you until you were just a tiny speck in his vision, lost amongst the sea of people and glowing street lights.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Leon were standing in front of the dining table of his service apartment, a mess of papers sprawled across every surface. He rested his curled fingers under his chin, eyeing the diagrams and notes scribbled on the sheets like a hawk, analyzing them for any obvious patterns.

He picked up a report that you had drafted recently. “So Silje told you all of this?”

You yawned and sipped at the instant coffee Leon had offered you when you had arrived. It was a couple of hours earlier than when you were normally up, as you’d have to head over to the theater to train after this meeting. You had pushed away whatever thoughts you had resulting from the conversation with Leon last night to the back of your mind, in favor of professionalism. Afterall, it wasn’t your first rodeo pretending things were fine, and neither was it Leon’s.

“Some of it, yes. Though in her own way of speaking in riddles,” you explained. “The rest I had overheard or tailed her without her knowing.”

“Are you sure you weren’t spotted?” It sounded like a mixture of concern and him questioning your abilities, the latter of which irritated you a little.

“If I was, would I still be standing here?” You stated brusquely.

“Fair enough.”

You pointed at the blueprint map again, tracing the outlines of your markings with your fingers as you explained, “From what I gathered, the site has two main sections beyond the theater space. The upper levels are easily accessible, but shaped like a labyrinth. I haven’t explored everything yet, but if my gut feeling is right, I would say that the entrance leading further down might be all the way over here.” You tapped at the red circle with a question mark drawn on the map.

“The lower levels are only accessible via keycard. Obviously Silje has one, but there must be others too,” you reasoned. 

“That said, I’ve seen her bringing in the same man more than once. Business type, probably in his 60s, speaking German with a Swiss accent.” Then, you proceeded to describe his outward appearance in further detail.

“Silje always passed him off as being part of the company board. I doubt it though,” you shrugged.

Leon hummed in response, and the corners of his mouth turned slightly upward, as if he was trying to hold back a smile. It was the first sign of approval he showed you since you had reconnected.

As he thumbed through the rest of the papers, he cocked his head to the side, tapping his fingers on the table absentmindedly. “One thing I don’t get from this is why she’s confided in you.”

You nipped your lip, swallowing anxiously, as you were afraid of disclosing what you might have committed yourself to. 

“She wanted to offer me a gift,” you whispered.

“A gift?” He tensed up noticeably at the word. “Did you accept?”

“Um… yes?” You replied uneasily, but tried to persuade him that nothing else had happened yet. “She only told me it would come soon.”

The drumming of his fingers on the table stopped abruptly, as he gripped the edge of it, clenching his jaw as he spoke, “Why the fuck would you do something like that?”

“I-I thought it would help,” you stuttered, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in his mood.

“What exactly has Bergmann told you about this case?” He hissed.

“That Silje was suspected of harboring some bioterrorists.”

You flinched as he cursed a second time loudly, before muttering a quick, “Excuse me for a minute.” With that, he darted out of the room into the hallway to make a call.

So here you were, left alone without answers again. The secrecy surrounding the entire mission and Leon’s erratic behavior was starting to grate on you, but there wasn’t much you could do about it.

Past the hallway, out of sight and earshot, Leon had connected with Hunnigan on comms.

“Leon,” she greeted. “Any news?”

“Our old friend, the Plaga,” he stated. “Seems like our suspicions might be right.”

“You have the source to back that up?” She asked out of habit, even though she already knew the answer.

“I went through the documents. I’m not 100%, but it’s close.”

He detailed an abnormality that stood out during the investigations. “A few days ago, some people on site experienced temporary psychotic episodes where their veins turned black, but reverted back to normal after.”

“That’s aligning with whatever intel we’ve already picked up. It could be a new strain of the Plaga,” he concluded.

Hunnigan nodded. “We’ll require a sample for the labs when you’re in the base. Anything you need me to do?”

“Run some files on any surviving Los Iluminados members. Focus on trade routes with Germany,” he requested. “The informant mentioned Silje entertaining a particular ‘business partner’ on a regular basis.”

“On it.” She typed away furiously at a computer keyboard off-screen.

