#the amount of money I would pay to smoke with him once

[paulic]

Paul having a smoke very recently

[steddiealltheway]

It’s a cold Wednesday night in January that has Eddie turning the thermostat up and allowing the government supplied heat to fill the trailer. He glances up at the vents and gives them a quick middle finger, wondering if they bugged the place to observe him or make sure he isn’t spreading their secrets.

He doesn’t really care at this point if they’re watching though. They already held him at the hospital for long enough, poking and prodding as if he wasn’t even human. But he didn’t turn into a vampire or some shit because of those damn bats. No. The jagged, ugly scars littering his body served as a lovely reminder that he was ultimately human.

Eddie glances at a nearby mirror and cringes at his face, taking a look at the long scar running down his cheek, jaw, and neck. The Corroded Coffin guys all said it made him look metal, and he would throw in a, “Hell yeah,” before smoothly changing the subject to something that didn’t involve him for once.

He takes a finger and slowly trails it over the pale pink skin, wondering if there will ever be a day he won’t notice it.

“Eddie,” Steve calls out gently from the room down the hall.

Eddie jumps back and glances toward him, hand falling to his side and flexing uncomfortably as if he’s been caught doing something wrong.

“You okay?”

Eddie smiles and gestures toward the thermostat. “Damn thing wasn’t working for a minute there. You’d think with the amount of hush hush money they were able to pay all of us, they’d be able to give me and Wayne a better trailer.”

But Steve only crosses his arms and leans against the door frame, eyebrows raising gently. It’s not entirely accusatory, but it’s clear that he doesn’t believe a thing Eddie’s saying.

Although they’ve grown close while going through the same treatment and tests in Owen’s new secret facility, it still surprises Eddie how easily Steve can read people. More specifically, how easily he can read him of all people. “Just got lost in thought,” Eddie confesses while making his way back to his room as he sees Steve squint at the lights in the living area.

Steve steps out of the way as Eddie brushes by him and closes the door. He hope it’s enough honesty to end the conversation.

“What were you thinking about?” Steve asks, ignoring the signals Eddie is giving him.

Eddie sighs and runs a hand over his face and climbs back into his bed, quick to pull up the blanket around himself in an attempt to get some much needed warmth while simultaneously covering his scars from Steve. “Stuff.”

Steve rests his hands on his hips for a second and stares, mouth opening and closing for a moment before deciding against whatever he was going to say. Instead, he climbs into the bed with Eddie and joins him under the blanket, keeping enough distance so they’re not touching, but they can still feel each other’s body heat.

Eddie glances over at him, noticing the way the one lamp turned on in the room gives him a nice golden halo. He looks gorgeous and untouchable - exactly how Eddie used to think of him through high school and sometimes even now. The perfect golden boy. But despite the name Eddie gave to him years ago, he can’t ignore the flaws that Steve possesses, yet they somehow make him even more perfect to him. Or maybe just human.

Eddie shakes his head and glances away. He wishes Steve came over to smoke so Eddie could blame the drugs on the way his thoughts race when he’s next to him. Instead, he has to face up to his enormous crush on the perfect golden boy.

“Have any plans for Valentine’s Day?” Steve asks out of the blue.

Eddie snorts and glances at him, only to laugh harder when he sees the adorable look of confusion on his face.

Steve’s brows furrow but the edges of his lips quirk up. “What?”

Eddie pulls a strand of hair in front of his face to try to hide his wife smile. “Kind of random, don’t you think?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I never said I was great at starting conversations. But I was just thinking about what holiday is next.”

“The worst one,” Eddie complains.

Steve turns toward him. “And why’s that?”

Eddie sighs and let’s himself go on a tangent. “It’s the one day of the year where people feel like they have to do all this shit for their partner, and the rest of the year, they think they can just get by doing the bare minimum. And people are left realizing what it would be like if their ‘other half’ actually put in an effort day to day. And then for all the single people, it’s a day where love is shoved in their face, and they have to feel bad and sometimes disgusted by all the public displays of affection going on around them and… I just hate it all. The stupid chocolates in the red heart boxes and the teddy bears and big heart shaped balloons and roses…”

“I didn’t realize you had such strong opinions about Valentine’s Day,” Steve says with a laugh.

“Well, now you do.”

They both sit in the silence for a few moments, Eddie thinking about all the other things he didn’t even touch on about Valentine’s Day that he hates, while Steve is probably taking in everything he just said.

Steve bumps his shoulder and asks, “So, I’m assuming that means you have no plans.”

Eddie laughs. “That’s what you got out of that?”

Steve shrugs and looks away with a smile.

Eddie glances at his clock and notices it’s technically Thursday now, and in these early hours, Steve will usually either silently fall asleep or he’ll lay awake in the silence until one of his thoughts has to make itself known.

Either way, Eddie knows he’ll be up for a few more hours, but he’s never regret the sleep he’s lost since they’ve made this silent arrangement.

The bed shifts, and Eddie follows Steve’s lead, laying down fully and staring at the ceiling, trying his best not to reach out for the hand laying beside his. He wonders if he should add something to the ceiling like some type of mural with stars and whatnot.

He tilts his head to the side, envisioning how it would look in the lamplight since he and Steve refuse to sleep in the dark. Or maybe it’s just Steve and Eddie’s picked up on the habit of leaving the lamp on.

“Do you think you’ll make plans?” Steve asks quietly.

Eddie turns to look at him, at a lost for a moment before realizing he’s still on the Valentine’s Day subject. He smiles sadly, “No.” Steve glances over at him and holds his gaze, expecting more. Eddie sighs and gestures at himself. “I mean, I’m not exactly what people want to bring home to their parents at the moment plus with the,” he gestures to his face and drops his hand quickly, averting his gaze back to the ceiling.

He hopes Steve will let it go and not connect the dots back to earlier.

A silence settles between them, but Steve’s gaze burns into the side of Eddie’s face. Then, he finally asks, “Is that what distracted you earlier?” When Eddie doesn’t answer he continues, “I saw you looking in the mirror, and I know you usually go out of your way to avoid them.”

Eddie wants to question how Steve noticed, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up about something that was just passively rather than intentionally observed. “Yeah,” Eddie states simply.

The bed shifts as Steve turns on his side to fully face him. “And you really think you can’t get a date because of them?”

Eddie sighs and rubs both of his hands over his face. “Steve, who is ever going to love me like this?” He turns and continues, “Privately, yes, someone could maybe get past the scars. But in public? You really think someone is going to be proud to say, ‘Here’s my boyfriend,’ and show off me?”

“Yes,” Steve says instantly as if he has no doubt in the world.

Eddie turns away, trying not to get choked up about it. Because how can he explain to him that while it’s nice that Steve has that confidence in him, Eddie wants Steve to be the one to be proud of him. To want him like that.

“Do you think my scars make me unlovable?” Steve asks.

“No! Jesus, Steve,” Eddie rushes to say and turns to him. He reached out and lays a hand over his side, feeling the way the skin puckers under the thin t-shirt. “These are metal as hell. Hot even. They make you more lovable if anything.”

Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and slowly pulls it off his side to hold it up, the scar on it being presented out to Eddie. “And this doesn’t make you more lovable?”

“Steve…” Eddie protests quietly as Steve pulls his hand close to stare at it.

“The scars you got protecting us. You think those make you less lovable?” Steve asks, pulling his hand close enough that his lips ghost over the skin.

Eddie lets out a breath that sounds like Steve as Steve presses a soft kiss into the tough skin. He stares at Eddie with a worried look in his eyes as he whispers, “Too much?”

Eddie shakes his head, too stunned to get the words out.

Steve intertwines their hands and pulls Eddie’s arm toward him. “These scars,” he says kissing the next one on his forearm, “Are beautiful on you.” He moves on to the scar on his elbow stretching to his bicep, lips trailing against the sensitive unmarked skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. “How could anyone hate these?” He asks leaving three soft, lingering kisses before shifting on the bed to hover above Eddie, still holding his hand but now against his stomach so he can press a kiss against his shoulder. “These scars show everyone what you were willing to sacrifice for us.”

As Steve moves to the scar on his neck, Eddie’s head drops back, giving him more access as he groans out, “Steve.”

“These scars,” Steve says, kissing up his neck over and past the scars, “Are exactly,” he murmurs as he kisses past his jaw and peppers kisses up his cheek, “Why I love you,” Steve finishes by pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth near where the scar that Eddie traced earlier ends.

Eddie glances up at Steve as he hovers over him, trying to make sense of everything he’s saying until it finally clicks. “You love me?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods and squeezes his hand before letting it go so he can lightly caress his cheek. “I have since you decided to be a hero and sacrifice yourself. Which was exactly what I told you not to do by the way.”

“I’ve never been great at following rules,” Eddie breathes out and reaches a hand up to run through Steve hair. “Steve?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you, too,” Eddie confesses.

Steve smiles and asks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He pauses before adding, “You know, one time when I was little, I captured a squirrel and it may have attacked me and left a scar on my lip.”

Steve laughs. “Is that so?”

Eddie smiles and nods.

Steve’s eyes dart down to Eddie’s lips and he moves his thumb to swipe over his top lip. “You know, I think I see it.”

Eddie debates telling him that it was actually his bottom lip, but instead he just breathes out, “Steve.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks with a teasing smile.

“Steve.”

Steve keeps smiling as he hums, “Hmm?” When Eddie huffs, Steve fakes surprise with a gasp, “Oh. You want me to find the picture for you!”

Eddie groans, “Steve!”

“Uh huh?”

Eddie huffs and cups his face. “You are infuriating.”

“Is that s-”

Eddie interrupts him by taking matters into his own hands and leaning up to kiss him. He feels Steve smile against his lip before finally kissing him back.

Steve pulls away and breathlessly asks, “So, do you think you’ll have plans for Valentine’s Day now?”

Eddie’s head thumps back on the pillow. “Oh my god.” Steve laughs. “Oh my god!” Eddie says and shoves Steve off of him only to roll over so he hovers above him. “You were trying to ask me out this whole time?”

“No, I just wanted to know your opinion of Valentine’s Day.”

Eddie gives him a light punch to the arm and smiles wide as he stares down at Steve, lying beneath him in the golden lamp light. His perfect golden boy.

“I still hate it by the way. Even if I have plans now,” Eddie comments seriously.

“Don’t worry, I’ll put in the effort year round for you and make sure to keep you away from the public that day,” Steve says running a hand through Eddie’s curls before tracing it down the scar on his cheek in a way he thought no one would be able to do - lovingly.

Eddie leans down and gives Steve a quick peck. “I’ve also got some scars on my hips I might want you to check out.”

Steve laughs loudly and pulls him into a kiss that truly makes Eddie breathless, all while tracing his hand over the scar on his cheek. And for the first time, Eddie learns to love the scars adorning his body.

[onefunctioningbraincell]

John hated to go on a mission right after a big fight with his girlfriend. She was so young and temperamental, and to make things worse, she was also stubborn as hell. Sure, he wasn’t without fault either, but he was older and wiser, always doing his best to mentor her, teach her how to be more patient. So when he was facing radio silence on her part, he began to lose his calm little by little.

At first he only noticed the rapidly declining amount of his beloved cigars. Then he became irritated, snapping at people for no serious reason. Simon knew what was eating him. He always knew when they were fighting at home, as if he had a sixth sense for this thing. The lieutenant was sneakier than him as he always suggested bypassing his girlfriend and talking straight to her parents.

They loved John. Maybe because they were closer in age compared to her previous boyfriends, or maybe because he was in the military and they knew he would do anything to protect their daughter from harm. Either way, this trick usually worked, and as if he was a lucky charm because it was his idea, Simon had to sit there and listen to the conversation.

“I’ve been trying to reach her, but there’s nothing, she doesn’t even read my messages,” he complained to the couple. His friend gave him a thumbs up then he rolled up his balaclava to his nose before lighting a cigarette. “Have you talked to her? Is she okay?” John pressed on, trying to sound extremely worried.

In reality, he wasn’t worried. He knew she was okay because she was always okay. She was just acting like a brat, a behavioral trait that he would have to correct once he got home. He listened to her parents explain how she had just visited them the day before, and how her mother would immediately call and scold her for making him so worried about her.

“You don’t need to, I’m sure she’ll reach out eventually,” he told them, sounding as relieved as he could.

They said their goodbyes and he tossed the phone on the desk. He looked over at Simon who flashed a Cheshire Cat smile at him before saying, “Told you they would know. They always know,” he added with a laugh.

“I can’t believe this woman. Just because we get into some stupid fight over something as trivial as who will pay for our trip to Italy, she goes no contact with me,” John said before letting out an exasperated sigh and sitting down on his chair.

“What was that fight about exactly? She doesn’t wanna pay?”

A scoff left the captain’s lips. “The opposite. She received a hefty bonus at work and now she wants to pay for the trip,” he told him with a shake of his head.

But Simon only tilted his head to the side as he blew out some smoke. “What’s wrong with that?” the lieutenant asked, genuinely curious about the answer.

John shook his head. “Nothing, I know that, but she should save that money. I always tell her to be reasonable when spending it,” he replied. “I want to take care of her. Am I a bad person for this?”

“No, you’re not.” The captain opened his mouth to say thank you, but Simon was quick to raise a hand and stop him. “But you should let her treat you every now and then. She wants to do something nice for you, John. Don’t take this away from her.”

With a sigh, John picked up his phone and began to type a message in the app you used. When he put it back down, Simon raised an eyebrow in question. “I sent her a text where I admit she was right and I won’t interfere in her plan,” he informed his friend.

“I’m sure she will be very happy to read this.”

She might be happy to win this battle, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to lose the war. He just needed to put a little more effort into the process of making her his pretty little housewife. Once he was done, she would have to do nothing but stay at home and wait for him to go home to her.

Soon after Simon left the office, John’s phone beeped twice. He took a look at the screen and noticed it was a message from her. With a smile on his lips he opened it, only to find a photo of her in nothing but a set of brand new lingerie with a short sentence under it.

I bought this for you. I have something special in mind for the day you come home 🎀❤️

[thetriumphantpanda]

where you want your gift, girl? | Joel Miller

Summary | It’s your birthday and Joel, knowing it’s not your favourite celebration, is keen to show you that it‘s not always going to be a bad day, not if he can help it.

Warnings | birthdays, allusions to strained parental relationships, food & alcohol consumption, smoking of (1) cigarette, no/pre-outbreak AU, gift giving, explicit smut, rough sex, choking/breath play, brief spit play, oral sex (F Receiving), safe unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, cumplay, literally just filth tbh, no use of y/n.

Word Count | 4.2K

Authors Note | Honestly? It’s my birthday today and all I want is for Joel Miller to fucking rail me to celebrate - we can’t have everything we want I suppose, so we’ll have to deal with writing our fantasies instead! Happy Birthday to me - Enjoy!

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You’d never really enjoyed birthdays. Other people’s, sure. The opportunity to treat your friends and make other people happy was something you’d always loved, but when it was you as the centre of attention, you almost hated it. The way people would train their eyes on you as you opened their gifts, the anxiety that you felt not knowing what it would be and whether you’d have to pretend it was the best thing in the world when you could think of a million things you needed above what they’d given you. It always made you feel ungrateful. Birthdays aren’t as exciting as you get older either, just another reminder of how far behind the rest of your friends you are, how little you seemed to have accomplished next to them in the same amount of years. 

It was no different this year, not really. Your mother had phoned you before you’d gone to work, asked if you received the card she’d sent in the post that had the customary $100 stuffed into it, before chiding you for not doing as you said you would last time you spoke and find a new job, something more challenging, related to that degree you’d spent all her money on. You sigh and hang up the phone before she can say anything else, a mumbled sorry that you were running late but thank you for the card. 

The only saving grace for your birthday this year was the fact it was a Friday, so you didn’t have to worry about drinking too much beer and having to go to work the next morning with a hangover. To their credit, your work colleagues had been quite nice to you - they’d pooled together to get you a gift card for you to spend on whatever you’d like, and Sandra from accounts had made you a birthday cake – red velvet because it was your favourite. Once everyone had eaten a slice, she put a Tupperware on your desk with two more generous slices in it, winking at you before walking away. 

“For your handsome boyfriend.” She’d said, giggling as she walked away. 

There was another saving grace for your birthday, you supposed. Joel Miller. Who had burst into your life in a whirlwind eight months ago when his beautiful daughter had spilled her hot chocolate all over your crisp new shirt in her hurry to get to the table so she could drink it. He’d been the most apologetic you ever thought you’d seen a man, helping you to wipe the worst of it off with napkins whilst Sarah profusely apologised next to you. You’d put a comforting hand on her shoulder, told her it was okay, and that you understood entirely, you’d have been as excited as her to drink hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows. Joel had insisted on paying for your dry cleaning, something you’re pretty sure only ever happened in films, and when you’d phoned him to tell him it really had been a minimal amount, he’d asked to take you to dinner instead, and the rest really was history. 

He’s phoning you now, his name popping up on the front screen of your phone, you smile as you answer it. 

