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badbtssmut · 5 months

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Sticky Fingers | Hyung Line

When you shoplift at the store and get caught by the manager, a punishment awaits you in the backroom.

Contains: Reader is being sexually punished for stealing, reader gets fucked in various positions, some degrading, rough sex, overstimulation, powerplay, noncon and dubcon elements

Namjoon

“Come on, suck it, you little thief.” The man’s fingers gripped onto your hair tighter, forcing you down on him. You gagged, eyes watering. Your hands were bound behind you, tied by rough rope to the legs of a chair. The room was dark, the only source of light being the computer screen on the desk and a dingly light bulb. “Know how to stuff your bag but not your mouth? Suck it. You fucking deserve this after stealing from me. I should fucking destroy you. Teach you a lesson about respecting people.”

Namjoon pulled his cock out of you and you panted, drool running down your chin. It was huge and thick and glistening with your saliva. Namjoon untied the rope that kept you bound to the chair.

Then he grabbed you by the hair again and bent you over the desk. “Going to show you what happens to girls like you.” He grunted as he ripped your jeans and panties off, dropping them to the floor. You felt his hot cock against your cunt, rubbing up and down between your folds.

“Sir, I’m sorry…” You whimpered.

“You’re only sorry ‘cause you got caught. You should have thought of this before you decided to steal from me.” Namjoon said, not showing any mercy. His hands moved to your hips and he pushed into you.

“Ah- ah!” The sudden intrusion caught you by surprise, and it felt sensitive when he started fucking you. Hard, brutal thrusts that made the desk shake, papers falling to the floor, pens rolling off the desk and scattering.

One of his large hands found the back of your neck and pushed you down onto the desk. It felt uncomfortable, your cheek against the hard surface, your body bouncing back and forth, but the pleasure was building, the rough sex feeling too good.

Namjoon was grunting above you, hips smacking against your ass. You knew you should be scared, you had just been caught stealing, had been kidnapped and was currently being fucked mercilessly by a stranger, but it was hot, so fucking hot. You never got yourself off like this. This was so different and intense. You were moaning uncontrollably.

It didn't take long until Namjoon came, burying himself deep inside of you, groaning as he did. He let go of you and pulled out, leaving you aching and needy.

“Get out of my office.”

Hoseok

“Did I tell you to stop?” The manager asked.

“No, no, I’m sorry, sir.” You whimpered before you went back to massaging his cock.

You had been kneeling between his legs for a while now, sucking his cock, licking his balls, stroking him. You had already made him come once and now he was hard again.

It was late and you were sure that no one else was in the mall anymore.

“Hope it was worth it.” Hoseok mocked you. “What you did was pretty stupid, girl. You could go to jail for stealing. You know what I could do to you? I could lock you up here. No one would know. You stole from me, you owe me, I could keep you here as my personal little slut. Keep you naked and at my feet all the time.” You shivered at his words, you had only chucked a few things in your bag, would he really be that cruel?

“Get on my lap.” Hoseok ordered, and you did. You straddled him, his hard cock standing tall, waiting for you. He rubbed his hands over your naked body, squeezing and rubbing your breasts.

Hoseok kissed you, his tongue in your mouth, his lips hot against yours. His hand found the back of your head and he tugged on your hair, pulling your head back before he ran his tongue across your neck.

“Ride it. Go on, ride my cock, thief. Make me feel good so I won't press charges.” He threatened, and you moved your hips, guiding his cock into you. You sank down on him slowly, moaning at the stretch. He felt huge inside of you. Once he was fully inside of you, you started riding him.

The feeling of his big cock sliding in and out of you was incredible, it filled you up so well, stretching your tight pussy. Hoseok watched as his cock disappeared inside of you over and over again, groaning. He rubbed his hands all over your body, touching you everywhere.

You rolled your hips, and moaned, grinding yourself against his crotch. You were close, your orgasm building quickly. Hoseok held your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh, probably leaving marks. You were gasping, breathing heavily, moaning.

Hoseok pushed his hips up, slamming into you and it was enough to push you over the edge, you cried out, moaning, shuddering. Hoseok growled, holding your hips firmly in place as he came.

He slapped your ass and shoved you off of him.

“I better not see your face here again.”

Yoongi

“What were you thinking? Or were you even thinking at all, hm?” Manager Min asked as he dug his fingers into your face, holding you into place as he face fucked you.

You tried to answer him but your words came out as gurgles. Your cheeks were puffed out, your throat full of his cock, your spit leaking out from the corners of your mouth.

Yoongi laughed at your pitiful attempt to speak. He continued fucking your mouth.

It felt dirty, being used by someone you didn't know, a stranger, in an empty mall in the middle of the night.

You knew you shouldn't have stolen.

But it was so thrilling.

You liked the danger.

Yoongi pulled out of you, his cock slick with your spit, and grabbed you, dragging you to the couch in the corner of the store. He threw you on the couch and positioned himself behind you, on his knees.

You gripped onto the couch as you felt his cock pushing into you. “Ah! Sir, please-ah, I’m sorry! Ah, don't, I won't-ah, do it again, I promise!” You whined as you felt his cock penetrate into you deeper, before he started to move his hips back and forth, pushing your body against the cushions.

He was going hard and fast, and you moaned uncontrollably, your cunt tightening around his cock.

“Ah! Ah!” Your eyes squeezed shut, it wasn’t as if there was much to look at with the wall in front of you. Your fingers dug into the backrest of the couch, as he continued to fuck you hard and fast.

His cock felt good inside of you. It stretched you out and rubbed against your walls, making the pleasure build and build, your orgasm getting closer and closer.

Yoongi was panting above you, his thrusts becoming uneven, his breathing harsh. You couldn’t help but clench around him, moaning, coming, trembling, shuddering.

Your arms were weak, and you couldn’t support yourself anymore. You let yourself fall into the couch.

Yoongi didn’t stop, his thrusts didn’t even falter.

You gasped, it felt intense, the sensation overwhelming, your pussy overstimulated.

“Won’t stop until I’m done with you. Fucking thief. You owe me for the money you stole. I could have you arrested, locked up for months. This is the only payment I accept, and if you want to walk away a free woman, then you better not stop me until I finish, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” You whined, your body quivering as he kept fucking you.

You didn’t know how long it would take, but you had to take it. You had no choice.

So you laid there, taking his cock until he was done.

Seokjin

The man’s fingers curved inside of you, while his other hand pressed against the back of your head, making you unable to escape from both his lips and his fingering into you.

You squirmed and moaned into his mouth, trying to break free from his kiss, but the man held you in place.

You were on the counter, legs spread, jeans and panties shoved down, while the man fingered and kissed you, his tongue down your throat.

Your mind was going blank, it felt so good. The man was kissing and fingering you like he meant it. It was a lot of stimulation, the kiss, the fingers inside of you.

When the man finally pulled away, he took his fingers out of you, leaving you panting, legs spread open. You were wet, your cunt dripping.

“Don’t you think bad girls like you deserve to be punished? Deserve to get fucked by a stranger in a mall in the middle of the night, huh? Do you think you could just take whatever you want, whenever you want, without consequences? Don’t you, thief?” Seokjin pulled off his belt, letting it hang around his waist, then he unzipped his jeans.

You looked up at him, watching as he pulled his cock out, his hand moving up and down his length. It was long and thick.

Seokjin grabbed you by the waist and pulled you towards him. You squealed as you felt the tip of his cock rubbing against your folds.

Seokjin pushed himself into you, burying himself deep. He held onto your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he started fucking you. He thrust hard and fast, the sound of your skin slapping against each other filling the air.

You moaned and gasped, grabbing onto his shoulders. Seokjin didn't give you any mercy, pounding into you, forcing his cock into your tight hole, stretching you open, using you for his own pleasure.

His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, pushing your legs up so that they were bent. You moaned loudly as he hit your spot, his cock brushing against it repeatedly.

You were a panting, sweaty mess, a drooling, moaning pile. Seokjin then grabbed onto your hands and pinned them against the wall behind you.

You could feel the cold tile through your shirt, the rough texture scratching against your skin.

“I’m sorry, sir, so sorry! Ah, please! I won’t ever do it again, sir, I won't, I swear!” You whimpered as you felt him pick up the pace, his cock pounding into you relentlessly.

It was so good. His cock felt so big and good inside of you. Your moans were loud and continuous, your body shaking, your pussy clenching around him.

The pleasure was building up quickly, too quickly, and your body convulsed, coming, shuddering, and screaming. Seokjin kept fucking you, thrusting his cock in and out of your wet cunt, his balls slapping against your ass.

He was groaning and grunting, and his hips snapped forward, his cock hitting your spot hard, making you cry out, a second orgasm hitting you, making you tremble.

Seokjin was still thrusting, his tongue hanging over his bottom lip as he rode out your orgasms on his cock, not stopping.

Your moans were hoarse and breathless, and your body shook uncontrollably, as his cock kept slamming into you, his pace fast and brutal, not letting you catch your breath.

“Look at you, cumming so much on a stranger’s cock. What kind of girl are you, huh? A filthy thief who steals, and a whore who fucks a stranger.” Seokjin mocked, his thrusts becoming more rough, his grip on your wrists tightening.

Seokjin was groaning and grunting, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth open. He was sweating, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, his shirt clinging to his body.

“Shit, gonna fill this thief’s pussy up, gonna fill you up so good.” Seokjin’s hands moved from your wrists, now forcing your legs apart wider. He fucked into you faster and harder, his cock reaching deeper and deeper, his cock hitting every spot.

You felt like a rag doll, unable to control your limbs, your whole body convulsing. Seokjin kept pounding his cock into you, his fingers digging into the back of your thighs, his face scrunching up, his eyes still squeezed shut.

Then, with one last thrust, he came, his hips bucking, his cock throbbing inside of you. He let out a deep groan, his head thrown back, his face flushed, his cock buried inside of you.

His seed spurted out, spilling deep inside of you, and he stayed in place as he watched it dribble down his cock, pooling between your legs.

“Leave.”

#bts smut #bts x reader #bts requests #bts smut requests #taehyung smut #bts smut fanfic #jungkook smut #jimin smut #Namjoon smut #Seokjin smut #Yoongi smut #hoseok smut #bts ot7 #bts ot7 smut #bts poly smut

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wynnyfryd · 2 months

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Trailer park Steve AU pt 57

part 1 | part 56 | ao3

“I need a ride.”

Max is glaring at him over the counter with a skateboard tucked under her arm, no hello and no further explanation because why should he deserve one? Seriously, what is this? National Annoy Your Babysitter Day?

Steve leans over his side of the desk and rests his weight on his forearms, giving her an unimpressed look. "Did Dustin put you up to this?"

"To... needing a ride?" she asks him like he's stupid. God. All these kids are little assholes.

"Uh, yeah to needing a ride." He straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest and resting a hip against the counter. "How do I know this isn't some convenient little-" he snaps his fingers for the word "-little scheme you shitheads cooked up to get me to sub in for Hellfire?"