“Another thing,” Leon commented. “Why wasn’t the informant told about the real nature of this situation?” 

“That was under Bergmann’s discretion.” 

He scoffed derisively. “She’s putting her in danger. The informant has no idea what she’s risking here. Silje just offered her the ‘gift’ and you and I know what that means.”

“Leon, you know the rules,” Hunnigan sighed sympathetically. “We don’t really have much say in this jurisdiction.”

“What do you mean? She reports to HQ!”

“Yeah, and they’ve given her free reign,” she explained, without batting an eyelid.

“In-fucking-credible.” He rolled his eyes.

“You need to press on. The informant has the best chance of getting you in,” she reasoned, giving pause and contemplating her next choice of words before speaking. “I would suggest not getting too attached to her.”

“I’m not,” Leon deadpanned, despite the look on Hunnigan’s face, like she didn’t believe him. 

“At the rate this is going, she may not be around long enough to do her job,” he clarified.

“You know we have a cure for that,” she rebutted. “The girl will be fine.”

He pursed his lips, changing the subject. “Hm, just send me the updates later.”

With that, he shut off his comms device and headed back into the living room, only to be accosted by your snide remark, “Let me guess, another convo that’s classified?”

His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Not quite.”

“Whatever Bergmann has been feeding you is bullshit,” he began. “We’ve been suspecting that the theater is being used as a front for developing a new batch of bioweapons they’re about to ship into the US.”

Your eyes widened at the newfound information. The whole time you had assumed that Silje was just providing a safehouse, not a full-on experimentation chamber. But with the recent events that had occurred, you should have considered it earlier.

“So the labs must be underground.” He thumped the pad of his index finger on the sketchings of the lower levels of the site on the map. “And they’re not just hiding people down there.”

Casting over a solemn glance, he revealed, “I’m telling you this, because you need to be careful.”

“And stop making deals you shouldn’t be making,” he warned.

You let the words sink in. “I see,” you nodded slowly. “Thanks, I… appreciate that.”

“The minute you feel something is off, or your veins start to darken, you contact me straight away and get the hell outta there. Understood?”

“Ok, I will,” you promised.

On the one hand, you were grateful that Leon had the courtesy to inform you about what you were getting into, but on the other, you were scared of what was to come. You had heard about the Terragrigia Panic and the B.O.W.s that devastated the floating city a year ago. The gruesome scenes were splashed across the news for weeks. Would the same happen here?

As if he could read your mind, Leon placed a hand on your shoulder to reassure you. “I won’t let them get you.”

“I trust you.” You said it as if it was clear as day.

His eyes bore into yours and his hand made its way towards your cheek, but stopped short in midair, a hair’s breadth away from touching your skin. Then, it fell to the side as he turned away, like he was ashamed of what had just transpired.

You cleared your throat in awkwardness, trying to recall the next point on the meeting agenda. Ah yes, Till.

Till was a fence you got to know from the parties you frequented. He was a friend of a friend of a… you got the idea. At first, you bought your drugs from his minions in the clubs, but then became a regular client of his the moment you started your informant career.

“As requested, I’ve arranged a meeting with Till.” You grabbed your day bag from the seat you had left it on. “He operates out of a nightclub that has a pretty strict door policy. So you’ll have to look the part.”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Which would be?”

You sighed, unsure of how this would go down. “Um, your usual black get-up will do,” you mentioned tentatively. Unzipping your bag, which unveiled a sneak peek of its contents, you peered back at him. Here goes nothing. “So are you a more of a latex or leather kind of guy?”

What you would have given to permanently capture the look of shock on Leon’s face.

“Are you fucking serious?” He blurted out.

Perhaps you should make the decision for him then. Giving him a once over, you identified a common theme with his casual leather jacket and fingerless gloves. 

“I’m guessing leather,” you discerned, rummaging through your bag for a studded harness and tossing it over to him.

He caught the chunky material in his hands, looking at it with apprehension whilst shaking his head.

Fishing out a translucent, black crop top, you displayed it in front of Leon as you walked over to him. “Maybe over this and a pair of leather boxers.”

He grimaced. “No.”