“Hello, handsome.” You greet. 

“Good afternoon,” His southern drawl hits your ears, “Happy birthday, my darlin’ girl.” 

God, he makes you so happy, “Thank you, cowboy.” 

“You want me to pick you up and take you for dinner?” He asks, “Tommy is gonna look after Sarah tonight, so I’m all yours, whatever you wanna do.” 

You think for a second, sure, dinner out is a nice idea, but it’s been a long week, and you think what you want most is to be at home with him, “You think you could grill me a steak and let me drink beer on your couch instead?” You ask, slightly embarrassed that this is all you want for your birthday. 

“If that’s what you want, darlin’, then I’ll grill you the best steak of your life,” He chuckles, and then you can hear him cover the phone and speak to Sarah, who must be just back from school, “Sarah wants to speak to you real quick.” 

He passes the phone and it’s Sarah’s sweet voice that greets you next, “Happy birthday!” 

“Thank you, honey,” You smile, “You looking forward to some time with your Uncle Tommy?” 

“He’s gonna take me to the movies,” You can hear the grin on her face, “I already heard dad telling him not to feed me too much candy, but he never listens,” You chuckle, “I got you a present,” She speaks again, “I gave it to dad so you can open it later.” 

“Ahhh you sweet girl,” You coo, “I’m sure I’ll love it,” You reassure, “And I’ll be there tomorrow so I can thank you in person.” 

“Alright,” She replies, “Dad wants the phone back, but have a nice birthday with him!” 

You say goodbye to her, and then Joel tells you he’ll be waiting for you when you finish to bring you home. It’s only two hours until the end of the day, but you struggle to focus on the emails you’ve got to answer – you get through as few as is acceptable before the end of the day, logging out at exactly 5:30pm, box of cake clutched in your hand, handbag slung over your shoulder as you head out. 

Joel is leaning against the side of his truck, arms crossed over his chest so his biceps are bulging in the flannel he’s wearing, he’s also got one of his ankles crossed over the over. He looks so casual but as devastatingly handsome as he always is. He slips an arm around your waist when you’re close enough, pushing his palm into your lower back to press your body to his, dipping down to press his lips to yours. He’s gentle with it, opening his mouth against yours so he can slip his tongue into your mouth, letting his tongue meld with your own, kissing you slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world. 

“Get a room, you two!” It’s Sandra from accounts. 

Joel pulls away just enough to laugh against your lips, pressing his to yours once more before pulling away properly, opening the car door for you to get in, pressing a light swat of his hand to your ass as you hoist yourself up into the truck. 

Once he’s slipped into the driver's side and settled one of his hands on your upper thigh, he starts the drive from the city out to his house. It’s a quiet drive, Joel’s humming along to whatever is playing on the radio, you’re occupied with looking out the window. This is what you love about Joel, that he’ll sit in silence, won’t feel the need to make you talk, it makes you feel comfortable, knowing that he’s there when you need him, but he’s not going to force you to speak when you don’t want to. 

He’s pulled into the drive in no time, picking up the grocery bags from the backseat. You try and peak inside to see what he’s bought; you’re hoping he’s got the ingredients to make those mashed potatoes you like, and mushrooms that he’ll cook on the grill too. 

When he opens the door, you’re almost overwhelmed by the sight that greets you. There are gold and black balloons littering the floor, with one bigger helium balloon, weighted down so it doesn’t float along the ceiling, set in the corner with big ‘happy birthday’ lettering written on it. There’s a birthday banner pinned to the wall, and a selection of wrapped gifts on the coffee table. You have a sneaking suspicion that most of this is Sarah’s doing.

You giggle a little as Joel presses himself against your back, kissing at your neck, “How much of this was Sarah?” You ask, following him through to the kitchen. 

“She blew up all those balloons before she went to bed last night, and she did all the wrapping, but the banner and the big balloon, that was all me, baby.” 

You press your lips to his cheek, smiling as he starts unloading the grocery bags. Two ribeye steaks, and just like you wanted, mushrooms to grill, and potatoes to mash. He leaves you in charge of watching the potatoes whilst he grills the rest of the food outside. Whilst it’s resting, he mashes the potatoes with enough butter to clog your arteries, but when you sit at the table, and those potatoes are in your mouth, you can’t find it in you to care - it’s your birthday after all. 

“Everythin’ alright, baby?” He asks, cutting into his steak.

“It’s perfect,” You grin, spearing a grilled mushroom onto your fork, “Better than sitting in a stuffy restaurant anyway.” 

You finish your food in relative silence. Joel insists on doing the dishes even if he did most of the cooking, before he’s leading you back to the living room. 

Joel sits you down on the couch, treading as carefully as he can through the trail of balloons to get you a fresh beer. He kneels down on the floor between you and the coffee table, taking a glug of his beer, before reaching across the table for the first gift, setting it in your lap. 

“That one is from Sarah,” He explains, “She made me promise you would open it first.” 

“Rules are rules,” You shrug with a chuckle, carefully tearing open the wrapping paper. 

When you pull the paper from the material it was wrapped in you feel overwhelmed. It’s the exact same blouse that Sarah had tipped her hot chocolate over, just in black instead of white. The shirt had been a write off from the start, the chocolate leaving a stain that even the dry cleaner couldn’t get out. 

“She saved her pocket money for months to buy this,” He murmurs, pinching the silky fabric between his fingers, “Said if it was what brought us together, she wanted you to be able to wear it.” 

You can feel tears prickling at your eyes as you fold the material up carefully, “She’s such a special girl, Joel.” You whisper, watching as Joel leans back over the table to pick up another gift. 

“This one’s from Tommy.” He murmurs, handing you the largest box on the table. 

You rip the paper off and open the box, revealing an actual cowboy hat. You laugh, because Tommy has always said in order to properly fit in, you’d need a cowboy hat. Joel reaches into the box, pulling the brown Stetson out of its box, placing it on your head. 

“Suits you, cowgirl,” He growls, leaning under the brim of the hat to kiss you, nibbling your bottom lip as he pulls away, “Keep it on.” He demands when you go to take it off. 

“He didn’t need to get me a gift,” You mutter as Joel moves the two final gifts towards you, “And it’s a proper Stetson, this must have cost a fortune.” 

“Not that it matters, because everyone in this household thinks the world of you, but he thrifted it, mainly because you’ve rubbed off on him and he thinks getting a pair of Levi’s for half price because someone doesn’t want them anymore is the best thing since sliced bread.” 

You tilt the hat on your head a little so you can see under the brim, as he hands you an envelope this time, “These are from me.” 

You open the envelope and pull out a postcard with a from New Orleans. You turn the card over, Joel’s handwriting scrawled on the back. 

“Pack a bag baby, and let me take you away.” 

“Are you for real?!” You exclaim, “You’re going to take me to New Orleans?!” 

“Course I am, darlin’ girl,” He grins, “I know you’ve always wanted to go, and we’ve never been away together.” 

“Are you even real?” You ask, wiping your tears away, because you’re overwhelmed, no-one has ever been so thoughtful. 

“Last time I checked I was,” He chuckles, taking the postcard from your hands, replacing it with the last gift, a small box, “Go on, last one.” 

You take it from his hand, tearing the paper off it to reveal a small box. You open it, and sat inside is a silver necklace, a silver hoop, entwined with a smaller hoop. You’d recognise this anywhere. You’d spotted it in the window of the jewellery shop downtown. You’d spend so long looking at it in the window before deciding you couldn’t afford it, yet here it is, in your hands. 

“Joel,” You breathe, running your fingers over the delicate silver, “This is too much.” 

He presses a single finger to your lips to shut you up, holding his hand out for the box, taking the necklace out as he pushes himself up onto the couch, putting the delicate chain across your neck, “Do you like it?” He asks from behind you, mouth right at your ear, breath hot on your skin.

You turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling your hat fall off your head as he returns the embrace, “I love it Joel,” You murmur into the skin of his neck, “I love you.”

“I love you too, darlin’ girl.” 

You spend the rest of the evening curled up on the couch together. You eat the slices of cake that Sandra had sent you home with, drink more beer, Joel even sits with his guitar outside, playing some of your favourite songs whilst you smoke a cigarette. When the sun has fully set and you’ve let out a particularly loud yawn, Joel closes up the house, takes hold of your hand, and takes you to bed. 

You’re led against the sheets, getting yourself comfortable, when Joel comes back from the bathroom, leaning against the door with his thumb resting on his belt. He’s lookin at you with those deep, coffee-coloured orbs as you turn onto your side, propping your head up on your palm to look at him. 

“How do you want it, baby?” He smirks, taking slow steps towards the bed. 

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, because that is a very good question. Do you want him to be soft and slow like he had been that first time? So concerned he was going to hurt you with his size and strength that he refused to go any harder or faster than was strictly necessary? Or the time he made love to you after you’d looked after Sarah when he had to work late. When he’d walked into his house and found you painting her nails for her, watching a film that he’d never had sat through, his heart bursting with so much love that he had to push it all into you, whispering promises into your ear as he did so. No, you think, that’s not what you want right now. 

“I want you to fuck me, cowboy,” You rasp, “Hard.” 

He’s stood at the foot of the bed now, eyes dark with lust, “Well, what the birthday girl wants,” He murmurs softly, wide, warm palm clasping around your ankle, “The birthday girl gets.” 

He tugs at your ankle, pulling you down the bed in one swoop, your legs dangling over the edge as his fingers work the button of your work trousers loose. You lift your hips up so he can drag them, and your underwear off your body, before he tugs you into a sitting position to work your blouse over your head. Your palms cup his face as you kiss him, your lips giving attention to his plush bottom lip as his hands reach behind you and work the clasp of your bra undone, dragging that off your body so you’re finally bared naked to him. 

He pulls back, trails his eyes over your naked body, before placing his hand on your chest, right between your breasts, pushing you back down onto the bed. He trails his hands down the expanse of your sides, coming to the meat of your thighs as he settles his face between them. Normally this is where he’d tease you, use that mouth to trail soft kisses up and down the inside of your thighs, stopping to nip at the soft skin every once in a while, but he surprises you tonight. 

Joel uses the flat of his tongue to lick a single stripe up the seam of your pussy. Then, he takes his hands, puts them on the backs of your thighs to push your legs back towards you, spreading them open further, baring the entirety of your spread, aching cunt to his face, before that tongue of his is diving into you, licking the slick that has been slowly gathering there from you, groaning at your taste. He drags his tongue up to your clit, using the tip of it to lightly flick at your clit, which has a quiet whimper leaving your lips as you tangle your fingers in his soft curls to keep his head anchored right where it is. 

You’ve never really known a man quite as enthusiastic about eating your pussy as Joel Miller. The way he groans into your cunt as he laps at you, the way his fingers dig bruises into your skin as he holds your legs open for him, it all adds to the way he has your teetering on the edge of your first orgasm of the night in minutes. You’re bucking your hips into his face, chasing that burst of pleasure you know is so close to you. 

You can hear the obscene sounds from him, the way he sucks your clit into his mouth, rolls his tongue over it before letting it go with a pop, or the way he literally slurps the slick from your entrance. It’s when he slips two of his fingers inside your slick cunt that you’re really done for – fingers stretching you open, a poor substitute for what’s to come, but it’s good none-the-less. 

All of a sudden, that fiery burst of pleasure is setting your skin alight. Your body is arching off the bed, pushing your cunt further into Joel’s face as he sucks your clit through your orgasm. You can feel yourself clenching around his fingers as you let out as high-pitched shriek of his name as your body wracks with pleasurable aftershocks. You lie there, warm and pliant as Joel stands once he’s worked you through your orgasm. He takes off his shirt, and you marvel at that body, the one you get to enjoy, broad and strong for his work, but soft around the middle, just like you love. He’s looking you directly in the eye as he undoes the button on his jeans, belt from earlier seemingly lost in the bathroom before. You’re smirking as he drags his jeans and boxers down his legs, stepping out of them, stood before you in all his God damn glory. 

He is, quite possibly, the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Especially when he’s got his cock gripped in his fist, pumping himself as you spread your legs for him, pushing yourself up the bed so he can settle between your thighs. 

You can feel the throbbing length of him slipping between your soaked folds as he finds a position, he’s comfortable with. You’re the one that reaches down between you and lines his cock up with your aching core, but it’s all Joel when he thrusts himself inside you, right to the hilt, in one go. He’s leaning forward, head rested in the crook of your neck, your name hissed out into your ear as he adjusts to the tight clench of your cunt. Your nails are already digging into the meat of his biceps when he drags himself out of you, before slamming back in. 

He revels in the way his rough thrusts make your tits bounce, dipping his head to take one of your nipples into his mouth, gently nipping at the puckered bud with his teeth before soothing it with the pad of his tongue. He laves the same attention to the other, never once letting up the pace of his hips. 

“This what you wanted, darlin’ girl?” He chokes out, looking down at you writhing in pleasure beneath him. 

“More.” You gasp, hand reaching to grab at his wrist which is planted by the side of your head, propping him up. 

He puts most of his weight on his other hand, letting you drag his other palm to the delicate column of your throat, where the sheer size of his hand covers it in its entirety. He rests it there for a moment, continuing to pound his cock into your pussy, but then he’s adding pressure to the side of your throat, giving you that delicious dizzy feeling to your brain, before he’s releasing the pressure. You’re grinning up at him, moaning his name as his hips continue to slam into your own. 

“Like that, don’t ya?” He asks, “God you look so fuckin’ good with my hand around your throat, pretty girl.” 

“Always fuck me so good, Joel,” You cry out when he shifts his position slightly, cock brushing that sweet spot inside you, “Do it again.”

So he does, he squeezes his fingers around your throat again, your mouth dropping open as a crazed giggle leaves your mouth. You wish you could step outside your body right now and watch, watch what the two of you look like – his hand around your throat, the way he’s pounding into you so hard you’re sure you’ll be sore in the morning. 

You’re both breathing heavily as he trails the hand that was around your throat to grip at your jaw. He squishes your cheeks together, pursing your lips as his mouth claims your own, growling into you as his tongue licks at yours. He’s so fucking overwhelming right now, thick cock splitting you in two, strong body laid across your own, mouth on yours, and it’s still not enough. You want to peel his skin off and climb inside him, let him consume you whole. 

Joel pulls back, hand still on your jaw. 

“You my pretty girl, huh?” He asks, and you can only nod, his hand stopping you from talking, “Belong to me, right?” 

His hand goes back down to grip your throat, gently though, with no pressure, so you can talk to him now. 

“All yours Joel,” You purr at him, “Only ever gonna be yours.” 

“Open your mouth,” He demands, using his hand to gently shake you, so you do, “Stick your tongue out.” 

You do just that, staring straight into his eyes as he leans down, ever so slightly, and spits into your mouth. It’s warm, wet and utterly filthy, and you think it’s the entire reason that you can feel your slick dripping down onto his sheets now. Joel doesn’t even give you the time to swallow, chasing the saliva he’s just put into your mouth with his tongue, giving you the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever received. 

“Fuck,” He spits out, pulling back from your mouth, “Ain’t gonna last much longer, darlin’ girl,” He confesses, those rough thrusts slowing ever so slightly, “Put your hand on your clit for me, let’s do this one together.”

Your hand slinks between your bodies, seeking out that sensitive bud, still reeling from the orgasm he pulled from you, it doesn’t take much work from your fingers to have you teetering on the edge, but you want to do this together, you have to hold on for him. 

“Where d’ya want it?” Joel chokes out as your pussy flutters around him. 

“Inside,” Comes your begging plea to him, “Come inside me, Joel.” 

Your work your fingers across your clit a few more times before you’re coming around his cock, the nails of your free hand digging half-moon shapes into the meat of his shoulder. He manages three, maybe four more thrusts before he’s stilling inside of you, grunting out your name as the white-hot spurt of his spend fills your aching cunt. He fills you up so perfectly, holding himself there for a moment before he lets out a slightly pained sound, pulling himself out of your pussy. 

He sits back on his knees, watching the white trickle of him cum seep from your spent hole. He takes one of his fingers, scooping his cum on it before bringing it to your lips, where you suck it into your mouth, running your tongue over it to catch every bit of the taste of him. He falls forward, forehead pressed to your own, kissing your lips softly, before he moves to lie on his side of the bed. 

You push yourself up into a sitting position, leaning over to kiss him softly, mumbling that you’ll be back in a minute as you pad to the bathroom to clean up. When you come back to his room, he’s already under the covers, your side pushed back and waiting for you, so you clamber in, seeking out his torso under the covers so you can wrap your arm around him. He pulls you flush to his body, slick and warm from sweat, but you don’t care. 

His arm is draped across your shoulder, his fingers tracing slow and soft across your skin, as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Happy birthday, darlin’ girl.” He whispers to you as he turns out the light. 

“Best birthday ever,” You mumble softly against his chest as you let your heavy eyes closed, “All because of you, cowboy.” 

[sheluvslani]

Good Luck, Babe!