"Steve," she says with feeling. Tucks her chin and holds his gaze. "Do I look like a dork to you?"

And, like, he can’t not take the opportunity, right? She handed it to him on a platter. He scans his eyes over her face, playing it up and humming to himself like he's just really not sure, like he needs another minute to think hard about the question.

"Oh, screw you!" She flips him the bird, but he can tell she's trying not to smile because he’s doing the same thing. Can feel himself caving already like a total softie. Something about these kids, man.

"Okay," he says; feels his face doing something tender and vaguely pathetic. He can't have her thinking he's gone too soft, though — that's how he ends up with another 'unlicensed teen driving his car while he's concussed' situation on his hands — so he pushes off the counter, widening his stance and pointing at her. "I’ll give you a ride, but you can't touch my radio.”

"Fine."

"And I'm dropping you off by 5:30."

That one, she protests. "Five-thirty?”

"Five-three-oh. I have a date tonight."

"Ew."

Wow. The goddamn entitlement. Like he isn’t doing her a huge favor right now. "So what I'm hearing is that you don't want that ride after all."

"I didn't say that," she says in a low rush.

"Mhmm." He glances down at the clock. "My shift's up in ten minutes. You can hang out in here while I finish up if you don't make a mess."

"Oh, if I don't make a mess?" she mocks. "Wow. So generous."

"Thank you," he answers. He goes back to working, keeping an eye on her browsing the aisles while he runs through his end-of-shift tasks — wipes down his work space, pulls his drawer. She seems bothered. On edge. Every time he glances over she's either tapping her foot or chewing her lip or throwing tense looks over her shoulder like someone's watching. If Steve didn't know her he'd think she was psyching herself up to shoplift.

But Steve does know her; knows all the crazy, horrifying shit that she's seen.

The twitchy way she's moving is starting to give him goosebumps.

When he goes to the back to clock out, to put his stuff up and say hey to Keith, she follows him. Hesitantly calling his name down the hall, a nervous quiver in her voice.

"Steve," she says, poking her head around the office door. Quiet. Urgent. Her face so suddenly pale that she looks carsick.

Keith wipes grease on a stack of reports and says, "Hey, you can't be back here," through a mouthful of chips.

Max ignores him. "Steve, I need to go."

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, one second, just gotta—"

"—No, now."

Steve turns and starts counting his drawer as fast as he can. The numbers jumble in his head. He curses under his breath and starts again. Twenty, forty, sixty, seventy—

"Steve!"

"Okay, Jesus, I'm hurrying!"

Eighty, eighty-five, ninety, ninety-one, two, three—

Max snatches his keyring off of his vest.

“Hey! What the- Max!” he shouts as he chases after her.

She’s already tugging open the driver’s side door by the time he catches up. Got a headstart while he was begging Keith not to fire him for running out without finishing his count.

"What the hell?" he demands, wrapping a hand around the fist she’s holding his stolen keys in.

She glares at him over the car door. “I’ve driven it before.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t have my permission then, either, you little shit.” Steve pries her hand open and takes back the keys. Frowns at her as she sneers right back.

Fucking stalemate with a fourteen year old girl, that’s what Steve Harrington’s life has turned into.

But under the bravado he can see that she's afraid, that something's seriously spooked her, and he needs to know what it is.

“…..Go around,” he sighs and slides into the car.

—

part 58

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #my fic

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sillygoosealert · 3 months

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Could you please do a follow up to the post you did of Bi-Han yelling at you making you flinch and cry where after Bi-Han made you cry you decide to completely ignore him where you don't talk to him or make eye contact, you leave the room whenever he enters the room, you don't cook for him anymore, don't take baths with him or give him massages and you even start to sleep in separate bedrooms for several weeks now. Bi-Han immediately recognizes that he fucked up bad by getting mad at you when you were only trying to help him so he corners you before you leave the bedroom and tries to forcefully get you to notice by saying something to him even if it's to say hurtful things to him which you don't even do so then he tries to kiss you but you turn your head and even try to push him away from you aggressively and slaps him hard across the face which stuns him long enough for you to run out of the room. Bi-Han eventually comes to his senses and realizes that you don't love him anymore and he breaks down crying in his sleep until he feels the bed dip and arms wrapped around his body bringing his head to your chest where he continues to cry more constantly apologizing to you and asking for your forgiveness. I got inspired by an old episode of the Simpsons where Marge completely ignored Bart after discovering he got caught shoplifting and I wanted to see how you write the scenario since your writing is excellent.

You’re too kind Tehe

Ignoring Bi-Han and making HIM cry (^_-)☆ (how silly)

Thank you so much for the Specific request, it helps me a lot when thinking of how to put things into words <3 ^.^ (and for the compliment, I'll be giddy for weeks ♡)

I made you a nurse again, I’m sorry, it’s just instinct 😔

Also this one is longer than my other ones, so yahoo for me !!

Tw-mental stuff, crying, loneliness, rotting Bi-Han

Bi-Han has been even more stressed out ever since you’re breakdown- because you’ve made sure to take your help out of things. You don’t make him little snacks anymore, not that he ate them but he would eat about anything you touched right now. You don’t bathe with him, making sure he properly took care of himself despite his schedule. Now he starts to find little knots in his hair, and his skin doesn’t feel as nice or clean. His back is filled with knots and is chronically hurting without you offering to give him massages anymore. You don’t even look at him- he didn’t mean to yell, he just..well he didn’t know why he did it either.

He has trouble sleeping after you stopped sleeping in the same bed as him. Sometimes he uses your pillow instead of his because it feels more intimate- something that you would do. He just feels sad and tired, like how you felt. He wanted to fix everything with you when he had the time... He would even move all your stuff back to his room and make breaks so you could have time alone together. He would do a lot right now, but he’s too busy to tell you he misses you and wants you. He doesn’t have time to be the man you need, but he’ll try if that means you’ll stay in the same room with him.

He finds you walking into where Lin Kuei keeps the medical supplies, so he takes his chance to tell you how he misses you- and he wants to give you a genuine apology. But when he corners you you freak out. Telling him to leave you alone, that you don’t want to talk or be near him..? He didn’t do anything that bad, why won’t you just talk to him...

‘Leave me alone, we’re not together, there is nothing between us.’

‘Listen to reason, I beg of you to reconsider. I miss you. Please come back to our room…’ you don’t move, and you look docile enough to move towards. He cups your face, he didn’t realize he leaned in until you pushed him away and ran out of the room. Oh, okay..

This does not make him stop, as he continues to try to re-court you into a relationship. But he can’t, you won’t let him. He’s in his bathroom now, sobbing as he tries to recreate the bath you used to make for him. He knows you used bath salts, and some oil or something… but he doesn’t think it feels as relaxing compared as when you do it- nor does it smell as good. He finishes his bath and dresses in the pajamas you said would help him sleep better, this is the first time he’s tried them out. He wishes he listened to you better, they are quite nice.

He lays in his bed as he cries into your old pillow, it doesn’t smell like you anymore. It just smells like swear and tears- his sweat and tears. He curls into the fetal position and shakes hard, his breath is coming out in harsh, jagged, moments. He almost doesn’t hear the knock at the door, but it’s persistent and hard.

He wasn’t going to open the door until you asked him to, he didn’t want to make you reconsider your visit. He opens the door only slightly before going back to sitting on his bed. You walk in and close the door behind you.

‘You look a mess..’ you say this to lighten the mood, but also out of worry. You wipe away some tears and lean your head against his shoulder.

‘I’m not mad at you by the way…’ you whisper, then he breaks down again. He didn’t mean to, he never means to.

‘Shh..it’s okay..’ you’re laying down with him now, his head is held close to your chest. He knows he’s holding you tight, but he’s scared, he’s scared to let go.

He falls asleep like that, close to you. He missed you

#mortal kombat x reader #bi han #bihan #mk1 bi han #mortal kombat #bi han x reader #angst #mk1 angst #mortal kombat bi han #comfort

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friccafracc · 1 month

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DROP THE FIC OR IM COMING FOR YOUR KNEECAPS

ALRIGHT OK BUT I NEED IT TO BE KNOWN THAT I HAVENT WRITTEN ANYTHING SERIOUSLY SINCE HIGHSCHOOL OK

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Something is after me. I know it is, I’ve seen it. It looks like a man, but I know that it’s not. It…. It’s face is like a mockery of something human- like- like if you asked someone who has never seen a human to draw or model a person’s face, their smile. No… I don’t think any human would be able to get it that wrong.”

“And I’m not crazy, alright? God, y’all probably get that a lot here, don’t you? You people specialize in crazy. Not that I’m anyone to judge anymore, given the shit I went through before coming out here. I didn’t even know a place like this existed outside the Usher Foundation. I just…there’s some weird, crazy shit out there I guess, and when I heard about y’all, I figured I should probably pay a visit. At least let someone know before I die.”

“I know I’m gonna die.”

“I suppose I should start from the beginning. My name is Joshua Nelson, I’m originally from the States–Memphis Tennessee. Now, if there’s one thing you should know about Memphis, it’s that nobody in their right mind should EVER move there on their own accord, ‘cause you’ll either get mugged or stalked or both. I was born and raised there, so I never really got the choice during the formative years of my life. I’ve learned to live with it, though.”

“I worked retail in a gas station before…well, everything. It was a shithole. The kind of building where, no matter how hard you scrubbed and no matter how much bleach you used, the stains and smell of smoke would never leave. Instead just…mingled with the citrus of the chemicals. It paid the bills, though, and I was never witness to a robbery, so I couldn’t complain too much. The customers were docile and if I noticed anyone shoplifting, I kept it to myself. I wasn’t getting paid enough to give a damn.”

“We had regulars that would come in on a schedule and regulars that wouldn’t. People who were just passing through the city or visiting family or friends. You get all types in that kinda place, and if you’re placid enough to any asshole who’s having a bad day, everyone gets along just fine. There were a couple of regulars who were friendly enough, though, that I remember their names. Miss Kelly was an older woman, short and heavyset–she was one of the friendlier ones. We’ve got a lot of talkers in the south and boy did she make sure I knew every exact reason for what her kids were getting up to, or what was going on in a reality show she was hooked on at the time.”

“George Michael, a thin man in his 40s, maybe, always came in whenever he needed a new pack of cigarettes, I think he was a chain-smoker, cause he was in there a lot.”

“And then…then there was Hunter. Now Hunter was a younger man, maybe college age. A little older than that? Poor bastard was hooked on something, that much anyone could tell. He was gaunt, a little twitchy, you know, telltale signs of drug abuse. I could never tell what specifically he was on, but then again, it was never my business to know. I treated him the same as every other customer, we all knew he wasn’t gonna cause any harm, he usually came in for food, chips and hotdogs and stuff and he never caused a fuss.”

