#do you know how exhausting it is to work customer service??? can i not just give myself some kindness for electing to go back to a horrible

[bixels]

In the past, people in the Animal Crossing community would make fun of Tom Nook as a sleazy landlord. Since then, he's really rehabilitated his image as this 'heart of gold' businessman (he's the one who puts bells and furniture in trees for you to find! he adopted orphans! he donates to charity!), but New Horizons genuinely paints the most devious version of him.

He's successfully privatized settler colonialism: you pay HIM to move to a "deserted island" (which apparently the oceans in the AC world are just full of) and start a colony that he is directly invested in. At best he's running a weird vacation package scam (you arrive on the island with no money and in debt for "using his services"). At worst, he's using you to set up company towns. For god's sake, he literally has his own fake currency that he forces you to use to pay off your debt. But don't worry, he's repackaged it in a way that definitely doesn't sound like an MLM scam: the Nook Mileage Program!

You're no longer just his tenant or his temporary part-timer, you're his business lackey. The entire tutorial section of the game has you spending actual weeks running around completing tasks and doing hard labor to set up his colony. You're even tasked with preparing his properties and finding buyers for them. No, you aren't a tenant anymore. You work for the landlord. You are directly responsible for finding tenants for him. And he doesn't even fucking pay you. Not for setting up town hall and museum, or his nephew's shop –– which is the ONLY store on the entire island that sells necessities –– or bringing KK Slider to town, or helping populate his town. Not a single cent. No, actually, you have to pay HIM to BUY infrastructure like bridges and stairs and park benches. And all the while, he's telling you're the "resident representative"; you get to call the shots! That the reward is the community's progress. That what you're doing is in everyone's best interest (but most importantly, his).

Since NH's release, people have done a lot of legwork to say that Tom Nook isn't a capitalist while the game shows him at his very worst. He owns the only general store in town. You're forced to use a phone that he modified and branded as his own. Buy Nook-branded furniture and merchandise at the self-serve kiosk in the town hall, a governmental building! There's no conflict of interest here!

But hey, if you're tired of being the landlord/business mogul's goon, you can also find work as a deluxe resort home designer for a company that also pays you in their special company currency that can only be used to buy their products instead of a real salary! Because that's what the Animal Crossing franchise needs! More vacation homes!!!

[yellowsubiesdance]

GIRLIES the recovery i have been in today has been great, but i can’t stop stressing myself out over the work i WANT to be doing

[artsninspo]

"FLAGS? CRIMSON 🚩" - RIO X READER

Authors Note: Monday Morning 🍵 , this one is based around the asks, the girls wanted filthy rio, I tried 😘

Summary: You have your concerns and reservations. Rio doesn't give a damn ... usually but then you stand on business, staying away for two weeks. Rio doesn't like that and lets his presence be known.

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Black Reader

Warnings: Spicy🌶️🌶️🌶️, theres possessiveness, stalking?, hair grabbing, mild-spanking & dub-con elements.

Word-Count: 2.5K

Full Masterlist

RIO MASTERLIST

You and Rio have been in a standoff for the past three weeks. It started with him snatching your phone out of your hand as you attempted to take a picture of the two of you. He’d wined and dined you after a busy work week. He had his place turned into a restaurant to hold the intimate date. How often does a girl get Michelin grade food with a side of five star dick? Rio was something new, he chased you mercilessly but there was never that ‘let me show you off’ phase that you’re typically used to. There were no meetings or greetings from friends or family.  You were excited for a relationship that was private but you didn’t sign up to be a secret. You already made it clear to him that you wanted to know if he was sleeping with other people. You’d asked him countless times if he was seeing someone else, secretly married, everything. Each time Rio’s been dismissive, more present and somehow better in bed to prove his point. It was only you. Still your suspicions beat out every single affirmation of his. As good as it’s been physically, the flags are crimson.

Swallowing hard you make your way to the country club for tonight’s benefit. Your phone rings again. Rio’s name flashes and you respond with another customer service-esque response, that delays your meeting citing being busy and exhausted as the reason. At first Rio was giving you time to cool off but now he’s relentless. If you were the only one perhaps his hand just isn't cutting it anymore. Rubbing shoulders isn’t typically your favourite thing to do but socialising is better than sitting at home and forcing yourself not to think of him. you see a few childhood friends among the opportunists and the schmoozes that frequent this kind of social climber opportunity. You dance and drink and enjoy the night out with your peers who are going off the rails. They encourage you to mingle with the eligible men but you know better. Thankfully your father’s wealth has purchased your freedom. There’s no need to pretend to be interested in them or the woman ‘worth’ settling for, to gain the opportunity for a more ‘financially free’ life.

It’s after two in the morning when you’re finally headed home. You tip your cabby and head in the lobby. It's been three weeks since you’ve been taken care of properly and you feel it every time you have to sit in the house alone. You make a mental note to buy a vibrator to take the edge off until you can find Rio’s replacement. The ding of the elevator gets your attention and you head to your apartment unlocking the door. The cold floor feels perfect against your sore feet. You let out a sigh of relief picking up your heels as you lock up behind you. You’re nearly down the hall to your bedroom when you freeze in place. Rio’s seated dressed in all black on your sofa. He stands furious and you take a step back so startled your heart is racing. Maybe it’s the liquor. You squeeze your eyes shut but when you open them he’s more clear.

“How was the party?” He asks.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. 

“My girl has been sick for three weeks dodging me, you’ve been moody and shit so I’m wondering if you're down bad. I come here to be supportive and you don’t answer the door. I worry and get the spare key from management. I come in and you’re nowhere to be found. Now I just know you’ll be back soon but then I’m sitting here waiting and what do I see?” Rio asks before pulling up your social media, all the reposted stories from the girls night are there. You feel caught. His energy is menacing.

“And you didn’t leave and think maybe I don’t want to see you anymore?” You snap and Rio moves quickly grabbing a handful of your hair at the back of your head to pull you in. Your heart races and you feel your body begin to betray your brain, relishing the contact.

“You’re still lying to me?” He challenges. You look up at him in defiance and he smiles loosening his grip on your hair. “I should really leave you high and dry,” he threatens.

“Then let go of me” you respond, challenging him and his grip on your hair releases but he doesn’t step back. You can feel his breath on your face as you look up at him. You stare back at his angry eyes. He’s the only man who’s never cowered at your defiance.

“You think you can quit me just like that?” He asks settling into his usual disposition. Calm, challenging, maddening.

“It'll be pretty easy actually, no pictures, no mutuals, Rio who?” You taunt raising a brow before fearlessly turning your back to him. It strikes a nerve. Sighing to maintain his cool he wonders why he likes strong willed women while admiring  your frame in your selected outfit for the occasion. If it were anyone else he’d be out the door, he wouldn’t put up with it but you have him by the balls and have no idea. He hears the shower running and makes himself comfortable in your bedroom.

“You’re still here?” You respond sarkily fresh out of the shower and better equipped to handle the uninvited guest currently occupying the lounge in your bedroom. Rio’s eyes make note of your tone and that you have nothing under your robe, using it as a more secure towel.

“Mama, I know you’ve got liquor in you but tread lightly. Ya hear?” He warns still in his seat. All you want to do is be his baby. To take care of him, for him to take care of you. To have multiple orgasms to  pass out in his arms throughly fucked and a little sore. To be his road dog on his runs listening to music and eating snacks. To surprise him with blowjobs when he’s stressed from his work and watch as he loses control.

“I’m not drunk” you respond with folded arms.

“C’mere” Rio sighs, relaxing in the lounge chair. Usually it would work but he’s too comfortable. Instead you ignore his request heading into the bathroom to finish up your nighttime routine. You’re looking in the mirror and finishing up your skincare routine with hand lotion when he appears behind you. His expression is serious and you hear metal clanking. Looking down you see he’s unfastened his belt. Your eyes hold his and you watch as his hands slide up your thighs lifting your robe. His lips don’t offer praise or affection; a rarity. Anticipation builds as his hold tightens around your hips. Bringing them back against his growing manhood. He doesn’t need to promise a lesson. His eyes tell you it’s going to be sweet punishment. His hand swipes against your folds to find you’re already ready. He applies pressure before sliding a finger into you. Watching your expression change in the mirror.

“You’re lucky no one else has been in what’s mine” he comments possessively.

“You’re lucky” you contest moaning as he finds his rhythm with his fingers.

“Keep talking shit” he warns but it feels too good to talk back. “What’s that?” He asks finding your spot. Edging you closer and closer to your release.

“Mmmmm” you moan as he changes pace.

“That’s what I thought” he says onto your ear before giving your neck a kiss. You can feel him fully hard pressing into you from behind as he makes you come with his hand. You’re throbbing for more as you pant trying to recover. You want to kiss him but his eyes tell you all is not forgiven yet. He leaves a stinging slap on your ass. Punishment. Your brain chemistry alters making you wetter. It’s sick and twisted what Rio’s capable of bringing out of you. The quickness of the orgasm affirms you haven't stepped out on him, it pisses him off that you've been deliberately depriving him of sex. “When I call, answer the phone, don't send me any more automatic texts, or stupid distant responses.” He says laying down the law. “Dont ignore me” he adds.

“If you want me to behave differently treat me better” you manage standing upright and looking at him in the mirror again. He should walk out now. He should be done with you but he isn’t. You watch his jaw clench. He sees what needs to be done in spite of it being early morning, your defiance energises him. When he smiles your heart catches and it’s the moment he slides in full hilt. Gasping, your eyes close as he fills you completely, fitting snug. The feel of your walls around him nearly makes him lose control but he has a point to prove. When you wake up he wants you to see and feel him all over you. Pulling back before going back in repeatedly you feel your breaths grow shallow. The feeling is second to none.  It’s why Rio’s so different. Your chemistry is always enough foreplay. He leaves you satiated every time. He’s no slouch and your moans affirm the truth. Instead of putting on a show most of the time you’re fighting to hold them back. But Rio knows how much you enjoy when he’s inside you. The slickness of your walls, the responsiveness of your body, how soft and malleable you become. Gripping the counter you brace for his impact as he fucks you into it. His hand protectively palms your stomach to keep you from falling forward into the faucet. His pace and strength is punishing in the best way possible. You come hard again.You want a break but when he pulls out he lowers. Gripping your thighs bringing you closer to claim you with his mouth. He hoists you onto the counter to better his leverage before sucking and driving you crazy.

“Leave me for who” he asks, somehow still dominating you while in a submissive position. He continues like his appetite for you is insatiable and it must be because in  moments you find yourself beyond the point of comprehension. You moan yeses and other sounds of praise. He’s so good you can barely enjoy the sight of him pleasing you. Your head is back for most of it. You come even harder the third time absolutely spent. Rio gets up slower this time he knows you’re worn thin. He knows he has you in the palm of his hands. You look at his manhood standing at attention. His pants aren’t fully off, neither are his boxers. That’s how much he needed you. Your robe is still on too, you albeit not properly. There wasn’t even time to undress. Looking at him you go to return the favour but Rio stops you.

“No, I want to be in my pussy” he tells you, turning you around again.

“Let’s go to bed” you offer.

“Shut up be a boss and take it standing up” he continues goading you. Your legs are tired from standing all night and worn in from your orgasms.

“Rio please?” You whine and he chuckles.

“Now you want to be nice?” he asks.

“Baby please” you add.

“Now I’m baby?” he smiles pecking your cheek, having omitted his usual intimacy.

“Mhm” you nod.

“Words” he challenges.

“Rio!” You snap and he silences you again with re-entry. His hand over your mouth stifles a curse before he lets you taste your arousal on his fingers. His strokes are lighter than before and his rhythm is lethal. He’s a man that listens, he hits just where you need, and you feel the last bit of resistance and tension leave your body like a spool of thread being spun out. Your body is pliable and responsive. You lose your restraint, your moans affirming his talent and everything you feel. Rio’s moans follow, so do curses. Your body buzzes with satisfaction as you feel his pace hitch and the tension of a coming release. You prepare for the loss of contact but it doesn’t come. He thrusts deeper coming inside of you. You’re surprised for a millisecond before the feeling makes you relax. Your body settles completely. You feel goosebumps pepper your flesh as he hums emptying all of his pent up lust into you. You dare to look up into the mirror. His eyes are watching you. The anger is out of his face, his expression is blank and distant. You don’t recognize it as you feel his arousal dripping down your leg. His palm is against your stomach again. You hold it tighter and he comes to. You realise he’s sated and the unfamiliar look is a mix of exhaustion and euphoria. You want to kiss him so bad, he steps back pulling out and robbing you of the contact. His manhood bounces as it falls. You feel sore instantly. It takes him some time to catch his breath. Catching yours, you don’t know how to feel. If he’s still upset or if you’re back on solid ground. Rio answers the question when he turns on the water in your shower and holds out a hand inviting you in. You both get naked and he kisses you hard under the water before washing you up with care. He’s unpredictable and you are relieved he hasn't walked out to make you eat your words. After washing you up he gets dressed, choosing from the clothes he’s left for times like these, and to mark his territory.

“It’s quiet” he comments as you get into your night dress. A smirk plays on his lips. You roll your eyes climbing into the bed incapable of further defiance and too exhausted for a witty retort. Rio follows suit, pulling you in and spooning you. You know sleep won’t be far.

“Nite” he whispers.

“Nite” you respond.

When you awake you’re happy until you see Rio getting dressed. Rolling over you check the time to see it's 8am. Not enough time has passed for a full rest. You don’t have the energy to argue with him. Putting on a T-shirt Rio snickers pleased with the fruit of his labour. Now dressed in a sweatsuit he walks over to your side of the bed leaning in for a kiss. You oblige and he steals a few extra pecks before standing to look at you.

“Get some rest, I have a meeting. I’ll be back with some breakfast around 11:30, then I want you on the road with me” Rio says casually.

“Rio-“ you start, he knows you’re about to protest by your tone.

“I don’t want to hear about that shit anymore. You want to be public, now everyone will know I’m fucking you when you start to show in a few months. You won’t be able to get rid of me for years.” He says shocking you. You sit up scared straight and he smiles.

“Later … mama” he says walking out with a wink.

———-

Authors Note: Rio’s hell right? But we love our bad boy 😉 This one’s for the anons who wanted it nasty. I did my best to keep it Rio. Let me know if I got the vibe you were looking for. Like, comment, reblog.

[ms-demeanor]

One thing that I keep seeing whenever I make posts that are critical of macs is folks in the notes going "they make great computers for the money if you just buy used/refurbs - everyone knows not to buy new" and A) no they don't know that, most people go looking for a new computer unless they have already exhausted the new options in their budget and B) no they don't make great computers for the money, and being used doesn't do anything to make them easier to work on or repair or upgrade.

Here's a breakdown of the anti-consumer, anti-repair features recently introduced in macbooks. If you don't want to watch the video, here's how it's summed up:

In the end the Macbook Pro is a laptop with a soldered-on SSD and RAM, a battery secured with glue, not screws, a keyboard held in with rivets, a display and lid angle sensor no third party can replace without apple. But it has modular ports so I guess that’s something. But I don’t think it’s worthy of IFixIt’s four out of ten reparability score because if it breaks you have to face apple’s repair cost; with no repair competition they can charge whatever they like. You either front the cost, or toss the laptop, leaving me wondering “who really owns this computer?”

Apple doesn't make great computers for the money because they are doing everything possible to make sure that you don't actually own your computer, you just lease the hardware from apple and they determine how long it is allowed to function.

The lid angle sensor discussed in this video replaces a much simpler sensor that has been used in laptops for twenty years AND calibrating the sensor after a repair requires access to proprietary apple software that isn't accessible to either users or third party repair shops. There's no reason for this software not to be included as a diagnostic tool on your computer except that Apple doesn't want users working on apple computers. If your screen breaks, or if the fragile cable that is part of the sensor wears down, your only option to fix this computer is to pay apple.

How long does apple plan to support this hardware? What if you pay $3k for a computer today and it breaks in 7 years - will they still calibrate the replacement screen for you or will they tell you it's time for new hardware EVEN THOUGH YOU COULD HAVE ATTAINED FUNCTIONAL HARDWARE THAT WILL WORK IF APPLE'S SOFTWARE TELLS IT TO?

Look at this article talking about "how long" apple supports various types of hardware. It coos over the fact that a 2013 MacBook Air could be getting updates to this day. That's the longest example in this article, and that's *hardware* support, not the life cycle of the operating system. That is dogshit. That is straight-up dogshit.

Apple computers are DRM locked in a way that windows machines only wish they could pull off, and the apple-only chips are a part of that. They want an entirely walled garden so they can entirely control your interactions with the computer that they own and you're just renting.

Even if they made the best hardware in the world that would last a thousand years and gave you flowers on your birthday it wouldn't matter because modern apple computers don't ever actually belong to apple customers, at the end of the day they belong to apple, and that's on purpose.

This is hardware as a service. This is John Deere. This is subscription access to the things you buy, and if it isn't exactly that right at this moment, that is where things have been heading ever since they realized it was possible to exert a control that granular over their users.

With all sympathy to people who are forced to use them, Fuck Apple I Hope That They Fall Into The Ocean And Are Hidden Away From The Honest Light Of The Sun For Their Crimes.

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: *after seeing Vil came to visit again*

MC: Rook, go to Mr. Schoenheit's table and assist him for this entire evening.

Rook: *smiles* Non.

MC: ...

MC: Rook, you are my trainee. You can't just say no. Unless you have a reasonable excuse.

Rook: Ami masqué, you've instructed me on the importance of not abandoning my customers, as I serve as their concierge.

MC: ...

MC: Yes. You are right about that. Well then, please provide your best service to our patrons, Rook.

Rook: Oui! *then takes his leave to take care of his customers*

MC: ...

MC: *proceeds to approach Vil's table*

MC: Hello, Vil. What can I do for you today?

Vil: The usual.

MC: Unfortunately, I can't make you a plushie today because our new hire had used up all of our materials for it.

Vil: That's not what I'm referring to.

MC: I don't think there's anything that we can talk to since our issue has been resolved.

Vil: It's fine if our conversation turns out to be nonsensical. I just want to chat with you.

MC: ...

MC: How has been work lately?

Vil: *his head resting on their shoulder* It's great. I have been receiving a lot of offers and because of that, my schedule is as tight as ever.

MC: I'm glad that you're enjoying it. Though it would be better for you to go home and take some rest now.

MC: You, of all people, knows that it's bad for the skin to stay up late at night.

Vil: Yes. But I'm sure you know the reason why I still come here.

MC: Again, there are far better candidates for the job, Vil. Anyone would be grateful to work for you.

Vil: Then be that person.