Pairing: Mabel x fem!reader

Warnings: angsty, implied hookup, toxic marriage with Charlie, Mabel going back to r because she misses them

A/n: havenʻt written in forever omg, also I never watched finestkind and pretty much looked up the summary on wikipedia so… yeah donʻt get mad at me if i made shit up

Being a drug dealer wasnʻt Mabelʻs first option. An easy one, sure. But not her ideal one.

She always wanted to be an artist, her teachers in high school told her sheʻd go far. She applied for art school, but couldnʻt get in due to the amount of applicants. Never would anyone believe she was in this position now. She would drive to sketchy places, earning her a couple scratches and a couple bruises, but damn, the money was worth it.

When she met you, god was she the happiest sheʻd ever been. She still sold drugs on the side to make extra cash, but took a job at a bar downtown for her primary income, just to make you happy. The both of you even rented an apartment and moved in together, the relationship moved quite quickly but she didnʻt mind because she knew you were the one.

After what seemed like the best 6 months of your life, you noticed Mabelʻs behavior had started to change. She was much more violent than before. She would yell, pick fights for a reason as small as not picking up a sock you dropped on the floor the day before. It honestly made you rethink your entire relationship with her. She had admitted that she didnʻt want a relationship anymore, that she wasnʻt going to commit to someone she had 0 chemistry with, not knowing the impact of her words on you. You didnʻt call it off though, being scared at the thought of being with somebody else that wasnʻt her.

One night, there was a huge fight at the bar. She tried to break it up but ended up with a bloody nose and a black eye. She came home that night with an ice pack pressed to the side of her face. When she opened the door, she expected to see you there but was met with the realization that you had left.

All your stuff was packed up. Your clothes that she often wore, your jewelry that she thought looked so amazing on you, your scent that reminded her of you that once filled the space was gone. Replaced with the stench of stale coffee from a pot that she forgot to empty out this morning. The whole apartment felt so empty compared to when you were there, filling the space with the life that Mabel wished for ever since she was little.

That was over a year ago.

Since then, Mabel quit her job and started selling drugs again out of spite. She was miserable without you. She tried to forget you, she really did. She tried filling the hole you left in her with alcohol, but the warmth in her chest was nothing to the warmth she felt when she was with you.

But thatʻs also when she met Charlie, an older guy that somehow took an early interest in her when he came down to Massachusetts to pay a visit to his older brother. She met him in the bar, eventually taking him back to her place and hooking up with him. Both of them were drunk, neither knew any better. He was a great guy, sure. But nothing compared to you

But Charlie eventually fell in love with Mabel. And since Mabel knew she couldnʻt win you back because of what she did, she gave in. They got married and he moved into her apartment.

She would come home at night to Charlie passed out on the couch, beer bottles scattered on the coffee table in front of him, half-smoked cigarettes laying in dirty ashtray, and the TV on to some boring fishing program. She hated that every night she would have to clean up after him. You never did that, she thought. It was always the small things that you did that pestered her, and she wished she could take it all back.

Was this her life now, she thought. Cleaning up after some drunk, disgusting man-baby every night? Doing all the housework as he gets to sit down and watch TV all day without a care in the world?

That night, she laid down on her back, staring up at the ceiling with Charlie sound asleep next to her. Her mind was plagued with thoughts of you and what the both of you couldʻve been. Would you two be married? Moved to a different state? Have kids? God, she missed you.

She sat up, head in her hands as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She wished she could take it all back. Every argument, every time she made you feel like shit, every time she said something that she shouldnʻt have. You were perfect, too good for her, in fact. She quietly wiped her tears away, her eyes becoming red and puffy.

She looked down at Charlieʻs sleeping form, regret washing over her face. She was nothing more than his wife. She carefully got up out of her bed and grabbed her phone, dialing your number that sheʻd memorized all those years ago.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat in your bedroom painting your nails and watching a rerun of Friends as a vanilla candle burned on your bedside table next to you, causing a warm glow on your features.

Your ringtone on your phone started going off, so you reached over and grabbed it, answering the unknown number.

“Hello?” You spoke into the speaker as you rested the phone between your head and shoulder.

A quiet voice replied on the other line, one that you knew all too well. “Hey…” She mumbled. “I messed up…”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mabel was quick to your doorstep soon after, ringing the doorbell as she nervously waited on the welcome mat, playing with the wedding ring on her finger before slipping it off and putting it inside her pocket.

You answered the door after a while, your soft gaze that she missed so much meeting her own as you stood in front of her.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you let her in. “You know I hate to say it��� But I told you so.” But before she could call you out on your antics, your lips met hers, warm and inviting as she melted into your embrace.

[hobies-princealbert]

Head Empty. Thinking about high!plug!fontaine n high!reader. He’d def be the plug that flirts with her and gives her deals and one day he asks her to smoke wit him for free and they just start making out in his car listening to music. 😱😱😱

gurl the new pfp frightened me a bit ngl 💀💀

but coming right up! i took some creative liberties cuz i kinda forgot to double check what your ask said. im srry its just once i got that ball rolling, i couldn't stoppp ( ´,_ゝ`)

plug! fontaine x high! reader | (the nsfw is below the cutting off)

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎

♤ taine wasn't exactly your first choice for a plug. he was a well known dealer in the glen, but the things he was known for made you hesitant. he was a no nonsense type dealer, he gives a price, you pay on time. if you can't do as simple as that then you wasting his time. and knowing you were tight on money sometimes, you decided it best to stick to the plugs you knew.

♤ but twelve wack ass joints later, you found yourself sitting in a certain green cadillac that you never thought you'd set foot in. both of you sat in silence for a few seconds, only a few feet away from each other.

♤ you patiently watched as he tried to light his spliff with the faulty lighter. growing more frustrated, he soon tossed the lighter onto the dash, then turned to you expectantly. and as if you could read his mind, you pulled your lighter and held it up for him to take.

♤ he stared at you for a bit, you felt as if you body was on fire. he had a pair of the scariest eyes you've ever seen. and he kept those eyes on you the entire time. not once looking away.

♤ you felt him wrap around your wrists. he pulled your hands closer to his face. your entire body became solid rock. all you could hear was your heart beating in your ears. the grip on your wrists were slack, giving you enough leeway to pull back if you wanted to. but something about the way he looked at you, made you stay still for him.

♤ he motioned for you to light the joint. you obliged. the orange glow of the flame made his eyes even more sinister. god he's terrifying. hot but, terrifyingly hot. once it was lit, he leaned back and let your wrist fall from his grasp. he took two puffs before he passed it over. " 'ere. take it. ' tell me if 'sgood enough."

♤ your breath was shaky as you inhaled the smoke. it was strong, definitely would get you fucked up in less than a minute. you handed it back to him. "you barely took tha' shi'. come 'ere."

♤ he placed the blunt back between his lips, as he settles one of his hands behind your head. "was he gonna gimme a shotgun right now. he's not....is he?" you let your brain rambled for bit till a low "open" brought you back.

♤ taine never does this, especially with cilents. but he took an interest in you. you seemed nervous, unlike most of his clients that just want their quick fix. and it helps that you weren't bad looking either. kinda cute in fact.

♤ but that didn't mean he wasn't fed up from watching your pretty little lips not taking his blunt properly. that shit ain't cheap. but you took the shot gun gave you pretty well. he saw how the smoke made your eyes a little teary, so he wiped a couple away before he let you go.

♤ you stared at him for a bit. he found you amusing that's for sure. and while he was trying to subside a smirk, you were trying to calm the ache between your legs. god you needed to get out this car before you did something you regret. but would you regret it? from the way his pants seemed to be stiffening, he probably felt the same way.

♤ reaching into his jacket he pulled a small plastic baggy,,that looked to contain at least 5 grams. your eyes went wide. this was way more than the agreed amount, that's at least $45 bucks, you didn't have that much on you. shit shit shit.

♤ "easy ma, this one's on the house" and with that you became one of his regulars. and his favorite at that.

♤ of course you became his favorite. i mean he'd never let a customer come over his house. much less one sit on his couch, smoke his blunt and watch a show on his tv.

♤ he certainly wouldn't let a customer stretch their legs across his lap either. or let one inch closer to him than appropriate, to the point where they made it onto his lap. he didnt mind, it definitely did help him relieve the ache between his legs. and he wasn't opposed to the way you let him kiss alongside your jaw, and even suck a couple marks into your skin.

♤ no regular of his ever let him pull down their shorts and toss them to god knows where. he's never gotten on his knees and licked a fat stripe along over their panties. never has he had to pull said panties to the side just so he could finally get a good look at how at your cunt.

♤ you were the only one who's clit he's mouthed at till his jaw ached. he didn't stop till he had to wrap his hands around your hips to hold you still.

♤ never once as taine let a regular, eagerly lick his precum from the slit to the point where he'd lull his head back everytime he felt their tongue dip into his slit. or had one force his cock into their mouth till the tip hit the back of their throat. and they stayed deepthroating him till he finally released. or had one lick up every last drop of cum that could find. no matter if it some was on his stomach, chest, thigh or on their face. he's never given a regular a couple puffs of his joint as a reward for sucking him to completion.

♤ he wondered if his weed made you like this. was it so good that it made you do your best to take him to the hilt, even though you could barely take a proper breath. probably it was the reason he'd take a minute or two cause the way your walls squeezed him, he swore he was gonna cum inside you right then and there.

♤ was his shit so good that it made you cry out his name and claw at his back with every thrust. had him having to slap your tits whenever you looked too far gone. make him tell you to how good you were, or that from the way your walls started to push him out, you were close. make him coo at you whenever you finally came, so you knew how proud he was. maybe it was why you bared the overwhelming sensation that your release brought so he could reach his edge. maybe that what made you mumbled about him cumming inside you.

♤ tempting but he preferred to release on your cunt so you could reach your hand down and desperately collect his droplets into your mouth. god he loved when you did that. he especially when you parted your slit so he could get one last lick before he let you suck it off his tongue.

♤ never had he had a regular make him feel that good to the point he gave them free weed.

[lqveharrington]

Alley Rose | C.S.

summary: You and Coriolanus met unexpectedly and you learn more about Coriolanus than his supposed friends do.

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

includes: fluff, some angst, reader’s last name is Fontaine, reader and coriolanus smoke, cursing

a/n: I FIGURED IT ALL OUT 🙏

It was truly all unexpected. The morning after had your mind reeling at the sudden actions that led you to have nervous butterflies. And it all started with a run to the stupid corner pharmacy.

You were given the chance to spend your hard earned money for yourself for once. As always, you chose to spend what little money you had left over from paying the bills for your little brother. With no hesitation, you made quick strides for the pharmacy to buy him his favorite chocolate bar and a small toy to thank him for his patience with you and your parents.

What you didn’t know was that your unwavering kindness would change your life. Whether that change was good or bad, you were still deciding.

It was already past 10PM when you finished your shift at Steakhouse Diner. You were so exhausted, but you pushed yourself to make quick strides over to the corner pharmacy. You kept a vigilant eye out for those in the Capitol who would stoop so low to get anything of value. You were thankful it never happened to you, but you heard that it happened to your mother and father not that long ago.

The scuffing of your old Mary Jane’s on the broken concrete echoed through the darkened streets of the Capitol, leaving the impression of an eerie fairy tale. Along with the smell of old cigarettes and sludge filled the air, it felt unpleasant to breathe in. Your arms were covered in goosebumps as the night air blew on your skin, causing you to shiver and pull your worn down cardigan tighter.

This happened once every month, but tonight felt different. It was like you knew something was going to happen. You kept yourself on alert as you entered the corner store, the orange lamp outside flickering as always.

When you entered, the familiar smell of daffodils caused you to relax as you strolled through the shortened aisles for the hazelnut chocolate and small dinosaur toy your brother loved dearly.

“It’s been too long since I’ve last seen you, Miss Fontaine.” The cashier smiled fondly at you, making you beam a smile back. It wasn’t unusual for you to be close with the people you see a lot.

“Only the same amount of time every month.” You flicker through the chocolate bars, your fingers carefully pulling out the one in the back. “How have you been, Monty?”

He massaged his calloused hands as you wandered over to the flowers. “Getting older everyday.”

You felt the soft petals of each white daffodil, leaning forward to smell the sweet scent emitting from its bud. “What did I say about talking about getting older? You’re getting wiser.”

“My mistake, Miss.” He chuckled as you come back over to pay for the two items. “Nothing for you? Not even the daffodils you keep wandering back to every month?”

“You know my family no longer has the money for silly things to take care of such as flowers.” You murmur, eyes glancing at the register to catch the total. “Monty, did you jack up your prices?”

He sighed as the cash register popped open, revealing its ones to twenties. “The Capitol demands it, Miss Fontaine. If I want to keep my business afloat, I have to keep up with the inflation the government controls.”

You nod softly but find yourself in slight distress. If the prices began to rise, you couldn’t buy both items for your brother every month any longer. In the future, he would only get one; And you never wish to rid him of such joys.

Monty put your items in a small paper bag and gave you your change, which was significantly less than before the jacked up prices. You murmured your thanks before leaving the corner pharmacy you’ve come to love.

Leaning against the rusted metal of the lamp on the corner of the street, you lit a cigarette, letting the burn fill your lungs. You ever so rarely smoked, but you let yourself take this chance to decompress.

You shut your eyes for a split second, breathing out the pain. The smell of the cigarette infiltrated your senses, causing you to scrunch your nose. Oh how you wished you could turn back time to where your parents were still wealthy enough to provide for their children and not waste all of it on the District that got destroyed in the war.

“Do you mind if I join you?” A voice spoke up from beside you, making you cough from the unexpected visitor. You quickly waved the smoke away from your face and turned to stomp on your cigarette—

“Don’t stop on my account, I’m not going to say anything.” The deep voice spoke again, pulling out his own lighter and cigarette.

You glanced over at the man who owned the deep baritone. You cleared your throat and gave him a sheepish smile before taking another drag. “Sorry.”

The flicker of his lighter and the orange lamp above the both of you kept the silence bearable until you spoke up, looking the gentleman up and down with slight curiosity. You couldn’t help but guess he was from some kind of wealth with his pressed suit and shined Oxfords.

“What brings you to this part of the Capitol? You look like you belong right next to President Ravinstill himself.” You tilt your head toward him, watching him flick his own cigarette to rid of the burned ends.

He blows out the smoke into the dark sky before meeting your eyes — his dark blue eyes contrasting the orange butt of the cigarette. “And a pretty girl like you looks like she shouldn’t be smoking to fill her lungs, but I’m not questioning it, am I?”

You shook your head as a small smile took over your face, looking down at your scuffed Mary Jane’s. “No, you are not.”

Silence took over once more, the only sound and smell you could pick up on were the drags you were taking from your cigarette. The night air soon began to pierce your skin and the cigarette was burning far too close to your fingers, causing you to sigh and face the stranger once more.

“It seems like I have to go, Mr.—?”

“Snow. Coriolanus Snow.” The blonde stepped on your cigarette for you, putting his hand out. You gladly accepted his handshake, feeling the surprisingly calloused fingers feathering over your soft ones. “And you are—?”

“Sorry, Y/N Fontaine.” You waved your hand apologetically. “Are you related to Crassus Snow by any chance?”

Coriolanus hummed at the mention, a small smile gracing his lips. “My father.”

You nodded as he took one last long drag before diminishing his own cigarette, the orange fading to black. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Coriolanus. But I believe this is our farewell.”

“At least let me walk you home. It’s already dark.” Coriolanus stuck his hands in his suit pants, his leather messenger bag swinging around his shoulder.

“I’ve been doing this for a while, Mr. Snow. I think I can handle myself.” You dust your hands off and begin your walk back home, your own tote bag clutched between your arm and body. “But thank you for the offer.”

Coriolanus rolled his eyes and stepped in sync with you. “I’m going this way anyway, let me walk you home.”

You send him an exasperated look but the smallest smile adorning your face gave a different impression. His arm swung in match with yours, his hand brushing with yours every once in a while. For a good second it was silent… Until Coriolanus decided to continue your previous conversation.

“Why did you ask about my father?”

“Uhm, I don’t really know… My father used to be friends with him, I guess.” You shrug, watching the leaves fall from the trees planted in small groups. “Something about District 13. We lost most of our possessions after the war because of that stupid District.”

Coriolanus nudged your shoulder with his. “My father put his life into that District, we’re only surviving in the Capitol off of my cousin’s work.”

You nod, listening to the clacking of your shoes and his on the cracked sidewalk. It’s funny how you two ran into each other. “Small world.”

“Indeed.” He murmured, watching your side profile a little longer. He blinked and returned back to his normal facade. “Why haven’t I seen you in the Academy before?”

You pursed your lips, keeping your eyes trained on the uneven ground. “My father pulled me out of the Capitol’s best schooling after the war ended. We didn’t have enough money to support my travels there and back.”

Coriolanus hummed in thought. “You know schooling is free?”

“I do,” You look up at him, noting the small crease in his eyebrows as he stared. “But we live so far away that walking would make more trouble for us during the winter season.”