“I think… I think Hunter is dead.”

“One day he came in, I think it was a Wednesday or something cause it was slow that afternoon, and he burst through the door. Well–maybe not burst, but he came in the building like he was racing to get indoors first before someone else. The guy was usually jittery and, I’ll admit, a little shifty usually, but this was full blown paranoia. It startled me at first, his intensity, and he made a b-line towards the back of the store and ducked behind one of the shelves. Maybe not duck completely like ducking for cover, but it was obvious he was hiding. It almost made me expect the police or some drug lord to come storming through the door, but nobody else came.”

“Hunter stayed pacing in the building for a good 20 or 30 minutes, periodically lifting his head to crane his neck and peer out the window or the glass of the door. I checked once or twice as well, but if someone was out there, I didn’t see them. Eventually the guy calmed down enough to buy something and when he approached the counter with his bag of Doritos he looked almost like he was going to be sick.”

“I asked him if everything was alright, but he just shook his head and left.”

“I didn’t see him again for another week or two after that. Obviously I assumed the worst. I theorized that someone was after him and when he didn’t show up when he usually did it was more than enough to confirm my suspicions. Be it cops or some random person on the street, I couldn’t decide which fate would be worse, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel for the guy at least a little bit.”

“Hunter was almost completely out of my mind when I saw him again. I was surprised. By all accounts, it didn’t look like anything had changed about him. Maybe aside from the fact that his posture was way better than it usually was when I saw him, but other than that, nothing was out of the ordinary.”

“Business went on as usual and when he came up to the till with a liter of coke, I offered him a ‘Welcome Back’ and rang him up.”

“When I turned back to him, he was smiling. For some reason it was like a pit opened in the bottom of my stomach. I couldn’t understand why, though. It looked like Hunter–patchy, unkempt stubble, greasy hair, thin face, sunken eyes. His appearance had never bothered me before, so I was struck with confusion that mixed in with the undefinable, sudden sense of dread.”

“‘Thank you,’ he said as I handed him his change. And he walked out the door. It sounded like Hunter, too.”

“Hunter returned the next day, and the next. Each time he was polite and quiet, and each time he smiled when I rang him up. I counted his teeth. They were straight and flat. When I counted mine in the mirror when I smiled, I saw 17 or 18. Hunter’s counted 24.”

“Maybe he has a dental problem that I didn’t notice until now, I told myself. Human bodies are weird. Sometimes you have more teeth than usual.”

“The fourth day he came in a row, I saw his eyes and his pupils were…swollen, is the only way I can describe them. I know what people’s eyes look like when they’re high. This was not that. It was like they almost swallowed up his irises completely, and they were dull. Dull in the sense that the fluorescents overhead did nothing to cast any reflections onto them. It made me want to writhe and squirm whenever he looked at me.”

“I called in sick the fifth day. I knew Hunter would be back in that gas station to see me. I knew it was to see me. And I knew that thing. That..whatever it was. It wasn’t Hunter.”

“I guess a part of me was always dreading that day. I had always heard stories about people being stalked from friends of friends. It was only a matter of time before it happened to me, right?”

“I saw Hunter at the grocery store the next day, posture straight and face split open into that smile with too many teeth. I didn’t have the mind to be polite. I turned completely around and walked the other way, trying to fool myself thinking that he hadn’t seen me. I kept a pocket knife on me after that encounter. I probably should have been before, but hindsight is always 20/20.”

“Each time I saw him after that, it was worse. On the street to my apartment, his eyes were too wide and his grinning mouth was slightly agape. A crude facsimile of delight as I rushed past him. I stopped going into work when I started to spot him everywhere I went. Every destination no matter how far or random, he was there, grinning at me. He knew where I lived, that I had no doubt. So I went to a friend’s one night hoping to throw him off. Maybe I could move out and lose him. Lord knows I didn’t have the money to break my lease early, but I was desperate.”

“My friend suggested I call the police, but for some reason I was convinced that wouldn’t help. Cops usually only made things worse in that town, and I had a sinking feeling going that route would only waste my time.”

“The final straw was the second night I was crashing on my friend’s couch. I was exhausted, the past few weeks spent sleepless and paranoid and I was ready to finally pass out when I heard a light, rhythmic tapping on the window behind my head.”

“It’s just the wind, I thought to myself. A tree branch or something scraping against the glass. The exhaustion was completely gone, my pounding heart and pumping adrenaline overpowering any lame excuse that I would be stupid enough to be reassured by.”

“I didn’t move from where I lay. Tap. Tap. Tap. Came through the window once again.”

“I don’t know why I laid there for so long, unmoving, convinced that if I didn’t turn around, whatever it was outside would lose interest and leave. I really, really wanted it to leave.”

“I lay still for what felt like hours, every muscle in my body wound up and tense and ready to leap into action at any given opportunity. I was praying the opportunity would never come.”

“I don’t know how long it was when the tapping ceased, but it was long before I finally managed to relax. It seemed like my strategy worked. What an idiotic thing to think. Like I was a child hiding from an imaginary monster in the dark. Like the logic of not giving a stalker any attention so it would go away was sound. No. I think it was that false hope that landed me in this situation.”

“Because when that tapping came again, I wasn’t prepared to turn around. But I did. I turned around and what I saw in the darkness through that glass was… I don’t know what it was. I know it had eyes and teeth. It was grinning, but its teeth stretched well beyond what would be the borders of its face. God, I couldn’t see its face. I knew it was Hunter, though. It had those same lightless eyes that stared back at me every time I closed my own. Dead and dark and dull and staring at me–eating at me, wide and gleeful and spilling into the shadow that I could only assume was a part of the creature, itself. Its form took up nearly the entirety of the window, blocking the outside world. It didn’t move.”

“I screamed. I screamed and closed the curtains and I hid. This woke my friend of course, and she came stumbling out of her room, looking bleary but alert. I tried to signal to her not to go to the window or do anything or to call the police. Thankfully she got the message and the cops were there within the hour.”

“They didn’t find anything. Or anyone, for that matter. I left out the…the monster bit, because I assumed it might land me somewhere I really didn’t want to go.”

“They were about as helpful as I thought they would be. Told me to call them again if I noticed any suspicious activity.”

“I booked my flight here that very night. I wasn’t going to stay in that goddamn city with whatever the HELL that thing was. I don’t want to end up like Hunter. I don’t want it to wear my skin.”

“It will, though. I know it will and it scares me more than anything in the world. And I know I can’t escape it, either.”

“It followed me here. I saw it. It was still grinning at me and it was still. Wearing. Hunter’s. Skin. The shadow that was cast over it made it so I could only see the whites of it’s eyes....its teeth.”

“I don’t want to die.”

#txt #oc fic #tma sona #tma oc #avatar of the stranger #ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE IVE WRITTEN FIC...PLS BE NICEYS

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urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites · 2 months

Note

ok we got more the gang dealing with their each f!greaser crush. Like they all like different girls- but how tf are they with them/about them

Pookie sorry for the wait I was at school!!!

❤️🖤❤️

Ponyboy Curtis

-ok so bro is sooo awkward, most out of the greasers

-he literally doesn’t know how to talk to you

-needs a pep talk and lesson from dally and johnny

-he would be down so bad tho

-struggling in classes? Free tutor!

-he would do little nice things for you though like always keeping a spare sharp pencil in hopes you’ll forget/lose yours to ask him

-memorized your schedule to “randomly” bump into you

-daydreams 24/7

-tells you all about his books and talks about characters that remind him of you

-I feel like when he finally confesses he’d just do it thoughtlessly

-“You know how much I like you?”

-literally out of the blue and then instantly regret it until you grin

-“Ponyboy, you’re so smart. Yet so stupid. I like you too.”

Johnny Cade

-soooocute

-he’s also a daydreamer

-well, more like night dreamer?

-before going to sleep in the lot he thinks about you holding him or just you in general

-so cute tbh

-absolutely a secret keeper no one knows but him

-he blushes whenever you talk to him

-he gets really flustered trying to talk to you

-I feel like he’s the type to do secret admirer

-when he finally gets the guts to ask you out he would 10/10 pass a note

-“I really, really like ya y/n. Do you like me? Y or N (circle one)”

-biggest grin on his face when you pass him back the note circled “Y” with a heart ❤️

Sodapop Curtis

-totally a flirt

-gives you discounts on gas station stuff

-whenever you come to the gas station charm goes up 10000%

-he’s the type to go home and at dinner be like

-“GUYS today she asked me for the TIME!”

-“no way”

-“WAY”

-he’s literally that one audio

-he asks you out straight up and gives you a sweet smile when you say yes

-passes you his number on your receipt/piece of paper to make plans

Darry Curtis

-wouldn’t want his brother around you until it was official

-finds them embarrassing in front of you 💀

-one time you complimented his cologne and he hasn’t stopped wearing it since

-he always tries to look nice for you, I feel like he takes extra care of his appearance

-I feel like he would try to come off cool

-I feel like it would fail so hard lmao

-I feel like after he failed you’d give him a little kiss on the cheek like Darry you big dork

-and he’d grab your hand and look you in the eyes

-“You know, I like you, Y/n. Really like you.”

Dallas Winston

-ok we’ve seen this shit

-cocky bastard 10/10

-he flirts upfront

-hits on you everytime

-also casually so fucking vulgar

“If you ever wanna sit that fine ass on my-“

“DALLY!”

-catcall vibes 💀💀😭

-literally the most obvious guy ever

-I feel like you’d play hard to get

-yk keep his ego checked

-but I feel like you’d need to make it clear you were looking for committed

-and at first, he wouldn’t be into it, but over time realize… he really doesn’t want to break your heart

-when you finally go on a date you end up making out first date 💀👍❤️

Two Bit Mathews

-he does stupid shit to impress you fr

-whatever he thinks you’ll like him to do hes alr on it

-shoplifts stuff for you that he thinks you’ll like

-cracks jokes fr

-he tries to woo you with humor so hard

-it does work

-I feel like he would actually try to tell you he likes you through a joke

-and actually get kinda flustered in anticipation

-“what has two thumbs and likes a cute girl named

y/n? *says quietly* This guy…”

-you giggle and kiss his cheek

-“Me too, dummy. I like you too, two.”

Steve Randle

-he’s definitely more flirty

-he flirts with you fsfs

-I feel like it’s not quite as charming as Soda, not quite as vulgar as Dally

-smack dab in the middle

-fixes your car for you and is always suggesting you come there for free repairs

-TOTALLY not so he can just talk to you and be around you in general

-he would whistle to you tho “lookin good there baby”

-when he finally confesses I feel like he would be a bit nervous and tries to hide it so much he tells you completely stone faced 💀

-“I-Uh… I like you.”

-such a serious voice 💀😭👍

-but he gives you a smile (rare for him) whenever you say that you like him back

-I can’t stress this enough… FREE HANDYMAN!