MC: No. *chuckles* I have no right to be even in the same space as you.

Vil: ...

Vil: I thought that issue has been resolved.

Vil: Why are you trying so hard to avoid me?

MC: ...

MC: It's a personal problem. Don't worry. It has no relation to what happened before.

Vil: ...I see. And I'm afraid you will continue to see me in this nightclub.

MC: ...

MC: I'll take you home now, Vil.

Vil: *looks displeased but accepted the offer*

MC: *carried Vil to his room because he was quite exhausted from the car ride*

MC: *lays him gently in his bed*

Vil: I need to change clothes.

MC: I'll take care of that. Just rest, Vil.

Vil: *nods and lets them do their work*

MC: *proceeds to assist Vil in changing to his night robe and prepares for his beauty sleep routine*

MC: *after an hour of ensuring that everything is done right*

Vil: *fell asleep comfortably in his bed*'

MC: *lets out a sigh of relief*

MC: Good night, Vil.

MC: *is about to leave his room when the door suddenly cracks open*

The stranger and MC: *both getting startled*

The stranger: *immediately pulls out a knife*

MC: ...

MC: *calmly charges at the burglar* *locking the door behind them*

Vil: *woke up feeling refreshed*

Vil: As expected from them.

Vil: *got up and checks his phone to see if he has any messages*

Vil: Hm. A text from Rook. *opens it*

'Roi du Poison! Something happened! *then included an attached photo of MC having their arm bandaged*'

Vil: *his eyes widened*

Vil: 'What happened? How did they get injured?!'

Rook: 'They wouldn't tell. In fact, they didn't want you to know, but I couldn't help myself.'

Rook: 'Did nothing happen while they were at your house?'

Vil: *frowns in confusion*

Vil: ...

Vil: 'No. I should've known if there was.'

Rook: 'In that case, they might've gotten into an accident on their way here.'

Vil: ...

Vil: But MC has never been careless on the road...

[virgoilluminati]

Hospitality at its Finest

a Jude Bellingham oneshot

Inspo: Basically i have the shittiest job ever, and the only thing that got me through it was thinking about how jude would comfort me at the end of a long shift. I feel like a lot of you gurlies can relate so enjoy ☺️

You had had the worst day.

Probably the worst day you'd had in years

And the only person you could blame was your boss.

He was an A grade arsehole. He only cared about how much money your restaurant made. How it made him look in front of the restaurant owners.

He didn't care about your feelings, how crying had become a normal part of the shift or how every time he walked in, your stomach tied in knots.

Today was an exemplar of it.

At the beginning of the shift, everything was fairly normal. You were supposed to start at 12pm, but you had come in early, caring for your colleagues and knowing that they would need the extra staff for the new delivery. As you mentally prepared yourself for the shift, you started putting away the new stock and organizing the kitchen.

Quickly looking at your phone one last time, you clocked into work before admiring your lock screen with Jude. After all, all of this was for your future.

As you made your way to the shop floor, it was dead silent. So silent that you knew the second you opened the door in the backroom, you'd be greeted with a mess. But you didn't expect what you were greeted with. Stacks of dishes towered precariously, remnants of ingredients sprawled across counters, and an unmistakable odor of burnt food lingered heavily in the air.

Your closest colleague Haley was on the ground, covered by stock boxes. When she see's you walk in, she smiles, but the exhaustion in her eyes betrays her forced cheerfulness. Without wasting a moment, you rush to help her up, setting the boxes aside.

"Wha-"

"Don't ask. It's Jamie. He overestimated our multitasking skills again. We could use all the help we can get right now."

You nod, taking in the chaotic scene. Rolling up your sleeves, you dive into the mess, prioritizing tasks in your head.

The second the doors to your restaurant opened, a wave of eager customers flooded in, adding to the already hefty workload. You had only just made your way out of the heavy stock room before you were serving your first customer, your manager already shaking his head.

You grabbed a notepad, scribbling down order after order with precision. As you do such, you realise that no one has set up back of house, and whilst everyone was dealing with the stock, you'd be doing both positions, already.

Oh gawd it was going to be a long day.

The next issues happened just after the lunchtime peak. Your manager—ever the perfectionist—decided to go out and back home to get changed. He didn’t tell any of you, just putting your colleague Hetty in charge.

Now, for all of the reasons you loved Hetty, she was a terrible team leader. She spent half of the time bossing everyone around, whilst the other half chatting and gossiping about the managers. So when you realized that she was in charge, you knew it was going to turn sideways.

What made it even worse was halfway through the shift you suddenly got cramps. It could only mean one thing: your period.

You knew better than to miss your orders, so you managed to deal with the cramps and act normal. But as soon as anyone’s order was mentioned, you gritted your teeth. Deep down, you could feel your cramps churning up. But you managed to keep your cool. Or at least until Hetty began barking orders at you, telling you that while you were making a cheesecake, you also needed to clean the station, get the ice cream ready for service, and get the lunch menu ready that was just coming out.

Needless to say, you didn’t really listen to her orders, instead focusing on the four cheesecakes you needed to bake, twenty lusty turkeys, and the rest of your workload that’s coming in. You’d maybe gotten halfway done with the orders when suddenly your stomach muscles tightened and spasmed at the same time. It hurt to breathe in, so you tried to breathe in as slowly as possible, praying to God that the next person who insulted you would take it back as soon as they said it.

Now, you’re screwed, because between the pain in your stomach and the pressure from the customers, it was overwhelming. To make matters even worse, your restaurant owner Jiah, a certified misogynist, stood next to you as you prepared each of the dishes. Every mistake you made, or anything you said to Hetty, was being monitored. At first, it was fine—still stressful, but you were so preoccupied that you didn’t care. Until you accidentally spilled three of your cheesecakes on the ground.

Every time someone shouted at you, it felt like someone was digging into your sides. Your vision blurred slightly as you bent down to clean up the mess. As you rose, you saw Jiah’s disapproving glare. You braced yourself, knowing a reprimand was imminent.

“Do you even know how much those cheesecakes cost?” Jiah hissed, his face reddening.

"Sorry-"

You nodded, biting your tongue to keep from snapping back. Losing your temper wouldn’t help anything, especially not with Jiah watching your every move. Taking a deep breath, you focused on the tasks at hand, prioritizing the most urgent ones. Hetty’s voice cut through the noise of the kitchen, but you tuned her out as best you could. There was no time to waste arguing with her or explaining why you couldn’t drop everything to clean the station right this second.

The cramps were relentless, and you clutched your stomach briefly, willing the pain to subside. A few of your colleagues noticed and offered sympathetic looks, but they were just as swamped as you were. It was clear that everyone was feeling the strain of the lunchtime rush.

You managed to get the cheesecakes into the oven and started on the turkeys. The repetitive motions of seasoning and prepping gave you a momentary distraction from the pain. But it wasn’t long before Hetty was back, barking orders again.

“You still haven’t cleaned the station! And where’s the ice cream?” she demanded.

“Working on it,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. But the frustration was building, and you could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You blinked them back, determined not to let anyone see you break down.

Finally, a small reprieve: the cheesecakes were done, and you could focus on plating the desserts and getting them out to the customers. But just as you thought you might be able to catch your breath, Jiah appeared again. He didn’t say anything, but his disapproving glare spoke volumes.

You could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move. When you accidentally spilled three of your cheesecakes on the ground, Jiah’s look was withering. He didn’t need to say a word; his expression made it clear he was counting this as yet another mark against you.

“Get it together,” you heard him mutter under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. You nodded, biting your tongue to keep from snapping back. Losing your temper wouldn’t help anything, especially not with Jiah watching your every move.

Taking a deep breath, you focused on the tasks at hand, prioritizing the most urgent ones. Hetty’s voice cut through the noise of the kitchen, but you tuned her out as best you could. There was no time to waste arguing with her or explaining why you couldn’t drop everything to clean the station right this second.

Just as it began to calm down again, Jiah's glare disappearing from notion, Hetty came over to apologize for being stressy.

"Sorry for earlier," she said, her tone uncharacteristically soft. "I know I was a bit much."

You accepted her apology with a nod. "It's okay. We were all under a lot of pressure. I was just about to go to the toilet."

Before you could make your way to the restroom, a call came through the kitchen, telling everyone to gather in the staff room. You tried to hold yourself together, though you could feel tears threatening to flow. The cramps were still gnawing at your insides, and the stress of the day had worn you thin.

As you and the rest of the staff assembled in the cramped room, the air was thick with apprehension. Jamie, another manager, stormed in, his face a mask of fury. He didn't waste a second before launching into a tirade.

"I just got a bollocking from the owner! What the hell happened here?" he bellowed. "This is so embarrassing! We've had multiple complaints from customers, dishes sent back, and unacceptable delays. This is not the standard we uphold here!"

His words were like blows, each one landing heavily. You stood there, silent and still, trying to absorb it all without breaking down. The cramps were relentless, making it hard to concentrate on anything other than the pain.

For about forty minutes, Jamie continued his verbal assault, highlighting every mistake and misstep. You could feel the tension in the room, everyone too afraid to speak or move. As he yelled, you just stood there, taking it in, feeling smaller and more defeated with every passing second.

"This has to stop now," Jamie continued, his voice growing louder. "I expect better from all of you. No more excuses. The owner is furious, and honestly, I can't blame him. Today was a disaster!"

With that, he stormed out, leaving the staff in stunned silence. You could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but you fought to keep them at bay. The pain in your stomach and the weight of Jamie's words were almost too much to bear.

Hetty gave you a sympathetic look but didn't say anything. Everyone slowly dispersed, heading back to their stations or taking a moment to collect themselves. You made a beeline for the restroom, finally letting the tears flow once you were safely behind the closed door.

Just as you began to take a couple of minutes to calm down, Jamie pulled you over.

"Hey, I need to ask you something," he said, his tone softer but still urgent. "Are you willing to leave early today?"

You had already had to cut a shift recently, and your hours were pretty low. "I really need the hours, Jamie. I'd prefer to stay."

He frowned. "I need to get rid of some staff because there's too many on right now."

You tried to politely refuse again, but before you could finish, he called out, "Hayley! Do you want to leave early?"

"Sure," Hayley replied without hesitation.

"See, it's not personal," Jamie said, turning back to you. Feeling completely deflated, you turned to get your stuff and clock out.

As you gathered your things, Jamie turned to you one more time. "By the way, you sat down too much today."

You were gobsmacked. "I didn't sit down at all."

"No, you were," he insisted. "And that's not acceptable."

You went to protest again, but he cut you off. "No, you were, and that's not acceptable."

Feeling a mix of frustration, exhaustion, and defeat, you bit back any further response. As you clocked out and walked out of the restaurant, you felt the tears begin to well up again.

By the time you got on the bus, the tears were streaming down your face. You found a seat at the back, hoping no one would notice as you buried your face in your hands and sobbed. The day's events replayed in your mind: the stress, the pain, the unfairness of it all. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on you, and you couldn't hold it in any longer.

As the bus moved through the city streets, you cried, letting out all the frustration and sorrow. You knew you had to face another day tomorrow, but for now, all you could do was let yourself feel the pain and hope that somehow, things would get better.

When you arrived home, you tried to wipe away your tears, determined to put on a brave face for Jude Bellingham, who had just returned from football camp. You were emotionally drained but wanted to be supportive and positive for him.

As you walked through the door, Jude was in the kitchen, looking relaxed and cheerful. He noticed your subdued demeanor but decided to wait before saying anything.

"Hey, how was work?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

"It was... busy," you replied, forcing a smile. "But let’s not focus on that. How was camp?"

Jude’s face lit up as he started recounting his experiences. "Camp was fantastic! We had some intense training sessions and a lot of fun. You won’t believe the prank Trent and I pulled on the new guys. We got them to believe they had to complete this ridiculous obstacle course to join the team."

He continued with animated enthusiasm, "And then there was the friendly match against a local team. Trent and I were trying out these new moves, and it was amazing to see the crowd’s reaction. We felt like rock stars!"

You nodded and smiled at the right moments, trying to engage with his excitement, but your mind kept drifting back to the stress of the day. Despite your efforts to seem interested, you felt a growing sense of overwhelm.

Jude’s stories flowed effortlessly. "Oh, and the camp mascot incident was hilarious. Trent and I ended up in the costume, and we had this impromptu dance-off with the kids. It was one of those moments where you just can’t stop laughing."

As he chatted, you found yourself struggling to keep up the façade. Your responses became more mechanical, and you occasionally glanced at the clock, feeling the weight of your exhausting day pressing down on you.

Jude seemed to sense something was off but kept going. "You know, I was telling Trent about how you and I used to go to that little café downtown. He said he’s been there before and loved it. We should go sometime."

You forced a laugh and nodded. "That sounds great."

As dinner preparation continued, you made an effort to stay present, but the stress from earlier was starting to take its toll. You kept insisting you were fine, even though you felt increasingly overwhelmed.

In the midst of this, you were preoccupied with trying to balance cooking and maintaining a cheerful demeanor. As you pulled a dish out of the oven, you accidentally brushed against the hot rack. The sudden sharp pain in your hand was like a jolt that broke through your emotional walls.

You cried out and rushed to the sink, holding your burned hand under the cold tap, your composure finally shattering. Tears streamed down your face as the pain seemed to trigger a flood of emotions from the stressful day.

Jude, who had been in the living room, heard your cry and the sound of your sobbing. He rushed into the kitchen and saw you with your hand under the tap, tears flowing freely.

"Hey, what happened?" Jude asked urgently, moving quickly to your side.

"I—I burned myself," you managed to say through sobs. "I’m so sorry... I tried to keep it together, but I couldn’t."

Jude gently took your hand from under the tap and inspected the burn. His concern deepened as he carefully wrapped your hand in a clean towel.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry, m’love. It’s okay—speak to me,” Jude said, his voice filled with concern as he moved to your side.

“What do you mean? I’m okay, I just burned myself,” you tried to explain, though your voice was trembling.

“Y/N, do you think I was born yesterday? I know my girlfriend, and I know when she’s upset. What happened?” Jude asked, his tone gentle but firm.

His insistence broke through your remaining resolve. You burst into tears, the emotional strain of the day combining with the pain of the burn. “I—I had such a terrible day. Jamie was so harsh, and everything seemed to go wrong. I was trying so hard to keep it together, but I just couldn’t anymore.”

Jude’s expression softened, filled with empathy and concern. “No, don’t say that. You’re not stupid. You’re my Y/N. You’ve been through so much, and you’ve handled it with so much strength and grace.”

He gently took your hand from under the tap and wrapped it in a clean towel. Pulling you into a comforting embrace, he continued, “Your a trooper you know.”

You clung to him, the warmth of his embrace providing a much-needed sense of security. Jude held you close, his arms wrapping around you with tenderness. He stroked your hair softly and whispered in your ear, “You’re amazing, you know that? You’re allowed to have bad days and to feel overwhelmed. I’m here to help you through it, no matter what.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely as he continued to hold you. Jude’s soothing presence and gentle touch helped ease the burden of the day. He spoke softly, his voice full of love and reassurance. “You’ve been so strong, but it’s okay to let go and lean on me. I’m here to support you, to lift you up when you need it.”

Jude carefully wrapped your burned hand in a clean towel, his touch gentle but deliberate. He then pulled you into a comforting embrace. “Why don’t you head to the living room and take a breather? I’ll sort out dinner. And try not to make any more of the place look like a disaster zone, yeah?”

You managed a weak smile as you headed to the living room, still sniffling. The sounds of Jude bustling around in the kitchen—pots clattering, the hum of the stove—provided a bit of distraction as you settled onto the couch.

A few minutes later, Jude walked into the living room with his phone in hand and plopped down beside you. He placed his phone on the coffee table and began gently wiping away the tears from your cheeks.

“I don’t want anyone treating you like that,” Jude said firmly, but with a soft edge. “I’ve had a word with the higher-ups about Jamie. It’s not on.”

You looked at him, surprised. “You did? How’d you manage that?”

Jude grinned. “Let’s just say I’m good at sorting things out when it comes to my people."

You chuckled despite yourself. “Well, thanks. I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

Jude gave a cheeky wink. “I was gonna sort it anyway, oh, also, um well now seemed like the perfect time.”

"Jude-"

He pulled out his phone and showed you the screen. “I’ve had a chat with my agent. "

"What?!!"

"Got you a photography gig lined up. It’s something you’ve always wanted to do. Figured now’s as good a time as any.”

You were stunned, your eyes widening. “What-? How-When? How did you even know I wanted this now?”

Jude’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I’ve been paying attention, love. You think i haven't notice your Pinterest boards? Or your amazon wish list?”

You laughed, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “I don’t even know what to say. This is amazing.”

Jude squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to say a thing. Just remember, you’re brilliant, and you deserve all the good things. And if you ever leave me for a glamorous photographer life, just make sure to give me a shout-out in your interviews.”

You playfully nudged him. “Oh, so you’re worried I’ll become too famous for you?”

Jude grinned. "If that means sharing a bit of the limelight, so be it.”

You leaned into him, feeling a mix of relief and affection. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”

Jude wrapped his arms around you. “I’m the lucky one. Seeing you happy is what matters to me. Now let’s enjoy the rest of the night. And if dinner turns into a burnt mess, at least we’ll have a laugh about it.”

Jude’s comforting presence and playful banter started to lift the weight of the day, bringing a renewed sense of hope and connection. His support and Brummie humor made the evening feel a lot brighter and more manageable.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash and Burn 3

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Another thankless day of serving cold cuts and cheese to the general public as you ready to tear your hair out. You don’t see how anyone could make such a fuss about a trip to the deli but the locals have a way of exacerbating any simplicity. You’re just happy to be free. 

The bus is late. You stand at the curb and bounce on your heels. You just want to lay down. The lack of sleep is starting to split your skull. 

You yawn and watch a truck blow by. It’s a sleepy old town, nestled between farmland and stretches of dirty roads. The sort of backwoods you don’t drive through after dark. It’s so dull you could fall asleep on your feet. 

A sudden gust of air rips through the sky and the unusual whirlwind circles you. You look up through slitted eyes as dirty speckles across your face. You furrow your brow as lights and flames glow as a red figure lands in front of you.

The electric blue haze goes out and your faced with the suit of crimson and gold. You grip your purse strap and gulp. You haven’t checked your phone yet. You couldn’t have predicted this. 

“Shit.” You mutter. 

His helmet snaps back and he smirks. The silver streaks in his dark hair puff out and he smooths them down. He puts his hand on his hip and scoffs, “name’s Tony Stark, thanks.” 

You cringe and cross your arms. “We met.” 