The crickets from the trees chirped as you two continued to walk down the broken path — although you hopped on top of a cobblestone wall and stuck your arms out to balance. For some reason, you felt at ease with Coriolanus. For what reason, you didn’t know.

“Besides, my mother homeschools my brother and I.”

“You have a brother?” Coriolanus takes your hand as you carefully jump down the half wall, steadying you.

You dust off your skirt and walk beside him once more. “A younger brother. He’s only six. He grew up without the war, but without the money, his luxury was limited.”

“I suppose that’s why you’re out here a night?” He raised a brow toward you, making you nod.

“I try saving up money from my part time jobs to buy him his favorite chocolate and a small toy.” You jiggle the brown paper bag in your left hand, the small objects clanging together sent rings to your ears. “It seems to brighten his day whenever he wakes up to a small present on his bedside.”

He smiled at your small confession, “You’re a good sister, you know that?”

“Well, I try.” You smile back at him, glancing at his two dimples imprinted in his cheeks. “I’ve been going on… What about you? Tell me about your life.”

Coriolanus shakes his head, running his slender fingers through his blonde locks. “I’m not sure where to start with everything.” He fiddles with the inside of his pocket, slightly frowning when he finds a small hole in the pants. “Much like your father, my father spent all his money on District 13, hoping that it would thrive.”

A frown makes its way to your face, yet you remain silent and listen to him.

“Then — of course — the rebellion began. My father got enlisted but my mother, she…” Coriolanus cleared his throat, blinking furiously to get the tears out of his eyes. “She died during childbirth, then a few days later my little sister died.” He sucked in a breath to finish what many of the other Capitol children would call a sob story. “Then my father died to a rebel trapping in District 12.”

“Coriolanus, I—I’m so sorry.” You stop walking any further, clutching his arm softly in a reassuring gesture. “You didn’t have to tell me those things. I didn’t mean to pry—“

He brought a hand up to yours, squeezing it. “I wanted to. It’s a far trade.”

You thought he was done speaking his mind. But just as you began walking by his side again, he continued his life story once more.

“Then we had to resort to selling most of our things just to get by after the rebellion. Tigris didn’t attend University so she could work to provide for me and Grandma’am .” His voice was quiet and somewhat vulnerable, which was much different to how you met him. “I come down this street to grab groceries and run errands because it’s the cheapest here.”

You knew that was completely true. You’ve been coming down this town for a while, but with the inflation in the Capitol, it won’t stay cheap for much longer.

“Surely your Capitol friends would have helped you, Coriolanus.” You murmur, looking at his expensive clothing. “You look like you’re doing well for yourselves.”

He scoffed out a laugh, picking at his black suit jacket. “I borrowed this from Sejanus Plinth. He’s the only one who knows about my situation.”

You completely stopped walking now, making it to the front of your family’s apartment building. However, you leaned against the half brick wall behind you to listen to him, the orange glow of a lamp overhead the both of you highlighting your irises.

“If I’m being completely honest and bare,” Coriolanus ran his fingers through his blonde locks again. “We should have fallen off the map like your family did. We should have built up from the ground — Completely restart our lives.”

The atmosphere changed. He seemed more frustrated with his situation rather than accepting it. It felt like he was stuck in the stage of denial and grief. You eyed him up and down after seconds of silence before breaking through the tension.

“Do you have healthy grades in the Academy?” You ask quietly, stepping on the autumn leaves surrounding your feet. The crunching made you smile softly before looking up at Coriolanus.

“I do.”

“Do you maintain your attendance?” You ask another question, making Coriolanus crease his brows in confusion.

“Yes, but—“

You shush him. “Then you made the right decision. Well, as far as we know.” He opens his mouth to say something else but you stop him again. “You’re getting the best education there is in the Capitol. You should be focusing on the future. You could be the next game maker, or even President. Coriolanus, you can’t let yourself dwell in the past and what decisions you should have made or not.”

Coriolanus is speechless by the end of your small speech. He said the only word he could think of. “Wow.”

Rolling your eyes, you give him a small smile. “I can’t tell if you really hated that or not.”

“It was… Definitely something.” Coriolanus murmured. “But I have to admit, it was quite motivating.”

“Thanks.” You scrunch your nose when a car honks at the both of you. It suddenly clicked how late it was at night. You glanced down at your watch to confirm the late time. “It seems like I actually have to go now, Coriolanus. Thank you for walking me home and letting me speak my piece.”

He nodded, sticking his hand out and clasping it around yours for the last time that evening. “Of course…” He met your eyes. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh,” You furrow your brows in thought. You stood awkwardly with your hand still carefully tucked in his. “I don’t think so, maybe cleaning around the house and tending to house hold chores.” You pause. “Why?”

“Great. I’ll pick you up here at Twelve.” Coriolanus kissed your hand with a curt smirk. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You blink as he walks away, mouth dropping in complete shock. “You can’t just do that!”

He turned around and put his arms out. “I just did!”

You shake your head, a smile adorning your face. Maybe it wasn’t a bad thing to be kind to others… Especially when the person was as gorgeous as the one you met.

more works of coriolanus snow by august <3

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[dorkus-mcdingus]

Rewatching Pinocchio because I'm on a massive Fellow Honest high rn and the Playful Land event's not helping rn but it made me wonder something.

Fellow and Gidel are no stranger to petty crimes but do you think this stint with this world's version of the Coachman is the lowest he's stooped in his mind?

Personally, I can see them meeting in a really crappy looking tavern (possibly somewhere in the Shaftlands). The Coachman offers Fellow some cigars and some beer while Gidel got himself some hot cider to warm himself up.

"And those dummies fell for it! HAHAHA! HOOK LINE AND SINKER! HOO HOO HAHAHA! And they still think they got a magestone that one of the Great Seven used! And did those wealthy pricks pay? Plenty!"

'plop'

The amount of Thaumarks was impressive indeed but still a rather pitiful wage. Despite that, the Coachman listened to the fox beastman's stories of his travels and various schemes, all while blowing a few smoke rings from his pipe with nonchalance.

"Now then, what's your proposition?" Fellow asked as he blew a few puffs of smoke from his cigar.

"Well, how would you blokes like to make some real money?"

The amount of Thaumarks in the case he brought certainly got the attention of the swindlers. That's probably more money than they've seen in a lifetime and could only dream of having!

"You see, I'm collecting stupid little scholars." The Coachman whispered. "The disobedient ones that play hooky from school or work. And you see..."

From there, he carefully whispered the plan to the two beastmen. Get the giant boat built and have it working complete with theme park rides, games, and all sorts of delicious treats. Once that was complete, Fellow and Gidel were to wrangle as many stupid suckers as they could,

"And you takes 'em to Playful Land."

"Ah, Playful Land. PLAYFUL LAND?! BUT THE LAW! SUPPOSE THEY..!"

But the Coachman soothed the fox's worries with the oh so infamous quote,

"No, no. There's no risk!

"

Seeing that sinister smile coupled with that maniacal laugh was like staring the devil in his face and it was no shocker that both he and Gidel were scared senseless. Yes, this sort of mission would make them so much money and they could finally have enough for new clothes on their backs and something to eat, but something like this just felt wrong. True, his main concern was the authorities being on their backs but maybe Fellow would try and justify it in his mind saying to himself,

"Those privileged brats should pay for taking their education for granted when we weren't so lucky."

"It's what they deserve for looking down on people like us!"

"If I was able to afford it back then, I would be at the level they are and more!"

Even though he subjected himself to being a puppet for the elite running this ring, it quelled his shaking conscience the more he tried to justify it. After all, those ungrateful brats deserve a harsh lesson after all the humiliation he endured and the misfortune he was dealt with in his life.

However, his biggest worry concerned Gidel. Even though that kid partook in petty crimes and schemes with him, deep down, he knew that Gidel was a kind soul and didn't deserve to be pulled deeper into the darkness where he resides.

But, in order to have a decent meal and some new clothes, he had to suck up his pride and take it. If they don't like it, they can just pack up and go. That's how they always lived after all.

However... Seeing that demonic smile and Gidel shaking in his arms as they held each other after hearing the Coachman's plan, it was enough to give him nightmares that night and scar him for life.

"Give a bad boy enough rope and he'll soon make a jackass of himself."

[warping-realities]

Keeping Up With Old Friends (by the best of all @dumb-and-jocked & @callmecallmecrazy

It's a great pleasure to make images for this collaboration between two of my favorite authors. I had permission from both of them to do this and I spent a considerable amount of time trying to be up to par with their work, I don't know if I managed it but I still hope it's to your liking.

“Phil? Is that you?” Geoff could’ve sworn the man in front of him was an old classmate of his, having been lab partners their freshman year. The two had connected fairly well, with Geoff having hung out with the free-thinking, pot-smoking, curly-haired flower child a lot more than he thought he would. Except, scruffy and shaggy Phil was replaced with tailored-beard and straightened-locks Phil. Not only that, but his usual oversized hoodie and sweats had been replaced with a properly fit tee and jeans.

“Geoff! Hey man, how’s it going.” His voice was still the same lively and flamboyant pitch that it had always been. Phil met his friend in a hug over the cash register, squeezing Geoff a little harder than he had been prepared for.

“Surprised to see you here,” Geoff half-joked, knowing that the old Phil would never come close to a shopping mall, let alone a department store. If the job wasn’t so easy and the pay wasn’t so good, Geoff wouldn’t have ever entered either. Too bad college was so expensive.

“Ha! Yeah man, turns out they have some good stuff! Plus, it’s close to where I live.”

“Oh, did you finally move out of the dorms?”

“Yeah, I moved into the Kappa Sigma Alpha house.” The big smile he offered was met by a wide-eyed stare from Geoff. Phil was a free spirit, one who practically came out of the ‘60s. Last they’d talked, he’d been planning on living at an eco-friendly miniature house, certainly not at “prespter-prick incorporated”.

“What happened to living green?”

“Ya know, I wanted a change.” Phil shoved his hands into his pockets. “Plus, college loans are really bringing me down. I needed to save some money and fast. My uncle got me an in with the fraternity; he’s an alum.”

“Aren’t they, like, totally pretentious?” Geoff countered. “We used to joke about those preppy freaks and their smug arrogance.” 

Phil frowned, his expression made it seem as if he’d taken personal offense.

“Hey man, they’re cool. After my uncle had pointed out that I was a legacy, I got headhunted by the rush chair.  I’m not one of those over-confident princes having yacht parties and spending time at the country club.” Geoff’s tense muscles eased a little, causing Phil to smile. “I don’t think they do that kinda stuff anymore anyway.”  

He glanced at his phone, and then back at Geoff. Getting the message, Geoff quickly processed his items and had Phil pay. He was surprised to see Phil was buying more normal clothes. Cheap, standard tops and bottoms that were neither flamboyant or tame: just generic.

“Hey man, great seeing you,” Phil concluded the conversation politely. “Maybe we’ll hang out sometime? I gotta get back to the house!”

Geoff watched Phil walk out, noticing how well he filled out his jeans. The Phil he knew had been a short, skinny beanpole, similar to Geoff’s height but with less pudge. However, the new Phil’s buttocks had developed a sort of plumpness, just barely curving the pants out awkwardly as he walked away. 

“That was so strange,” Geoff said aloud, but he assumed that people changed. Phil seemed happy and healthy, and as long as he was saving money Geoff was happy for him. Maybe he always wanted to join a frat?

For the rest of his shift, Geoff continued thinking about the peculiar interaction, but by the end of the day he was too exhausted to think about anything. Once he had gotten back to his dorm, he lethargically changed and jumped into his bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

— —

“Phil? Is that you?” The big man standing in front of the counter didn’t exactly physically resemble Phil. He was fairly big at about 5 ‘10 (a few inches taller than Phil) and the Henley shirt he wore couldn’t hide the beginnings of bulging pecs. And his hair, last time uncoiled but still at shoulder-length, was sheared down, pushed up, and shiny from cheap gel. The face was still the same, even though the hair made his face look a little square.

The young man looked back at Geoff confused for a moment before a tinge of understanding glittered in his eyes.

“Geoff Elliot,” his voice was noticeably slower and deeper than last time. While Geoff went in for a hug, Phil replied with a one-armed embrace and pat on the back. He practically grimaced when Geoff attempted for more affection.

“Phil! Man, it’s been awhile. I haven’t seen you since your last time here.”

“Yes, Geoff, I’ve been very busy with school. And please, call me Phillip, it’s more traditional.”

“Wow, still living with the Kappa Sigmas?”

“Yes, I’ve been acquainting very well. What about you, Geoff?”

“Oh ya know, I’m still in old Walker. It isn’t great, but it’s definitely got a sweet spot in the middle of campus.”

“Living comfortably?”

“Ha, you know I’m not.”

“I can tell,” Phillip noted Geoff’s pale skin and tired eyes. Geoff was taken aback by the outright disdain.

“Well, I’ve got to work if I want to get a degree.” Phillip just nodded, causing Geoff to carry the conversation. “You’re looking good. Do the Kappa Sigmas expect gym time?”

“Yes,” Phillip’s stern demeanor dropped a touch, allowing a bit more levity in his voice. “There’s an expansive gym at the country club. It’s free and they even give you a few hours a day to use it!” 

He was practically giddy as he talked, allowing Geoff to relax a bit. This was the Phil he knew, chirpy and friendly though now not as exceptionally outgoing. And if Geoff was being honest, Phil seemed extremely content with his new situation. 

“Have you picked up any sports? It seems like you’ve got the bod now,” Geoff joked, knowing that Phil hated physical activity. He playfully slapped one of Phil’s broad shoulders and was shocked at how firm the muscle was.

“I’ve been doing a lot of golf! I play with several of the other guys and even some of my uncle’s coworkers. I’m getting my handicap down too.”

“Oh, you’re playing golf?” Geoff hadn’t expected an answer, but if one came he would’ve guessed football or baseball–not golf.

“Yes, it’s very enjoyable. And great for business bonding. Chance for us men to talk about the frat, women, sports and the like. Say, you watch the game last weekend?”

That was wholly unlike Phil, but Geoff guessed he was probably throwing himself into the fraternity world.

“Nah, man, I’m not into basketball.”

“It’s football season.” His reply was so direct and unvarnished that Geoff had to grip the counter for support. “I know not everyone is into the NFL, but I assumed you would at least watch like any other man. And our team is having an exceptionally great season. 4-0 in conference play.”

Phillip kept talking about football as Geoff stared deep into his eyes. Was this really Phil? The guy used to pretend like he didn’t know what sports were. What was happening to him?

“Anyway, Geoff, it’s been great catching up,” Phillip said, dumping his items onto the register. Geoff was surprised to notice that Phil was purchasing only name brand items. Not expensive, but not generic either. “Maybe we can grab some beers and watch a game sometime.” 

Phillip hastily paid for all of his items and walked out. Geoff couldn’t help but notice the increasingly larger derrière. His buttocks had developed a shelf-like quality, curving the cheap khakis out as he walked away. Its slight jiggling motion was a stunning contrast to the hard muscle covering the rest of his body.

“Yeah, great to see you Phil-lip,” Geoff forced out the last syllable. This was not the Phil he knew, but instead some dude named Phillip. Geoff continued on with the rest of his shift, the interaction slipping from his mind at the end of the day when he collapsed into bed.

— —

“Phil? Is that you? I mean, Phillip?” Geoff had hoped he wouldn’t see him again after their last encounter, but when he saw this barely-familiar-looking man his curiosity got the best of him. He told himself it was all in his head, but everything about these encounters were disturbing. Geoff wasn’t sure if it was steroids as his former buddy’s growth seemed extremely quick, but it could’ve just been the sudden makeover too. What was even crazier was the man next to him was somehow larger.

This Phillip was 6’4 and wore a baby blue oxford button-up with a yellow and blue striped repp tie. The shirt looked ready to burst as it was tight against the two firm mounds sticking out of the young man’s chest. On top of the set was a two-button navy blazer with the letters KE on the left side, which Geoff assumed stood for Kappa Sigma. His hair was much different, for the overgrown shag was now neatly cut, with short sides and tapered across the crown. The ivy league was sharply parted on the left side and held sturdily in place by an expensive looking pomade. Not only had his hair transformed, but his face had undergone a dramatic change too. His jaw, formerly a little pointed and sharp, spread wide and hung low, giving his face a distinguished lantern shape to match his newly-cleft chin. 

This Phillip stood ramrod straight while searching through a rack of new suits from Brooks Brothers. The man next to Phillip was older but otherwise nearly identical. He was thicker around the middle, but any gut he might have was hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage. His tie was black and grey with a subtle windowpane pattern, and his suit shared a similar palette.

The other man stared at Geoff for a moment before tapping Phillip on the shoulder.

“Pierson,” his voice was slow and deep. “I believe this boy is trying to get your attention.” 

The younger man turned towards the counter to see Geoff. A faint bit of recognition crossed his face momentarily.

“Geoff Elliot.” The voice was practically monotone, low and deep. He took a few powerful steps forward and offered a large, coarse handshake.