#urlocalnonbinarybastardwritesanswers #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders hcs #the gang x y/n #the gang #Ponyboy Curtis #Johnny Cade #sodapop Curtis #Darry Curtis #Dallas Winston #two bit mathews #Steve Randle

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jazeswhbhaven · 3 months

Text

Nobody asked, but I'll do this before I start working on requests~

Astra's first impressions:

(Doing Avisos, because I did a side story where she yeets there randomly) Stolas: This guy looks like he comes straight from a emo/goth boy magazine but has a stick up his ass. I like him though, taught me how to shoplift without getting caught. Naberius: He's a nerd. But a cute nerd. Don't tell him I said that. Amon: Oh, he's hot. He's really hot. Oh, he's a Beel fanboy. Damn. Well, he's still hot and I'll keep trying. Bael: He's need a break, maybe a handjob. I'm happy to give him one.

Beelzebub: He let me twerk on him, so he's cool with me. I'm getting a piercing from him but he wants to pierce my coochie so uh, might have to rain check. (satan and mammon will not like that) (and Hades because WHY NOT)

Foras: Holy shit where the fuck he come from? I literally didn't see him. Sneaky fucker. Pretty horns though. Barbatos: Oh...he's so friendly. Oh he's a bit too friendly. Great kisser. Glasyalabolas: This tall fucker, if I were any shorter my face would always be staring at his dick. I want his boots.

Leviathan: So it was on sight when I saw him because he tried to kill me. How about suck my ass? He reminds me of my coworkers at the club, just because he's pretty he gets to treat me like shit? (noises in the background because Levi heard her talking shit) OH, YOU WANT SOME? COME CATCH THIS FADE** (runs off camera, more crashing noises) (fade in this context is a threat/meaning to beat someone's ass basically ^^;)

In short, Astra does unhinged stuff in Avisos with the bois. Astra never stays in Hades for long because she keeps getting into fights with Levi (it's almost like it's a kink for them at this point, yes Glas watches)

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb rambles #oc headcanons #mc headcanons #character x oc #whb avisos bois 💚#whb hades bois 💜#please excuse Astra she's fucking rough as hell #yes my mc uses aave

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mirrorballshiningjustforyou · 10 months

Note

Hiii! Can you please write like ’preferences’ on how the tbp characters would react to their s/o shoplifting or stealing something? Love ya, have a great day💕

The Black Phone Guys When Their S/O Shoplifts

sorry this is so half assed, i haven’t watched the movie in a while, i’ll watch it today so i can get some more requests in :)

Finney Blake

Literally FREAKS OUT

honestly hes freaking out a little more for himself, i mean…you could get him in trouble

if it’s smth small he’ll just end up probably buying it for you “do you want money to buy it? i’ll buy it for you”

if it’s something big/expensive however, he won’t let you leave. like legit

the store needs to hire the mf as a security guard or smth

Robin Arellano

honestly he kinda doesn’t care, he’s used to his friends and stuff doing things like that so he doesn’t make a big deal of it

he’ll probably just block the cameras or smth

unless its something REALLY expensive

“you’re not gonna be able to take that, there’s cameras”

if you do try to steal it he’ll just take it from you, he might even fight you for it.

Vance Hopper

he’s probably stolen something before, so it’s not a big deal at all to him, he probably won’t even notice

whether it’s expensive or not doesn’t matter, he’ll just let ya do your own thing.

unless its from a corner store or a convenience store, he’ll just take it from you and pay for it.

Bruce Yamada

yeah, NO.

if he catches you, he’ll literally just

live bruce reaction

he just tells ya to put it back tbh, he won’t stop you if you steal it though. UNLESS ITS EXPENSIVE CUZ HES NOT TRYING TO GET IN TROUBLE

like, he loves you, but hes not gonna go to jail for you…

unless there was a target in the 70s…target don’t gaf

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radiant-reid · 1 year

Note

Heyyyy cate! Could you do a blurt or Oneshot on Spencer with his teenage daughter who maybe doesn’t seem to like his new girlfriend at all but really she’s just really scare of her dad’s attention shifting ? She could do rebellious stuff to gain it back and he would take a while to really get what was going on? 🥺

omg yes i live for this type of angst. also, i'm considering a series with single dad spence, what do we think ?? i don't have a plot or anything lmao

There's nothing Phoebe loves more than her dad, and there's nothing Spencer loves more than his daughter. You knew that getting into a relationship with him.

He raised it early before your third date during the month you were only communicating by text. Now, you can't think of anything worse than going that long without talking to him.

You've been an increasingly permanent fixture in his life and, therefore, Phoebe's, especially after Spencer got released from prison. He needed an adult to talk to, not his fifteen-year-old daughter, and you were happy to be that for him.

Things would have been good, perfect even, hopefully, with you integrating even more into their lives, but your relationship with Phoebe was rocky.

She must have struggled with her dad in prison, having to stay with Aunt Penelope for three months while she had no idea what would happen to their family.

It's only deteriorated since you started sleeping over. It's like whenever you're around, she refuses to come out of her room, and it's more hatred for you than it is teenage angst.

That night, Spencer calls, asking you to come over. When you get there, he looks furious mixed with worried, but the furious is taking over.

You run through a list of things that might have happened during the day to have made him so mad. Maybe a problem with his reinstatement, although it's been fine for months, or a problem with a higher-up putting pressure on the team.

"Hey, hey, what's up?" You ask, shutting the door behind you and slipping your shoes off.

He nods to the study, walking in wordlessly as you follow. It's even more concerning that he won't say anything until the heavy wooden door has closed.

"So not only has Phoebe been skipping school to go to the mall, she has been stealing." He rants to you, pacing angrily. "Stealing! My daughter, who I raised to be a morally good person has been caught stealing."

Your eyes widen as your mouth drops open. It's pretty unbelievable. Although she hates you, Phoebe's a good kid. She's got too much of Spencer in her to be anything but. He's more hotheaded than he used to be, and he's not seeing it from any other perspective than how morally wrong it was.

"Alright, okay." You say, grabbing his hands and steering him to sit on the leather sofa. "Just breathe for a minute."

He tries, but it doesn't stop his eyes from darkening. "I need to be thinking about how I can punish her."

You shake your head softly. "You can't right now."

He looks at you like you're dumb, but you know he doesn't mean it. "You can't seriously be defending this."

You shake your head again. "I'm not, Spence. I promise. But this is a cry for help." He's still not understanding it, so you put it in terms she'll understand. "Behaviorally, what does it say if someone's shoplifting?"

"It's a reaction to a loss, to fill a void real or perceived." He lists off the common parts of the profile before it clicks in his head. "Oh."

"Yeah." You nod. "This is a call for help, Spencer. She's struggling with something, and I'm guessing it's a mix of me and what happened to you."

His eyes cloud over with tears then, his whole face softening. It's his baby, who he's been raising since he was fresh out of college, and she's begging for help, even if she doesn't know it.

Then he feels terrible because what type of a dad is he to not realize she's having such a rough time? And because of his decisions?

You can tell, too. "Spencer, stop." You insist. "You're not a bad dad."

"How did I not know?" He asks, holding his head in his hands.

"Because she's a teenager who hides her feelings from her dad." You joke, earning a slight chuckle from him, his beautiful smile gracing his face once again. "So I'm going to go so you can talk to her."

He shakes his head, squeezing your hand. "No, don't go." He begs. "Her problem is not with you."

"It is." You assure him. "I've started coming around more, and it's a big change. You don't like change, and I bet she doesn't either."

That makes him smile lightly. They are similar in a lot of ways, and that means the better and worse traits. "Can you wait here?" He asks.

Hesitantly, you concede. "I'll be in your bedroom." You say before winking at him as he gets up. "Go do good dad stuff."

Spencer flashes you one last smile before leaving you alone in the study so you can retreat to his room. He's worried when he walks up the stairs. There's been a lot of moments as a dad that he hasn't been able to prepare for, but this feels like the biggest of them all.

Gently, he knocks on her door. "Hey, sweet girl, can I come in?" He asks.

"Not your sweet girl." She answers, although she doesn't tell him not to come in so he pushes the door open.

It's clear she's been crying. Her new heavy eyeliner look makes that obvious. "You'll always be my sweet girl." He tells her, sitting on her desk chair.

"So what's my punishment?" She asks. "No phone, no iPad, no wifi? I bet you'll get Aunt Penelope to block it all, too."

Spencer shakes his head. "Nothing like that, Phoebs. I just want to talk."

"About what?" She asks in return.

"What's bothering you." He answers. "You're a good girl, and you know that was wrong. You're too smart for me to tell you that."

Phoebe shakes her head. "I'm not smart."

"You are." He assures her. "So, what's going on?" When he doesn't get an answer, he guesses. "Y/n?"

"I- She's so nice." Phoebe starts, articulating her feelings much better than Spencer ever could. "And I've been mean to her. It's just- she's here a lot, and I'm not used to having..." She trails off, playing with her fingers in her lap. "Someone around like that."

He can guess what she's thinking easily. "Someone I'm romantically interested in."

"My aunts and uncles aren't here all the time, but I feel like she's here to stay." She explains.

Spencer nods. "That's a decision we make together, but yes, I want that."

"I do, too," Phoebe says. "She's nice, and she likes you."

"She likes you, too," Spencer reminds her, taking her hand. "But you'll always be my number one, sweet girl." She smiles at him, standing up and walking over to hug him. He pulls her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head. "I love you."

"I love you, too, and I'm really sorry." She replies.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds family #criminal minds angst #criminal minds oneshot

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icyharrington · 2 years

Note

Just saw your request for kinky fresky smutty requests 👀👀

This is the first time I've come across your stuff so forgive me if you've written similar but what if the reader is obsessed with Eddie's hands? Specifically how he wears rings and all she can think about is all the filthy things he could do with rings on...including maybe some choking? 😌

contains: choking, spanking/slapping, mentions of vaginal sex & rough sex, focus on eddie’s rings lmaooo

he’d be kinda insecure at first when you point them out, assuming you’re teasing him. “i think they look cool, alright?” but you’d keep running your fingertips against his, tracing the grooves of cool metal that contrast against his warm skin.

you’d look through his ring collection (he owns so many different ones- ones he shoplifted from the mall, .50 cent costume jewelry from the thrift store). he tries to find the coolest, most badass looking designs to show off, wanting to solidify his metalhead persona. he’d ask you if it’s “too much”, displaying both veined hands in front of you, layered to excess in his bulky metal jewelry, and you’d always shake your head.

eddie wouldn’t realize how much you like his rings until later on. you’d take his fingers in your mouth, moaning around them, taking them to the back of your throat until you’re gagging like his little slut; you crave the feeling of the cool silver digging into your soft flesh as he grabs you by the hips or thighs.

eventually, he’d catch on; he’d wear his rings all the time for you, squeeze your thigh while you’re in the passenger seat of his van just to see the patterned imprints that form there. he’d smack your ass with the back of his hand, intensifying the sting with his added adornments, tease you with his fingers as they ghost along your lips.

eddie loves to turn you on- his favorite thing is seeing your face flush and your hips begin to squirm as the prickly heat of arousal takes you over. he gets hard when you can’t get your words out right, when you whimper softly, in need of him. he’d be more than eager to play into it your desires, marking you up and making you his.

you’d ask him to choke you one night when you’re going particularly rough, and he’d be apprehensive at first; eddie loves to treat you like his little whore, but his biggest fear is to harm you unintentionally, so you’d have to speak him words of encouragement, guiding his hand up to rest at your collarbones with pleading, half-lidded eyes.