Well, he sure wasn’t making your job easy. “I’ll be doing most of the ass-kissing at the door,” you argued. “You just have to wear this and keep your mouth shut.”

Please go along with it, you prayed. There was only so much magic you could pull to get him in at the club door.

Examining the outfit you had picked out for him gingerly, he muttered, “Jesus Christ, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

At least he wasn’t protesting any further.

“I’ll meet you there at 4 in the morning on Sunday,” you reminded him. “You’d better have something substantial to trade with.”

“That’s the least of my concerns right now,” he grumbled, to which you snickered in amusement before departing for the theater.

[agathasstrap]

"a deity of your own." ~ a.h & r.v

pairing — agatha harkness/rio vidal„ agatha harkness/jennifer kale (slightly)

summary — agatha harkness is no stranger to death, but it seems death may be a stranger to her. for her entire life, she's been haunted by this deity, this divine presence that she cannot shake. finally, she can see her. she knows the face of her ghost, of her deity.

content warnings — angst, slowburn, yearning, violence, death.

word/chapter count — 2.5k & (1/5)

It was twenty-eighteen, a year that lacked in interest. Nothing was more than it seemed; the world was stuck in an endless system of depression. There was nothing grand, nothing titillating. There was just lack. No spark. No solitude. No movement. The world was caught. Standing still. Dead in its tracks.

She stood firm with it.. or rather in this case, sat.

She was sitting on a mahogany stool. Her eyes were shut and her face was held up by the open palm of her hand, which extended to an elbow planted atop a marble bar. A white shirt, with buttons that trailed down the middle. Black slacks that would've been dragging as she walked if she hadn't worn her dark red heels. Some people say your shoes should match your outfit.. she had red earrings on. Did that count?

A man behind the bar slid a piece of paper next to the seemingly asleep woman. It was the ticket for the drinks she had consumed. The tender thought about waking her up, unsure if she would ever open her eyes again.

His attention was caught by a loud voice, and he walked away.

The woman at the bar did not move.

Her brown hair was curled, tangled at the ends. She looked like the world had chewed her up and spit her out. The bags under her eyes added to this, and the cracked skin of her lips worked against her favor.

For what felt like forever, she was still as she sat atop the mahogany stool. She was at peace. Tranquil.

But nothing lasts forever.

The hair on the back of her neck began to stand up. Her eyes flushed open.

Her glaze shot straight to the doors of the bar. A woman was there, staring at her. She had brown hair.

In the woman's hand was a cigarette, which she now took a puff off of. Her lips curved into a smirk, one directed clearly to the dark haired woman on the mahogany barstool.

She stood. Her eyes closed again. And then they opened.

The mysterious woman was gone.

Agatha pushed a sole piece of hair behind her ear and her eyes darted around, trying to find the smoking brunette. She could feel that she was gone, but she wanted to be sure.

Her relief was imminent when the woman was no where to be found.

She sighed, grabbing onto the strap of her purse and throwing it over her shoulder. The bartender opened his mouth to remind her of her ticket, and her fingers drew in. Purple shot from them, it seemed like no one else noticed. The bartender had been instantly busy with other customers, and it was like Agatha Harkness had never even sat at that bar. Like she had never been completely still atop the mahogany stool.

Days later the witch found herself stuck in traffic. She was aggravated at the stupidity of non-magical beings. She thought it was moronic for the color of a light to determine when someone should drive, and she found it even more bizarre that those without magic just accepted this way of life. Though, of course, she recognized it must be hard to challenge an idea or construct that had been in place for so long.

Thinking of the modernist ways of the world now made her reminisce upon the ancient times. Oh how the world had changed, and oh how it had still remained.

Agatha's eyes searched for the light, checking again to see if it had changed. She was manning the second car in the line of automobiles. To her dismay, the light seemed to be tranced in its red.

She figured she must've been stuck at that red light for at least 10 minutes. It was unusual to be caught for that long. . maybe there had been a crash? Agatha thought it was possible, but her logic reminded her that the lights don't change schedule per collisions.

When it had finally turned green, she smirked and clicked her tongue to her teeth. Her hands found their positions on the wheel again, and her foot met the accelerator. Just as she applied pressure to the control, something in her peripheral view caught her eye. As her car took off, her head jerked to the left, followed by many blinks, just to confirm that she wasn't seeing things. It was the same woman from the bar.