“Yeah, I remember you. Nearly forgot before everything blew up. You know, this thing...” he pauses to take his phone out. “Hasn’t shut up all fucking day. I got lawyers down my throat--” 

“Your phone is blowing up? My house blew up.” You sneer. 

“Okay, relax. It was a trailer. I said I’d replace it--” 

“Then do it.” 

“Ooh, spicy. I didn’t guess you to be the type but after seeing your little online storytelling, I shoulda guessed.” 

“It’s the truth. That’s it.” You turn to watch for the bus. You’re aware of the few people slowing to stare at the man in his techno-suit. 

“I mean, a little gratitude here, honey. I’m more than happy to slap a new box in the lot but you don’t gotta be this way about it.” He derides. You look at him from the corner of your eyes and scowl. “At least a smile. Bet you’re gorgeous when you smile.” 

He winks and you flinch. Really? 

“Fine. Once we have a new trailer, I’ll delete the post. Sounds pretty fair to me.” 

“Now. Take it down now and then we can go shopping for a new train car,” he chirps. 

You frown and face him. “It’s just a post.” 

“I got a reputation, sweetheart. I’m important that way. I know you might not be able to fathom that but one busted up hellhole is nothing compared to what I do for this planet. Didn’t you see me on the TV, handing out lollipops to hurricane survivors? What are you doing besides whine on the internet?” He stares you down, his expression turning sinister as his grin fades. 

“If it’s not a big deal, then it shouldn’t take much, should it?” You challenge. 

“Wow, you sure are mouthy, aren’t you?” 

“I’m tired.” You peer down the street again. “I worked a full shift and my feet hurt. You wouldn’t know about that, would you? With your penthouse and your dad’s money.” 

“I earned my company.” He snarls. “You watch where you’re stepping, sweetheart. I’m being nice. I flew all the way back to this ditch, so let’s not play dirty.” 

Your heart races. You don’t know why you’ve said so much. Maybe because you’ve worn a customer service smile all day and you’re all out of fucks to give?

And what do you have left to lose? A family that treats you like a gnat flying around their heads and a musty old futon. Your life wasn’t great before but damn if he didn’t make it a whole lot worse. 

“You do whatever. You’re Tony Stark. Iron Man.” Your tone is deflated and monotone. “I can’t do anything about it, can I? Just whine on the internet?” 

You step further down the sidewalk and stare at the approaching headlights. The bus is finally there. Even if he really means to replace the dusty old shithole, you don’t need his self-aggrandized kindness. Not if this is how it’s delivered. 

You pull out your bus fare as you sway beneath the sign. A sharp noise tweaks your ear and you’re seized in a metal vice. Your arms are trapped against your sides as Tony zooms up into the sky, the air whipping around your face as you holler in horror. 

“What-- are—you—doing?” You shriek as you wriggle, kicking into the empty void around you. 

“Sweetheart,” his voice rises from behind his helmet. “You’re gonna wanna be still. If I drop you, you’re gonna hit the ground like a bug on a windshield.” 

“What the fuck?” You exclaim and squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Just givin’ you a lift home. Like a nice guy would do.” He chuckles. “Now don’t breathe too heavy up here. At this altitude... well...” 

You put your head down, shielding it against the shoulder plate of his suit, and you bend your arms to cling to him. You have no other choice but to hold on for dear life.

You get his point. Tony Stark is more than money. He can do whatever the hell he wants. 

[stevie-petey]

episode one: MADMAX

Steve is looking at Nancy so tenderly, and when he removes his sunglasses you see how much his eyes light up when she hits his shoulder and leans in close to him.  “I missed you,” Steve tells her, his voice soft and sensual.  It’s the way he says it that makes you want to run your hands through his hair, be the one in his arms as he kisses your neck and whispers how often he’s thought of you since you’ve been gone. You’ve felt his arms around you before, once. You know how securely he holds on, how his cologne lingers on your clothes long after he’s gone. You miss him, you miss everything. 

Summary: what does steve fear more ? you or the plague ? currently it's you, some guy with an awful mullet stares you down in the parking lot (gross), nancy invites you to a party from your nightmares, and you become an official unlicensed therapist for will. yay for junior year !

Rating: general, slight cursing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, descriptions of PTSD (slightly), swearing, and general angst and exhaustion

Words: 5.2k

Before you swing in: hello ! welcome back to the rewrite, hope yall are well :) heres chapter 1 of season 2 !!! so so so excited and ready to dive into this new season. things get a bit darker, feelings get even MORE complicated, and poor reader just really needs to take a fat nap and maybe some reassuring words. shes more angsty this season, so buckle up

-

October 29th, 1984

You originally gave Dustin the phone number to Bookstrordinary in case of any emergencies.

Now, you’re really starting to regret it.

For the fifth time this week, Dustin calls you at work to beg for money. Him and the boys recently started going to an arcade that’s opened up in town and have spent practically every day after school there this year. Sure, you don’t mind loaning your brother a few quarters, but at the rate he’s going he’s gonna drain your next paycheck.

Just as you’re thinking this, the phone rings.

Right on cue.

Alex, your coworker, smirks. “How much do you think he’ll ask for this time?”

“If I’m lucky, only a dollar.”

“Will asked me for three tonight, so I wouldn’t jinx anything.”

You gape at Jonathan, who has started hanging around your job after school just to have something to do. “No fucking way.”

“Way,” he laughs, pointing towards the phone on the counter. “Answer before Dustin sends a drone our way.”

You sigh and pick up the phone, which is on its second round of calling, and put on your best customer service voice. “You’ve reached Bookstrordinary, may I ask who is calling?”

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N.”

“Aw, I’m doing well tonight. Thanks for asking, Dustin.”

“I need five dollars.”

“Ya know, ‘please’ has such a nice ring to it.”

“... if I say please, will you give me the money?”

“No.”

Silence fills the other end. Alex and Jonathan are hunched together, trying to stifle their laughs. You send them a thumbs up, and they give you one back.

“You’re a horrible sister.”

“What!” You scoff at Dustin. “I think you owe me like, at least ten bucks now. Yet you don’t see me complaining.”

A loud groan, then an obnoxious scream. “I promise I’ll clean Mews’ litter box for a week straight if you just give me the money.”

“Tempting, and honestly I’d take you up on that offer, but I already spent my last paycheck on my Halloween costume. You’re outta luck.”

Dustin gasps. “You were gonna say no this whole time? You just wasted like, at least five minutes of my time! I could’ve been digging through the couch for coins by now!”

“Jesus,” you pull the phone away from your face as Dustin continues to shout. Jonathan lets out a loud cackle and Alex just shakes his head. “I can give you some money next week–”

The line cuts off. Dustin has hung up.

What a little shit.

“You remind me why I’m grateful I’m an only child.” Alex says, now walking from behind the counter to begin stacking some books. Technically your shift ended almost thirty minutes ago, but you and Jonathan prefer to hang around for a while. It’s rare to have some time with just the two of you (even if Alex is there as an unfortunate third wheel).

“Glad I can help.” You respond. Once he’s gone, you turn to Jonathan. “And you were right, Dustin indeed wanted more than Will’s measly three bucks.”

He laughs. “Figured as much. The look on your face was genuine disbelief when he asked.”

“Mhm, I’m scared these boys will turn into horrendous teens. The lack of gentlemen in Hawkins these days is astounding.”

“C’mon, I’d say I’m a gentleman. I mean, I’m riding on your bike pegs tonight to keep you safe.” Jonathan says, waving an arm in front of his body as if to present all his gentleman-ness to you.

“Sure, bee.” Although, he has a point. Joyce has the car tonight so she can drive Will to the arcade and Jonathan doesn’t like you biking home in the dark. After what happened last year, none of the Byers are particularly keen on letting their loved ones go off alone at night. So, to ensure your safety, Jonathan has started riding on your bike pegs all the way home.

It’s endearing really, wholly unnecessary, but endearing.

Jonathan flicks your nose. “Who else would be such a gentleman to you? Steve?”

Hearing Steve’s name sends a wave of varying emotions through you. Guilt, shame, remorse, longing. You miss him. You really, really miss him.

“I thought we agreed to stop talking about Steve.” You mumble, now busying yourself with a piece of paper on the counter.

After Will was found last year, you and Steve had gotten really close. He’d spend hours bugging you at work, he’d gotten you such a lovely Christmas gift that still hangs on your wall, and you’d grown close with him in a way you haven’t before with anyone else. He would’ve done anything for you, he cared about you with such genuineness, and you couldn’t handle it.

Summer came and the heat that came with it scared you.

You’d pushed Steve away, severed any connection you had to him. It was easier when you didn’t have to see him every day at school, but ever since junior year started, you’ve been in your own personal hell.

Steve walks past you in the halls without batting an eye. He doesn’t look your way, like the months you spent learning every inch of his wonderfully unique brain and the moles scattered along his face never happened; he doesn’t give you that smile that makes your knees weak. He’s avoided you like the fucking plague, which you can’t blame him for, but it’s only made things more awkward between him, Jonathan, Nancy, and you.

Jonathan sighs. “I’m sorry, bug. I just… he seemed good for you, ya know? I was actually starting to like the guy before you suddenly stopped hanging around him.”

You play with the piece of paper, hoping that if you don’t respond then Jonathan will just drop the subject, but a thought seems to cross his mind.

“Wait a minute. Steve didn’t like, hurt you or anything, right?” You don’t respond again and now he’s starting to get worried. “Y/N, I’m serious. Did he do something to you?”

The irony of the situation is so comical you want to laugh. Here Jonathan is, demanding to know if Steve hurt you and if that’s why you’ve stopped being his friend, when in reality it’d been Jonathan who hurt you. Jonathan, your oldest and dearest friend, is the reason you’re so fucking terrified of letting Steve in. Of falling in love with him.

You’re already in love with Jonathan, you can’t put yourself through any more hurt.

But fuck, you miss Steve. You’d come to rely on him and his obnoxious sense of humor that never failed to make you laugh. The way he so effortlessly filled the room with warmth.

“Relax, bee. He didn’t do anything. I just wanted to focus on Will and the boys more.” You lie through your teeth.

He gives you a funny look. “I know you care about the boys, but you know they’d want you to have some other friends.”

“I have you, that’s all I need.”

It’s all I can afford.

“Bug, I’m worried about you. You’ve all but thrown yourself into school, you work non stop here, and when you finally have some free time you’re spending it researching child psych for Will–”

“Just drop it, Jonathan!” You finally snap at your friend.

He stops, surprised by your outburst. He can see the angry flush in your cheeks now and the slight heavy breathing you do to try and calm yourself down. Jonathan drops his shoulders, defeated. He’s been worried about you ever since junior year started. You’re more withdrawn, you look like you haven’t slept at all, and now you don’t even feel comfortable telling him what’s been bothering you.

All Jonathan knows is that one day you were glowing while telling him a story about Steve and his stupid jokes, then the next day you looked frail and sickly as you told him that Steve was no longer visiting you at work.

Something happened between you two, he’s just not sure what or how to even help.

For once, Jonathan is at a loss.

–

“And then she chased Mike all the way down the street for her money! He got away!” Jonathan finishes his story with a grand flourish, laughing and hitting his steering wheel as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

You let out a weak laugh, exhausted from the night before. It’s early morning and you’re in the school parking lot, hanging in Jonathan’s car as always, and you feel like utter shit. You stayed up late last night reading this journal you’d found in the school library about acute trauma in children. It had been fascinating and there were some things you thought could apply to Will. Before you knew it, it had been three in the morning and you needed to be up soon for school.

Which leads you to now: slouched in the passenger seat, sunglasses over your eyes to block out the annoying sun, tiredly listening to Jonathan’s recounting of his phone call with Nancy from last night. Apparently they’ve progressed to nightly phone calls now.

Lovely.

Without meaning to, your eyes start to drift shut. The car is the perfect cozy kind of warm and the late October air wraps around you as if to lull you to sleep. Jonathan notices you’ve gone quiet and pokes your cheek.

“If you fell asleep I’ll tell your mom and she’ll put you back on house arrest.”

You slap his hand away. “Don’t do that, then she’ll just ban me from your house.”

“You were up all night researching again, weren’t you.”

“If you have to ask, then that’s probably your answer.”

“Y/N–”

You put a finger up, using your other hand to rub at your temples. A headache is forming and you’re three seconds away from just skipping first period to nap in the car. “We aren’t doing this again. Drop it.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “I’m your best friend, it’s my job to worry about you–”

“And it’s my job to tell you to fuck off whenever you’re getting on my nerves–”

Suddenly a loud blue camaro comes speeding into the school parking lot, effectively drowning out whatever you’d been saying to Jonathan. The car revs its engine and almost hits a few students as it jerks its tires and then screeches to a halt, parking right next to you guys.

You and Jonathan look at each other.

“What the fuck?” You look out your window and are greeted with the sight of an attractive blond guy staring at you. His music is blasting so loud you can hear it through Jonathan’s windows.

“Jonathan,” you whisper, getting his attention. “Am I really tired or is there a guy with a god awful mullet staring at me right now?”

“He’s real.”

“Cool.” You continue to stare at the guy, unsure what to do. You’ve never seen him before, there’s no way you’d forget a face like that in Hawkins. He’s attractive, almost unappealingly attractive, and there’s a coldness to his beauty that makes you uncomfortable. He looks dangerous, like he knows how much power his beauty brings him.

The boy winks at you, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, and then gets out of the car, slamming his door rather harshly. It’s then that you notice the redhead girl, much younger than him, possibly around Dustin’s age, getting out of the car as well. She slams her own door and doesn’t even spare the guy a glance as she drops her skateboard down and rides towards the middle school across the parking lot.

Meanwhile the boy saunters inside, a lazy pace in his step that also holds immense confidence. He’s cocky, cool and collected, and he takes one last look around, as if to survey his new claimed battleground. You notice a few of your classmates gazing at him with interest, which you don’t really understand. He’s hot, but his attitude alone tells you everything you need to know about him.

Once he’s gone, Jonathan finally speaks. “Who was that guy?”

“No clue,” your eyes linger on the doors he’s just walked through. There’s something off about him. “But I don’t think we want to know… C’mon, if we don’t head in now we’ll be late for our first class.”

–

During your lunch period everyone’s buzzing about some upcoming Halloween party. As you’re walking towards your locker with Jonathan, you notice a few pieces of orange paper being passed around. You don’t pay much attention to them, but when Nancy joins you two she eagerly takes a few from the girl passing them out.

Nancy playfully shoves the papers at you and Jonathan. “You guys are totally coming to this.”

“We are?” You ask, eyeing the flyer wearily. You have nothing against parties, but the thought of being surrounded by a bunch of drunk teenagers in horrible costumes is frankly terrifying to you.

“You sure are, Y/N.”

“But Nancy–”

“‘Come and get sheet faced’.” Jonathan reads aloud. “Yeah, Nance. I think we’ll pass.”

Nancy groans. “I can’t let you guys sit all alone on Halloween. That’s just not acceptable.”

“Actually,” you correct her, annoyed by the assumption, “we have a tradition with the boys. We take them out every year to trick or treat and it’s always been fun. We won’t be ‘alone’.”

“No offense, Y/N, but spending Halloween with a bunch of middle schoolers isn’t much better.”

You make a face and look over at Jonathan for help, but he shrugs. “You gotta admit, it is kinda lame.”

“I can’t believe you’d betray me like this–”

Nancy smiles at this. “See? Plus, I doubt trick or treating with the boys will take all night. You’ll be home by 8:00, and Jonathan will be listening to the Talking Heads and reading Vonnegut or something, while you, my dear Y/N, will be baking a fresh batch of cookies and throwing away all the candy corn you find.”

“Sounds like a nice night.” Jonathan responds, and you nudge your shoulder with his. It does sound like a nice night, one you’re looking forward to.

“I forgive you for your earlier betrayal.”

“Guys!” Nancy stops at her locker now, slight frustration in her voice. “Just… Come on! I mean, who knows? You guys might meet someone and–”

Her words are cut off with a squeal as she’s suddenly lifted in the air and spun around, Steve having snuck up behind her. Nancy now puts all her attention on him, he has his arms wrapped low on her waist and he’s wearing sunglasses inside like some idiot, and your heart hurts. He looks good, too good.

Steve is looking at Nancy so tenderly, and when he removes his sunglasses you see how much his eyes light up when she hits his shoulder and leans in close to him.

“I missed you,” Steve tells her, his voice soft and sensual.

It’s the way he says it that makes you want to run your hands through his hair, be the one in his arms as he kisses your neck and whispers how often he’s thought of you since you’ve been gone. You’ve felt his arms around you before, once. You know how securely he holds on, how his cologne lingers on your clothes long after he’s gone. You miss him, you miss everything.

Steve, as if sensing what you’re thinking, risks a look at you. Your eyes meet his and for a brief second no one else exists anymore. It’s just you and him in the small Hawkins high school hallway, where he’s yours again in a way that’s clouded with “almost” and “not enough”, and you want to tell him how lovely he is and how horrible you feel for hurting him, but then he diverts his gaze and focuses back on Nancy and you’re thrown back into reality.

He isn’t yours. Hell, he isn’t even your friend anymore, and you’re the one to blame.

Once Nancy and Steve start kissing, you share a disgusted look with Jonathan and silently agree to leave.

“Young love, huh?” Jonathan jokes bitterly when you’ve left them behind.

“I hate it.”

And you do.

You’re really starting to hate this whole “love” thing.

–

The only highlight so far this school year has been you and Will growing even closer. When Jonathan told you that Will started seeing the Hawkins Lab people for treatment and to see how he’s been recovering, you pulled Joyce aside later that night to ask if it’d be okay if you spoke with Will yourself. Since everything that happened last year, you’ve only become more interested in psychology, and you’d be lying if you said Will wasn’t an interesting case study.

You told Joyce that you’d been doing your own research, reading journals upon journals, and she made you a deal. You could help Will as long as you also took care of yourself, that you wouldn’t place an even heavier burden upon yourself. Of course you agreed, promising her you wouldn’t, and that’s how your weekly chats with Will began.

Jonathan had been against it at first, telling you that you didn’t have to worry about Will because you already do everything else for the kids. You told him you could handle it, and secretly you liked helping Will because you were able to pour all your anxiety and complex feelings for Steve into research and studying. It was a win-win in your eyes.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Waters had been extremely understanding when you asked for Wednesdays off. After all, you’d been working at Bookstrordinary for almost three years now, so she was quick to make the accommodation.

Now here you are, another Wednesday spent at the Byers’ home. You’re sitting with Will in his bed, the both of you quietly scribbling with his crayons. You’ve learned that he’s more receptive if you draw with him, if you take your time.

“How was Dr. Owens today?”