“eds, i’ll tell you if it’s too much, okay? just go nice and easy. i trust you, baby.” you’d tell him, and you’d be able to feel his erection pulse inside of you, a low groan escaping his throat; he’d just barely wrap his fingers around your fragile neck, watching your reactions closely as he tightens his grip experimentally. you’d urge him on with breathless moans, rolling your hips beneath him, your head falling back to expose more of your throat to him.

you’d be so overwhelmingly aroused, your pussy clenching around him as he’d lean forward to kiss you (and double check whether or not you’re alright). you’d cum with his ring-clad fingers snaked firmly around your windpipe, your head locked in place against the pillow.

after the first time, eddie would grow more confident in his abilities; he’d learn how to choke you safely, and know exactly how to get block your airflow just enough that you’re at his mercy. gradually, it’d become a kink for him too, and he’d choose his biggest rings for the nights where he really wants to claim you as his; he’d get hard seeing you on your knees in front of him, eyes big and mouth parting for his metal-adorned thumb to slide against your tongue

when you’re an extra bad girl, eddie would put his heaviest rings on and have you lay across his lap, yanking up your mini skirt (side headcanon: eddie lovesssss his girlies in short skirts). by the time he’d be done with you, your ass would be a rainbow of reds and blues, and your pussy would be dripping all over his thigh.

just... yea. omg. ok yea.

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson hc #joseph quinn #stranger things #stranger things hc #stranger things imagine #eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #eddie munson x you #stranger things headcanon #mine

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givehimthemedicine · 2 years

Text

🧇 Eggos as a symbol of M*leven: an analysis

El Loves Eggos is a running thing throughout the show and I want to look at where that actually came from.

does she, Michael?

because here's what it looks like when El tastes an Eggo for the first time. here's the moment of origin!!! drumroll!!!:

😐

Eggos are first established as a Mike thing. he's absolutely wolfing them down at the breakfast table, to the point where Nancy and Karen are both giving him weird looks. they don't know he's doing that because he's eager to go check on the feral child camping in his basement, and might both just mistake this as a sudden unexplained enthusiasm for Eggos.

I really wanted to see whether the whole family was eating Eggos or just Mike, but the scene is shot so that you can't see what's on Ted's or Karen's plates. Nancy might also have an Eggo, which she's eating with a fork and knife to let us know she's repressed and also in a doomed relationship.

then Mike hurries downstairs to give one to El and we get this non-reaction that launched a thousand toaster levers.

what part of this reaction should warrant Eggos becoming her whole thing? because if she didn't "!!!!" over her first one, why would she with subsequent ones offscreen?

Mike has no inkling at this point that she likes Eggos, because.. she doesn't. At least she's given no indication that she does.

I don't know if El has ever especially liked the taste of Eggos. I think what she likes about them is Mike. also as far as she knows, they're are a major pillar of a regular people diet. to her, they're a connection to Mike and by extension to the normalcy, safety, and love that she craves.

Next, El shoplifts the Eggos. out of a whole store of options. doesn't that prove she thinks they're delicious? not necessarily. I think it's just because she latched onto the only familiar thing she saw.

she clearly didn't come in here looking for them specifically, she's just hungry and she can tell this building is where food comes from, but she gets in there and is a bit lost because none of this stuff is recognizable as food to her. between Mike and Benny and the lab, she's probably never seen prepackaged foods and doesn't know what to pick, not to mention she literally doesn't have any preferences anyway. she's wandering rather aimlessly until she sees the picture of Eggos by chance and thinks "hey!! those are the yellow circles I ate before!"

side note: notice just to the left of the Eggos she takes, is an alternate blueberry flavor. El has no reason to choose the default yellow out of familiarity because she's never seen what package they come in at all. she didn't even know they were called Eggos, or that they are a frozen product, she just spotted a picture that looked familiar. the actual Eggos pictured on the boxes don't even really look different. did she just choose the kind with the word "home" on the box? :(

she eats her stolen Eggos in the woods, probably not understanding why they're not very good, because she doesn't know they need to be toasted. she's not having a good time. these are the first Eggos she's acquired on her own without Mike providing them, but as she sits there eating them, and missing Mike and all that he represents, she hears him calling her in the distance, reinforcing the Mike-Eggo link.

also wait, I see 4 boxes open, at 8 apiece, is this at a minimum her TWENTY FIFTH dry frozen Eggo she's eating right now?? my poor baby's gonna have tummy trouble in the upside down

remember right before this, Mike and Dustin saw the grocery store with the shattered door and the cops out front and realized it must be El's work? most likely after Mike got El home, he would have asked her what had happened there, and maybe she could have been in a rare mood to actually answer a direct question. Mike, not knowing her real reasons, could only have been like "whoa, you must really love Eggos!" and El, not yet knowing how to evaluate her own likes and dislikes, might have thought, "huh, yeah, I must."

that's what must have happened because the next thing on the Eggo timeline is Mike telling Nancy that El REALLY likes them, despite El never having given any other indication. nobody's even mentioned Eggos for a few episodes as far as I can remember.

Then, when she asks for them, thinking she loves them now, he calls them "not real food". hmm

this is the first (only?) time El mentions Eggos by name. Mike never told her what they were called - she found out for herself at the grocery store. interestingly, much of this scene is of Mike struggling to put a name on romantic attraction or even distinguish it from platonic or familial relationships.

you know how he just gave her the Eggo without explaining what it was or asking if she wanted it first, and without any frame of reference she kinda just assumed she liked it?

I don't see any reason why El would already know what a kiss is or what it means. she lacks the life experience to process whether she's really into this or just thinks she is because... well, Mike seems into it, and he's easily the least abusive interpersonal relationship she's had so far, and he represents normalcy and safety and home, and she's always wanted to be loved and this feels like something to do with that, so... smile??

now believing her to be the world's biggest fan, Mike comforts a distressed El with visions of a future with unlimited Eggos. we know Mike likes feeling needed, in fact he equates it with love itself, so I can see him absolutely eating up the idea of being El's Eggo-provider.

in the same sentence, he re-offers the Snow Ball thing he was talking about earlier when he kissed her. this links Eggos with M*leven, and the idea of him loving her.

then she takes out the demogorgon and disappears to the upside down.

Hopper, too, must discover her apparent love of Eggos when he responds to the shoplift call and the store manager tells him that's all the bald kid stole. so that's what he leaves for her in the woods.

but to El, Eggos are a Mike thing. she doesn't know anyone else knows that she likes them. so she finds this mysterious box with Eggos in the woods - the woods, where Mike found her originally. the woods, where she sat eating Eggos and heard Mike calling to her, and practically the last thing he ever did was promise her Eggos... what can she think but that Mike left them? that after all this time out here cold and scared and alone, that Mike is still looking for her? that there's still hope for her to have a home and be loved?

she stakes out the box and discovers the Eggo-provider to be Hopper, not Mike. that's disappointing, but she reveals herself anyway because she's been Bear Gryllsing out here for I think at least a few weeks in that Nancy dress and she's pretty over it.

Hopper buys her Eggos as a regular treat when they live in the cabin, not knowing she likes them mainly because they're a reminder of the proto-relationship she's desperate to get back to.

they're Hopper's go-to bribe when she isn't speaking to him. it's a strong motivator because she's been stuck in this cabin for like a year dying a slow death of isolation and FOMO. even if she's mad at the new provider, she can't bear to miss out on the Eggos because of what they represent.

it's also what Hopper takes away as punishment, along with the TV, for her sneaking out. these are both indirect ways of taking away Mike (she uses the TV for static to go see him in the void) who she's already upset about having missed out on, because she saw him with Max and thinks she's taken him away, too.

also Hopper's being a dick and threatening to send her back to the lab and stuff, so thinking she has no one left in the world who loves her, she runs away to find her mom and start the life that should've been hers in the first place.

Hopper checks in eventually to apologize and remind her that Eggos aren't real food. she isn't home to hear it.

here she is stealing something to eat from the convenience store with Kali's gang. she takes an apple but then spots the Eggos and decides she'd rather have that than fruit, so again, she was not seeking them out. she would've made a beeline for the freezer section if she was.

this time, she gets sidetracked and doesn't actually leave the store with them. they don't seem quite as important as before.

El spends most of season 2 forcibly and unhappily separated from Mike, which yields probably the Eggo-heaviest season as she clings to them as a connection to their relationship.

she then spends most of 3 separated from Mike as well, except this time by her own choice, happily, and wouldn't you know it, the season is a pretty dry spell for Eggo references. she's having the time of her life hanging out with Max and learning about herself, and doesn't miss the relationship.

she uses this freezer's hum to go void-watching, and oh, what's this? a row of Aunt Jemima brand frozen waffles encroaching on the Eggo display? she's branching out. there's more to life than stupid Eggos.

the party uses and eats and loots anything they wanted from this store, and this is her best ever opportunity to steal some sweet sweet yellow circles. in fact, she's sitting in front of the exact freezer where she grabbed all her little arms could carry in season 1. the coast is totally clear, and there are even more in stock now.

she doesn't even touch one box.

season 4 starts off with this Mike toaster shot paralleling the one in season 1 for what other reason than to Eggo-bait us?

Mike's outwardly eager to get on with his spring break trip and go see El, but the fact we're prominently shown him toasting two pop tarts instead of Eggos hints at a different goal he may or may not be aware of. I don't mean this to be a byler post, but I know that's what yall are going to say and it could sure work for that, but at a minimum it hints that Mike's true priorities are drifting from his relationship with El. Mike is also allowed to realize there's more to life than stupid Eggos.

oo look who's learning about other breakfast foods on her own and isn't so concerned with Mike's approval

after the rink-o-mania incident, things are weird between El and Mike and he makes her Eggos as a peace offering. it should be a cute sentimental gesture but also kinda feels a little damning that El Likes Eggos is still basically the only thing he knows about her after how long they've known each other.

the presence of Eggos in the house means that Joyce is keeping them in stock for El, who's been back on her bullshit since ten seconds before she left Hawkins. although to what degree I don't know, it depends how aware she is that she's lying to herself. either she's going through 2 packs a day keeping this relationship alive with lies and desperation, or there's been one box in the freezer awhile growing ice crystals. not sure.

either way, right now she's pissed off and doesn't want them. she never really liked Eggos, but now she's gone too long without getting what they represented, and doesn't even want that anymore.

also what kind of sociopath pours syrup on someone else's Eggos an undetermined amount of time in advance and lets it get all soggy. you gotta do that yourself so it's fresh and you control your own destiny/syrup distribution. are they sitting in a giant puddle of syrup?? boy, how do you mess up EGGOS. this on its own is a dumpable offense.