“Uncle,” Phillip turned to face the older man. “This is a friend from college, Geoff Elliot. Geoff, this is my uncle.” He gestured robotically between the two. The uncle offered his hand and it was the same rough shake.

“Nice to meet you…” Geoff sort of trailed off, hoping to get a first name.

“John Howard Johnson.” The reply was colorless. “Mr. Johnson will do.”

“Alright,” Geoff simply replied. “So, Phillip-”

“Please call me Pierson,” Phillip said curtly. “My uncle thinks I would be better suited professionally as Pierson.” The way he spoke, extremely even in both rhythm and pitch, was unnerving.

Geoff could make out some of Phil’s features in the hulking face before him. An upturned nose and naturally thin eyebrows over wide eyes resembled the Phil he knew. But the rest of the face clearly belonged to this cocky fratboy named Pierson.

“Okay, Pierson. So, any news about Greek Life?”

“I am very happy with the Kappa Sigmas. Life there is perfectly preppy.”

“That’s great. Glad to hear you’re doing good!”

“Yes, my uncle believes after college I will be an ideal candidate for his company, Hemplebaum Inc..”

“That place downtown with office drones filling foreclosures and manipulating bank accounts?”

“Correct,” Pierson stated blatantly.

“Huh, okay.” Geoff was getting sick of this conversation, and of this act. There was obviously something going on here, so he decided to just ask about it flat out.

“How long are you going to keep this up, Phil?”

“Pierson.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Geoff retorted. He knew it probably wasn’t best to argue with customers during his shift, but this was more important than a job. “How are you willing to sell your soul to some frat? We used to joke about these guys! Can’t you see something is wrong?”

“I’m offended by your tone, Geoff. And honestly,” he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves while disgustingly eyeing Geoff’s uniform. “I grew up. You could do with some growing.”

“You’ve grown into a mindless fratboy.”

“And you, Geoff, are still a child. We ‘mindless fratboys’ are very well groomed and dressed. We speak with clarity and courtesy, and are diligent and helpful. We truly represent the apex of manhood.”

“Pierson,” Mr. Johnson suddenly interrupted the argument. Pierson stiffened up and faced his uncle. “I’m glad you had this chance to catch up with your acquaintance, but we have wasted time.”

“Of course, Uncle.” 

They turned to leave, but Pierson swiftly reached into a blazer pocket and pulled out a thick black card. 

“If you ever decide to grow up.” Pierson placed it on the register before he and his uncle left, giving Geoff a good look at their backsides. Despite the broad shoulders and bulging pectorals, both had a distinctly pear shaped body, with wide hips and massive butts that shook just a touch as they walked. Pierson’s rump was especially luscious, bouncing around inside those tight, pastel madras shorts. It gave Geoff a boner as he watched it wiggle. Sure, the man was the monster that replaced his old friend, but he had to admit the new douchebag look was kind of hot.

Geoff grabbed the card from the counter and examined it. It was a thick card stock and slightly textured with the Greek letters obnoxiously large in one corner. Right in the middle read “Pierson Buckley Folsom VI,” infuriating Geoff. That was absolutely not his last name, in fact none of those were his names! Had he changed his entire personality to fit in with these people?  Had Phil been putting on a fake persona the entire time he was in college? Was this who he truly was? Geoff calmed himself down before reasoning that the name changing was a deeper sign. This whole thing had become so ridiculous he couldn’t just ignore it. He’d have to do some investigating.

— —

“This is Pierson Buckley Folsom VI.” 

Geoff didn’t actually want to go through with his plan, but he had to make an attempt. If he could insert himself safely into this Pierson’s friend group, he might just be able to figure out what happened to Phil. Sure, Geoff wasn’t really built for the whole undercover thing, but he owed it to his old friend. Plus, Geoff knew if he let the matter sit, it would just continue to haunt him.

“Hey, Pierson. This is Geoff.” 

“Hello Geoff, how may I assist you?” He was already straight to the point.

“Well, you know I was thinking about what you said back in the mall. Growing up and all that stuff.”

“Ah,” Pierson’s stale voice came from the other end. “I assume you are interested in becoming a Kappa Sigma then?”

“Yes.” Geoff swallowed before continuing, “I would like to become a Kappa Sigma.”

“If that is so,” Pierson began monotonously. “We have a rush event this weekend at the Rolling Acres Country Club. Come golfing this weekend, I know you will enjoy it.”

“That sounds exciting!” It totally did not. He did not want to go to a rush event in the most posh, expensive neighborhood in the city. “What do I need to wear? I’m sure they have a dress code.”

“Meet me at the Kappa Sigma house before. I will have appropriate clothing.”

“Sounds good, thank you for your help, Pierson.”

“You are welcome, Geoff.” 

And just like that, the plan was in motion. This weekend, Geoff would be infiltrating enemy territory, so it was now time to do some research. He didn’t want to be suspicious, but as far as he could tell, the only person who thought something was amiss was him.

— —

The Kappa Sigma Alpha house was a well-built, classic home that looked like it belonged in Connecticut or somewhere else classy. The elegant mansion was extremely large, just like all of its brothers. It was so huge in fact that it had a room strictly dedicated for watching football, and that wasn’t even the media room! According to Pierson, there was a room with a movie projector on another floor. The football room was just a man cave according to him, except it was a sunlit, high-ceilinged game room. It was about five times bigger than the dorm Geoff was currently living in, which was only half the size of Pierson’s room.  

When Pierson had answered the door, he was dressed in a full monochromatic suit.

Geoff had expected something more casual, so he was wearing a faded pair of khakis and a plaid button-up. Geoff’s bulkier counterpart was intensely embarrassed by his attire and insisted he put on one of his old suits. Geoff thought about protesting, but instead allowed it. He fit quite well in it, as Pierson’s old suit was from Phil’s era. Geoff hated the whole dress-up ordeal, but he needed to fit in as much as possible, and to do that he would have to do everything Pierson said. 

“Are we going golfing in suits?” Geoff asked innocently, unsure if they’d actually be participating in the sport.

“That’s absurd!” Pierson remarked, his tone just barely leaving its usual flat level as he dodged the question. “We will be changing at the club.”

Geoff couldn’t imagine how most people showed up dressed like this, but he would do whatever made Pierson comfortable. And apparently, the change had been necessary. After they got past the gate and into the main clubhouse, every man he passed had a tie on. Some of the brothers were already dressed in polos and khaki shorts, with the color of their outfits being the only way Geoff could figure out who was who. After Pierson had checked them in for the rush event, they headed to the lockers to change. Once the two had stripped, Pierson handed Geoff a small white piece of fabric. Geoff was horrified to find it was a pair of whitey-tighties, completely generic besides a tiny logo and a thin, blue line running through the band.

“What,” Geoff asked. “Dude, seriously?”

“All of us wear them,” Pierson blatantly stated, showing how he had stripped down to his own. Geoff had only noticed Pierson’s behind before, but now he took his chance to examine the whole body. Pierson was thick from below his pecs down to his butt, no real waistline. The holes for the legs in Pierson’s briefs clung tightly to his thighs, making the curve of his extremely wide buttocks stand out. His bulge was extremely pronounced too, pushing the briefs to their limit. Everything about Pierson was just so big nowadays, his proportions practically comic level. He looked good.

Knowing he had to do it, Geoff quickly stepped into the briefs. The briefs made their way up both of his legs and finally began to engulf his private regions. He pulled the waistband up and let them sink into place. The bright, white fabric comfortably held his body from the tip-top of thighs to just above his pubic bush.

“Let me help you with those.” 

Pierson glided over to Geoff and dutifully pulled the briefs higher, a lot higher. Geoff’s belly button was now completely hidden, giving him a slight wedgie and his small package an even smaller moose knuckle. His flat bottom seemed more vertical than ever, and his 3-inch soft dick was nowhere near whatever Pierson was packing. Geoff should have been in pain, he should have been protesting, but something had subtly changed inside of him. The moment was deceptively erotic, something overly-personal but seemingly inconsequential that he was giving up to fit in. The look of disgust he originally had on his face had faded away, replaced with a simple, charming smile.

With that done, Pierson handed Geoff some pink Bermuda shorts and a blue polo, each made of a stretchy and breathable material.

“You sure these are mine?” Geoff asked, noticing that the sizes were much too large. “I’m not sure I’ll fit.”

“I’m certain we’re the same size, Geoff.” Pierson replied, putting on his own set. The striped Hampton Lime polo he wore beautifully accentuated his pectoral shelf and–after being tucked into some tight cobalt Bermuda shorts–his blooming muscle gut. Geoff didn’t actually know the names of the hues, Pierson had strictly informed him beforehand. Pulled up to rest just below Pierson’s brief’s waistband, the shorts were held up by a fashionable belt that Geoff knew had a price tag with at least 3 digits. The shorts not only continued to advertise Pierson’s laughably large bottom, but also displayed powerful calves that looked as if they were stolen from a marble statue.

Although Pierson was certain they were the same size, they most certainly were not. Geoff was not surprised when his outfit failed to fit. The belt he had barely kept the shorts from falling, and even though the shirt was tucked in, it still draped over him more like a curtain. Unlike the briefs that had fit perfectly, the clothes were meant for a man much larger than him. A fraternity brother.

The final pieces were short, plain white socks and a pair of large golf shoes. Once again, Pierson had insisted the two were the same size, but Geoff knew his feet would never fit in the Size 14 giants. Even after tying the tightest knot he could, the shoes were still fairly roomy and loose, causing Geoff to focus intensely on every step in hopes of not tumbling over. Sighing in defeat, he noticed a small emblem on one of his socks, the same he had seen before on the briefs. He checked the other sock, and then also found it on his polo over the left breast. Deciding it couldn’t hurt, Geoff inquired about it.

“I don’t think I recognize this brand,” he started. “Are we wearing Ralph Lauren?”

“Not exactly,” Pierson replied, who had also finished getting dressed. “It’s a partner brand of Polo Ralph Lauren that made an exchange with the Carmichael Corporation. Apparently some financial deal.”

“What is the Carmichael Corporation?”

“They are an investing partner with Hemplebaum. The two often work together on acquisition projects. The event today is co-hosted by both companies. A lot of Kappa Sigma Alpha’s alum actually work at the companies, as the pair and the fraternity are continually functioning together. Almost like a cycle, I assume.” Pierson chuckled at that.

“I see.” Geoff smiled at the new piece of evidence. Not only did he just find that a company was in on the ordeal, but three. There was definitely something peculiar about this “financial deal,” and whatever these Hemplebaum and Carmichael organizations were, they had to be behind the disappearance of Phil.

The two then made their way out to the course. A plethora of young, muscular men and older counterparts were already golfing away, chatting merrily about subjects Geoff knew he had no interest in. Stocks and economical talk were topics that were unsurprisingly extremely boring. Pierson made sure to introduce as many people as he could as they walked along, and Geoff made sure to mentally write down each suspect in his head. 

There was Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV from Carmichael, a man slightly older than the pair but identical in size and manner to Pierson. He was wearing a violet polo, docksiders, and light gray madras shorts. Then there was Henderson Harold Hearst from Hemplebaum; he shared the same age and exaggerated proportions with Pierson’s uncle, Mr. Johnson, who was also there. He was wearing a white sports polo, black golf cap, and a pair of golf trousers that somehow expanded over his massive thighs, showing off Mr. Hearst’s thick trunks and amble, jiggly buttocks that pressed generously backwards. 

There were a plethora of other businessmen that were also introduced to Geoff along the way. Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr. from Carmichael; Emerson Foley Gillingham-Smyth from Carmichael; Rotterham Casper Cornelius Southard from Hemplebaum; John Millard Koehler III from Carmichael. All the titles and accentuated names made Geoff’s head want to explode, but he hadn’t even met a quarter of the populus yet. There were still all the Kappa Sigma boys with names like Thurston F. Walbridge IV, Wyndham Judge Kilbourn V, and Hunt Johnstonbough. Geoff couldn’t understand how people remembered all of these obsessive, extensive, and money-grubbing men and their names. All of the businessmen and fraternity brothers were just a bunch of wealthy blockheads.

A sharp, static shock zipped inside of Geoff’s high-waisted briefs, causing him to pause momentarily. The shock sent a signal up his anus and tickled his prostate ever so slightly. In his head, Geoff immediately reevaluated his previous thoughts. These men weren’t obsessive, they were just clean-cut and well-maintained. And their names weren’t extensive and money-grubbing, they were traditional, conservative, and sumptuous. These corrections brought a cordial smile to Geoff’s face. Only now noticing he had stopped walking, Geoff jogged to catch back up to Pierson, causing his slightly-larger buttocks to gingerly bob.

As they walked out onto the course, golf bags strapped across their backs, Geoff could see a tall figure in the distance seeming to greet them with a small wave. Pierson returned the gesture amiably.

“Who’s that?”

“Prescott Neilson Powers IV. I invited him to play with us. Prescott is the Kappa Sigma rush chair. ”

“You invited the rush chair?”

“Prescott, yes. He’s been a close friend since I attended preparatory school, you should know that, Geoff.”

Geoff did not know this, as Pierson hadn’t existed less than a semester ago.

“I thought you would get on quite well. Besides, he’s on good terms with many important people. If you want to join the fraternity brotherhood, no one is a better connection.”

Prescott was in stretchy plum-colored golf trousers, a ballcap with the KE logo sitting proudly on the front, and a smoky-gray polo exactly like the ones they were wearing. Geoff had a bit of a shock realizing how much Prescott looked like Pierson. His body filled out the polo tremendously with broad shoulders, baseball-like biceps, and a thick but strong core. He also had that overly-wide posterior that led into legs and calves formed by deadlifts and deep squats. His hair–which was sheared down into a practically flat bit of black hair, shiny and parted–was the only noticeable difference between the two, but otherwise Geoff might have mistaken the two for brothers or cousins.

“Greetings!” Prescott shook Pierson’s hand and pulled him in for a pat on the back. For his part, Pierson tensed up a bit but did not resist.

“Prescott Neilson Powers IV, this is Geoffrey Elliot. We had few classes together last year, and now he is interested in rushing.” Before Geoff could correct the error of his name, Prescott grabbed him into a similar handshake-to-hug.

“Pleasure to meet you, Geoffrey,” Prescott said calmly. “Well, let’s play.”

“Are we taking the cart?” Geoff asked, pointing to a line of white, polished golf carts. He really didn’t want to walk around the entire course. He hadn’t exerted that amount of physical energy since high school gym.

“Of course not!” Prescott and Pierson chortled before Prescott continued. “I’d figure us three needed to work less on our glutes and more cardio!” Prescott then reached out and gave both Pierson and Geoff hard butt slaps. Geoff wanted to object, but a momentarily jarring jolt from his briefs once again silenced him.

“We all know this will not be enough to alleviate that problem,” Pierson quipped as they made their way to the first hole. Geoffrey completely forgot what he was thinking about and followed with a polite smile, his shorts now tighter against his inflated rump.

Prescott was extremely friendly and a little physical. Upon learning that Geoffrey had never golfed, Prescott took it upon himself to teach him everything he could, resulting in him saddling up behind him to correct stance and form, but also jokingly pressing his crotch into Geoffrey’s butt and thrusting. The boys all laughed at the horseplay, with Geoffrey nervously trying to hide his boner. If he wanted to fit in around these traditional, conservative men, he’d have to be a lot more careful. Luckily, his member had softened before anyone noticed, returning to its previous 4-inches soft.

Geoffrey had a hard time hating Prescott and the Kappa Sigma brothers. Taking away all the pomp of politics and social structure, Prescott seemed to be an incredibly friendly alpha; the kind of guy who would be quarterback, homecoming king, and class president (all things Geoffrey learned Prescott was). Geoffrey began to recognize that all the Kappa Sigma, Carmichael, and Hemplebaum men had so many things in common. There were so many things about them that Geoffrey really liked. They were gorgeously male and embodied masculine sophistication. They were groomed and cleaned, polite and cheerful. They were such ideal men, what Pierson had called “perfectly preppy”.

“My girlfriend will literally do anything I ask, that’s how dedicated she is to me!” Prescott bragged in a slow but still gloating voice.

“She was always into you,” Pierson added.

“Yes, sir. Her dad’s super rich, one of the department managers at the Carmichael Corporation. He’s inundated with old money. But what about you?” Prescott got a mischievous glint as his eyes located Pierson’s crotch. “Are you getting those fellows ready? It is almost breeding season.”

“What does that mean?” Geoffrey inquired.

“Pierson Buckley Folsom VI here is getting married.”

“Congratulations!” Geoffrey replied enthusiastically, forgetting that Pierson hadn’t had a partner less than a month ago.

“Thank you. We’re finishing some final details; her mother is very specific. Sometimes, she acts as though I’m unworthy.”

“She cannot do better,” Prescott assured.

“She is a perfectly suitable spouse. I am very pleased with the situation,” Pierson affirmed before setting up his shot and launching the ball.  He let out a whistle of appreciation as it landed in the green just a few feet away from the hole.