This time she stood with her arms crossed and her eyes fixated on Agatha. This sent chills to the brunette driving the car, and she shook her head, turning back to face the road. Whoever this woman was, she was relentless. Agatha thought it was a vengeance seeker from a coven she may have killed off, but she couldn't be sure.

Those eyes, though, they haunted her. Since she saw them in the bar, her dreams had become infected by the curious irises. She was certain she had seen them before, but she couldn't put her finger on where.

It had been a week since the brunette had been to the bar, and Agatha was tired of the constant racing her head did to try to figure out the woman who was haunting her, she wanted to escape it. As much as this stranger made her feel a conflicting sense of comfort, it was torture to know her body and her face but not her name. It just so happens that her friend, Jillian, had a birthday get together in a few hours.

The witch smiled as she looked her outfit over in the mirror. She had on a black pencil skirt and black button down shirt on. It was paired with a grey vest, which matched her grey and red heels. Her hair was loose, wild and untamed. She squinted, trying to determine what to change. Then she flipped her hair over her shoulder, smirking at the end result.

The drive to the city wasn't too long, it took maybe half an hour. As she rounded the corner of a street, she decided she would not think of the woman once. She would focus on the people in front of her.

It truly was a miracle that Agatha Harkness had friends, much less, non-evil friends. Jillian had always seen the good in her. It had been some time since she had taken a life. Maybe it was because of the new people she had become friends with.

Deep down, though, she knew it had little to do with them, and everything to do with her son.

She parked her vehicle. Decidedly, she left her purse in the glove compartment.

As she stepped into the bar, she took in her surroundings. She had never been to this specific bar before. It was very earthy. There were vines everywhere, fake ones of course, the ambience was very natural.. something you'd expect to see in a greenhouse. She didn't like nature, nor the earthy feel. It reminded her of green witches. She hated green witches. That was the only witch she hadn't killed yet.. the only outlier. They were ever so slightly more powerful than her, so it wasn't like she didn't WANT to kill a green witch. That power would be so strong, it would fuel her. Just thinking of that power she could drain, it made her bite her lip and sigh.

She knew though, that she should be making her way to the collection of witches there for Jillian's birthday. Agatha figured there would be some sort of reaction to her being there, especially because she was so renowned for being a witch killer.

As she walked towards the group who was facing Jillian's husband, Micheal, she noticed a certain someone who she was familiar with, a potions witch, to be exact.

She thought of turning around and leaving. The thought struck her, the one that stood on why Jill would invite her former partner.. but she also realized that Jillian had other friends that knew her.

Against her better judgement, Agatha sat down at the table. She huffed, her eyes glancing over the curvy unmistakable figure of her ex girlfriend. Jennifer was looking at her already. Their eyes met in a flash, and Agatha smirked, raising an eyebrow. The woman scoffed and looked away, her face purified with disgust and hatred.

It pleased the older witch to know that she caused annoyance to Jen, but of course, behind that notion, she also just wanted to speak to her.

The night went on with not much else, there was music, presents, and speeches. Everyone loved Jillian, she was a natural beauty to any audience she had. People worshipped her.

Jillian was Agatha Harkness' opposite. People cowered within even miles of Harkness. She was known to most of witchkind for her succubus powers, those that drained other witches of their power; and eventually their lives. The brunette enjoyed being feared, but it came at the price of being loved. You couldn't have everything, after all.

Or maybe you could, and maybe Agatha just needed something to make her feel as though she was just another victim of an unfortunate saying.

When everyone else at the table had given their toast to the birthday girl, heads turned to Agatha. Some of the people that knew her just from her face seemed to quiver, and the others that didn't know exactly whom she was looked in her direction with a hint of curiosity. Jen rolled her eyes and a sharp comment was thrown at Agatha.

"She doesn't give toasts. You all might as well hold on to your witch hats and get back to your martinis and memories."

The purple witch's eyes locked themselves onto Jennifer's face.

"Actually, I happen to have a little something up my sleeve."