Will pauses mid-scribble. “Fine.”

“Just ‘fine’? Nothing else?” Your head is down so he doesn’t think you’re studying his reactions, but you keep an eye on him anyways.

“Yeah. I told him about my latest episode.”

“You had another one? Would you like to tell me when?”

Will thinks for a moment, and you tell him that he of course doesn’t have to say anything if he doesn’t want to.

“Last night. I was back in the Upside Down… and there was this… this thing.”

Now you stop drawing. “Like the monster we killed last year?”

“Different,” he shakes his head. “This thing was evil.”

Will’s eyes are darting everywhere around the room, and you can see his growing unease, so you decide to put the topic to rest for now. Clearly the episodes are getting worse, scaring him more, so you shift gears.

“Okay, I believe you. I’m sorry for the episodes, but besides them how have you been feeling? Is school getting any better?” Earlier this month Will had confessed to you about the kids in school calling him “zombie boy” and treating him like a freak. You did your best to comfort him, and once you finished your chat with the boy you’d gone to Joyce to let her know.

Will sighs. “School is… school.”

You reach out and move some hair out of Will’s face. “I’m sorry, little bee. Middle schoolers are idiots, they’ll never understand how much you went through. I mean, I had to face that monster for only about twenty minutes. You had to hide from it for days, so you’re honestly incredibly braver than me.”

This gets a smile out of Will, which you’re relieved by. He’s been quiet lately, more closed off, and you’re worried that with the one year anniversary coming up, his episodes will only get worse.

A knock on the door, and then Jonathan pokes his head in. “Hey, guys. Mind if I join?”

“Actually, I think I should go. Bob’s been begging me for my cookie recipe, so I’ll leave you two alone.” You send a look Will’s way, a you better talk to your brother about this look, and he weakly nods his head.

As you walk past Jonathan out the door, you lean in close to Jonathan and whisper, “he’s struggling at school. Be gentle, kids can be fucking awful.”

He nods and squeezes your hand, silently thanking you, and you close the door behind you. While you want to help Will, make sure he’s adapting well, you also recognize your limits. He’s not your brother, Jonathan is, and you know he’ll be more open with him.

Joyce is in the kitchen with Bob, making some popcorn over the stove. He’s filming her with his ridiculously large camera and you can’t help but smile as you watch them. Joyce looks so happy around the guy, laughing more than she’s laughed in the last five or so years you’ve known her. She deserves this, she deserves a guy like Bob. Sweet, slightly silly, but good.

When Joyce sees you lingering in the doorway, she waves you in. “Hey, honey. Any luck with Will tonight?”

“A bit, he told me some of what’s happening at school. He still seems… off, but at least he was opening up. It’s a good sign.”

Joyce hums, but you can sense that there’s more on her mind. You look around to make sure Bob isn’t near, he’s busy digging through a cabinet to find a clean bowl, so you move closer to the woman and lower your voice. “What did Dr. Owens say this time?”

“Claims we need to just pretend everything is okay, despite the fact that it’s getting worse.”

There’s an edge in Joyce’s voice, so you’re careful with your words. “Well… I think he’s right.”

“You do?” Joyce turns to you, her voice loud with surprise, before she quickly remembers Bob is near and lowers it again. “Why do you think that?”

“I was up late reading a new journal I found about acute trauma in children. It’s been almost a year since Will disappeared, he spent days in complete fear, almost died… I mean, it makes sense that his body is remembering those traumatic effects.”

“So you think we should just leave Will alone, let him suffer through his episodes without any help?” There’s more confusion and fear than anger in Joyce’s voice, and you rest your hand against her arm.

“I know it seems counterintuitive, but the best studies we have all show that we have to let those who suffer from post-traumatic stress adapt at their own pace, through their own ways. They hate feeling pitied, and I have a feeling Will is starting to as well.”

Joyce turns the stove off and shakes her head at you. “You sound like Hop. I thought you hated the guy.”

“I don’t hate him,” you chuckle, now helping the woman peel off the foil and sprinkle some salt onto the popcorn. “He just reminds me too much of my dad, and we all know how that ends.”

“Well if you ask me, I think it’s because you two are so similar.”

You gasp. “How dare you!”

Joyce laughs and the seriousness from the previous conversation dissipates. Bob finds a clean bowl and together you and him pour the fresh popcorn in as Joyce prepares the drinks. They’re having a movie night together, and you want to cry because of how adorable it all is. Joyce deserves this.

“You know you’re welcome to join us tonight, Y/N. It’s Will’s turn to choose the movie.” Joyce tells you, but you politely decline.

“Normally I’d love to, but I should get going. I have some homework and I promised Dustin I’d bake him some Halloween treats.”

“Oh!” Bob turns to you. “Speaking of, you promised you’d give me that recipe of yours!”

You and Joyce share an amused look. “You caught me, I did. I’ll write it down right now and you have to swear that no one else will look at this. Deal?”

Bob nods, ecstatic, and you grab a piece of paper and quickly scribble down all the ingredients he’ll need and how to make the cookies. Joyce watches fondly, and you fill with warmth having pleased her. When you’re done, you hand the paper over to Bob and make him cross his heart, just to be extra sure he won’t reveal all your secrets.

“Scout’s honor!”

“Very good then, soldier.” You salute him, and then pull Joyce into a hug. “I really gotta go now. Can you tell Jonathan I said goodbye?”

“Of course, bike home safe, alright?”

You wink at her. “Scout’s honor.”

Bob lets out a loud cackle and you can’t believe that this guy is real, but Joyce is laughing along with him and you’re pleased she’s found someone as endearing and kind as him.

–

As soon as you get home you throw down your backpack and bunker down at the kitchen table. Your mom isn’t back from work yet and Dustin seems to be off somewhere doing god knows what, so it’s just you and Mews for now.

Mews plops herself on the table next to an essay you’ve been working on and you scratch her head as you work. You get lost in your writing, humming softly to yourself, enjoying this small moment of peace.

You won’t admit this to Jonathan, but he’s right. You’ve been overworking yourself, your body aches and your eyes droop with exhaustion almost every day now. But keeping yourself busy is what’s helping you stay afloat. The more you pile onto yourself, the less time you have to think about Steve and his stupid smile and stupid hair and stupid face.

In the middle of one of your sentences, Dustin flings the front door open and scares you. “Jesus, dude!”

He doesn’t spare you a glance, but when he sees Mews on the table with you he suddenly looks a bit alarmed. “Mews is here?”

“Yeah…? She’s helping me with this english essay.” You respond, confused.

“Huh,” Dustin thinks for a second, but seems to shrug it off. “Anyways, I’m home.”

“I can see that.”

“Are you gonna ask about my day?”

“How was your day, my dear brother.”

Dustin hops onto the table and shimmies his shoulders. “I met a girl.”

“What?” You drop your pencil in shock and Mews scatters, your exclaim having frightened her.

“Don’t act too surprised, geesh.” Your brother rolls his eyes, but then he frowns. “Actually, technically speaking I haven’t met her yet, but–”

“You have a crush?” You’re in shock. In your eyes, Dustin is still a baby, no older than six years old. And yet here is he, thirteen and talking to you about a girl.

“Yes, Y/N. Her name is Max, she has red hair and is new, and she’s totally awesome.”

Red hair? You remember seeing that girl in the parking lot earlier today. “Was she with that weird new guy, the one with a mullet?”

Dustin nods, so you poke him in the stomach and ooh at him. “I saw her this morning, she was prettyyyy.”

He shoves your finger away and blushes, which you find adorable. Dustin’s first ever crush, you can’t believe how old he is now.

“Yeah, she’s pretty, but she’s also just awesome. I think she’s the one with the new high score on Dig Dug.”

“Dig Dug?”

Your brother scoffs. “The arcade game the party always plays? Honestly, do you not listen when I tell you about my days?”

“Alright, fine. If you can remember what I told you I did yesterday, then I’ll apologize for not listening better.”

Dustin closes his mouth, unable to recall a thing.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought.” You flick his hat. “Anyways, since you officially like girls now, I’ve been dying to give you some girl advice.”

“Y/N–” Dustin groans, but you shush him.

“First things first, always be a gentleman. Max does indeed seem cool, but I’m sure she’d appreciate a nice and polite young man like yourself.”

Dustin nods. “Okay, be kind. Got it.”

“Good. Now secondly, we Hendersons are charming people, so just be yourself.”

“Duh,”

“Lastly, if she shows interest, tell her how you feel. Better you’re honest and true about how you feel rather than hide it and sulk.”

Dustin snorts. “Says you.”

You look away from him, slightly hurt. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“C’mon, Y/N. When are you gonna tell Jonathan you love him? I mean, everyone knows you do, it’s about time you confess.” Dustin drones on, unaware of your hurt feelings. “And he’s obviously in love with you, you guys are disgusting to be around–”

“He doesn’t love me back.” You whisper, looking down at your paper. You feel pathetic, confessing this to your little brother.

Dustin freezes, now realizing you’ve gone quiet. He can feel your mood darken and he feels like shit for not noticing it sooner. He’s upset you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I thought he did, I mean the party and I all assumed…”

His words fade off, and you want to crawl into a hole and never come out. It’s embarrassing, you shouldn’t be pitied like this by your brother. “It’s okay, I know what you meant.”

“Y/N–”

You get up from the table and gather your things, shoving them into your backpack. “I’m gonna finish up this essay in my room, then I promise I’ll start baking those marshmallow puffs you like–”

Dustin jumps down from the table and blocks you from leaving the kitchen. “Jonathan is an ass–”

“Language–”

He doesn’t let you interrupt. “You’re cool, he’s stupid, and I’m here for you. Alright? Don’t make me pull a code blue on you.”

You wrap your brother into your arms, something he hadn’t been expecting, and allow yourself a small laugh. “No need for a code blue, I promise. Just, give me like an hour to sulk and then I’ll be as good as new. Okay?”

When you pull away, Dustin eyes you, but understands he won’t win this argument. The two of you handle your emotions the same way: alone, in solitude, away from prying eyes. He knows you just need some time to yourself, but he still feels like a jerk for upsetting you in the first place. “Fine, but if you’re sulking later I’ll flick your nose.”

You flick his nose and then quickly flee to your room, Dustin not far behind you. “Flicked you first!”

“Not fair!”

You slam your bedroom door and giggle as you lock it. Dustin bangs on the door, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. You tell him you’ll be out as soon as you’re done with your essay, and then go and sit down at your desk. Sighing, you dig into your bag and pull out what you need. Without meaning to, you look up and see your Spider-Man poster, your wonderful Christmas gift from Steve, hanging in front of you.

The small joy you’d been feeling vanishes.

The poster stares back at you, you can almost hear it calling you a pathetic coward, and you feel guilt claw at your throat. You close your eyes, remembering the cold from that winter day, and you can almost smell the cologne Steve had been wearing when you’d thrown yourself into his warmth. Sometimes, if you sit still enough, you think you can feel the ghost of his embrace.

You open your eyes.

Steve isn’t here.

Of course he isn’t here.

You exhale, feeling the familiar ache and exhaustion within you; junior year is looking quite grim.

-

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[actuallysaiyan]

My Cinnamon Girl

warnings: smoking, general fluff pairings: Older!Salaryman!Nanami Kento x Fem!Barista!Reader summary: Kento is your regular customer and one night when he really needs you, he ends up finding you outside smoking and you offer him some pastries. a/n: For the amazing JJK writing Event, Foodies and Goodies created by the wonderful @tsukimefuku! This fic is very inspired by Smoking Behind The Supermarket With You and I was very much encouraged lovingly by April(@kentocalls) to write this and I'm so pleased with it!

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He always took this route to get home. It was his favorite way to get home. Not only that, but it made it so he’d always pass by his favorite bakery. The coffee was exquisite and the pastries brought him straight to heaven. 

Kento Nanami didn’t regret never going back to the sorcerer’s life, but sometimes he wondered if working in stocks was really the best for him. Too late to change his mind, as his 45th birthday was nearing and he knew that he didn’t have too long to work now before he could fully retire.

The little bakery was his relief. Kento looks forward to it every single day. Even on his days off, he goes to that bakery. He loves to eat breakfast there. He enjoys sipping on coffee while looking over paperwork. And the thing he enjoys the most there…it’s you.

You with your sweet smile, your soft voice and calm demeanor. You’re the person who always makes his days brighter. Even when his boss is on his ass, he knows that seeing you will be the bandaid his soul needs. So every day, he walks to and fro work and passes by the bakery where you work.

One day, he makes his way there after a long day at work. He’s completely exhausted. The only thing that makes him feel good in this world today will be to see you. He wants to see your smile before he heads home for the evening. After this long day, it’s the only thing he can truly say would heal him.

And yet, when he enters the bakery, he notices you’re not at the counter. He sighs and loosens his tie, approaching the counter to greet the older woman who works there.

“Good evening, okyaku-sama!” she calls to him, beckoning him over.

“Good evening, can I get a loaf of sourdough bread and a cup of green tea?”

She nods and gets started on his order. He already knows how much it’s going to cost him, so he pulls out a few bills and some coins and places them on the counter. He’s disappointed that you aren’t here tonight, but he thinks he’ll be able to survive. 

“Here you are! Do you have your points card?” the elderly barista asks him.

“Oh, yes, here you are.”

Kento hands her the points card, and she’s not privy to the sad look on his face. He comes every day, sometimes multiple times a day and it’s mostly to see the young barista who is her favorite coworker.

“She just got off,” the elderly barista explains. “If you hurry out now, she’s probably outside having a smoke.”

Kento’s cheeks and tops of his ears burn, “W-what…?”

The elderly woman laughs, “The young woman you come here to chat up. My coworker? She’s probably outside smoking in the smoking section.”

Kento’s heart flutters and skips a beat. He takes the cup of tea and loaf of bread from her, thanking her for her service. The elderly barista laughs softly, ushering him outside.

He makes his way out, finding you exactly where your coworker said you’d be. You’re sitting on an overturned crate, a tired look on your features. Something about this warms Kento’s heart. He knows he’s not the only tired person in this world. You work hard; he has seen it first hand.

An unlit cigarette balances on your bottom lip. You seem to be spaced out, not really paying attention to anything. Kento notices a few pastry boxes near where you sit. He comes closer to you, smiling down at you. A lit lighter appears in your view.

“Could I light that for you?” he asks.

You gasp softly, the cigarette nearly falling out of your mouth. Kento gently cups your chin to steady you and he lights the cigarette.

“Thank you,” you whisper before exhaling.

Kento procures his own cigarette and lights it up. “My pleasure.”

Neither of you know what to say for a bit. He takes a sip of his green tea, sitting next to you and he smiles. It’s a comfortable silence.

“You’re my regular, aren’t you?” you ask him, smiling at the older man.

He blushes once more, “Am I this obvious? Even your coworker knew who I was…and she made sure to tell me where you were.”

You mutter a curse under your breath. Damn that older woman…putting her nose in your love life.

You chuckle softly, taking a deep drag from your cigarette. “I mean,” you blow out the smoke. “You come here multiple times a day.”

Kento’s eyes widen, “I like the coffee! And the pastries!”

You can’t help but laugh even more now. He was so cute. Quite a bit older than you, but you always liked that in a relationship. You move a bit closer to him, opening up one of the pastry boxes.

“Since you love the pastries so much, why not try this? IT’s a new pastry I’m working on for the cafe.”

Kento’s hands shake as he reaches into the box and pulls out a flaky little pie looking thing from the box. It’s tiny and has a gooey looking center. He puts out his cigarette, bringing the small pastry to his lips. The first bite is exquisite. He unknowingly lets out a moan of joy at the flavor. Gooey cinnamon and butter and nutmeg and…

“That good huh?” you ask, flicking your cigarette.

Kento nods, mouth still full of pastry. “Amazing! Please tell me you’ll be selling these in store!”

You smile. “Well I might just because my favorite customer just complimented me.”

Kento swallows the last bite, his cheeks still red. He never knew just how nervous and shy you made him feel. He looks at you seriously, his mind whirling with a million thoughts. You put out your cigarette, leaning in to kiss his cheek softly.

“If you liked that, why don’t you come to my place sometime and I can bake for you?”

Kento’s at a loss for words, but he manages to say one thing. “S-sure!”

You take out your phone, thrusting it into his hands. “Put your number in my contacts.”

Kento’s hands feel so shaky as he puts his number into your phone. You can’t help but smile at him. Both of you have the biggest crushes on each other and it’s only now that you finally get to make your move.

“Great! So if you’re not busy now…” you suggest, a grin on your face. “Why don’t you walk me home? I can pay you with pastries.”

How could Kento say no to that?

[inkspiredwriting]

Time Travel Tacos

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: I started writing again after eight years, I've never uploaded my stories here on Tumblr before and that's why I'm a little scared. please tell me if you like it

Warnings: None

The day started like any other for Y/N. She was working the lunch shift at Tasty Tacos, the best taco stand in the city, and trying to keep up with the steady stream of customers. It was Taco Tuesday, which meant extra busy, but Y/N didn't mind. She liked the fast pace, the chatter of happy customers, and the smell of sizzling meat and fresh tortillas. What she didn't like was the sudden appearance of a disheveled teenager with a very serious expression standing in front of her.

"Hey, kid, you lost or something?" Y/N asked, glancing around to see if a concerned parent was nearby. The boy, who couldn't have been more than thirteen, although he had the aura of someone much older, stared at her with piercing blue eyes.

"Do I look lost to you?" he retorted, sounding both annoyed and world-weary.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Well, you're standing in front of a taco stand looking like you just crawled out of a time machine, so yeah, a little."

The boy sighed and rubbed his temples. "I'm Number Five. I'm from The Umbrella Academy. And no, I'm not lost. I'm exactly where I need to be."

"Uh-huh." Y/N tried to process the information. "Right. And I'm supposed to know what The Umbrella Academy is because...?"

Five looked at her like she had just asked him to explain quantum mechanics to a toddler. "It's not important. What is important is that I need your help."

"With what? A taco?"

"No," he said impatiently, "I need to borrow your taco stand."

Y/N blinked. "You need to borrow...my taco stand."

"Yes," Five said, as if this were the most reasonable request in the world.

"Why?"

He sighed again, clearly frustrated. "I don't have time to explain all the details, but let's just say I'm on a mission that involves saving the world, and right now, your taco stand is the best place to hide from some very dangerous people."

Y/N looked around. Her taco stand, with its cheerful red-and-yellow paint job and the happy chatter of customers, hardly seemed like a place for world-saving missions. But then again, she had never met anyone quite like this kid before.

"Okay," she said slowly. "So, you want to hide behind the counter or something?"