“Good shot,” Prescott and Geoffrey said simultaneously. Geoffrey hadn’t noticed his voice was beginning to imitate the other two’s, as it was now a little deeper and even-handed.

“Geoffrey, I know it’s late notice, but I hope you can at least attend the wedding. The club has strict guest limits and I’m running out of passes for nonmembers for the bachelor party.”

“Thank you, Pierson. I’m sure I can make it.”

Geoffrey didn’t want to attend for investigative purposes however, he just wanted to support his close friend Pierson.

“And if you join the fraternity and get your membership before, you can enjoy all the heterosexual fun.” Prescott winked at Geoffrey and snagged a nipple that was now stiffly pressed out from the polo. Geoffrey had somehow not felt the weight of his upper body before as he walked, as his chest now stuck out and increased his height by a few inches. Geoffrey should’ve cared more about his enlarged torso, but for some reason walking around with pecs straining a polo felt incredible, like a huge dose of testosterone had been injected into him.

After a few more rounds, the trio decided to take an intermission and head back to the club. The main ballroom at the Rolling Acres was a lively place stocked with booze and many other pompous and colossal-sized men. Before Geoffrey could figure out what was going on, Pierson and Prescott were already removing the caps from a collection of glass bottles and pouring multiple glasses full of amber liquid.

“Come on, sit,” Prescott instructed, slapping Geoffrey’s bottom before taking a seat. Originally, Geoffrey had intended on asking some analytical questions and refusing the drinks, but after a quick agonizing wince he discovered he didn’t want to upset his new friends, or the financial connections they represented. Taking a big swig of the liquid, he sat down in the chair, his increasingly wide and plump behind consuming nearly ¾ths of the extra wide seat.

“You’re getting pretty good at the trap shot, Pierson Buckley Folsom VI, ” Prescott toasted Pierson.

“You’re still better, Prescott Neilson Powers IV,” Pierson was already refilling his drink happily. The trio continued chatting until Pierson eventually excused himself to the toilet, leaving Geoffrey alone with a man he thought would have been detestable. But this afternoon was fun. He got a small knot in his stomach as Prescott turned to him with a viperous grin.

“Geoff? Geoff Elliot?” Prescott suddenly said, dropping his voice low. Geoffrey was confused for a moment, as he hadn’t thought of himself as Geoff in a while. It was almost shocking, but then he cautiously nodded yes.

“Please, call me Geoffrey, Prescott.”

“Oh, I will, Geoffrey,” he emphasized the name. “You look good, and I have to admit I was wrong about you, Geoffrey. When Pierson had said he had invited you, I did not think you would make it. But here you are: willing and able, and looking much better with the muscles might I add. These clothes have done wonders for you.”

“Thank you, Prescott. I am very happy spending time with the Kappa Sigma men and the alumni.” Prescott nodded and smiled as the robotic words left Geoffrey’s mouth. Geoffrey had been content with his answer, but he hadn’t processed the real meaning behind Prescott’s comment. Absentmindedly scratching his calf, he should’ve been surprised by the amount of fur that caught in his grip. It also should have shocked him how firm his muscles felt; the thick, robust quads and strong, sculpted forelegs now filled his salmon shorts appropriately. They were also helped by his waist, which had expanded out both in the pelvic and gluteal regions.

“I like having my fellow fraternity brothers around. It is truly a real lifetime bond, care to agree?” Geoffrey nodded as Prescott took another deep swig. “Something that really defines a man: who he is and who he’s going to be.” 

Prescott then seemed to stare at Geoffrey curiously. For his part, Geoffrey had no idea what to say, and so stayed silent. “If I’d known this is who you were going to be, I’d have made sure you were my brother a long time ago. Of course, I knew Geoff, but not Geoffrey. Not big, strapping Geoffrey.”

“Yes,” Geoffrey stirred his glass and sat there.

“And I still have yet to meet whom you will become. You still have a ways to go until you have finished.”

“Finished?”

“The rush event, of course. You did not think it was over, did you? It is only a quarter past one you jester!” Prescott then grabbed Geoffrey’s head and gave him a playful noogie. The respectable man’s knuckles drove apart Geoffrey’s hair, causing the slightly-greasy afro to spill out a little more.

“Your hair has been a little off today,” Prescott noted. “Did you use enough pomade this morning?”

“Yes,” Geoffrey confirmed. “I believe I did.” He fixed his hair precariously, making sure all the edges were still held together like a helmet. Geoffrey liked his textured ivy league cut chipper yet sharp, just like the fine fellows of Kappa Sigma Alpha.

“Now, Geoffrey, what do you think Geoffrey is like in college?”

“I’m Geoffrey.”

“Correct, but these past few semesters you have not been. I just wonder what you wish you had done?”

“I wish I’d attended more sports games. I love football, and enjoy playing tennis and golf.” The answers had been installed in his head without him knowing.

“Splendid!”

“I’d want to have a group of men to watch sports with,” Geoffrey added.

“Indeed, every game we have an event at the house.” 

Geoffrey stared at him with glassy eyes. He was confused. It seemed like Prescott wanted him to say something, but he could only shrug.

“Would have been nice.”

“I do hope you apply for the fraternity. The brotherhood would be a good fit for you.”

“I’ve really enjoyed myself so far,” Geoffrey admitted. “And the prospect of living in the manor is tantalizing.”

“Where are you living nowadays?”

“I have a dorm in Walker. It’s a heap, but I live alone.”

“Have you thought about living with other men? Such ideal, perfectly preppy men?”

“What?! No, I haven’t, I mean..” Geoffrey sputtered a little, not considering that factor in his infiltration plan. It seemed like a dream, to be surrounded by so many gaudy, haughty, and sexy men. After a momentary painful shudder, Geoffrey realized he would love to be surrounded by so many prosperous, presumptuous, and handsome brothers. Of course, his definition of handsome was a man who was traditional, well-heeled, and physically attractive to women. Geoffrey believed that men ought to align themselves to the only orientation, one where his 5-inch soft dick didn’t get aroused to the thought of other gentlemen.

“I’m not sure it’s right for me,” Geoffrey announced truthfully, authorizing a smirk from Prescott.

“It’s right for Geoffrey. For football-playing, fraternity brother, corporate shark Geoffrey.” Prescott smiled and got up from the table, ushering Geoffrey to follow him.

“If you become a brother, either the Carmichael Corporation or Hemplebaum will pay off your student debt as long as you work a year-long internship with them after you graduate. I can set you up.”

“Really?”

“I always support my Kappa Sigma Alpha brothers.” His impish grin was the only signal Geoffrey had before another blow to his bottom. After a little excruciating twitch, Geoffrey returned to reality, his voluminous buttocks still vibrating as they had now accumulated a soft layer of fat that made him even wider.

“Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long. Four years forged the lifetime bond!”  Prescott chanted and stared at Geoffrey. Geoffrey hesitated, but his mind wanted it so bad. He wanted Prescott to like him, to be his brother. Geoffrey wanted to be one of the classy, dashing brothers.

“Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long. Four years forged the lifetime bond.”  Prescott smiled as Geoffrey repeated the stanza back to him.

Pierson then showed up a moment later from behind them.

“What did I miss?”

“Just the rushing of our newest member here!”

“Newest member?” Pierson replied excitedly. “You are going to become a brother, Geoffrey?”

“I must!” Geoffrey replied eagerly. He wanted to become one of these perfectly preppy brothers, which kind of went against his reason for coming here in the first place. But, why was he here again? Was it not to be rushed? For some reason, Geoffrey felt like he was forgetting something, but it didn’t bother him enough to dwell on it. Any inappropriate memory of infiltration or distaste had been sapped from his increasingly cordial mind.

“That makes me so elated!” Pierson exclaimed. “Let us go find my uncle then, that way we can have him officiate the necessary forms.”

“If I can have a moment,” Geoffrey paused the celebration. “I would like to use the restroom.”

“Well…” Pierson hesitated.

“Of course!” Prescott gave a reassuring glance to Pierson, although Geoffrey didn’t know why. “Around the corner over yonder and then westbound. We will go retrieve Mr. Johnson while you alleviate.”

“My gratitude.” Not only had Geoffrey’s tone adopted the same deep, flat, and robotic tone, but his vocabulary slowly became much more sophisticated. As he strolled over to the restroom, Geoffrey now felt the weight of his body as he walked. He hadn’t noticed before, but he had settled out around 6’3 thanks to his extended limbs. His newly broadened shoulders filled out his dark periwinkle polo nicely. They made him feel like he took up the entire doorway as he entered the lavatory, and his big, wide stride made his butt and crotch kind of wiggle as he walked. He could feel the fabric of his salmon shorts tighten around his balls and release, then tighten on the other side. It was mildly arousing.

After taking a hearty leak, Geoffrey pulled his briefs back up above his belly button. It was deceptively erotic, something overly-personal but seemingly inconsequential that he was giving up to fit in. And that’s what he wanted after all, to fit in. Why be unique and different when one could be conventional, classical, and consistent? That’s why he had come here in the first place, because he wanted to be like these men. Geoffrey wanted to be a Kappa Sigma, and after that work at either the Carmichael Corporation or Hemplebaum.

Washing his hands in the sink, Geoffrey looked up and was very pleased to see the extremely handsome young man in front of him. He filled out his clothes almost to the point of bursting, from the Size 14 golf shoes to the Philadelphia blue polo. As he admired his form in the mirror, Geoffrey couldn’t help but brush the smooth-shaved line of his prominent jaw. He really could swear that his face had been almost heart-shaped, but now there was a distinctly hexagonal shape to the thing. Geoffrey was practically a hypermasculine parody: low brow, big nose, and wide jaw with a gigantic cleft chin: just like all the other men here.

Once he had finished appreciating his form, he exited the restroom and found Pierson, Prescott, and Mr. Johnson all chatting merrily. When they noticed his entrance, they immediately turned to allow him into the conversation.

“What can I do for you, Geoffrey?” Mr. Johnson asked. Geoffrey tried to find a concise answer for that question, but found that impossible.

“I want to become a Kappa Sigma and work with business and finance after graduation. I want every piece of advice you can give me.”

“Why is that?” Mr. Johnson was suppressing a smug smile though Geoffrey didn’t notice.

“I want to be just like you. And Pierson Buckley Folsom VI. And Prescott Neilson Powers IV. And all the men here at Rolling Acres.”

“Enjoy the event?”

“Immensely. I belong here with these kinds of men. I want to move into the Kappa Sigma Alpha house, not live in some pathetic university building.” He cast a disgusted look before continuing.  “I want to become an alumni and work under the Carmichael Corporation or Hemplebaum.”

Mr. Johnson smiled. “So, Geoffrey, are you willing to fully commit yourself to the Kappa Sigmas?”

“I am, sir,” he replied in a soldier-like manner.

“Excellent. Well, I can proudly say you are approaching the physical standards. Let me address one concern.” Mr. Johnson carefully moved his massive arm behind Geoffrey and patted his buttocks gently. Geoffrey didn’t react as a gentle sting pulsated his prostate and a charming smile adorned his face. Mr. Johnson’s hand moved away to reveal an enormous rump identical to the others’, one thick with muscles underneath but concealed underneath a spongy layer of fat. With the salmon Bermuda shorts now tight against his behind, the crotch of his shorts were pulled tight into a prominent moose knuckle, also showcasing his 7-inch soft dick.

“Yes, that is more appropriate.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, there is a rather large change that I believe is a necessity for your progression into the Kappa Sigmas as well as your new social circle.”

“What is that sir?”

“Your name, it is just too common and destitute. You agree?” Geoffrey snapped back confirmation even though it made his head spin. “Personally, I have always been very fond of names associated with old money.”

“You want me to change my last name?” Geoffrey asked, slightly confused.

“Not exactly. Your entire name will have to be reformed.”

“My entire name?”

“Well, I thought you wanted to succeed.”

“Yes sir.”

“So you want to change your name. What do you think would work?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“So you want my help, is that what you are saying?” The words were coming so fast and Mr. Johnson’s eyes were so enticing that Geoffrey nodded.

“Yes sir, please tell me what my name should be.”

Mr. Johnson crossed his arms over his shelf of pecs, clearly relishing in the moment even though Geoffrey had no idea why.

“This is my favorite part.” Geoffrey didn’t say anything, as his superior clearly didn’t want him to.  And he’d just asked for help so there was no need to say anything. “It’s a great moment, when you realize you want to be whatever I want you to be.” 

Mr. Johnson ceremoniously pulled a form out of his suit pocket and presented it to Geoffrey. “This is your fraternity contract. You don’t need to bother with the details. Just sign your name.“

In very literal terms, Geoffrey would be singing away his life. The fraternity, the proud men of Kappa Sigma, and all of the alumni who worked at the Carmichael Corporation and Hemplebaum were now permanently immune from any legal repercussions. Of course, there never would be, as they had plenty of experience in this sort of thing.

Geoffrey was about to sign, but he noticed a different name was listed on the contract.

“It is supposed to be made out by Godfrey Larimer Elverton Jr.?”

“A name I believe will fit you suitably.” Mr. Johnson offered a pen to Geoffrey and gave a conceited smirk. “Just sign.”

The order immediately processed through Geoffrey’s brain, bringing a clubby smile to his face as he wrote out his new signature. Once he had finished, Mr. Johnson took the contract back and made his way to the ballroom stage. He signaled for Geoffrey to follow him.

“Hello?” Mr. Johnson tested a mic, his lifeless bass resonant across the room. “I would like to request every man’s attention please.”

Geoffrey watched on as all the men in the room turned to look their way. So many masculine men dressed to the tens in lavish suits and colorful polos. They were all so refined, so perfectly preppy.

“I would like to announce our first success of the annual Kappa Sigma Alpha rush event: the newest man of Kappa Sigma, Godfrey Larimer Elverton Jr.!”

The crowded room burst into a controlled round of applause. Godfrey felt giddy, proud to become a part of this fine organization. After the room had calmed down, Mr. Johnson and Godfrey rejoined Pierson and Prescott. They continued a fascinating discussion about budgetary and monetary issues, as a recent Hemplebaum acquisition of an old theatre downtown had created quite a profit. Godfrey felt right as home, as if he had always meant to be a Kappa Sigma. He instantly embraced his new role in life and quickly was accepted as a full brother by the other men.

The rest of the day went by pretty quickly. After Godfrey, there were eight other boys who were rushed into the Kappa Sigmas. Godfrey didn’t realize that at the beginning of the day, these boys had all been exactly like him: crude, coarse, and shoddy. In fact, Godfrey didn’t realize that he had been like that at all. His memories had slowly shifted, causing him to remember a wealthier upbringing, one where he had pampered and shaped to become a Kappa Sigma man over the last 21 years.

“To be frank,” Pierson started as they made their way back out to the first hole. “I did not foresee you transitioning so fast, let alone becoming the first pledge of the day.”

“You should recognize that I have been training for this my entire life,” Godfrey replied sternly.

“Oh, I do,” Pierson conceded. “But I will need some testament to that claim. Four strokes is par.”

Godfrey turned to Pierson and gave a broad, bland smile.

“Pierson Buckley Folsom VI,” he declared with a club in his hand. “I’ll only need one.”

[strawberrybasilsorbet]

Jilytober Day 11

Missed yesterday, but I'm hoping to go back when I have time! In the meantime, here's my try at today's @jilytoberfest prompt:

October 11th Prompt: 🎶“Uncovering feelings unfound”🎶 - Out of the Blue by Katie Pruitt

Lily peeked out from behind the corner of the cricket shed before surreptitiously lighting her cigarette. Smoking wasn't prohibited, but her break wasn't officially supposed to start for another twenty minutes; it had only been thanks to some fairly pitiable wrangling — and a promise to take on her Friday shift — that Anne had agreed to cover the last hour so that Lily could decompress.

Closing her eyes, Lily leaned her head back against the shed and sunk to the ground, taking a long drag. It was only half-past noon, but some blokes had made a mess of one of her tables at the pub last night, and she hadn't finished closing until after one in the morning. She was already looking forward to sinking into bed.

In the distance, she heard a splash and a shout. It sounded like some kid had flipped his canoe again. She snickered a little; Anne would definitely be more annoyed about switching shifts now that she needed to get her hair wet.

It had been a long summer. Seventh year was going to be expensive — she'd need money to pay the application fees if she wanted to try for a Healing apprenticeship, to pick up a set of dress robes for the Leavers' Ball, to make a deposit on a flat rental after she finished Hogwarts — and Lily was trying to save as much as she could. Most mornings, she got on the bus for her day job at the nearest holiday camp, only to take the 5pm back to Cokeworth, eat a quick supper, and start her evening shift at Oscar's pub. Lily didn't mind hard work, but after six weeks of both jobs, she was beginning to feel run down.

At least she didn't have to spend much time at her own place. Between Tuney's sniping at home and Sev's lurking around the park, hoping she'd forget his horrible behavior at school now that his pack of Death Eater-wannabes wasn't around, it was hard to get a moment's peace.