Jen scoffed, and the brunette smirked, clicking her tongue to her teeth. She leaned back into the chair she sat in, a smile now creeping onto her lips.

"Jillian," she said, shaking her head within the midst of her pause, "poor Jillian."

The divination witch's smile fell, and she tilted her head at Agatha's words. Agatha's body leaned back up, and she stood, picking up a glass of champagne in her hand. She chuckled, stepping up onto the chair. Now the entirety of the restaurant's guests looked to her.

"You are no witch." She sipped her champagne down and dropped the empty glass down to the floor. People gasped, but Jennifer had a smug look on her face, biting her lip at the entertainment.

"You're no one. You waste away your life, your power, for love. What a fool." Another pause occurred, and Jillian's face turned from curiosity to anger.

"My mother, Jill," she chuckled, "my mother was a bitch. She wanted me to be 'normal.' She knew I harbored great power.. and she tried to execute me because of that. She wanted me to be like you. She wanted me to be infatuated with non-magical aspects of life, like love, or children, or even a home! And I was never that witch. I was never basic, and pitiful." Agatha cackled, especially at the hands which were now glaring a yellow glow. "You're pathetic. You care not for the glory, for the power you could give to yourself. If you hadn't been so selfless, you could've made a name for yourself, Jillian. Even now, we sit at this bar, celebrating something that does not matter. You are worthless, well, as far as magic goes. Your magic is dull, you've wasted away.."

The purple witch's lips fell into a pout, and she cackled again.

"Poor little.. Jill."

Jillian's hands pulled back, and yellow shot from them. Bystanders retracted from the scene, mouths open. They watched as Jillian blasted Agatha with her magic, as she attempted to kill her.

Agatha laughed, amused. Her smile grew, and she began to drain the air witch's power. Her life began to diminish, her body began to shrivel.

Jennifer looked away, shaking her head at the sight. There was nothing anyone could do.

Within minutes, Jillian had been drained. She was dead. Her body fell to the wooden floor of the bar, and many of the watchers were in tears. Agatha chuckled, as the final bits of yellow turned purple in her palm.

She flipped her hair over her shoulders, biting her lip. She glanced at Jen, who was still facing the other way. She knew the potions witch would be coming to insult her that night, so she stepped down from the chair and pursed her lips together.

The other woman turned slightly, staring at Agatha in dismay. Agatha winked, before making her retreat. The witches and non-witches around her were squirming with fear, and Agatha felt pride in that.

She opened the door to the bar, stepping out of the establishment. A long sigh escaped her body, and she looked back at the building. Her feet set in motion, bringing her towards her car. When she reached the handle of the door, she dropped the keys.

There she was.. on the other side of the car, even with her body.

Agatha's eyes locked onto the eyes of the stalker. The eye contact did not falter once. She received a small tilt of the head by the brunette, and the purple witch had opened her mouth to speak.

She was interrupted as the woman began to change, her face became bones, her figure was now hooded. The presence of this woman now made all else cold. Agatha felt a shiver run down her spine, and she looked the haunting woman up and down. Their gaze was still connected.

The purple witch bit her lip, and her breathing became erratic. She felt her heart start to race, and her chest was overwhelmed with a painful sensation.

The woman in front of her had lifted her hand, which was skeletal. In it, there was a small heart shaped bundle of roots. She squeezed the heart, and as she did, Agatha's chest got tighter.

She yelped in pain, grabbing and clawing at her upper torso.

The woman began to crush the heart, and Agatha fell to her knees, scratching at her chest, where her heart was. She whimpered, her eyes finally shutting tight. As they closed, the pain retreated. She could breathe again, and she was doing so heavily. Tears were running down her cheeks, and she groaned at the soreness of her chest.

Jennifer yelled her name, rushing up to the sight of Agatha on her knees, panting, and in pain.

Jen drove her home, cradled her, and used a potion to help her to sleep.

Agatha felt at peace, felt safe, with Jennifer by her side. She wrapped her arm around the witch, who lay asleep in her bed. The two women were together, asleep, and seemingly peacefully so.

Yet, in the dreams, or maybe the nightmares of Agatha Harkness' mind.. that strange woman.. that.. deity, well, she remained.