"Exactly." Five gave her a rare, small smile. "And I'll take a taco while I'm at it. Beef, extra spicy."

Y/N shook her head, trying to wrap her mind around the bizarre situation. "Fine, but if you get me in trouble with my boss, you're paying for all the tacos."

"Deal," Five said, already moving behind the counter with surprising agility for someone his size.

As Y/N prepared his taco, she couldn't help but ask, "So, you time travel and save the world, huh?"

"Pretty much," Five said, peeking out from behind a stack of tortilla boxes.

"Must be exhausting."

"You have no idea."

Y/N handed him the taco and watched as he devoured it in record time. "Good thing you've got tacos to keep you going."

Five looked at her, crumbs around his mouth. "You know, Y/N, if we do save the world, maybe I'll bring the team here for a celebratory meal. You might just have the best tacos in the entire timeline."

Y/N laughed. "I'll hold you to that, Number Five."

Just then, a group of men in dark suits and sunglasses appeared, scanning the area. Five ducked down lower, motioning for Y/N to keep quiet.

"Let me guess," she whispered. "Those are the dangerous people?"

Five nodded. "Yeah. And they do not appreciate good tacos."

Y/N smirked. "Their loss. Hang tight, I'll handle them."

She stepped out in front of the taco stand, greeting the men with her best customer service smile. "Hi there! Can I interest you in our special Taco Tuesday deal?"

The men exchanged confused glances. "We're looking for someone," one of them said.

"Well, I can assure you there's no one here but hungry customers. But how about a taco while you search? On the house."

The men hesitated, then grudgingly accepted. As they ate, Five slipped out the back, giving Y/N a grateful nod.

"Best tacos in the timeline," he mouthed before disappearing into the alley.

Y/N chuckled as she watched him go. "Just another day at Tasty Tacos," she muttered to herself. "Just another day."

[writingquestionsanswered]

Introducing Several Characters at Once

Anonymous asked: Do you have advice on a chapter that introduces a lot of characters at once and requires a lot of explaining for the setting and scene to make sense. In the scene, my characters all go to work at a job that is important to the plot. I have ten or fifteen characters at this job who actually have names, and I’ve introduced about 5 of them plus a few nameless background characters. It's an early scene so there aren't a lot of chance to feed the information into earlier chapters. I’m trying to find a balance between giving enough information to get the reader through, and not overwhelming them with an info dumping.

If you're only actually introducing five of the ten to fifteen named characters, and illustrating some nameless background characters, that's really not a big deal. Just remember there are different ways you can distribute the information so it's not an info dump. For example, let's say your characters all work at a grocery store. And let's also say the first character you introduce (besides the protagonist) is Becky, the customer service representative. Info dumping would be:

Ted arrived at work five minutes late so the store was already open. The first person he saw was Becky, who was the customer service representative, and one of the nicest and most professional people he worked with. She was in her thirties but had already been at the store for twenty years, so she was one of the longest time employees there.

The problem here is the details are all delivered by the narrator telling them to the reader. But there are other ways you can deliver the information, such as having the POV character observe them, having the POV character deliver them to another character, or having another character deliver them to the POV character.

Ted walked through the store's sliding glass doors at five minutes past eight, and already the early bird shoppers were filling their carts.

"Good morning, Becky," Ted called as he passed the customer service counter.

"You're late." She gave him a wink and straightened her twenty years of service pin, as if to tease that she'd never been late since she got the job at age seventeen. Ted shook his head and watched the professional smile overtake her face as a customer approached the counter with an issue. "Good morning, sir. How may I be of assistance?"

Ted would never be that perky and customer-friendly at eight in the morning.

-- Ted arrived at work five minutes late > Ted walked through the store's sliding glass doors at five minutes past eight

-- so the store was already open > already the early bird shoppers were filling their carts

-- The first person he saw was Becky, who was the customer service representative > "Good morning, Becky," Ted called as he passed the customer service counter.

-- one of the nicest and most professional people he worked with. > She gave him a wink... Ted shook his head and watched the professional smile overtake her face as a customer approached the counter with an issue. "Good morning, sir. How may I be of assistance?"

-- She was in her thirties but had already been at the store for twenty years, so she was one of the longest time employees there. > She gave him a wink and straightened her twenty years of service pin, as if to tease that she'd never been late since she got the job at age seventeen.

Another thing this excerpt accomplishes is it tells us a lot about Becky without going into exhaustive detail about who she is, what she looks like, and what she does. This simple interaction tells us pretty much everything we need to know... Becky got the job at seventeen and has been there at least twenty years, so she's probably in her late 30s. She's a customer service representative, she's nice and professional and has a good rapport with the POV character, and she probably spends most of her day handling customer issues. It gives us a good sense of who this character is without overwhelming us with details that aren't actually important right now.

And finally, another thing this excerpt does is it makes Becky memorable. The combination of teasing Ted for being late by straightening her twenty years of service pin and then winking at him burns an image in our mind we won't soon forget. Even if he goes on to encounter three or four other characters, we'll probably remember Becky is the nice one who winked at him.

I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Not What I Planned." Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader.

Well hello! It is the amazing and fantastic @eggsandbeer birthday so, so soon! But I am meeting Matt and Skeet tomorrow and my brain is gonna be all on Billy and Stu post that, so you get this now! This is my first time writing Rusty, I watched Joy Ride 2 six times while writing this. I love Riri, she is so fucking awesome and I adored doing this. She has a more personalized version but gave the go ahead to post a reader insert version for you all! So let's go!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.7K (I Know.) Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Customer Service Work. Asshole Customers. Murder Mentioned. Drinking. Making Out. Man Handling. Fingering. Masturbation. Blow Job. Cum Eating. Vaginal Sex. Riding. Taunting. Teasing. Dirty Talk. Praise. Pet Names.

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You hate your job, it is exhausting, mentally and physically, a total drain, but you do all you can to not let it get you down. You focus on the little things, good customer interactions, great coworkers and the times you are truly able to get away from your work. It isn’t like it’s what you wanted to do for the rest of your life anyway, far from it, in fact one of those vital lifelines that helps keep you sane is a local news internship, it gives you some good experience for what you hope to actually eventually do with your life along with giving you purpose. 

Today is not good, though, off to a less than ideal start. This is decidedly not the way you wanted to spend your birthday. Rolling into the grocery store to do a closing shift, apron in your grip and bag over your shoulder, half-hearted waves to co-workers as you strolled through towards the area you could safely stow away your stuff until you are allowed to clock out. You do just that, drop your stuff in the usual place, get your uniform situated and punch in, ready for another day of God knows what bullshit. 

Your mind was at least slightly occupied, where you work is en route to the Burning Man festival which meant that you were busy as fuck with people loading up on supplies before they arrive to their final destination, it kept you busy. As for what kept your brain whirring, your internship had tasked you with writing a piece on the crowd that is rolling through on their way, meaning you are watching and listening intently. It looks like you aren’t from the outside, hands stacking a fruit display, but ears open, all sorts of talk about events the Burners were amped up for, how much further they had to travel, what snacks were the best and would keep in the desert heat. 

You did some actual work naturally, finding yourself crouched and cleaning out a stubborn drain, the process thoroughly annoying and honestly degrading, and not in the fun way you usually liked. It was your fucking birthday, for Christ’s sake, you should be indulging in the fun kind of calve burning, not the bent over and unclogging kind. Still, you try to stay in higher spirits and certainly not show it outwardly, if someone squinted hard enough, they might be able to pick up on it. 

Later on, you had just finished making a new display, standing back and looking at the gorgeous display of apples you’d spent longer than you cared to mention on, hands on your hips. The first genuine smile that had graced your face since clocking in and wasn’t tinged with a single hint of perfectly practised customer service fakeness. This is one of those moments you felt genuine pride in your work, a glimmer of nicety in all the bullshit. 

It lasted for two whole seconds.

A customer’s cart hits you in the hip and wrist simultaneously because of how you were standing, the action both painful and shocking, completely unexpected. It makes you step to the side, grip your wrist with your other hand, the pain is throbbing and dull, it isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever experienced, but it still sucks and should have never happened in the first place. The customer doesn’t apologize. Worse still, they stride forward, pick a single apple from the middle of the display, causing half of it to tumble over. The customer scoffs with a roll of their eyes, they drop the apple into their cart to look around, seeming to notice you just now for the first time, only then acknowledging you. They give a pointed look from you to over their shoulder, a motion of their head as they criticized your work, “Not very sturdy.” 

Your mouth falls open, and they tut as they walk away, leaving you dumbfounded with fifteen some odd apples scattered on the ground that you had to clean up and a display you had to rebuild. 

Later still, you are sweeping, trying to get these damn onion skins up, but they aren’t moving. You are half focused, conversing with one of the Burners, they are asking for your opinion on what kombucha is best, and you are humouring them and getting a few questions answered along the way. 

Throughout all the regular work crap, you’d been having small conversations with people, writing brief notes for your project, and it was nice getting some serious stuff down about it, served as a half decent distraction too. 

His initial thought is that it was reminiscent of a zoo, upon greater thought while attempting to park the Peterbilt he decided swiftly that it was worse than that, a fucking circus. He manages to park and decides that getting in and out as fast as possible would be vital to maintaining his sanity. He was aware that Burning man was happening, naturally, but still the place was crowded as all Hell, more than he had been anticipating. Rusty didn’t like large crowds of people, but he needs some supplies, he needs to eat. 

It isn’t any better inside. 

He is making his way around, hat pulled low, basket in his grip, grabbing a few drinks, some favoured snacks that he knew kept well, he was passing by the produce, almost ready to get the fuck out. He goes into your department, he is grabbing bananas and thinking about getting some of those pre-cut carrot and celery sticks. Rusty is trying to be a tad more health minded, not like it would do much with how much he enjoys a good smoke but better to do something than nothing he supposed. 

His train of thought is broken when he hears a loud exclamation of, “I can’t believe how fucking stupid you are!”

Rusty’s head turns, he catches sight of you, standing there, trying to look apologetic as some older lady is verbally ripping into you, “I’m making lemon chicken LEEK stroganoff, right?”

She is looking at you expectantly, your eyes wide, and with that half customer service forced smile you nod and say through gritted teeth, “Right.” 

“So tell me, how. Am I. Supposed. To make. Lemon, chicken LEEK stroganoff without LEEKS?” The way she said it was infuriating, the halting, pausing way of it, so condensing, as if you were the cross between an idiot and a child all rolled into one. 

“I don’t know, ma’am. I guess you can’t. I’m very sorry.” You admit it reluctantly, knowing she won’t like your response, and she does not. She goes off on you, “Well I’ve had this menu planned for WEEKS, I have company coming tonight! You have to make this right!” 

Rusty was listening in, brow pinching, this woman was off her rocker, what a complete bitch. You were trying to calm her, smooth over the situation, and she was being worse and worse to you. No matter what you say, she wouldn’t stop freaking out. 

“I really am very sorry. I could call another store nearby and ask if they have any leeks?” You offer up, and she scoffed with a laugh, “So I can make ANOTHER stop? Do you not remember? I am hosting a dinner party tonight, I’m busy! I have other places to go, I can’t be here fighting with you over this all night!”

And yet she was still here, doing just that. 

He had turned, wasn’t watching quite as subtly as he was previous. You were doing your best and none of it was measuring up to this crazy, impossible standard that was being set out. He was looking at you, and he could see that you were taking it hard, your customer service face and voice were holding strong, but your eyes? They looked so sad. 

You reminded him of a kicked puppy, as the woman finally had enough of being a raging cunt and stormed off. Right after that, someone else in uniform walked by, a manager? And on their way, they said, “Happy birthday.”

You gave a small, “Thanks.” along with half a wave as they strode past. You were not only working on, but getting treated like that, on your birthday? 

It got to him, hit him square in the chest, shot to the heart. A sigh and he looks over, he makes a note of the asshole who mistreated you so, he has a little time before they check out before he can go dispose of them in the parking lot for being so unreasonable and rude to you. It might be too far for some people but not for him, people like that, there is no changing them, not at her age, some people don’t deserve to live. 

First things, first though, he saunters over to you, a small clearing of his throat before he asks, “Got a date tonight, there a drink you’d recommend?” 

You turn towards the low and smooth voice, you have to turn your head up to look at him properly, he was taller than you. The way he was standing, the angle, and how he wore his hat you couldn’t see his face, brim pulled too low, standing a few feet away.

A small inhale and your smile turned more genuine before you reply, “Oh, our Pink Champagne is my favourite. I get that on special occasions.” 

Well, how fucking perfect a find were you? Kind, respectful, hardworking, and you have good taste. 

“Thank you.” He said it easily with a wave of his hand in acknowledgement and broke away. You watch him go and think to yourself that he is cute, in that particular way that strikes you when an older guy catches your eye just so. The interaction doesn’t stick with you however, you turned and saw more fucking onion skins that needed sweeping up.

Hours later, you finally get off of work, messed up apron in one hand and looking forward to getting the hell home. You had two days off ahead, you were intent on a bath and partaking in some drinks in your fridge with a good record on when you get home. You are walking through the dark and now very empty parking lot, your mind only focused on reaching your car, sliding behind the wheel and getting home as soon as possible, when you hear a voice calling out. Your car keys are in one hand, the keys between your fingers, sticking out and ready to punch a would be attacking if you need to. 

Hearing the voice makes you put your head on a swivel, initially scared, you look and then see it is that older gentlemen you helped out earlier. You pause, and he comes a little closer, again in the dark and with that hat you can’t make out much except for the orange glow of the end of his cigarette, partially illuminating the lower half of his face. He calls out your name, following it with a question of, "-right?” 

“Hi, yeah it is.” You were still sightly on edge until he is holding up the very same bottle you suggested earlier, “Wanted to say thank you for your recommendation, properly.” 

Your brows raise up, you saw him in the store hours ago, meaning he should in theory be long gone, and you ask, “I thought you had a date?” 

“I do. I was just waitin’ for her to get off work.” Even though you couldn’t see it fully, you could hear the smile in his tone, and it makes one spread to your own face. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize that was you asking me out.” 

The tone you said it in was very light, and he seemed equally amused, “Sorry bout that, terrible manners on my part, truly.”

There is a beat of silence, and you say, “I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” 

“So you’d be willing to join me?” He asks, you nod, you felt endeared to him very quickly, the confidence he displayed, the boldness, you were charmed and figured why not? You had the time tonight, nothing wrong with enjoying a birthday drink bought by a courteous man. 

“Where are we going to go?” You ask, and he gestured over to the large shiny black Piterbilt towards the back of the lot. “Was thinking my truck, if that’s alright with you?”

When he asks in that delicious tone of voice, you think that yes, it is very alright with you. “Lead the way.” You prompt, and he does, you fall into step beside him, apron is thrown over your shoulder, and you asked, “So you’re a truck driver?”

“How’d you ever guess?” He asked on an exhalation of his cigarette with a glance over to you. Now you can catch the half smirk on his face, unable to make out his eyes completely, but it didn’t bother you, honestly you kind of dug the mysterious kind of thing, not even fully knowing what he looked like. If anything that communicated how into him, you were, hadn’t even seen his whole face but his voice and how he carried himself was more than enough to convince you to this odd kind of unexpected date. 

“I’m real intuitive. Call it a gift.” You mused, and he liked you, even in how you joked, there was no real meanness to it, could tell that it was all in fun and that inherent niceness shone through. “Giving me gifts when it’s your birthday? Isn’t that what M’ supposed to be doing?” 

That gives you some slight pause, how in the fuck did he know that it was your birthday? Before any serious question could be made, you were next to his truck on the passenger side. You look it over and say honestly, “Nice truck.”

“Thanks, do my best to take real good care of it, s’ seen some rough times.” You look a little closer, scrutinizing, if it had, you couldn’t tell, the thing looked clean and not a scratch on it. You turn and lean against it, you realize he had gotten some cups that were also sold at your work, he holds them out, “Mind holding these while I open this?”

You nod and take them out of his outstretched hand and watch as the last remainder of his cigarette was dropped and ground under the heel of his boot. He uncorks the bottle with ease, doesn’t spill any or cause it to overflow, which mildly impresses, you hold out the cups and he fills them. The bottle is set aside on the ground and after passing him his cup he asked “Any words to share?”

“Here’s to the weekend?” You offered up after a moment’s thought, and he said, “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks yours and his cups together, and you take a sip of the sweet and familiar fizzy alcoholic drink. 

“Seriously the shift I had today was rough, so this is really nice, thank you-” Then you realize you don’t know his name, he clearly picks up on this and says, “Name’s Rusty. Rusty Nail.” 

Immediately you figure it must be his CB handle, you wonder if Rusty is his real name, but also you don’t think it matters much, you don’t press, “Well thank you, Rusty, really.” 

“S’ my pleasure. Heard how that woman was going off on you earlier, some people can be so rude.” Is that what prompted this? The total bitch who was freaking over leeks? If so, you think that maybe her being such a raging cunt wasn’t such a bad thing if it led to this. 

Little did you know that Rusty had taken care of her, she was currently stuffed in the trunk of her own car, way, way on the other side of the lot, body long since gone cold. 

The conversation then turned to you both complaining about a shared distaste for rude and unreasonable people, he let you vent about your day and previous horrible customers at your job. As the conversation went on, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more. You also find yourself standing closer to him, half the bottle gone, he’s had another smoke, and you are leaning on him much more than the truck, he doesn’t mind, you sigh to him, “I cannot believe the crap you have to put up with, it’s so unfair!” 

“Some people have some really unsavoury and outdated views on people in my line of work.” He admits with a nod, and from what he’d shared it seemed like. There are people who say the meanest shit, make horrible assumptions, treat him like dirt or worse, a feeling you know all too well at your own job. You relate to Rusty. 

You’d been talking for an hour, and it was even later, darker, and a shiver unexpectedly ran up your spine, “You cold?”

You were a little, you were in a t-shirt and after standing in one spot for so long this late the chill had somehow set in. “Yeah, surprisingly I am a bit.” 

Then he made an interesting offer. “You want to get in my truck, warm up?” 

You think you really did want that. “Yeah, that’d be great, actually.” 

He moved back then and so did you, he opened the door for you, and you looked up, Christ it was big, how were you supposed to get in while in your slightly buzzed state without looking like a total clown? You feel him against your back, he asks, “Need some help?”

You nod, unsure of what he means or how he is going to help but trusting him all the same, it’s then that you feel his hands on you. He turns you, and then those same hands find your waist with ease and grip. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you realize to him, you probably do, as he helps hoist you into the passenger side of the truck. Rusty sits you on your ass in the seat and your face feels much hotter, he just scooped you up and set you down so fast, one simple and fluid motion as he stepped one foot up on the running board, and then there you were. You are side-saddle, legs dangling down and far off of the ground. His hands leave you quicker than you’d like, sliding off your waist and stepping back down. You are a bit dazed, his hand touches your ankle, and you jump, he laughs at your surprised, “What?”