Mike's idea of El is still "haha Eggo go in, superhero come out" and he looks at them like he just doesn't understand why it's not working. so he tries again like smoothing out a wrinkly dollar bill and trying it in the vending machine again. he brings her the soggy symbolic Eggos she already didn't want when they were fresh.

she doesn't look at them. it's over.

I really believe their relationship doesn't survive this scene.

if this scene went on longer it would've been Mike picking up an Eggo and gently smushing it against her mouth with concern while she stares at him like

also notice Mike isn't having Eggos for breakfast. he and Will are having eggs and toast (real food). he only made Eggos (not real food) for her. he's trying to give El something he doesn't really even want himself.

also what do you wanna bet Will got that syrup out for himself and Mike to put on their eggs and then Mike didn't take any and put it on El's Eggos instead.

Anyway, post fight-or-possible-breakup, El ends up at this diner with Owens. she has to have discovered a second kind of food that she likes by this point in her life, but she peers at a menu on the wall for a moment and recognizes something familiar, a lot like at the grocery store, and orders "waffles, please." she is, after all, in a pretty scary situation here - arrested, dragged off in handcuffs, federally kidnapped in the middle of the desert, and put sorta back in custody of her lifelong abusers. she kinda broke up with Mike, but it's still her habit to look for the comfort of familiarity.

on the surface it's worth a chuckle because El Loves Eggos and waffles are the closest thing to Eggos you can order at a restaurant. but also it's the first time she's ever gone off-brand, isn't it?

waffles are the real food that Eggos are a junk imitation of. she wants real love, and symbolically, this is her letting go of her notion of Mike being her only option for that.

five seconds later she chooses to immediately embark on her self-discovery journey which she's been clearly warned may result in her never seeing her friends again.

she doesn't stay for the waffles at all. showing that not only has she left Mike behind, but romance, period, is not her priority at this time.

later at Surfer Boy we see what it looks like, by the way, when El really does like the taste of something. here's the !!! reaction I've been attributing to Eggos that never actually happened.

Mike is there to scowl and insist that pineapple on pizza is both insane and blasphemous. El knows how to like what she likes now, and she (on a good-natured level of course) couldn't give less of a shit whether he approves. in fact she tries to force feed it to him. the growth.

ps, she was about to codify their breakup before they got pizzablocked.

Mike then lies and says he loves her at emotional gunpoint, killing Max and causing the apocalypse and stuff so the vibes get weird again.

El doesn't talk to him at all after that. and Mike makes no effort to stay near her on the approach to Hopper's cabin, which he should realize is an emotional moment for her.

our final Eggo reference is this old box in the destroyed cabin, looking like a relic of the past. Nancy finds some cleaning supplies and everybody starts sweeping and picking up trash.

i'm livid that it happens just out of frame but we end the season on El STUFFING THE EGGO BOX IN HER TRASH BAG oHOHOHO CHEF KISS

~ Fin ~ 🧇🦴

#milkvan bones the eggos told me so #this isn't as coherent as I meant it to be but whatever yall know what I'm saying #analysis #eleven #eggos #milkvan #there will be one Eggo scene in 5 #either somebody offers El an Eggo and she asks for something else instead #or an elmike scene where they have one more Eggo together and tap them together in a toast #I can't decide which but one of those will be happening #mine #flashing gif #long post #givehimthemedicine analysis #bestof

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moodyvoid · 8 months

Text

The League of Villains as babysitters:

Based on this poll I made

Tomura was voted the worst babysitter. However, I feel like with minimal effort he would at least sit them in front of a television (definitely playing something scary and inappropriate) and throw cheese balls at them every once in a while. It IS a possibility that he’ll lose the child, though. He’d just shrug and say “idk where it is, get a new one or something.”

Dabi’s first instinct would be to toss the kid outside and lock the door. (Personally, he was my vote for the worst babysitter) BUT at the very least he’d handcuff the kid to one of the barstools and leave it with a bag of chips. He’d leave the room and return to find the kid escaped the cuffs and is in Tomura’s room getting their sticky fingers all over his stuff. Only then will he think the kid is alright. He would definitely teach the kid how to commit arson.

Spinner would be the most anxious by far. Like “this kid cannot die or get hurt on my watch”. He’d follow the kid all around the bar like “don’t touch that- don’t go near that- don’t drink that”. The kid would repeatedly ask him if he has games on his phone. Spinner would say “Yes.” The child would ask if they could play them. Spinner would answer “Fuck no.” The kid would march around repeating the new word they just learned. Although he would think he did a bad job, in all reality, he did pretty good.

Toga would definitely be annoyed at first. Like why is she stuck babysitting? This was not in the League of Villains job description. After getting tired of being asked “What’s this? Who’s that? Can I play with that? Why not?” over and over, she would end up taking the kid along on a mission of her own. Shoplifting. It’s just a fun game!! You’ll win a prize!! They’d traverse the mall together, the child creating a distraction as Toga robs the local Sephora and several other stores. In the end, they made a pretty good team. Perhaps not the best role model, but they had a fun time.

Twice would be opposed at first, but as soon as the kid suggests “Wanna play pirates?” You’d catch Twice wielding a cardboard sword and an eyepatch, running around the bar play fighting with the kid. He’d even let the kid win— the first time. Then it’s serious. He’d pretty much be up for anything the kid would want to do. Cartoons? Yes. Macaroni art? Yes. Sneaking cookies from the kitchen even though he’s a fully grown man and can have one if he wants? Yes. It would be a day full of fun. The only bad moment was when they played hide and seek and Twice absolutely could not find the child… for two hours. The kid and Twice would both be exhausted by the end of it all. Twice had a lot of fun and he’d never want to do it again.

Mr. Compress would make a great babysitter! He’d have all sorts of tricks and magic to entertain the child with. He’d take his role as a babysitter seriously, as he does with all his roles. He’d ready activities for them to do. He’d have stories to tell them, making funny dramatic voices for all the different characters. He’d teach them about theater and he’d have the rest of the league members (aka just Toga and Twice, cause they were the only ones willing) to put on a play with him for the kid. The kid would have a great time and probably go home with a new pet rabbit that Mr. Compress pulled out of his hat.

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navvyu · 10 months

Text

They find reader shoplifting something

An: I have no idea why I wrote this. Shout out to random promt generator, random number generator, and wheel w/ twst characters!!

This is very /nsrs, written as crack. Not meant in any ill will!

*not beta read

Includes: silver, epel, ortho, lilia, floyd

Silver

Silver, half asleep would also you what the fuxk you were doing

Confused, very confused. Dosent know what's going on

Once he realized that you're shoplifting, he'd stay silent for a second, then he took what you were going to steal, and he pays for it

Dosent really care if you're going to steal. He just shrugs it off

Silver does offer to pay for whatever you need if you're ever on Sam's shop together

If you mention mot having enough money to buy something, he simply just hands you his wallet saying 'just don't spend over a thousand.'

If you try stealing again, he'd lecture you

"If you can't afford something, just tell me, I'll pay for you."

Epel

If Epel finds you shoplifting, he'd sort of side eye you, take whatever you had in your hand, and he'd pay for you

Brings it up later, out of concern but also curiosity

He half lectures you. He doesn't really care, but he wants to make sure you don't get into hot waters

From then on, Epel makes sure to go with you during any shopping trips

He encourages you to get a job, but he'll be willing to let you hand off his money for a while

"You know you owe me for all this, right?"

Ortho

Ortho passive-aggressively asks you to put back what you had took

Offers to pay just this one time, though

Ortho bluntly tells you to get a job or a side hustle for money. If you are unable to land a job, he'll anonymously email jobs you've applied to, and he'll give you a good word, and he may or may not be very passive-aggressive

If you ever need money to buy something, ortho gives you allowances (with his brothers permission)

He truly wants you to live the best life you can, but there comes the price of harsh reality

"I recommend getting employed or selling old things for madol and thumarks, small things can build up over time."

Lilia

Lilia pops up behind you, snagging the item you had in hand

Lilia literally just takes whatever you had, pays for it then he makes you chase him to get it back

He doesn't really care honestly. He just tells you to call him if you need anything.

"If you need me to buy something, I can. But it will come at the price of a small chunk of your pride, pretty fair if you ask me!'

Floyd

Depending on his mood, honestly.

1) floyd gets in on it, and shoplifts with you

2) carrys you to the cashier, makes you set the stuff down, pays for it him self

3) calls you out with no shame whatsoever

"Neh? Shirmpy, wha'cha doin'?"

#twst headcannons #twst imagines #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst #navvyu writes #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst x reader crack #twst crack #gn reader #twst x gn reader

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laiqualaurelote · 1 year

Note

for the wip ask meme: cover story!

Thank you for this ask (from this WIP game)! a couple of folks have asked about this one. It's the Ted/Trent spy-AU-in-a-Notting-Hill-bookshop-AU, which stalled because the premise got too unwieldy and the literary references got out of hand. (It did have a playlist I was quite fond of, with a number of Kinks songs including, presciently, A Well Respected Man). Because I am unlikely to ever finish it, I thought I'd just fic amnesty the whole thing here, so:

Cover Story

Trent is about to wind up stocktaking when the door to the bookshop bangs open. “We’re closed,” he calls irritably, and then he turns and sees who it is.

“I got something of a reading emergency,” says Ted Lasso.

Trent takes him in: breathing hard, collar askew, perspiration plastering a lick of hair against his forehead. In his hand is a gun. Trent recognises it as a Heckler & Koch P30L.

Trent ought to be going for his own weapon right about now. Instead he says: “So it is you.”

“Yep,” says Ted.

“I knew it,” hisses Trent. “I fucking knew it.”

“Boy, you sure do like to be right about stuff.” Ted pauses, then staggers. Trent sees that he is favouring his left side, and that the shirt beneath the puffer jacket is darkening with blood.

“Ted,” he begins, “wh – ”

“Like I said,” Ted grits out, “emergency.” And then he collapses in the middle of Trent’s bookshop.

Five weeks earlier

“You wouldn’t happen to have the latest John le Carré, would you?”

Trent has to climb a little ways down the ladder to see the man speaking to him. It’s one of the American tourists who wandered in after lunch. There are always Americans underfoot these days, trawling the aisles of the bookshop as if in hope of a meet-cute out of Notting Hill. Trent, as a rule, finds Americans tedious and does his level best to avoid them in all his lines of work; he achieves this in the bookshop by hiding in the stacks and leaving them to the tender mercies of his assistant. Unfortunately, this appears to be a particularly persistent specimen. Trent descends a few more rungs and braces himself.