She took another drag. Maybe she could talk Oscar into putting her on the early side tonight. He owed her, after the amount of mopping up she'd done yesterday...

"There you are, Evans!"

Lily jumped and opened her eyes. She thought she'd heard...but that made no sense...

"Potter?" She blinked. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Improbably, James Potter — wearing a fairly convincing set of Muggle clothes, although his orange checkered polo shirt clashed horrendously with a pair of short, salmon-pink trousers — was striding toward her from the nearby woods, looking far too cheerful for the August heat. "Looking for you!" he said affably. "It seemed a nice day for a visit, and we'd been getting on well this summer, so I thought—"

"Potter, I'm at work." She stared in surprise.

He had the grace to turn a bit sheepish. "Oh, I'm sorry, Evans," he said, looking around. "Is now is a bad time?"

"No, I just—." Lily blushed. She'd given Potter her address earlier this summer — only so he could practice with the Muggle post, of course — and suddenly, she realized that she'd been writing him rather a lot.

Potter made a surprisingly charming pen friend. His letters, full of witty jokes and updates about his summer with his mates, were a welcome connection to the magical world and a relief from her tense avoidance of Sev and Tuney. More than once, she'd found herself looking forward to reading them as she came home from the pub, or scribbling quick replies by wandlight so she could get them in the mail before she caught the morning bus to camp.

"I just — how did you get here, anyway?"

"I stopped by your house," said James, shrugging. "Remember, you gave me your address? Someone — I think your mum? — answered the door and said that you were here." He still looked abashed. "I guess she might not have expected me to come by, but she said you might not be home until quite late, so I thought—"

"That's alright—"

"I can visit another day—"

"No, it's really okay, Potter," said Lily, who by now was quite red. Somehow, it wasn't the fact that Potter had showed up at her job, but the unflattering color of her uniform swimsuit that was on Lily's mind. She hadn't brushed her hair this morning, and she'd been sweating in the heat... "They're not too fussy here, and I'm basically on my break, anyway. It's nice to see you." She took another drag on her snuck cigarette, trying to look a bit less flustered. "You just showed up a bit out of the blue, that's all."

"Literally," said Potter, with a playful smile. He gestured toward the cloudless sky. "Stashed my broomstick in the trees back there."

She groaned theatrically at the terrible wordplay, knocking him with her shoulder. "Too scared to take the bus, Potter?"

"Oh, certainly. Petrol is too advanced for me, I'm still grasping bicycles."

She grinned. She knew perfectly well that Potter had likely passed his Muggle Studies exam with flying colors, as he did most of his others. "If you stick around until 5 o'clock, I'm happy to show you the ropes on my way back to Cokeworth."

"Gladly," said James. He peered curiously around the shed, taking in the archery setup, large lake, and row of cabins just beyond the cricket field. "What do you do here, anyway?"

"It's a holiday camp," Lily explained. "Families come to play games and get away from home for a bit during the summer."

"They don't holiday abroad?"

"God, you're posh." Lily rolled her eyes. "Why go to France, honestly, when you could stay at camp and win the donkey derby?"

"The what?"

"Exactly what it sounds like," said Lily.

"I have to see this. You run a donkey derby?"

"Not me personally," Lily said, giggling. "I'm hopeless with animals. I mostly serve lunch or take shifts dragging the little kids out of the lake."

"Why are the kids in the lake?"

"Oh, we do canoeing on one half and swimming on the other. Except sometimes the canoeing turns into swimming, because there's always some troublemakers flipping their boat on purpose."

James grinned. "Good for them."

"I'm appalled," Lily replied. "Are you trying to make my job harder, Potter?"

"In this weather?" said James. "Nah. I'm giving you an excuse to cool off, I expect."

James's eyes flickered to her swimsuit and quickly away. Lily swallowed, suddenly wishing she'd finished her shift after all. "I'm tied up tonight," she said, "but if you were to come back another day...if I took a night off from my evening job, I mean, and you wanted to go for a dip?"

James looked up. "Yeah," he said, a bit too eagerly. "Just because it's so hot, I mean," he said, smoothing out his tone. Lily noticed, amused, that his voice had suddenly got a bit deeper. She put out her cigarette, noticing that her earlier exhaustion had vanished.

"Well, alright then," she said. "It's a date." James gave her a dimpled smile. She hadn't noticed how sweet his smile was, before.

Where had it come from, this strange new fondness between them? Was it a fleeting thing, driven by Lily's exhaustion and James's boredom — destined to fall off with the autumn leaves when they returned to school, and to the old habits of their old stomping grounds? Or, maybe, could their letters be turning into something, well...a little bit more, maybe, lasting, or...

"Can anyone come to these holiday camps?" James asked, interrupting Lily's train of thought. "Because if donkey derbying is allowed, I want to kick Sirius's arse."

Lily threw her head back with a laugh. "With a day pass," she told him, "but if you've got a connection on the staff, she can probably sneak you in for free."

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

So like, I had this random thought. What if Eddie is in the hospital slowly recovering from his wounds in the upside down, and he is someone constantly getting his hands on a pack of cigerattes that have actual cigs in them when he first gets them. Though he isn't supposed to be smoking while recovering and well, someone has taken it in their own hands to replace his actual cigs with candy and they never fail to do so. No matter what he does. And Eddie's actually impressed with how well they are keeping up with him but god damn it he needs a smoke or else he is contemplating actual homicide this time.

Did I actually write something small for this? Yes, yes, I did.

Eddie gives a Sincere smile as he waves goodbye to the small group of people that dropped in to check up on him. Taking turns visiting him and Max, swapping rooms with the other half of the group after a while. It was exhausting on Eddie, but it was so worth it to be able to see that everyone else was okay. Though the second the last of them are out the door, leaving to head home he's shoving his pillows around and folding his body in half in a weak attempt at grabbing the pack of cigs he hid in the box spring.

Hands shaking with desperation, he thinks that he's going to finally be able to get nicotine in his system. Hospital be damned. He struggles to open the cardboard, before he pinches his fingers together like claws to reach in and grab a cancer stick. To only groan and throw his head back dramatically when he realizes it was a diabetes stick. What was once real cigs were now candy cigarettes and he was plotting murder. The amount of money that he has thrown at a brick wall to only receive sugar sticks was starting to piss him off.

Whoever was doing this was a fucking ninja. How the hell did they get underneath his box spring without him noticing. Better yet how the hell did they know he hid them in there. Once again it was very impressive but very annoying.

Sighing, he flops his head back on the pillow and turns his tv on as he slides one of the sticks in his mouth and starts to suck aimlessly.

Thing is, no matter where Eddie hides them the person finds them.

Under the bed? Found

Outside on the windowsill? Yeah, they found it.

Eddies shenanigans only get worse when he finally gets his hands on medical tape.

Taped behind the tv? They found it.

Taped under neath a chair? Found.

Taped to his ankle like a house monitor? Found.

Thing is Eddie still wasn't full recovered to really be able to pay attention to everybody when they visited. It was too overwhelming and exhausting that somedays he just fell asleep in the middle of a conversation to only wake up with his uncle in the chair next to him now.

He was slowly starting to not have the urge to smoke, but out of spite he was still going. He was still bewildered at how the guy pulled the swap out with it being taped to his actual body. Besides spite, he was also doing it for the candy cigarettes. Swapping one addiction for another.

Its been a few weeks, and Eddie was starting to be able to stay awake for long periods of times. Along with that but he was able to stand on his feet longer to hide the cigarette boxes. Now, you would think he would smoke immediately after buying them, but he couldn't. Not with the nurses around. That and a million of other excuses he finds himself making when he sees a opening to smoke.

Even though he bought a pack once a week, it seemed like the culprit was always able to swap them out the same day he got them. This meant that it must be a inside job, but all of the nurses really didn't seem that invested to commit to this for so long. Not only that but he was positive he would be more hypervigilant about a nurse getting up into his personal space. So, it has to be one of the children.

So now whenever they come in, he's so busy watching them that he doesn't catch whose switching them out.

It was slowly starting to grow old, not nearly as exciting as it used to be. To be rebellious.

So, if that's how he finds himself purposely buying a pack of cigarettes, using a old empty box and making sure to act normal so be it. And if a piece of paper is hidden in the box challenging whoever to find every single cigarette in the room than that was god's plan. And if Eddie proceeded to sit in his bed with a cocky smirk the next visit around then that was for him to know.

Though he is caught off guard when he finds a note finding its way in the box. Handwriting sloppy as it read

"I knew there was a reason why I never liked you."

It was obviously a joke, one that causes Eddie to laugh harder than what he has in a long time.

And if he finally ones up the culprit, putting a cigarette in his ear and "Falling" asleep, to only jump up and make King Steve piss himself.

Well then, that is only for him and everyone else who watches the video the staff gave them for their wedding. Numerous clips showing Eddie walking around like a goblin hiding his boxes. He feels dumb about forgetting the cameras. But what he is more shocked about is the two-gallon sized bags of cigarettes that Steve pulls out to show just how many he prevented Eddie from smoking.

Like, I wrote this while falling asleep so I know it isn't that great so if anyone wants to run with the idea go right ahead. I found this whole concept adorable. I know there are plot holes but it was just a quick drabble.

[atopvisenyashill]

Every time I think of Game of Thrones and shipping I go a little bit insane because of the fact that Jon and Dany are supposed to actually love each other according to the script and have ZERO on screen chemistry meanwhile Jon and Sansa have such good on screen chemistry and it amounted to nothing. The thing is that I could get behind either ship under specific circumstances but the show didn’t really offer my preferred circumstances for either and it completely fumbled both in different ways. What do you mean we’re supposed to believe Jon still loved Dany even to the end? What happened here?

okay let’s rant about the show acting.

the thing about kit is he needs a STRONG scene partner to kick it into gear. a lot of the early night’s watch scenes are awkward as shit bc the other guys ARE good but they’re not strong enough (whether that means less confident or less seasoned, take your pick here) to herd him into good acting all the time. when he gets to the wildlings, i think he hits a high point bc he has some strong scene partners - rose leslie, ciaran hinds, Kristofer Hivju, i think they just brought out something a bit deeper in him. i haven’t watched the meli scenes since they aired so i can’t speak to that one yet but i do think this carries into the winterfell story arcs. sophie is just a very good scene partner for him! and tbh, i thinks this even fits with jon’s character a bit - kit is so much better at the Stark Aspects of Jon and of course he is, because imo the overreaching arc of jon snow is him defining himself as a son of house stark in character if not in name. it would have been nice if they cast someone who didn’t need to be herded as much as kit tho aksjdjd

the thing as i see it with emilia is…..i have no fucjing idea how to get a good performance out of that girl aksjdjd like her good moments are even more fleeting & hard to pin down. tbf her writing is also consistently bad from the jump. you know how skai jackson posted her audition tape for gossip girl and she was doing the exact sort of disney channel snarky delivery & it was like well That’s why u didn’t get cast. somehow, emilia got cast (and AIDEN I DONT UNDERSTAND IT HE ISNT GOOD ITS GIVING PREMINGER FROM BARBIE OKAY CONLETH SMOKES HIM IN EVERY SCENE). i think that scene where she puts the egg on the brazier & irri walks in is p solid. the scene where she slaps the fuck out of viserys is solid. the final shot of s6 where she’s on the ships is solid. the battle of the bells scene is excellent. her two big dothraki speeches (i think it’s middle of s6 & the last episode?) are very good. everything else isn’t even like, cringe, it’s straight up bad. i think she had good chemistry with iain jason peter & for those 5 seconds elyes, but there’s also a stark difference in acting there that jars me that doesn’t jar me out of say, the “if we die we die” jonygritte scene. but again, can’t overstate how ass her writing is. they’re relegating her to screeching at people & smirking, they very notoriously use emilia’s body a LOT for sexy tiddy scenes so much that once she blew up as a character she leveraged her new found pull not for more money but to not have to show her boobs anymore. that’s just not an added stressor that kit was dealing with.

anyways so, what happens when you get two actors who aren’t very good at acting on the screen is that you just don’t get a lot of good acting. and when there’s no good writing to speak of, well, that’s how you get the romantic story lines of later game of thrones. the one that actually goes canon is just perplexing in how it’s written and badly acted. the one that stays non canon is well acted but also perplexingly written & it doesn’t even get solid pay off at the end? not even expecting them to kiss, like, there’s no focus on how they’re feeling about the events of the final season they just hug once and dip. not that the canon one gets pay off either skdjd like these are just very stupidly written arcs for these three. the only people that won were jon/tormund truthers and even then they flanderized tormund so bad that it’s like eh.

[deliciousangelfestival]

My Problematic Girl-Chapter 8

Character: College!Steve Rogers x Rich!Female Reader

Words Count: 1,515

Prologue:  Steve has lived being nobody in this prestigious university. He just wants to graduate and get a job to get more money to pay the bills for his mother's surgery. 

But his life turned upside when a new student attended his class. His quiet and dull life became dangerous and full of surprises.

×××

She exhaled the cigarette smoke from her lips. She still doesn’t care even though he told her he has asthma. 

She looked at Steve and said, “Bark for me.”

Steve felt humiliated, and his pride was crushed. But she held his life and secrets. He had to bury his dignity to the ground, and he murmured, 

“Woof.”

******

I would appreciate any comments and feedback you can give me. 

You can tell me if you want to join the tag list. Don't be shy 😘💖💜💙

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9,-

Main Masterlist || Buy me Ko-fi

Y/N woke up with a gasp. She blinked her eyes slowly, trying to grasp her surroundings. This is her apartment. Not in her repeated dream where she wants to hurt her father. 

"How did you get in here?"

"Tony gave me the passcode."

Y/N clenched her teeth and placed her hand on her chest.

"Why am I feeling so weak?"

"Here, drink this." Steve handed a glass of warm water. Feeling thirsty, Y/N brought the glass to her lips. She felt a slight relief as the water traveled down her throat. 

"Shouldn't we get her to the hospital?"

"We?" Y/N didn't notice that Tony was also in her room. He arranged the medical stuff back into the bag. "It will take an elephant tranquilizer to get her to the hospital."

"And I don't want Solomon to find out I'm weak." She was still weak, but her dizziness had disappeared. She only needs to take her medication and rest. 

Tony raised his voice. "Just once, Y/N!!! Please think about your health!!! Humans are vulnerable. Even though they have strong determination."

Steve agreed with what Tony just said. He thought a stubborn person like her had a strong mentality too. But it turned out he was wrong. She's weak while trying to be strong. 

He won't forget the struggle he went through to get here. 

-Flashback Starts-

Steve never ran this fast in his life because of his asthma. And when he arrived, the moment he opened her bedroom door, he saw her body shaking; all her fingers were stiff like a claw. She let out a painful growl. 

Steve immediately went to her side and slapped her cheek gently a few times. "Y/N, wake up."

But she won't budge. Tony did mention it would take a while until she woke up. He told Steve to watch her and ensure she didn't bite her tongue. 

Tony told him every time she goes to sleep, she always wears a watch that could alert him when she has a seizure or faints. That's how he found out. 

"Mom." Y/N raised her arm when her eyes were still closed. She dreams of reaching her mother. 

Steve decided to hold her hand. When he touches her hand, he finally takes a good look at her. 

He knows he is skinny, but compared to Y/N, she's thinner than him. He doesn't notice because she's always wearing clothes that hide her body figure. 

She's wearing a black tank top; he could see a trace of scars from her back to her fingers. 

It looks like she got into an accident. What happened to her? 

She seems to calm down after he holds her hands. The situation has calmed down. Steve looked around, and an open cabinet near her bed made him curious.

When he opened the desk, he was shocked by the amount of medicine bottles.

These are antidepressants, sedatives, sleeping pills, and these are…..

Because of his mother, he knew some medicines to relieve the pain. Sarah only takes one bottle if necessary because she doesn't want to depend on the medication. 

Steve turned to look at Y/N and then again at the medicines. He shook his head. If she depended on these pills, she could die. 

-Flashback End-

Y/N still closed her eyes. "What's today's date?"

"6th September."

"Ahh, that explains it." It’s the day she lost her mother. The panic attack always hit her on the same date. It seems like it has its calendar. 

Tony never let her be alone each year because he knew this would've happened. But he can't win arguing with her stubbornness. At least she wanted to wear the health watch he made specifically for her. 

She pulled out a cigarette and flipped it into her mouth. 

"Are you out of your mind?" Steve grabbed the cigarette from her hands and threw it into the trash bin. "You just had a seizure, and you want to smoke?"

Tony widened his eyes, he was surprised by Steve being frank towards Y/N, and she was not mad. 

"Steve, come here for a second?"

Steve left Y/N's room and saw Tony take alcohol from the kitchen cabinet. He poured the gold-brown clear liquid into a glass. After Tony gulped the drink into his throat, he felt refreshed. 

"Thank you for helping." 

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "It's nothing." 

"Can I ask you a favor to stay here to watch over her?"