“You wanna get your legs in, so I can close the door?” You nod and do so, swinging your legs in, and he shuts the door. Your hand, that had been clutching your bag and apron, dropped them on the floor by your feet. You look down into your cup, you hadn’t spilled any even when he picked you up, the cup is raised, you tip it back and swallow down the remainder. A sigh and you pull the cup back, hand still clutching it, comes to rest on your thigh as your thumb on your opposite hand swipes a stray drop from the corner of your mouth. He had come around to the other side, he has the door open and is sliding in beside you into the driver's seat, he’d picked up the bottle on the way, and you were contemplating asking for more.

As if reading your mind he gestures for your cup, you lean over, holding it out, and he pours you some more, you asked him, “So before, you were talking about all the bad stuff about truck driving, but what about the stuff you do like?”

The question seems to surprise him if his tone is any indication, “The stuff I do like?” 

He has pulled the bottle back, he isn’t pouring more for himself, you respond to his question with another of your own, “Yeah, what makes the job worth it? Other than the money.” 

Rusty considers the question for a moment before he says, “I like seein’ the country, like being by myself most of the time but most of all? Probably seems obvious, but the freedom of it.” 

You nodded, it made sense and asked, “Can go anywhere, do anything?” 

“S’actly.”  

The silence is as surprisingly comfortable as the passenger seat of this truck is. The thought hits, and you say it without thinking, “I dunno how you do it.” 

“What? Truck drivin’?” He asks, and you say with a turn to him, “Yeah! Like, the actual driving it.”

He laughs, and you press on, one hand holding your cup and the other making like you are gripping a steering wheel that was comically large, pretending to turn it, “Seriously! This thing is massive, it’s a beast! How can you control it?”

“Ain’t that hard really, just gotta be the right mix of careful and confident.” He assures, and you laugh, “You make it sound so easy, I’ve never driven anything this big, that-” You point out the window to your much less impressive ride, “-is my car over there.” 

“Yeah, don’t quite measure up, does it?” He teases and you grin, “Nope. But I don’t think I could drive anything like this.”

“I think you could.” A small pause before he asks the big question, “Wanna try?” 

You nearly choke on your sip and pull the cup back, wiping at your mouth, “What? Me? Drive the behemoth? You want to write it off that bad, Rusty?” 

“You cannot be that bad a driver.” He scoffs. 

“Rusty, you barely know me, I dunno-” He insists, “C’mon, I’ll help.”

“Help?”

You were curious enough to allow it to happen, you’d not counted on his idea of help being putting you in his lap. He’d moved the seat back enough and encouraged you to climb on, emboldened by both the drink and his encouragement, you slide on into the space he made. He moves the seat forward enough to do the pedals, and he places your hands on the wheel, his hands covering yours. “You sure this is a good idea?” 

Nerves were setting in, you’d been drinking, not a lot but also all the close contact with him was getting to you, his attractiveness was apparent during your brief meeting earlier but now that you'd’ been getting to know him? He was becoming even more appealing, being sat in his lap, your back to his chest, his hands on yours, you felt flustered. Sounded by him in both touch and scent, it could be enough to make your head swim if you let it. In your current position, his voice is over your shoulder, “Positive. You’ll be fine.” 

The tone of voice he says it in, the conviction, he makes you believe it. 

One of his hands leaves yours briefly to start her up, the truck rumbles to life, and it makes you jump slightly, Christ it was loud and is vibrating like all Hell. “We’ll just do a lil’ loop, alright? M’ doing the pedals, you just steer her real easy.” 

He had to speak louder to be heard over the hum of the truck, and you pitch your own volume up to be heard, “Yeah, real easy, can do.” 

His foot comes down slowly, and he eases it forward, you grip the wheel tightly and let him lead. He talks you through the process, and it helps, you focus your eyes forward and your ears on listening to his smooth voice praising you, “Uh-huh, around the pole, use it as a guide.” You swallowed and nodded, brows knit together as he keeps talking, “Oh good job, see? You’re doing it.” 

His hands squeeze yours reassuringly, your mouth feels dry, you nod and say quieter than you should, “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, you’re doing most of the work.” You feel that isn’t truthful but again, he talks, you believe. 

“Almost all the way around, a little further-” Both his hands leave yours, sliding down your arms and choosing to come to rest on your waist again, letting you fully be in control. It makes you tense, rushing out, “Rusty, wait-”

Another flex of his hands, another show of comfort, he says easily, drawling out, “Calm down, you’re doing it all yourself.” 

You aren’t fully convinced until you’ve made the full loop, and he lets off the gas, he turns off the car and your shoulders slump, what he says next, makes you melt, “I told you. You’re perfect.” 

That does something, makes a particular part of you break, or is it wake up? Either way, a certain section of you, somewhere aside, comes alive, and instead of wanting to run from it, you chose to grab onto the live wire of sensation with both hands. The truck has stopped, but you keep moving, the urge overcomes, and you turn in your seat and in his lap, one hand comes up, meets his cheek, feeling the rough stubble. He’d already gotten you the champagne, but you think you want more still, and you ask, “Can I be selfish?”

“S’ your birthday, be as selfish as you want to.” You take that is more than enough of an invitation. You lean up and in, push the brim of his hat up enough to give yourself the appropriate access, and you kiss him. 

He had a feeling it was going this way, but thinking and experiencing are two different things. You choosing to take the lead was better than he could have been hoping for, though. Your mouth was so fucking soft, you felt warm, he tried to take it easy, but this is the kind of thing he can’t help getting swept up in. Chances like this don’t come around often, the urge to rush is present, he manages to ignore it, preferring to savour it, or rather, savour you. He lets himself relax further into the seat, returning your affection immediately. 

The scratch of his facial hair against your skin feels better than you’d hoped it would, you let out a soft exhale, a sound on the precipice of a moan while still falling just short. His hands are still on your waist, he nudges you closer, you lean in more, your head tilts, his lips part, and he tastes more like cigarettes than he does the champagne, but it’s there. Your tongue makes the first exploration and sticky sweet fruit is unearthed from below smoke and ash. 

One of his hands slides down, a brief pass over your thigh, and you wonder where it’s going, you realize in short order when the seat you are both on moves back, giving you more space, making it, so you aren’t quite as locked up against the steering wheel. Heat is sparking inside, your hand moves from his face, slipping to rest on his neck, your other hand comes up to his shoulder, fingers grip the jacket he has on and the want becomes too much. You grind down on him. 

The shifting and adjusting allows you to feel how hard he was growing, a harsher inhale, and you begin to scramble, you want more contact, you move to be fully straddling him, no more twisting partially around like you currently were. You are seated just right soon enough, ass firmly planted, and you think fleetingly God he had some solid thighs, strong, you felt very well-supported. 

The making out was only paused briefly while you changed position, you’d gotten right back into it, your mouth slotting back against his with a hum that sounded like his name. You grind again and this time he returns it, rutting up into you, and the friction makes you actually moan this time. The taste, the feeling, and two minutes more of making out is all it takes for you to break, pulling back once his touch had gotten bolder, one having slid up your body, palming one of your tits through your work shirt easily with how large his hands were. You arch into him, breaking the kiss you beg, “Fuck, Rusty, more.”

You are close enough now that you can see his smile as opposed to just hear it, his hand moves and starts to go under your shirt, rough fingers on bare skin and steadily moving up, brushing the edge of your bra. Not quite a laugh but more than an amused releasing of air, he asks, “More?” 

A frantic nod, another squirm of your hips and he asks, “How much more? C’mon, tell me.”

He wants you to say it and you want it desperately enough that it’s no issue, far from it, if anything him making you say it, makes you want it more, makes you feel hotter. “Fuck me?”

“I like your directness.” Thank God for that. “Just have a lil more patience with me, alright?” 

When he asks in that tone, you think you’d do just about anything. A small nod and he needs to get his fill of you just a hair more. Hands explore, groping, feeling, it teases both of you, trying to get a sense of your body before the clothes come off, mind running over just how you’ll feel with nothing in the way. You remain good, you let him feel, minimal squirming on your part, even when he starts kissing your neck as the hand that isn’t up your shirt kneads your ass. Only when you feel your underwear literally plastered to you and your cunt ache incessantly do you whine his name again. 

He mercifully acquiesces, “Okay, okay, I hear you.” 

He eases up, a gesture of his head for you to move to the passenger's seat, “Gonna need you out of those clothes for what you really want.” 

You rush to comply. Once in the passenger's seat, sitting sideways, still facing him, looking at him, your hands catch the bottom hem of your shirt and as if anticipating that you intended to frantically tear it off, he stops you. One hand out and that sweet but firm tone, commanding, "Do it slowly." 

Your face feels hot, and you do as instructed, slowing your movements right down, pulling the shirt up, exposing your stomach and then your bra. Higher and higher until you have taken it off, tossing it in the direction of your bag and apron. Next you have your thumbs hooked in the waist of your pants, arching your hips you start to slide them down, you watch him, try to gauge his reaction, but it’s hard in the low lighting. He gives a nod to show he’s pleased so far, encouraging you verbally too, “Go on.” 

Shoes removed, pants follow, soon you are in just your underwear, and he speaks, a small gesture of your body, up and down, “S’ a good start but keep going.” 

You reach behind yourself, start to unhook your bra, and he is still talking, “Dying to see the rest.” 

You swear you can feel his eyes raking over every exposed inch of your skin. A small thought strikes, you follow it, slipping your arms out of the straps but holding the cups to your chest, an indulgent smile, a rise of your eyebrows, and he clicks his tongue, you play dumb and ask, “What?”

“You’re being a tease.” He states, and you ask in a tone of mock innocence, “Am I?” 

He says more seriously. “Drop it.” 

Unsure if he means your bra or the act, you chose to abandon both. You let the padded fabric slip out of your hands, a spread of your legs, you wonder if he can tell how wet you are from here. He moves too now, you weren’t expecting it, he falls to his knees in the space between your seat and his. Hands come to your hips and the sudden contact makes you jerk with a sharp inhale. His mouth catches yours in another kiss, you return it and moan, his mouth doesn’t stay on yours for long, trails down, jaw and neck, one on your shoulder and lower.

He is confident, he’s taking what he wants and you more than let him, you enjoy every rough scrape of his well worked hands, pass of his lips and nip of his teeth. His warm breath fanning over your chest is welcome, one hand has moved again, over your hip and now on your inner thigh, his thumb is close enough, and he runs it up you, swipes up your clothed slit. You sigh, eyes falling closed, relishing the contact, you are sure now he can feel how wet you are. He runs it back down and then up again, a press just right, and you moan between the friction on your clit and his mouth now on your chest. 

He found it so easily and judging by the smile you can feel against the curve of your breast, he is just as pleased. Rusty abandons the current pleasant task, fingers hooking in your underwear, “I got a feelin’ it’d be a fight to get these off you too, an’ I just can’t wait.” 

You couldn’t either, not anymore. 

Assisting with a move of your ass up, he gets them off, and now you are naked in his semi-truck. You want to jump him, but he is holding you down by your thighs, taking in the view of you unobstructed, totally bare. “Fucking gorgeous.”

A hand reaches out, catches his jacket, and you tug as you tell him, “I feel really exposed right now, you wanna lose some of these?”

“S’ only fair.” He agrees, he removes his jacket and asks, “Wanna give me a little show while I fix myself?” 

It is a request, but you take it like it’s an order. Hand between your spread legs, fingers trace up, catching ample wetness and spreading it up, circling sensitive tissue, making your thighs tense and a small moan fall from your lips. “There you go.”

The praise helps, you increase the pressure, and he hums in approval. Shirt is gone, belt is opened more and more revealed until he is in a similar state of undress. The view of him stripping all for you is insanely helpful. Pleasure is filling you easily and once he is ready he asks, “You mind if I-?”

“However you want me, please.” It leaves you needy and breathless. He steps in, he moves your hands away from yourself, and starts to adjust you to his liking. You like it, you think he can be rougher honestly, you are put on your knees, facing the passenger window, a hand on your back, adjusting you more, hips tilted up, and you feel him against you. The bump of his shaft between your thighs and over your clit is already very good. “Ready, yeah?”

A shaky nod, “Please Rusty-”

The one word and his name is all you are able to get out before he is lining up just right, you hold your breath in anticipation, he spits into his own hand, strokes himself, the extra lube as courtesy is appreciated. He slides in, and you let out a gasp, he doesn’t do it easily, taking you in one firm stroke, hand on your hips as his come to rest against your ass. He revels in you, the tight, soaked heat of you, his head tips back slightly as he soaks it before he starts to move. Pulling out halfway before driving forward, your hands scrabble for the window’s edge, you hold onto it like a lifeline as you gear up for what is already promising to be the ride of a lifetime. 

His thrusting is firm, just like him, steady and sure, a good and even pace. It leaves breathless, not caring about being overheard, not like anyone could in the empty parking lot. A heavy breath from him, “Fucks sake, you’re soaked.” 

You were moaning, incoherent pleas, along with his name, you were more than warmed up, each drag of his thick shaft in and out increasing the feeling. Fingers dig into the meat of your hips, he pulls you back as he drives forward, and you move too, rocking backwards to meet him. “Tight as Hell, can barely fit myself in here.” 

“Keep talking, never, ever stop talking.” Is the one thought in your brain as you moan dumbly. You aren’t thinking much, unable, but you are feeling. Rusty was so kind to you, was totally turning your birthday around, making you feel incredible, spoiling you, and you want to do the same. His hands are roaming and that won’t do, you need to stop him before you are fucked into total submission and wrecked. Another minute, just another minute, you tell yourself, eyes are half open and brain hazy. The glass is so fogged up you can’t see out of it, could write your name but if he asked you doubted your hands would be steady enough. Could you even spell your name right now with what he was doing to you? 

Finally, you reach back, hands on his hips, “Ru-Rusty, please, stop-”

“Something the matter?” He asked, holding deep, all the way to the hilt inside you. His hands smooth up your sides, fingers trace the curves of your chest before coming back down again, and you shiver, clenching on his shaft. 

“Gotta, fuck, do something. Pull out?” He listens, he does so, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”  

The pet names, fucking Christ the pet names, you are forcing yourself to move. It happens quickly. You turn, and then you push him, so his back is against the seat of the driver's side. He takes the hint, sits up on the seat sideways, and then you are the one on your knees. Between his spread thighs, you lean down, a hand locks around the base of his shaft and you lick. He lets out a surprised groan, soft and sounding too good. You start to blow him in earnest, careful of your gag reflex as you work. Your hand slips up and down his slick shaft as you suck on the head, his hand comes down to your head, fingers twist in your hair, “Like tasting yourself?” 

A nod as you moan against him, tongue swirls around the tip, and he watches enraptured, his hips buck slightly, and you gag almost immediately. He inhales through his teeth, “Sorry there.”

You brush him off, a gesture that it is fine, as you redouble your efforts. He seems to be enjoying it immensely, he is encouraging you further but soon asks, “Can you handle some more?”

For him, you want to try. You nod, and he guides you, does it slowly and easily, “Breathe through it-”

You do and the pace, his voice, it somehow works, and you’re able to take him deeper, “Pretty birthday girl. Takin’ it so well.” 

All you wanted to do was please him, you continue the work for only a minute more, however because then he tells you, “I want you back up here.”

You jump at the chance. Same as before, you climb up him and straddle him, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see where this is going. “You didn’t have to do that.” He comments, and you have your hands on his biceps, currently sucking a hickey into his neck and teasing your dripping hole with the tip of his dick, “I know. I wanted to.”  

“Could tell you were into it. You always wanna taste yourself like that?” 

“Not always but it is-” You move your hips down, start to slide him inside with a moan, once he is buried inside of you again you finish the thought, “-a favourite.” 

“Dirty girl.” He coos it like a compliment, and it hits you just like one, too. You start to ride, his hands on you help along with upward rocks of his hips. You bite and suck along his throat in between broken moans, the salt of his skin is a tad too addicting, as is the stretch of him inside and the way he brushes all the right spots inside of you at this angle. 

Apparently it still isn’t good enough for him. 

He tugs you closer, presses you so that way your clit is getting friction and ground with every thrust and bounce, your moans increase in volume in pitch along with the sensation. You had no clue this is how your day would shake out, if you did, maybe your shift would have been more bearable. 

His hands are on your back, holding you close, fucking up into you as you are slamming down, and on a particularly good hit you are gasping. For two people fucking for the first time and relative strangers, you’d found a frighteningly good rhythm. Your body is moving on instinct, just chasing what feels good but still, thoughtlessly tinged with doing your best to please him, thankful for the moment that what seems to be getting him off is feeling incredible for you. It isn’t quite enough, though, and he seems to pick up on that. 

“Lean back.” His voice snaps you out of your pleasure induced stupor, and you nod, separating yourself from him, the one point of contact still remaining your ass on his thighs and him stuffed deep inside. He directs you further, his hands help, and you find yourself with one hand on his knee, the other braced on the roof of the truck, feet on the seat on either side of him and with a confident nod you start moving again. 

It’s good, you are able to hit spots inside yourself that are even deeper, using all your leg muscles as well as your hands it becomes more of a full body effort, minute adjustments can be made so too much strain is never on one part of your sweat slick frame. Soon as you are just right in the groove of it, he surprises you, why he wanted the change in position becomes all too clear. His hand is between your bodies and his thumb presses down, swirling over your clit, and it makes your pace falter, “Oh my fucking God-”

“Don’t stop now.” The way he says it makes a shiver run up your spine and again makes you clench down on him. He says it in the dominant tone of voice, but it’s light, that smug fucking half grin on his face, unable to tear his eyes away from your body. You shake your head, choking out, “Wo-won’t stop.” 

“No, course you won’t, you’re so good at listening.” The praise washes over you with another sharp jolt of ecstasy. His hand that wasn’t working your nerves into a frenzy was on your thigh, sliding up, gripping your hip, “This workin’ for you?”

Fuck, was it ever. You nod frantically, focusing on breathing and not stopping riding him, but in short order, your movements were getting increasingly sloppy. It was like he didn’t have to ask, didn’t rush it, just let you work it out and helped carry you along. You were getting dangerously close, the edge creeping up at a blinding pace, everything you’d experienced so far this night was piling up and threatening to make you break apart at the seams. There were no real words, just hurried breathing and pitched moans, head back, nails digging into the fabric of the truck cab’s roof, the sound of skin on skin and his encouragement. 