“Is that the one with Brexit?”

“The one with the bookshop.” The American has a very distracting moustache. He looks almost exactly like a slide Trent once saw in Disguises 101: How Not To Overdo It. He is also wearing multiple layers beneath his puffer jacket, like some sort of Midwestern matryoshka, even though the shop’s heating is working perfectly well. Trent is automatically suspicious of customers with many layers, lest they are shoplifters. But a shoplifter would not go to such lengths to gain his attention.

“If you mean the posthumously published one, it’s not yet in stock. Shipping delays, I’m afraid.”

“Ain’t that a pity,” says the American. “I was sold on the premise. A bookshop that’s secretly a base for spy shenanigans? Tell me you don’t want to see how that turns out.”

Trent removes his glasses, keeping his expression bland. “You could put in an order, but if you’re not in town for long then I daresay there isn’t much point.”

“Oh, we’ll be here for a while. Long vacation. Thought we’d take it easy, like the Eagles would say. Though this ain’t Winslow, Arizona.”

“You can place an order with Miss Bowen at the counter,” says Trent, after he has cast about for a response to that string of gibberish and come up empty.

“You bet I will. If I could just – ” The American reaches out, and Trent almost breaks his wrist on instinct, but he simply brushes past Trent’s sleeve and pulls a secondhand copy of Call For The Dead off the shelf. “Maybe we ain’t see the last of le Carré, but at least it’s a first.”

“Ah, ha,” says Trent, to mask his surprise that they even have a copy of Call For The Dead in stock. It’s probably languished in here for years, unsold. “Good eye.”

“Well, I thank you for the consultation, Mr…”

“Crimm. Trent Crimm, The Independent.”

“Well, Trent, I appreciate you. Keep fighting the good fight.”

Trent blinks. “Against…?”

“Amazon,” says the American brightly. “Which, as an American, I apologise for.”

“Er, quite,” says Trent. “Sorry about Brexit, and all that.”

The American’s name on the order form is Ted Lasso, which makes him sound like a fictional character. He collects his bearded friend from the philosophy section and they depart, engaged in a discussion so animated that Lasso walks into the shop door, rebounds with no perceptible damage and continues his argument without missing a beat. Trent and Miss Bowen watch them go, mildly perplexed.

“Is he a subscriber? I don’t recognise either of them.”

“Just an ordinary customer, from the looks of it. He wanted to talk about books.”

“I suppose it must happen from time to time, in a bookshop,” says Miss Bowen dryly.

Trent crosses to her side of the counter, which is built in such a way that a customer, standing in line, would not be able to see what her hands might be doing. He leans down casually to check the automatic shotgun mounted under the countertop.

“He was talking about the new le Carré. It’s about spies in a bookshop, apparently.”

“Oh,” says Miss Bowen, eyebrow raised. “Is it now?”

“Yes,” says Trent. “We ought to get hold of it quite quickly, I think. In case there’s been a breach.”

“Come now.” She turns to him sharply. “Le Carré couldn’t have written a novel about us. I mean, he’d never been in the shop. We’d know, wouldn’t we?”

“I daresay we would, Miss Bowen. But put in the order anyway.”

“Certainly, Mr Crimm. And did you want new grenades on top of that?”

“I did, yes, thank you for reminding me.”

“Of course.” A pause. “We are quite sure that man wasn’t a subscriber, are we?”

Trent scoffs. “What, that guy? Come on.”

Trent’s childhood dream was to own a bookshop. He thought of bookshops as places where you could read all day and avoid people, which seemed like paradise. However, his family being who they were, his skills being what they were, the job market for English degree-holders being what it was – he spent a year at odd ends, haphazardly weighing the pursuit of postgraduate studies against attempting to break into the publishing industry, until finally he gave up and took the path he knew had always been there, lying in wait for him. He became a spy.

It was another fifteen years before he revisited the idea of the bookshop, in the wake of his abrupt and unceremonious retirement from the Circus. Cleis was one and a half years old by then, and he knew he must find something, for her sake – he had promised – even though he could not stomach the thought of going out in the cold again. He was mulling over his various options – heaven forfend he wind up in something horrible, like insurance – when his mother dropped by for tea and said peremptorily: “Mae is retiring, don’t you know?”

Mae – the only name anyone ever knew her by – was a veritable battleaxe who ran the Crown and Anchor, a pub that doubled up as the London station for agents of every stripe working in or passing through the city. The stations, by the unspoken rules that governed their universe, were neutral ground; they served every agency and freelancer without question and in turn brooked no conflict within their confines. To move against a station was to move against the combined powers of the rest of the agencies. Nobody had tried it in Trent’s lifetime.

“Oh?” said Trent. He was only partially listening to his mother; most of his attention was focused on trying to get Cleis to keep her yoghurt in her mouth. “Who’s taking over, then?”

His mother fixed him with the glare she had honed on some of the finest intelligencers this side of the Atlantic, as well as his teenage self. “I rather thought you might throw your hat in the ring, dear.”

Cleis mawed at her in surprise and dribbled watery yoghurt down her bib. Trent sighed. “I’ll talk to Mae.”

Mae thought it was a ridiculous notion to run a station as a bookshop. “You wouldn’t catch half that lot dead in a bookshop,” was her take on it. “Who has time for reading these days? And you’ll have to get in books! Actual books!”

“That’s rather the idea, yes,” said Trent. “It can’t be harder than maintaining a liquor licence.”

“Well, it’s not like I was going to hand the tender over to anyone else,” admits Mae. “What will you call it, love?”

Trent considered. “The Independent. Because that’s what it is.”

Even Mae had to admit, a few years in, that it was working out quite well. He’d even managed to sell some books.

“How’s the le Carré?” Miss Bowen asks, amid her reshelving. “Are we in trouble?”

“I don’t think so.” Trent is perusing Silverview at the counter, book in one hand, the other on the rifle. “The bookshop’s in East Anglia, and the protagonist hasn’t the first idea how to run it.”

“Oh, well then,” says Miss Bowen. “It will put nobody in mind of us at all. Is it any good? I’m always wary of these late discovery manuscripts. I don’t think I ever got over the disappointment of Go Set A Watchman.”

“It’s unevenly weighted. Makes you miss him at his best.” Trent turns a page. “Still, I’m glad he didn’t go gentle into that good night.”

He tenses as the shop bell rings, then sees that it is Keeley Jones, resplendent in a fluffy yellow coat. “What can we do for you, Miss Jones?”

“Trading in,” sings Keeley. “On Jamie’s behalf.”

Trent takes off his glasses and gives her a forbidding look. “What, has he gone and lost the lot again?”

Keeley winces. “Only some of it.”

Trent sighs. “Let’s get it processed in the back.”

Jamie Tartt is one of the stars of the agency known as the Dogtrack. He’s also aggravatingly cocky and spectacularly laissez-faire with his equipment; Keeley’s always in here, making apologies for him having thrown his Glock into a volcano, or something. Trent has no patience for the likes of Jamie Tartt. One already has so many people trying to kill one in this line of work, but there he is, giving even more people reasons to want him dead.

The back room is behind a reinforced steel door that can only be opened using either Trent’s or Miss Bowen’s fingerprints and a passcode that changes every day. The passcode is in fact a rolling alphanumerical series that progresses through the entirety of Hamlet, and if anyone ever cracks it, Trent will be very impressed by their grasp of Shakespeare. In the back room, Trent lays out the remnants of Jamie Tartt’s mission kit and purses his lips.

“To lose one dart gun, Miss Jones, may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose both looks like carelessness.”

“Oh, you needn’t have a go at me, I’m proper mad at him myself. You know what he did last week? Tried to murder Roy Kent. Roy Kent!”

“What, for work?”

“Not even that! Some kind of fucking…pissing contest.” Keeley makes a noise of exasperation. “Some days it’s like we gave a bunch of five-year-olds guns and let them loose on a jungle gym. You know what I mean?”

“I’ll just put it on his tab,” says Trent. “Which is astronomical, by the way.”

“I’ll chivvy the folks at the Dogtrack to send you a cover. Only they’re rushed off their feet this week – you must have heard.”

Trent has heard, but it always serves one in intelligence gathering to pretend to know less than one really does. “What’s happening over there?”

“The Mannions are going to war,” says Keeley, her voice lush with the juice of gossip - another reason why Trent likes having her in the shop. “The whole Dogtrack’s splitting up. Christ, but it’s a mess down there.”

“Who’s Jamie backing?”

“Hasn’t decided. Rupert’s putting it about that the whole agency’s going with him, but word on the street is that Rebecca Welton’s brought in someone from abroad to take him out. They’re saying it’s an American.” She sucks in an excited breath.

“Why would you bring in an American for that?” demands Trent.

“Beats me. It’s going to keep us all on our toes for a bit, to be sure. I reckon it’s some Tom Cruise type, all Mission Impossible Jack Reacher like. But nobody knows for certain.”

“Surely not,” says Trent. “You at least must have some idea, Miss Jones.”

Keeley flutters her eyelashes at him. “Who, me? I’m just a humble secretary.”

“Of course you are,” says Trent. “And I’m just a poor bookseller.”

Keeley slants a sly look at him. “You haven’t seen any Americans around, have you?”

“We get Americans in the store all the time. Just this morning we had a Mrs Glenda Johnson from South Carolina complaining that we don’t have a café in the store.”

“Yeah,” says Keeley, “fairly sure it’s not Mrs Glenda Johnson. Isn’t there a Costa two doors down?”

“Precisely,” says Trent. “Americans.”

They return to the front of the store, the afternoon light streaming across the polished wood floors and touching the book covers. “It really is awful pretty, when the light’s good,” says Keeley, running a hand across a row of Sally Rooneys. “You know what you ought to do? You should do #BookTok.”

“That,” says Trent, “is the single worst suggestion I’ve ever heard.”

Keeley laughs. “Give me a pot of money and some Madeline Miller and I’ll do it for you. I’ll make you so famous, you’ll be beating influencers off with a stick.”

“Just tell the Dogtrack to pay for your boyfriend’s damage.”

Keeley sticks her tongue out as she swings out of the shop. “If you see the American, you’ll tell me first. Won’t you?”

“Tell me a story,” says Cleis. They’re curled up in her bed, her tiny frame pillowed against his side.

“You’ve had two already.”

“But I want another.” Cleis looks up at him, her eyes clear and green as the sea. “Tell me about Maman.”

Trent stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that speckle her bedroom ceiling. Tell me about a complicated woman, he hears Coralie say in his head. She sounds slightly amused. This is an anachronism, of course. Coralie never lived to see the Emily Wilson translation of The Odyssey. She would have loved it.

“Where do I start with your mother?”

“Was she very beautiful?”

“Yes. She knew exactly how beautiful she was and what to do with it.”

“Do I look like her?”