Steve gasped. "Both of you ask a ridiculous request?"

"What?"

"Don't you know she blackmailed me?"

"Oh I know."

Steve couldn't believe it; this man let her do criminal work. "You didn't scold her? Tell her it was wrong. I've got nothing. I have no money or connection. And you want me to babysit her?"

Tony tapped his finger on the table. He knew everything and ensured Y/N didn’t go out of the line."What if I gave you an offer?"

Steve closed his arms. Is Tony going to give him a ridiculous offer like Y/N? 

"While you stay here, I will send a team to redecorate your apartment so when your mother is discharged from the hospital, she will be happy with the surprise."

Well, that's a good offer. "You're doing all of this because of her?"

"I understand you're angry with Y/N. But to me, it doesn't matter as long as it makes her busy and distracts her."

"Is it related to the medicines?"

Tony raised his eyebrows. "You knew?” He sighed heavily and poured another drink. “The scariest person in this life is a person who is not afraid to lose everything."

"Lose everything? Does it mean?"

"She's suicidal."

Steve scratched his head, 'Geez, Y/N, that's fucked up.'

"After losing my parents, Y/N became my only family even though we're not blood-related. I can't imagine what would happen if I lost her too."

Tony raised one finger. "If you can't stand to live with her for one week, I will bring her back to my house. Even though I know it's useless since Y/N will always return to this apartment."

"Fine. One week."

"Great." Tony clapped his hands. This Steve kid is a good person. It's too bad Y/N blackmailed him. Because even if the university found Steve's 'other artworks,' it doesn't matter. He won't get kicked out. Tony read the report of Steve's. This kid is having financial trouble and is the only breadwinner in his family. 

He hoped Y/N would be friendly with Steve. He's a good kid.

"And I apologized on her name the way she treated you. She used to be gentle and nice, but since the accident, the doctor diagnosed her lack of empathy."

"What happened to her?" 

"At nine years old, a glass cabinet fell on her, making her lose a lot of blood and the ability to play piano. She found out Solomon people left her alone for 2 hours before they brought her to the hospital."

Steve put his hand on his chest. Y/N is the meanest person he ever knew, but his heart felt the pain of what she went through. 

Steve looked around her apartment while Tony talked to Y/N. 

Then he moved closer to the window. He noticed the building across the street was the same apartment he used to live in when his father was still in business. 

He didn't play around with other children because of his asthma. So, he spends his free time drawing. 

He always draws at 3 p.m. near the window because of another reason. That is why he always heard a piano playing across the streets at that time. From his apartment, he could see it was a girl the same age as him playing the piano. 

This is the same building, the same floor, but where's the piano?

He shrugged his shoulders. It's impossible Y/N is the same girl. 

Steve is a man with manners and always asks for permission, but tonight his curiosity killed his manners. He opened the other room, and there it was, the same piano he used to see from his window. 

Oh, my days. Y/N is the same kid. 

"Urgh," Steve's mind suddenly remembered the scene of a man pushing down a woman in this apartment. Steve saw it one night, he got scared and called Sarah for help. 

The police came after his mother made a call. The man went down with the officers. Sarah told him what happened was domestic abuse. From what Steve had learned, people must be Y/N parents. 

Then everything became clear to Steve. She didn’t choose him just because of his artwork, and she knew him beforehand because he’s family is the victim of her father. 

Steve walks into her room again. She is still talking with Tony. 

Y/N tilted her head. “You’re still here?”

“I want to join.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows; she felt something different from him. “What are you talking about?” 

“Let me join your revenge to bring down Solomon.”

Thank you for reading. I hope you like it.

You can tell me if you want to join the tag list. Don't be shy 😘💖💜💙

I will always be grateful for those who reblog. Thank you so much.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 9,-

Main Masterlist || Buy me Ko-fi

Join the tag list :

@cherrybubblebullet

@starsofcloud

@kandis-mom

@bagoffeelings

@darkofimagination

@mansaaay

@zaraomarrogers

@magnificentsaladllama

@rebeccapineapple

@irishhappiness

@sjlainny

[sephirthoughts]

For the superior fmk:

Sephiroth, Leslie, Cid

ooooooooh thank you thank you i love these

Lab partner: Cid hands down. he's a literal rocket scientist. if he doesn't get kicked out of the class for constantly showing the teacher how they're wrong (and smoking and swearing) he'll get us a good grade for sure

Elevator for ten hours: Sephiroth. he'd be extremely calm about it.

me: you're not freaked out at all? sephiroth: it's not so bad. just think of it as a game. like when you were a child and your guardians would lock you in a tiny metal cage with an animal for several days, to see what you'd do me: jfc sephiroth way to bum me out me: ... me: wait a goddamn minute, am i the animal in this scenario??? sephiroth: [pulls out a handful of dog treats]

also he's big enough to sleep on if I get tired. he's basically a sentient leather couch. god I would pay any amount of money to sleep on him just ONCE

Employee trainer: Leslie. he already has such strong bored as fuck fast-food employee vibes. he'd definitely be the assistant manager but like the kind where as soon as the manager isn't looking, he teaches you how to get away with all kinds of shit. also he'd offer you some really dank weed after work and probably fall asleep on your couch

[naraven]

Marlboro and a Can of Arizona Ice Tea

hi so. this came to me in a vision

this is all platonic/familial btw! reader can be read as around 22-23 ish and haitham is in his late 20s, early 30s and sometimes people don't really like that kind of age gap plus i think alhaitham as a tired dad figure is way funnier somehow

this is pretty ooc!! not in the way he talks but like i lwk don't think he would act like this LOL to me these two are the family ever

tw / alcohol but its brief in the beginning, addiction to nicotine and specifically smoking, talk about reader gaining weight as a symptom of withdrawal, and general symptoms of addiction that might be triggering so please be wary!

wc / 2.1k

also this sounds really obvious but i don't condone smoking!!! i believe anyone and everyone is capable of quitting and living the best life they can without nicotine.

You need help.

Serious help? Maybe not at this point, but you can certainly see yourself in some deep shit pretty soon.

And it all started when you graduated.

Your brand new degree was fresh and crisp. You celebrate with all your friends, glad that you all somehow survived the four years up to that point. You screamed your head off when you partied later that night, alcohol basically coating your entire insides. Your liver would probably murder you before dying.

That was when you took your first cigarette.

Nowadays, it seemed that vapes and e-cigs were all the rage. You could honestly give less than half a shit. And really, you don't even remember who offered it to you. The white stick somehow ended up between your fingers and an outstretched hand with a lighter lit it up for you.

You took a drag, and coughed up violently. It tasted like filthy waste, smoke clouding your throat and building up in your lungs. Clouds of gray puffed out of your mouth with each heavy heave.

Somehow, you ended up burning through the entire stick. After the first initial puff, you went in for another because that was just embarrassing. Soon enough, the yellow end was all that remained in your hand. It felt almost electrifying, fueled by adrenaline and nicotine running through your body. Basically, you felt high on life.

Not wanting to ruin the fun with a fire, you escaped to a less crowded area and found an ashtray filled with other finished cigarettes. Your own joined in the dozens of yellow ends sticking up into the air. 

And then after graduation, of course, came moving out. Luckily you had planned ahead during your finals week while procrastinating and found the perfect place to live: a semi-decent two room apartment with affordable rent. Basically, the best place for a soon to be master's student. Undergraduate dorming would no longer be viable for you.

Waitering part time has left you with a pretty good amount of money, too. It would, for now, be able to support your new apartment.

So begins the current day you. Tired, stressed, and chronic smoker.

Ever since that party, you went out and bought a pack of Marlboro from the liquor shop that was about a block away from your apartment. It was tiny and smelled too strongly of gasoline, but they had Marlboro and Arizona Ice Tea. That alone was a good enough excuse to visit every free weekend you had. Which just so happened to be every weekend.

You paid in cash, with the tips that you would get at the end of every week. You would just leave your wallet at home, fish out $15 in cash, and leave with your phone and keys. The bare necessities, because you were semi-scared of being robbed for some reason. 

You swear the cashier at the liquor store has something against you. Every time you hand him the bills in your pocket you swear he's glaring at you.

It's whatever. You get your tea and cigs, he gets your money. Simple as that. 

You tip him every once in a while. You bring an extra dollar to the usual $13.86 you pay and slip the single dollar into the small glass case labeled "tips: thank you for the generosity!"

You never speak to the cashier, either. You only started talking to him because the cigarettes were behind him. The first time he spoke was when he scanned your items silently as the scanner beeped, said "13.86," and didn't even say have a good day. But you know what, good for him. Working with tough customers, you can understand some of the stuff he goes through. 

After that he never speaks to you again. He gets used to seeing you walk in and grab a can of Arizona tea from the fridge. He already has a pack of Marlboro on the counter by the time you're there.

And so life went on. Life went on until 6 months later, when on a particular Saturday evening you speak up.

"Can I have another pack?"

The cashier's face remains the same. He turns to his left and reaches for another pack of Marlboro cigarettes.

"26.73."

You brought your wallet for today. You were too lazy to calculate how much you needed to bring. Future master's degree student, everyone. 

You dig out a 10 and 20 dollar bill. You take the two packs into your hand while he still counts your change.

"You know smoking kills, right?"

You almost jump at the sound of his voice. He never, ever spoke to you. His words also, oddly enough, offended you.

"You work here, I'm giving you more money. Do you say that to everyone who buys a pack from here?"

You raise a brow as he hands you your change. He starts talking again when you open the small pack.

"Today's the only day I work here. You're also the only regular I see."

"Damn, part time only on a single day? Your day job must be nice."

You curse under your breath when you realize your lighter ran out of fuel. You sheepishly look up at the cashier who simply sighs, already hitting the numbers on the cash register.

"3.63.”

~~~

About a month after that, you started a small conversation.

"I've decided that I'm going to reform. I'm buying a vape!"

You refrain from laughing at the grimace on the cashier's face. His teal-amber eyes scrutinize you and he remains speechless.

"Oh, c'mon. I heard these are like a healthier alternative."

You inspect the pod as the cashier pulls out a pamphlet from underneath the counter. As you read through it, he explains what it is.

"A whole 20 pack of cigarettes has the same amount of nicotine in a single vape pen. Where did you even get your information from?"

You look at the infographic carefully, not hearing his words very clearly.

"No shit? I had no clue. Well then, I'll see how this peach flavored pen tastes, otherwise it's back to the classic for me!"

“Not so fast. Here.”

Before you can leave, he stops you in your tracks. The cashier grabs something opposite of his side of the counter.

“On the house. Slow to melt candy is another way smokers quit.”

A wrapped piece of candy is placed in your palm. You unwrap it and suddenly you feel like a child again. Sweet sugar coats your mouth instead of smoke, and you can kind of get behind this.

“No shit? I’ll keep that in mind.”

~~~

A month later, he's the one that talks first.

"On the house."

He hands you a blue package. Upon reading the big white letters, you see it's a box of nicotine patches.

"Are you… serious?"

You mutter incredulously. There's no way he was being for real right now. Yeah, sure, the nicotine was getting pretty rough by now, but there’s no way you look that bad. Right?

"I'm not taking this. Have it back."

He blinks, staring at the box in your hands. You glare when he does nothing to try and grab it.

"If you're worried about paying for it, I already paid for it. Take it."

The fucking audacity of this guy… You instead slam the box on the counter, since he wasn't willing to take it back from you himself. You could quit anytime, you didn’t need his help in this.

"I said I don't fucking want it."

You leave the store. In your rage, you don't even realize that you left with only your tea in hand, Marlboro left on the counter along with the nicotine patches you very violently placed down.

And so you suffer throughout the week. The itch for a hit of nicotine is strong, but you don't have the time to go out and buy one. Final exams had you studying for hours at a time without much time for anything else. And when you go out to eat dinner with a couple friends to chill before final exams really start going, you struggle to think straight and accidentally snap at a friend. You immediately regret it and apologize but you are clearly not doing ok.

You avoid going to the liquor store too. Partially because of the one time someone offered you help you pushed them away and it felt awkward just walking back like nothing happened and partially because, of course, of exams.

You can't sleep, and that barely helps with your appetite. Never in your life had you ever felt so hungry all the time. When you stare at yourself in the mirror, you very much look heavier and unhealthier than ever.

Exams pass. You can't say you're very confident that you passed any of them.

So you trudge your way back to the usual place for a smoke. You cough the entire way there, almost gagging a couple times before finally arriving.

Despite the distance being the same, the walk there felt so much longer. You struggle to breath at a normal rate and the only thought in your mind is getting a lit cigarette in your mouth.

You can feel the familiar green-red eyes on your back. When you open the fridge to the Arizona tea do you finally turn to stare back at him. 

Neither of you say anything. When you get there, the usual pack waiting for you is gone.

"Please just take this."

Instead, the blue box of nicotine patches is there. Replacing the usual gold and white box is instead something that you know you should have used long ago.

"...Why do you care so much anyway?"

Your voice is hoarse, and you let out a particularly nasty cough. You wince when your throat burns at the surplus amount of coughing you've been doing.

"Because you look about the same age as my students, if not younger. Someone as young as you shouldn't be suffering from this."

He crosses his arms. You open the blue box and pull out a patch that looks like a sticker. You like stickers.

"For now, peel one off and put it on your bicep. It'll last for about 24 hours. I'll send a couple links about what you can do afterwards. There will be side effects. Hand me your phone."

In a daze, you slide your phone out of your back pocket and place it on his outstretched palm.

"This is a timer. You reset it everytime you relapse." The cashier shows you the app he laid out on your phone. Oddly enough, you feel rather comforted knowing he's doing all this.

"You are the only person who can reset it. If you relapse and decide not to restart the timer, no one will know. The only person holding you accountable is yourself. I will not scold you for relapsing. It is very difficult to overcome any kind of addiction." He places the phone back into your hand and slides the blue box of patches towards you.

Wow, you weren't even sure what to say back to that. So instead you stare at the dual colored eyes of the familiar cashier.

"... Y'know, for a liquor store cashier you care a lot about your customers. I'll rate you 5 stars on Yelp. 'The kind cashier sabotaged his own business for a pitiful customer like me.'"

He looks concerned, brows furrowing. You wonder if you said anything to offend him.

"I don't care about this place. In fact, if it shuts down then it's all the better for me."

You blink.

"Huh?"

"I'm only working here because I owed the manager of the store a favor. If this place closes down I can focus more on my job and get a promotion sooner."

A moment passes before you let huff out a laugh.

"No shit? Whatever you say."

You realize you don't know this man's name. You've known each other for almost a year and you never bothered to learn his name.

Wow, it's crazy to think that you moved into your apartment a year ago. The complex felt more homely, and you could relax at home without it feeling weird. You felt a sense of belonging in this tiny cramped liquor store. You walked to and from this place so often it was basically a second home.

"Just stay safe and healthy. That's all that you can do for me at the moment." 

His voice was so… warm. You try not to cry as you feel the weight of his tone.

"Right, whatever you say. Also, I never got your name, cashier guy. Care to tell me who my nic addiction savior is?"

Maybe you joked about your situation a bit too early. But the cashier only places the blue box into your hands, wrapping his hands around yours to curl over it.

"Call me Alhaitham. Just trying to help."

[cristina-t]

chapter 3

Sage woke up to her family being there. Per usual, they were acting like nothing happened. The house was spotless, new fresh flowers on the table, and no sign it was ever once a mess. 

Her parents were both in the kitchen, along with her two older siblings, Darius and Cecelia. Like nothing ever happened. That’s normal with her family though. They avoid bringing up drama, sometimes that’s a good thing though.

There’s already air conditioning at the house, generators running. That’s one of Sage’s least favorite things about being a kook, they’re all so tone deaf to everyone else on the island. If only their money could be split in half then a good amount of the cut would be able to not have to live pay check to pay check. But it’s just a kook thing, no once else matters but them.

Instead of dealing with her family, she just grabs a thing of beer and sneaks out the back door to meet up with the pogues. The backyards already clean, no sign that a hurricane was even there the day before. 

She looks over, noticing the pogue coming over towards the dock with everyone on it. As soon as the boat stops, she climbs on, going to her normal spot on the boat. 

It’s always the same with them, something familiar. Ruby curled up with JJ, talking about something random or smoking a joint. Pope is always talking to Kiara and John B, normally because they’re the only ones who actually listen to him talk about school. Whether it’s his scholarship or how much homework he has.

And well, Sage is normally just there. Sometimes she pops in with certain people but she doesn’t fully fit in with everyone. They’ve all known each other for years, starting from elementary school. And she’s just some new girl who they know nothing about. But that’s okay, end of day she has friends who doesn’t brag about what they have. 

“I wanna try out my party trick” JJ stands up and grabs a beer, moving to the front of the boat. He signals for Pope to speed up, Pope groaning but listening. 

 JJ misses 90% of the beer, it going all over everyone behind them before the boat comes to a quick stop, launching him off the front of it. Everyone falls forward, hitting the seats. 

“Hey uh, guys? I think there’s a boat down here.”