A soft call of your name, his hips moving up, grinding into you as his hand works and him asking in a mind meltingly hot tone, “I wanna see it, give it to me.”

And something about that, whether it is what he said or how he said it, causes the reaction inside to finally make it happen, like it clicks into place just right, and you go from a weak and barely audible strained whisper of, “I’m almost there!” To holy fucking shit, I’m, “-cumming!” 

Riding as much became not an option, legs almost giving out, but he takes over, grip on your hip is bruising, hip strength impressive, and he drives up into you over and over. Your hand isn’t able to stay on the roof, caught midair, body tense as your climax rockets through your body, you think your hand on his knee might be drawing blood with your nails, but you can’t stop it nor can you care. 

You jerk as it peaks, and he slips out, his fingers don’t stop until you are crying out and pushing him away, still trembling through the aftershocks. Your eyes were closed, you were panting and not even remotely down from his high when you feel the hot splatter on your tits and stomach with your name staining his tongue. Peaking back open, you see him, hand around himself, and he’d cum all over your torso. The pretty pearly white is sliding down, and his own breathing is very laboured. Your hand trails down, still shaky, skating through the mess he left, and then you're bringing those same fingers back up to taste him. 

Your body relaxes against him, you get into a more comfortable position, and after you stop shuddering so much you are telling him, “That was pretty fucking great.”

“Oh, are you all done?” He asked as he looks up at you, hands are resting lazily on your thighs, tracing patterns absentmindedly. “I mean I thought we were but are we not?”

“We don’t gotta be. I’m in no rush.” The thought of that is extremely pleasant. 

“Another drink till you’re ready to go again, old man?” You asked with a smile, and he laughs as he reaches over to where the bottle was left on the floor of his side of the truck. Thankfully it hadn’t been knocked over, “You get that one and only cuz you were so good.” 

“Only one old man joke or one joke overall? Because I was gonna make one hoping that you aren’t passingly along tetanus to me Rusty, but if you’re planning to be a buzzkill-” He shuts you up with a hand on the back of your neck and a kiss that you end up humming into. Yeah, you think this has been a pretty solid birthday. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I started doing sex work while still living with my mom?

Warning for sexual mentions(nothing heavily explicit though)

I (18F) can't get a typical job like working in customer service or physical labor because of a mix of reasons. I'm both physically and mentally disabled, for one. I have chronic pain & chronic fatigue so extensive physical labor or any job that requires being up for a long time is out of the question for me, as it would cause me a lot of pain and put me at risk for collapsing or falling asleep due to exhaustion. I also have heavy social anxiety and sensory issues, and despite being in therapy since I was around 11, this hasn't gone away. I still have problems with stuttering when talking to people I don't know, and feel on the verge of panic the entire time. I also can't handle loud noises well- I carry around a pair of headphones constantly but that does mess with my hearing so I couldn't really use those in a customer service focused environment. I'm a full time student as well, and will be for several more years, as I'm going straight into college out of high school. On top of all that, I can't drive yet, as the process was delayed due to concerns that my health issues would make me a hazard on the road, so I won't have my full license until late this year.

I've tried looking for other job types before, but nothing I've been able to find works. I've tried doing art, but it's not easy to get people to actually commission you- I've only gotten 1 so far and I've had commissions open for almost half a year. I've tried content creation but have yet to build a platform big enough to make money from it. I've looked for online focused jobs such as creating captions or proof-reading others work but realized very quickly I'm not equipped/qualified for that job due to my problems with processing audio correctly, and my problems reading and writing correctly first try- I often have to re-read things many times over and re-type things at least once to get it at all correct, as words and letters get mixed up in my brain sometimes or I just accidentally skip over entire words or even sentences. And even then I sometimes still get it wrong. So I'm a pretty slow worker with things like reading, and something that requires listening to something and then writing what was said took so long it wouldn't meet the time requirements a lot of places are looking for in workers for that (that I've seen).

So the only idea I have left for making money so I at least have something to help pay for college and to go towards me being able to move out someday is some sort of sex work. I'm not planning on doing anything super risky, like meeting up with real people or anything that would show my face. So I wouldn't be worried about this bothering my mom since she's not really sex negative or strictly against sex workers or anything if it wasn't for one thing. I'm not sure if this will work either. I have a lot of acne problems all over, and problems with picking at my skin that leave scratch marks in a lot of places. And I'm not sure anyone would be willing to pay to look at that. It's not something that bothers me on an individual level, it's just a part of me, but that doesn't really change what other people do or don't find attractive. So it just kind of feels disrespectful to be selling that kind of thing in my mothers house if it's not even going to be significant enough for it to matter financially. And, of course, there's always the risk my mom could see it, and I worry it would upset her to see her daughter selling that kind of thing. But I don't see other options left for how I could make enough money to not end up drowning in student loans down the line, or end up living with my mom for many years into adulthood- which wouldn't be fair to her since she's not financially well off either. I don't plan for it to be a permanent job, just something to help me through my college years till I can start working in the field for what I'm getting a degree in or until my issues get well enough I can work a more typical job.

WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

[llamagoddessofficial]

A commission with Nightmare, Cross and a wonderful OC, for the lovely @sansarae (who for some reason Tumblr won't let me properly @ >:/)

I hope the wait wasn't too annoying- thank you for your patience, I really appreciate it!

---

“Oh. Hello again.” You smiled at the monster before you, with a touch more genuineness than your usual go-to customer service grin. “What can I get for you?”

... The skeleton looked up. His eyelights were a sharp, startling red, bloody and intense in a manner that didn’t seem to fit his otherwise pleasantly monochromatic clothing at all. At your comment, his sockets slightly narrowed.

“You... remember me?” he said, slowly.

Your smile immediately twitched with nervousness. What? You couldn’t pick up on his tone. He was staring at you with an unreadable, near-blank expression. Did you say something wrong? What had you done?

“Of... of course I do,” you replied, voice nearly quivering as your usual awkwardness took over. Why did that give him pause? Did you offend him?

...

You couldn’t make sense of his face. He was just staring at you, like that; did he really look accusatory, or were you just seeing things because you were scared? Your lip wobbled- idiot. This is what you get for attempting anything more than you were comfortable with, anything more than customer service politeness. This exact scenario was why you found people so exhausting... why you were so introverted. 

“I mean,” you rushed for proverbial cover. “I work at a cafe. It’s my job to remember people, y’know?”

His face didn’t shift. His voice was monotone.

“... I see.”

...

... Well. That was that, then. You felt sick. 

“Erm... so what can I get for you?”

Why was he surprised, anyway? How could you not remember him? He had stumbled into the building, a few days ago, a little before closing. It had just been you left in the cafe. He had looked a mess, as if he’d just escaped a natural disaster- dressed in torn clothing, he approached the counter with faraway empty eyelights and the expression of a man who had seen far too much to care anymore. With a calm voice, he asked for ‘anything that would make him feel awake’.

You’d been too stunned (and intimidated) to try conversation. You had served him a large black coffee, which he’d taken, leaving behind a generous tip. He had seated himself in the far corner of the cafe with his back to a wall... and he drank the whole thing in silence, staring nowhere but at the table.

... Then he left without a word.

You’d had a lot of strange customers come through, in your time behind the counter. That was just part of running a business. You still vaguely remembered the best of them... the woman who had insisted you redo her coffee because the one you’d given her was ‘looking at her’, the man who had been otherwise friendly but always smelled so strongly of cinnamon it almost made you feel sick, the guy who yelled at you for making his strawberry milkshake too pink. 

But him? The skeleton? You didn’t know why, but out of everyone, it was him who stuck the most firmly in your mind.

... Eventually, he spoke. You didn’t know if he genuinely looked upset or if you were just so embarrassed by his reaction that you were seeing unpleasantness and irritation in his every move.

“... I’ll get a chamomile tea. Please.”

At least he was polite. Tea- nothing at all like his last order. “Sure. Your name?”

... He hadn’t given it last time. Understandably, considering he had been the only person in the entire cafe. But you had other customers this time and ‘skeleton’ probably wouldn’t go down well when you called it out.

He looked at you.

...

“... Cross.” He said, softly. 

You smiled at him. “Thank you, Cross. Cash or card?”

Saying his name seemed to have a weird effect on him. A strange look passed over his face, shaking his silent suspicious air for a second.

... He finally blinked. 

“... Cash.”

“Gold or dollars?”

“G.”

The register beeped. 

“That’s 12G, please.”

... He handed you the money.

...

His mouth opened, then closed again. You waited politely. But... he said nothing. He just quietly took his tea, and made his way to the same far table he’d sat at earlier.

Though he sat in silence, it didn't escape your notice that every now and then, you'd catch him looking your way.

... You opted to just keep yourself busy with your work. Though you had to admit- for some reason, when the thought of 'What an odd guy' passed through your mind...

... It wasn't entirely negative.

///---///

'Cross' came nearly every day.

You were surprised how much of your thoughts revolved around this stranger. He occupied your mind, as you set our equipment, wiping cups and plates... I wonder how he’s doing.

He was very punctual. You liked that. He rarely arrived outside of certain hourly windows, and there was always a pattern to his arrivals. On a good day, he would come in the early morning- depending on the crowds he may even be one of the very first people into the cafe. He'd seem aware, and like he wanted to say something to you... he'd order a tea, and through your shift you'd constantly be glancing up and catching him (sheepishly?) looking at you.

... On a bad day, though... he’d come late. Like the first time you saw him. His eyelights would be distant, his tone brittle, words clipped, someone checked out of their own body. He would just stare at his table like something was playing out in front of his view. Those were the days when he would order a large coffee. 

... Today looked like it was shaping out to be one of his ‘bad’ days. It was almost four when he came into the cafe, the last of your usual patrons already shuffling out the door.

Quickly, you started up the coffee machine, and made him his coffee. He had only been standing at the counter for a few moments, when you turned around and placed the drink in front of him.

...

He blinked. His eyelights fractionally widened, growing a little brighter.

“... You knew my order?”

Despite his softer tone, not wanting a repeat of last time, with his strange reaction to you recalling his name... you just nodded.

Another pause, as he just stared at the coffee.

“Nobody else remembers anything about me.”

... Huh. That was a pretty heavy sentence. You tried to keep your tone light, in comparison.

“... Well,” you tapped the coffee lid, “it definitely helps that you only order the same two things. Right?”

...

... His gaze flickered up to you. 

... He finally actually smiled at you. His shoulders gently bobbed, like he was briefly restraining a chuckle- the smile looked nice on him, it was handsome and suited his features. And though it quickly fell away to his usual not-quite-a-frown, you were startled by how different he had looked for that brief moment... how pleasant, how warm. Like there was a happier person lurking just beneath the surface.

“Heh... yeah. I guess so.” 

His phalanges tapped on the top of the coffee. Over top of where yours had been, moments ago.

Your customer service voice was slowly slipping away. His proximity was... nice. “Do you need anything else?”

"I like your braids."

"... Thank you." One of your hands immediately came up to fiddle with the hair. Was the warmth in your cheeks showing on your face? You really hoped not. "It's easier to work when it's out of the way."

"I wouldn't know."

...

Both of you broke into quiet laughter. Yours, a warm giggle, his a low rusty chuckle.

“... What’s your name?” He asked.

You usually hated when customers asked for your name, pushing the boundary of customer and server. But... not this time, not at all. You couldn't have been happier. “Rin.”

“... Do you mind if I just... sit here?” He motioned to the seat nearest to the counter.

You nearly beamed. 

“Sure. Go ahead.”

... You thought you saw something flicker across his cheekbones. Some kind of colour. But it was gone again, as soon as it appeared; perhaps just a trick of the light. Or your eyes finally showing the strain of so many hours of work. Either way, he took his coffee, and settled into the chair at the table right beside the counter.

... It was silent again, in the cafe. But it was a much different silence. You, wiping down the machines and packing away for the day... Cross, taking his time with his drink.

It really felt, to you, like he just needed to sit near to someone.

... You could live with that person being you.

///---///

Cross was good at keeping his cool. After what he’d been through, what he’d done... his nerves of steel had been forged under unimaginable pressure. He didn’t like that it had become genuinely hard for anything to shake him anymore; it was endless proof of his sins, living in his chest and smothering the person he had once been.

That was why, when Nightmare’s terrifying eye turned to him and pinned him under all of its icy power and rage, cold blue flickering against the castle’s glassy obsidian walls... he didn’t flinch.

“you.” Nightmare’s voice, despite having a light intonation, was not happy. “a word.”

... Cross didn’t react to Killer’s cruel snickering. He didn’t even look the other skeletons’ way- he knew Killer would be grinning like a cat, Axe would be cleaning his weapon with his characteristic disinterest, and Dust would be silently enjoying the beginnings of what may eventually become a slow, painful downfall for Cross.  

These people were not his friends. They were deeply unpleasant coworkers, at best.

... Cross followed Nightmare, as his ‘employer’ moved into a separate room. The door closed behind them, cutting off Killer’s laughter. 

Blue candlelight warped and flashed in the dark.

...

A tentacle lashed out, faster than Cross could react, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him into the wall. He let out a startled gasp as the appendage held him there, tightly, the pressure increasing until it felt like his spine was inches away from fracturing.

Nightmare’s glare pierced straight into Cross’ Soul. 

“you think i’m an idiot?”

Cross couldn’t reply, the pressure on his spine too great. But he reckoned Nightmare wasn’t looking for a response.  

“you’re getting soft. you’re hesitating.” Nightmare’s head cocked. “did you think i wouldn’t notice?” 

Nightmare’s grip fractionally increased, and he clearly spent a few seconds savouring watching Cross struggle in vain. The twitch in his smile, the bend to his claws, he looked to be taking out as much rage as he could in those short moments. 

But apparently, he wasn’t yet willing to kill- despite clearly desiring to press until the spine shattered, Nightmare instead clenched his jaw and let go. 

Cross nearly collapsed onto his knees. The quick display of Nightmare’s overwhelming power had staggered him. But he still managed to catch himself, at the last moment, and remain standing.

Perhaps it would’ve been better to fall. The silent defiance in that move seemed to aggravate Nightmare even more.

“you aren’t subtle.” Nightmare hissed. “you move through the multiverse with the grace of a dog in wet concrete. i know you like to slink off to other places. what are you doing? crawling away to go build a new family?”

Cross kept his line of sight down. Nightmare had the powers of a God, but he had the temper of a petulant child, and in these kinds of moods the smallest slips from his minions could push him into a fit of violent rage that sent all of them scurrying for cover. 

“No.” Cross responded, as simply as possible, voice strained from the attack to his neck. Now wasn’t the time for flowery words; Nightmare still wasn’t looking for a real reply.

A cruel snicker. “trying to escape? settle down somewhere i can’t find you?”

Your face flickered in Cross’ mind’s eye.

Not right now.

“No.”

“... i like to think you have forgotten i taste lies. because i resent the thought that one of my underlings is so stupid as to know that, but still lie to me.”

Cross steeled himself. “I have nothing to hide.”

“not even that little human woman?”

...

... It took all of his mental control. Every ounce. Another skeleton would’ve cried aloud, perhaps, or frozen as the terror spread through them. Someone they cared about had been noticed by Nightmare... singled out, almost by name.

... You had no idea how much you meant to Cross. No idea that you were often the only thing that could soothe his disturbed Soul when it all felt too much. Your warmth, your kind eyes, how you remembered little details about him... and said his name so gently. 

Hearing someone say his name with kindness had been like, for just a moment, being home again.

You didn't know how protective he was of you. What he’d do to keep you safe. And he couldn’t, at any cost, allow Nightmare to think you were someone to him.

He kept his gaze on the glassy black floor. He kept his emotions still.

... He had stifled truly monumental loss and terror, before. This was nothing new.

"... She's a barista." Cross said.

"so that's it?” an incredulous scoff. “you're hopping multiverses to go drink coffee at the same shitty coffee shop in the middle of nowhere?"

"Yes, sir."

"you could go anywhere for your coffee. you could go to italy. indonesia. brazil. anywhere at all- and you go there?"

"Yes." Because you’re there.

...

... Nightmare seemed to be quietly fuming. Though whether it was because he couldn't pin any particular 'crime' onto Cross, or because his snobbery with coffee was coming through, he had no idea.

They both knew that Cross was too valuable of a pawn to die for no solid reason.

... Eventually, Nightmare's rage eased enough for him to speak again. 

"i don’t care what games you play in your free time, worm.” His voice was significantly lower. “but you know what will happen, if you don’t do your fucking job. hesitate again, and i certainly won't."

“... It won’t happen again.” Cross replied, not yet allowing himself to feel relief.

The cyan eye flashed. “it won’t happen again, what.”

“... It won’t happen again, sir.” 

...

"fine. you may go."

Cross rose to his feet, but kept his eyelights down. He exited the room as swiftly as he could, without appearing desperate to leave.

Don’t feel yet.

Killer was there, of course, waiting just outside the door. Grin as smug and cruel as ever.

"oh, so you're still alive?" The murderer crooned. "for how long, though...?"

Cross gave Killer a witheringly unimpressed look. He had no need to engage in one of his games- he just needed to get as far away from Nightmare as possible, so he could allow himself to process the fears that were itching at the corners of his Soul, threatening to give everything he was hiding away.

He wordlessly walked past Killer. As always, the only thing that seemed to make Killer's constant grin drop was Cross refusing to engage.

///---///

Moving between universes was second nature, by this point in Nightmare’s existence. So much so that he wasn’t at all exaggerating when he said he could see how Cross had moved from one place to the other. The fabric between realities looked disturbed and jagged, in the wake of someone moving clumsily; a rippled pond surface, traces of the offender’s Soul saturating the threads.

It wasn’t difficult to track down where his subordinate had been going. And who he’d been going to.

...

... You turned over, in your bed. There was a soft kind of pain written across your face, something happening within your dream. pathetic. Nightmare tilted his head, as he observed... even if you had been awake, he was indistinguishable from the shadows at the foot of your bed.

Cross' scent was all over you- embarrassing, mushy soft feelings that the 'soldier' clearly couldn't help, they had spilled out of his Soul and stained all over you like a foul hotel blanket under a blacklight. Nightmare almost couldn't stand to be near it.

And yet. Under it all- in your chest, he could see a glittering, jewel-like purple Soul.

Nightmare’s gaze zeroed in. she’s a perseverance mage.

... His smile curled. A little more interesting. Did Cross know? Did you know? There was a significant degree of power, flowing through those veins, magic just waiting to be harnessed. Even Nightmare couldn’t deny it was pretty to observe- he was always partial to royal purple.

... You made a sound, in your sleep. A crease formed between your brows.

...

Well. He was curious, now. And he hadn’t tormented a human in a long time.

He slipped, completely undetected by your Soul and mind, into your dream. Before he began to terrify you it was probably a good idea to observe your thoughts, get a sense of any treachery Cross may have committed... any details his underling may have spilled, that could justify erasing another human pest from the multiverse.

... A myriad of pleasant tastes. Melancholy, loss, a hint of misplaced and directionless anger. Overall, a delicate combination of flavours, but sweet nonetheless.

He could see the dream’s scene, emerging before him. how delightful.

... Dreams were, by no means, easy places to be. Though Nightmare was powerful he was also an interloper and there was a real danger that a strong human Soul like yours could cast him out. The dreams of mages were often like rocking boats on a great ocean- until he took the reins, the residual waves made him feel sick, tossed about. It was important to get his bearings.

The backdrop was a sea of blurry images, nearly-forgotten places melting together in your mind. A park, a bedroom, a dark street. And... there was two of you.

...

... No. He could smell the emotions rolling off of you, as you stared at this mirror image of yourself. The mirror image... she wore different clothes. Frilly and sweet ones. The adult features of her face were exaggerated, imagined- unlike your messily self-braided locks, her hair was sweetly ringlet curled, as if done lovingly by another's skilled hands.

And her eyes, though so similar to yours, were someone else’s eyes.

Melancholy. Regret. Anger. 

... 

Nightmare suddenly... felt his chest tighten.

that's... her sister.

a twin.

... His thoughts were getting quieter and quieter. Static, faintly ringing in his skull... he couldn't taste the emotions anymore.

“... I wonder if you would’ve cared.” You said, quietly, to the blank and silent sister before you. “I guess I’ll never know.”

The reflection didn't smile.

His brother's face flickered in his mind's eye.

...

Nightmare drew in a sharp breath- suddenly staggered, he immediately withdrew from the dream. He moved back from the bed like a live snake was laying within it. 

He gripped his shirt. His chest... it was so heavy. Why did it feel so heavy? He took another step away.

i didn't think anyone could comprehend how i felt.

let alone...

... He didn't like how, when he looked at you, for a moment he didn't immediately see prey.

Just a sleeping person.

...

In an instant, he was back in his room. Back in his castle, where he was safe, and alone.

...

Nightmare let out a slow, dark breath. And though he hadn't yet fully re-centred himself, his grin regardless began to return.

As much as he was aggravated by Cross... he almost had to thank him.

His ‘soldier’ had bought such a fascinating creature to his full attention, after all.

[fuck-customers]

I work for a call center that services water heaters and hoo boy, the stories I could tell you. 

First of all, you'd think it would be common sense that you have to actually be standing next to the appliance that you're asking for help with so that we can get the info we need to get started (No, I cannot help you with a water heater in Florida if you are calling from FRANCE), and they will find new and inventive ways to look everywhere except where you told them the serial number was located.  I've learned that I have to specifically tell them to bring the phone with them to the unit or they will put it down and walk away for several minutes leaving you in awkward silence.  And that's before we even get into the actual problems. 

Attempting to return the unit to the store despite the bold print label on the front of the tank that says "STOP!  DO NOT RETURN THIS UNIT" and lists our phone number and then will claim that the label isn't there when we bring it to their attention.

Not bothering to read the manual and then complaining when we tell them their electric unit needs a different breaker switch. 

We ask for pics of the exhaust venting and it looks like a 90's screensaver (gee I wonder why your carbon monoxide detector is going off). 

Customers who physically cut the tank open to prove that the leak isn't repairable and then complain when we tell them they've voided their warranty. 

I once got a person who called to complain that they didn't like the indicator light on the gas valve flashing to indicate that it was working properly. 

another guy stopped in the middle of installing his unit to turn the water back on and flooded his basement. 

Another one waited TWO YEARS to tell us that the part we sent him didn't fix his problem and then demanded a replacement. 

The ones that just go "yes yes yes yes" when you tell them to turn off the breaker switch and then complain that they got shocked when they open the panel on the front of the tank. 

They actually won't let me troubleshoot anymore, not because I did anything wrong, but because too many customers complained when I pointed out to them how they caused their own problems. 

It's not uncommon to get a caller who just goes "MY NIPPLES (the fittings where the pipes attach) ARE BURNING HOT AND LEAKING ALL OVER THE PLACE!  AND MY AY-NO (mispronunciation of anode) ROD IS MAKING MY WATER SMELL LIKE SHIT!  IT SHOT OUT LIKE A ROCKET AND GOT STUCK IN THE CEILING!"

Bottom line, there should be a mandatory government-subsidized class for new homeowners so that they know how to take care of their homes.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Let's go!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Two days before Christmas. The store is left in tatters. Shelves strewn with sparse lefftovers and aisles hastily paced by those who left their shopping a bit too late. The frantic shoppers searching for a diamond among the sand grains of untouched product.

You work at arranging the remnants of the season’s beauty advent calendars on a table draped in a bright red cloth. There’s a large tag in a metal stand that marks them as ten percent off. On the other side of the holidays, they will drop to a full eighty percent off. You always believed giftcards were a better prize, not that you got many gifts.

That year, Luanne gave you a new journal and a specialty hot chocolate bomb in the department’s secret santa. You go Michelle and gifted her a copy of your favourite novel and some nail polishes. That is the extent of your shopping and gift exchanges. Except for your puppy, Ernie, who will get a bone and one of those special gourmet dog meals.

You finish your arrangement and step back, admiring your work. It’s close to close and so close to the end of the race that the shop isn’t as busy as usual. The only customers you do see are in a rush and horribly disappointed when that very specific thing isn’t in stock.

“Excuse me,” you’re drawn around the deep voice. A man strolls up the center aisle of the beauty section, the tails of his coat flicking behind him, “hi,” he uses your name as he approaches, “I’m so sorry to bother you again but can you point me to, erm,” he looks down at his phone, “a ring light?”

You hesitate. He seems to know you and you admit, he looks familiar. You’re at that point where the faces all blur together. Your one innate flaw is that you really don’t have a good memory for that, bt you definitely recognise his voice.

“Hello, sir,” you fall short of his name. You want to say Alan but you also don’t want to be wrong. “The ring lights are actually with the cellphone.” You gesture back at electronics, “I know it makes more sense to put them with cameras.”

“Ah, oh, thanks,” he nods but doesn’t move to find his quarry, he lowers his phone, “how’s your holiday going? Thing’s slowing down,” he looks around and you can’t help but do the same.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, most people are all done,” you shrug.

“Ha, wish I could say the same,” he sighs, “I thought we were done but the wife just sent me on a wild goose chase.”

“Hm, oh, well, I’m not very busy, did you need help finding anything else?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my manager’s done for the day so doesn’t really matter if I leave my zone,” you say, “kinda boring around here.”

“You’re too sweet,” he smiles, his blue eyes deep and swirling, “and that sweater is adorable.”

You look down at your dark blue sweater with the white crochet peter pan collar. You wiggle your shoulders and grin back at him, thanking him. You know he bought some perfume for his wife but you’re still blanking on his name.

“Here’s my list,” he tilts his phone towards you and looks down, shifting closer to you as he shows you a text bubble.

“Oh my, right. I’m not sure we’ll have everything,” you teethe your lip as you go through the items, “but we’ll see.”

A message pops up over the top and you try not to read, putting your head up as you try to act like you didn’t see it. It’s not that you meant to decipher the words but your brain quickly skimmed that ‘tomorrow night?’ Not much but just feels a bit personal.

“Alright, we’ll go to electronics first, then work our way forward,” you suggest.

“Good idea,” he agrees.

You set off and he follows at just a step. You have to remember to slow down as often you’re so determined you find yourself leaving your customers far behind you. You bring him to the mobile accessories and point to the ring lights.

He considers them and rubs his chin. He points between two; “what’s the difference?”

“Oh, this one comes with a tripod extension and this one is a full kit with a mic,” you point from one to the other.

“What do you think is better for, uh, streaming?” He sounds unsure of that last word.

“I think that kit would have more to it, especially if whoever it’s for is just starting out. But I’m don’t know too much about these things.”

“I’ll take the kit,” he scoops it off the shelf, “the kid can never have enough.”

“Oh? You have kids?”

“One,” he sounds less than excited, “teenager now so he really can’t stand me.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no, it’s not your fault,” he forces away the shadow across his features, “you know how they can be. What about you? You going to see your parents? Spending the day with someone special?”

“Um, just Ernie,” you answer, “my puppy.”

“Cute,” he remarks, “are you guys open tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, yeah, ‘til five,” you try to remember the next thing on his list. 

He seems less concerned with the items than before, instead turn to examine a pop socket, “you have to work on Christmas Eve?”

“Yeah, closing, but I don’t mind.”

“What’s this?” He holds up a pop socket.

“It goes on your phone,” you pull out your phone and show him your daisy one, “see?” You hook your fingers around it, “it’s a grip to help you hold on.”

“Ah, makes sense,” he turns the thin package over, “kid’s always breaking his screen…”

You wait patiently as he makes up the mind to add the grip to his haul.

“What’s next?” You prompt as gently as you can.

“Oh, uh,” he looks at his phone, “video games…” he squints, “V-bucks?”

“Ah, yes, that would be a gift card,” you say, “I can show you the rack.”

He lets you lead him to the large rack of subscription cards. You point out the various currency amounts available and he rubs his brow. His forehead lines as you see the stress needling in his cheek. He’s struck with the late shopper syndrome. He’s start to feel the crush of time.

“So, just your dog?” He wonders as he picks up a $75 card.

“Yeah,” you answer softly.

“No boyfriend? Siblings?”

“Just me,” you assure him, “I don’t mind. I get to choose the dessert!”

He chuckles, “that’s a good way to look at it. Did you buy yourself something special?”

“Not really, I’ve been saving for a vacation so I put most of my overtime into that,” you explain. “You having a big dinner?”

“Last minute change, wife’s parents want to host. Had to figure out travel plans.” He looks at the giftcards again and your eyes fall to the large back curled up in his arm and the card and phone grip balanced between his fingers. He slides free a Netflix card and reads the fine print.

“Do you want a basket, sir?” You offer.

“Oh, well, sure,” he accepts as he looks down, “that’s very considerate.”

“Don’t want you to drop anything,” you smile and turn on your heel.

You go to the stack of rolling baskets beside the electronics desk. Tyler doesn’t acknowledge you as he sorts through game shells to put back on the shelf. You pull the basket behind you, rattling on its wheels as you approach the shopper by the gift cards.

“Here,” you veer it around towards him.

He bends to lower the ringlight inside and drops the smaller items into next to it; he adds the Netflix subscription along with it and holds onto the Kindle card in his hand.

“You got any of these around?” He holds up the card, “the reader?”

“Hmm, we should,” you rub your neck, “I suppose if we didn’t, you can get a tablet and download the app.”

“I guess,” he nods, “can you check?”

“Of course, sir.”

You turn away and call over your headset. Regan tells you there’s a kindle up in return they can sell. You ask them to put it aside.

“There’s one left at checkout. They’re going to have it waiting for you,” you announce proudly.

“That’s great. You like to read?” He asks.

“Oh, sure, my one vice is my book addiction,” you giggle, “how about you?”

“Well, I don’t get much of a chance with work. I’m usually burnt out from all the legal documents,” he drones grimly, “then the kid has extracurriculars or there’s a PTA meeting or the wife needs something done.”

“Sounds busy,” you say empathetically, “I hope you get some time to relax this holiday.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “I almost envy you. I’m sure your dog’s good company.”

“He’s so sweet,” you can’t help but beam at the mention of your boy.

“Big cuddler?” He asks.

“Uh, yeah,” the question is a bit unexpected, “you like dogs?”

“Never really had one. Don’t need the extra work,” he says, “but I don’t mind them.”

“That’s fair. He can be a bit needy.”

He flinches and looks down at his hand. His screen flashes and he gives an apologetic look as he raises his palm, “I’m so sorry. I need to take this.”

“Take your time, sir, I’ll wander,” you point over your shoulder with your thumb.

He mouths a thanks before he answers, “Barber.”

You back up and turn to distract yourself with the shelf of controllers and switch cases. His deep voice carries but you focus on the Sinatra carol playing overhead to drown him out. Still you can’t help but catch a few words.

“Five, yeah…no, she won’t…it’s fine…” He’s quiet for a moment before he raises his voice, “figure it out.”

His stern tone sends a chill through you. It’s a sharp contrast to his previously friendly demeanour. Well, he mentioned he’s a lawyer, you assume he has a lawyer voice, akin to your customer service one.

“Sorry,” he comes back to you, “my wife…” he takes a breath, “you don’t happen to sell wine here?”

You smile. The way he answered, it didn’t sound very affectionate but maybe he hadn’t expected his wife.

“No, sorry, sir.”

“Kidding,” he chuckles, “well, I guess I should get my butt in gear,” he flicks through his phone, “um, I assume toiletries? Face masks?”

“Oh, that’s near me,” you point back towards beauty, “there’s a special for the sheet masks.”

“Great,” he grabs the extended handle of the basket, “thanks so much for this. I’m so lost.”

“That’s fine,” you go ahead of him, “it’s the job.”

🎀

You groan as you put the last empty bin in the stack. You stand and rub your shoulders, traps sore from all the lifting and moving. The night crew will set up for the day after Christmas but in the last hour of work, you and the few others in the store scrambled to get the old displays torn down.

Luanne walks with you to the employee break room. She’s in more of a hurry as she has her three children waiting for her at their grandparents. She goes ahead of you and punches out as you wait and stretch out your arms.

“Have a good Christmas,” she says breathily as she opens her locker and pulls out her purse and jacket, folding the latter over her arm, “I’ll see you after. You’re opening, right?”

“Sure thing,” you say as you punch in your employee number. “Merry Christmas.”

“Give Ernie some pets for me,” she trills as she goes to the door. “Thanks again. You saved my ass today.”

“No problem, “ you shake your head, “Christmas Eve brings out the best.”

“Does it ever. Bye, sweetie,” she waves over her shoulder as he sweeps through the door.

You go to your locket and take out your fluffy pink sherpa coat and purse. You loop your scarf around your neck and slip your earmuffs around your head. You sit to pull on your boots and stand with an ache in your calves. You feel the fatigue finally setting in. It’s not over yet; one day off and you’re right back to the furor.

You yawn as you leave the breakroom and drag your feet across the store. You take out your phone as you pop your earbuds in and choose your holiday mix. You wave goodbye to a few other stragglers and go out the front door, Spencer locking it behind you.

It’s bitterly cold out. You’re surprised by the fresh fall of snow swirling in the air. It gives an extra sparkle to the time of year.

You scroll through your phone. The buses are on holiday hours already. The next one is in an hour. Great. You can just walk, at least until you get to the next stop. More buses stop there and you can get at least ten minutes within your building.

You trod along, kicking through the powder of snow as headlights gleam ahead of you. You walk along the narrow walk beside the hotel on the other side of the intersection and a pair of flashing tail lights blink ahead of you. A dark figure stands beside the white SUV but you can’t make out much more than their silhouette.

You keep going, peeking up curiously as you near. The boot of the car pops up and the stranded driver searches. As you pass, you trip over an unseen shape, the metal clank painfully against your toe. You look down at the small foot jack.

“Oh, shoot, sorry,” the man stands straight and turns to you, “I didn’t see you coming. I was just grabbing the iron–”

“That’s okay,” you pick out your earbuds, “I wasn’t looking.”

“Wait,” he stops short and points a gloved finger in your direction, “it’s you. You work at the store just down the way, right?”

You know the man. He’s the one who was in the store just yesterday. There’s a flutter in your chest at the coincidence of your encounter. It happens, especially in the shopping district. Half the city at least passes through her during the holidays.

“Yeah, uh, that’s me. You finish your shopping?”

“Just about,” he tuts and shakes his head, “blew a tire. So, happy holidays to me.”

“I’m so sorry,” you look down at the snowy walk.

“Mhmm,” he grumbles, “all this snow, I can’t get the jack to work either.”

“Dang, unfortunately, I’m not help. I don’t know much about cars.”

“That’s fine, I called roadside assistance but they’re taking their damn time,” he checks his watch.

“Oh…” you utter.

“Don’t let me rain on your holiday, honey,” he says, “your toe okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you look down.

“Wait, are you walking home?” He asks.

You nod.

“Wish I could offer you a ride. This weather’s only getting worse,” he bemoans. He slips his hand into his jacket and pulls out his phone, “they should be here shortly so if–”

A set of headlights pull onto the apron and roll towards you. You look over as the man beside you does the same. You stand, somewhat dumbfounded at the unexpected run-in. 

“That’s them,” he declares, “hey, guys.”

He waves as the white van pulls up. You were expecting a tow truck. Oh, well. Not your problem.

“Great, I guess I should get going,” you excuse yourself, “have a happy holi–”

As you step back, your heel catches on something. You don’t realise until your plummeting onto your ass that the man stuck his leg out behind you. You hit the ground with an oomph, barely missing the metal jack half-buried in the snow.

You hear the van door sliding open and a clatter of heavy treads. You can barely catch your breath as the world moves fast around you. The man bends over you as another rushes over, grabbing you off the ground as the two vehicles block out the street from view.

“Be nice,” the first man warns as your arms are seized. “Don’t hurt her.”

You suck in a deep breath. What is happening? You go to let out the shriek as you’re struck by the situation. This can’t be real but you’re being half-carried towards an open vehicle. A hand comes up and stifles your scream, smothering you as you’re yanked harshly forward.

“Careful,” the man girds again.

“Shut the fuck up,” the other grits and pulls you away from the other, spinning you around as he hooks an arm around your neck and covers your mouth, forcing you towards the van. He bends backwards, lifting your feet as you kick and squirm.

“Honey, calm down,” the friendly customer coaxes, “it’s okay.”

You don’t understand. Why are they doing this? Why you?

The man’s hand slips as you grab at his arms and your teeth come over the vee between thumb and index. You bite down and he yowls. Even through his leather glove, you give him a viscous pinch.

“Fuck!” He tosses you forward so your knees hit the side of the van and fall half-inside.

“Hurry the fuck up,” another voice calls from inside the van.

“Trying,” the second man snarls as you stand and let out a shrill note, only for a second before you’re caught from behind and muted again. This time the leather glove seals over your nose. “Fucking bitch.” 

You’re lifted into the van, writhing and kicking as the door slides shut from the outside. You’re pinned on the floor in the seatless rear of the vehicle. You whimper as your eyes glisten with a sudden spring of tears. 

That question rings in your head again; why you? You have no one to look for you, no one to care. It’s only you against them.