“The spitting image.” Even at four, Cleis looks so much like her mother that Trent will sometimes look over at her, in the middle of something mundane like making dinner or brushing her hair, and the resemblance will strike him like a punch to the gut.

Cleis is pleased by this. “What else?”

“Well. She loved old poems, and she was a lot stronger than she looked, and she wasn’t scared of a thing. Never listened to anyone either.”

“Not even you?”

“I like to think she listened to me a bit more than most other people,” allows Trent, “but even that wasn’t very much.”

Cleis kneads her quilt between her small hands. “Why didn’t she come back?”

Trent swallows. “She couldn’t. She had to save everyone.” Including me, he doesn’t add. Instead he says: “She loved you more than anything in the world.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me so. It was the last thing she said, before – ” Trent stops. Cleis is silent.

“Go to sleep now, chouette.”

It’s another hour before she drifts off to sleep proper. He sits in the dark, her hand tucked in his, until she does.

“So that’s your subscriber number, which you should quote in all correspondence with us and over the phone when placing orders. Orders placed within less than twenty-four hours of pick-up will be subject to last-minute fee increments. Is that understood, Mr Rojas?”

The lush-haired young man beams at Trent across the counter. “Si, entiendo.”

“Book club notices are posted on the board to the right,” Trent goes on. “Those are for freelancers, I don’t vet them personally and you attend book club at your own risk. This is for your first assignment.” He hands over a copy of Roberto Bolaño’s 2666. Dani Rojas makes to open it; Trent slams it shut. “Don’t open your books in the store.”

“Okay,” says Dani, wide-eyed. He hefts the book experimentally in his hand. “It is very heavy. Does it have a happy ending?”

Trent snorts. “It’s a Bolaño, what do you think?”

Dani nods cheerfully. “I thank you for this, señor. Literature is life.”

“I mean, it actually isn’t,” says Trent, “which is sort of the whole point – but never mind. All the best, Mr Rojas.”

Dani leaves, whistling. He passes Roy Kent on his way in. “He’s not the American, is he?” says Roy, not quite sotto voce to Trent.

“I rather think he’s Mexican,” says Trent. “Are you all still going on about that? I’d have thought you’d have worked it out by now.”

“Nah,” says Roy. “No idea who it is. Mrs Mannion – that is to say, Ms Welton – is keeping her cards close to her chest. Old Rupert’s foaming at the mouth. They say he’s got hold of some kind of leverage, but fucked if we know what.” He studies the noticeboard. “Anything good at book club?”

“What, are you freelancing now?”

“Reckon I might as well, since it’s all going to shit at the Dogtrack.” Roy frowns at A Moveable Feast, Wednesday 8pm; A Gentleman In Moscow, Thursday 7pm; and Vengeance Is Mine, All Others Pay Cash, Thursday 9pm. He points at the last. “Where’s that one again?”

“East Java. I hear Indonesia’s nice this time of year.”

“Right, let’s give it a go then.”

Trent scribbles down a number on a Post-It and hands it to Roy. “Call it and burn it. You know the drill.”

“Cheers.” Roy regards Trent, brows thickly furrowed. “You’ve seen the American, haven’t you?”

“No comment.”

Roy grunts. “Bet you have. You’re just being a prick about it, as usual.”

“Whoever it is, they’re probably out in the community already,” says Trent. “Bravely or stupidly.”

“Stupidly,” decides Roy, stalking off.

The problem with The Independent is that, despite Trent’s best efforts and the imminently prophesied demise of brick-and-mortar bookselling, it still continues to be a fairly popular bookshop. Trent has no idea why this is. He puts zero effort into the window displays. He shelves the books in no discernible order, so it is virtually impossible for a customer to locate anything. Sometimes he even leaves terrible TripAdvisor reviews for himself, to discourage casual browsers and tourists. And yet the shop continues to see customers – not subscribers, actual book-loving civilians. People keep popping in to have opinions on how Trent should run his bookshop, to complain that he doesn’t sell stationery or upbraid him for not carrying the latest Stephenie Meyer or insinuate that he should hold poetry readings (of their poems) in the store. It’s a marvel that Trent has gone all these years without shooting anyone in the face.

Still, the shop has regulars somehow. There are the subscribers, and then there are normal people who just show up and spend ages browsing, even though Trent has made sure there is nowhere comfortable for them to sit. There is the elderly gent who pops in nearly every morning to thumb through books and point out printing errors to anyone unfortunate enough to be in proximity. There is the teenage girl who spends afternoons seated cross-legged in an aisle, reading The Sandman in instalments. And then there’s Ted Lasso.

“Why’d you call it The Independent?” Ted wants to know. He’s come back to pick up his copy of Silverview, and despite having achieved this with little incident, has nevertheless once more sought out Trent where he is dusting the shelves.

“Because it is an independent bookstore,” says Trent, who is in fact sweeping for bugs. He finds one planted atop a birding guide and surreptitiously crushes and pockets it. “Can I help you with anything else, Mr Lasso?”

“I was wondering where I might find your Graham Greene.”

“I believe we have The Quiet American somewhere in the shop, if you can bear to wait while I excavate it. Though,” adds Trent, “you are a distinctly unquiet American.”

“You can say that again,” says Ted cheerfully. “You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of The Third Man, would you?”

Most people haven’t even seen The Third Man, let alone are aware that it was based on a Graham Greene novella. “You know your spy fiction, Mr Lasso.”

“Call me Ted, won’t you?”

Trent drags the ladder around the corner and retrieves The Third Man from a high shelf near where the ceiling dips. He looks down, head tilted, at the man beaming up at him from the foot of the ladder. You’ve seen the American, haven’t you? Ted Lasso does not look like the kind of American called in to bring down the head of an agency. He looks like a caricature of an American. He has worn the same pair of khakis every time he has set foot in this shop and it is likely he does so without irony. Yet Trent has the feeling that something is off, the way that shots in The Third Man are framed at a slight angle so that the city looks like a painting knocked askew.

Ted clears his throat. “Kinda staring there, Trent. Makes a fella wonder if he ain’t got toothpaste in his moustache.”

Trent hands over the book. “Why are you here, Ted? Really?”

“First thing I always do when I land in a new place is find a local bookstore,” says Ted brightly. “Tells you a lot about the town, your local bookstore.”

Trent takes off his glasses. “And what, pray, have you learnt from this one?”

“That nothing is where you think it’ll be,” says Ted. “But it sure helps if you ask for directions.”

“Perhaps you should ask him if he wants to get coffee,” says Miss Bowen after Ted has left. “Isn’t that why you hired me? So you could have more of a social life?”

Trent pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hired you so that in the event of a terrorist attack on the shop, we wouldn’t be short-handed.”

“I’m glad you did. It was this or go back to teaching kindergarten.” She raises her voice sharply as a man in a denim jacket emerges from behind a shelf and shuffles towards the door. “Stop right there!”

“Uh,” says the man intelligently. “What’s this about?”

“We have CCTV in the shop, you know,” says Miss Bowen. “So we’d appreciate it if you didn’t leave the shop with Jonathan Franzen stuffed down your trousers.”

The man leers. “Like to come over and check on it yourself, love?”

Miss Bowen meditatively flicks open the boxcutter she was using to trim plastic wrap. “You know, I just might.”

The man hastily removes the Franzen. “All right, no need to get all shirty about it. I’ll just put it back then.”

“The fuck you will, we’re not touching that again,” says Miss Bowen. “You’re going to leave twenty quid on the counter – with your other hand, mind – and then you’re going to back out the door and never come back.”

“Can’t do that in kindergarten, can you,” remarks Trent after their errant customer has complied and made himself scarce.

“There’s something to be said about the job satisfaction in this place,” agrees Miss Bowen.

Trent arrives at his parents’ just in time to see his daughter stabbing his father in the front garden.

“Ah! Ah! Alas!” cries his father, sinking dramatically into the grass as Cleis bashes him joyously with a foam sword. “You’ve got me, dread pirate!”

“Did you kill grandpa, chouette?” says Trent as she greets him by thwacking him on the shins with her sword.

“Three times,” says Cleis modestly as she is scooped up.

“She’s a bloodthirsty one.” His father is rising ponderously to his feet, brushing grass stains off his knees. He dotes on Cleis in a fashion that was distinctly lacking in Trent’s own childhood. Trent still cannot get over the incongruity of it – the legendary Chester Crimm, scourge of the Stasi Circle, playing pirates on the lawn with a four-year-old. He does have the eyepatch for it, Trent reflects.

His father turns his good eye towards Trent. “Sell a lot of books today, son?”

“Hilarious,” says Trent shortly. “Where’s mum?”

“Getting her hair done.” They head back into the house. “What’s this I’m hearing about an American at the Dogtrack?”

“Christ, I’m sick of hearing about the American. How’d that even get to you?”

“I was at poker night with the old guard. It’s all everyone’s talking about, the Mannion split.” His father pulls a beer from the fridge and hands it to Trent as Cleis makes for the living room television. “Never liked Mannion. Did you know he tried to get off with your mother, back in the day?”

“Ugh,” says Trent faintly.

“That was before he got mixed up with the Welton girl, of course,” says his father with the alacrity of the generation who can get away with calling Rebecca “the Welton girl”. “The agencies are such a shitshow these days. You know, back in my day – ”

“By all means,” says Trent mordantly, “reminisce about the Cold War, dad. What a splendid time that was.”

“You know what I mean,” his father grumbles. “People just got divorced and got on with things. Didn’t go about involving Americans. You’ve not seen the American, have you? Why are you laughing?”

“I’m just thinking of the rhyme,” says Trent. “From The Scarlet Pimpernel.” At his father’s blank look, he recites: “They seek him here, they seek him there, those people seek him everywhere! Is he in heaven or in hell? That damned elusive Pimpernel.”

“Damned!” exclaims Cleis from the doorway. “Damned, damned, damned!”

Trent stares at her, aghast. “Now look what you’ve done,” says his father.

Ted isn’t in the shop today, though his bearded friend has put in an appearance. He has only ever been referred to as Beard, and Trent is coming round to the idea that it might actually be the man’s Christian name, because who even knows with Americans? He’s browsing in the back, which is fine, and has been engaged for the past fifteen minutes in a conversation with Jane Payne, which is not so fine.

“Should we say something?” Miss Bowen wonders.

“We are The Independent,” says Trent. “We have a policy of non-interference.”

“I mean, she’s literally toxic. Did you see the photos from her Dubai job?”

“No. Jesus. Why are there even photos?”

Miss Bowen shrugs. “No idea. Everyone’s been sending them around in the group chats. Did not know you could get blood that colour.”

“Miss Payne can do what she likes, provided she does it outside the shop.” Trent pauses. “Though you could ask him if he wants to get coffee.”

“No thank you,” says Miss Bowen. “I have no wish to be stabbed in the pancreas by Jane Payne.”

They are distracted by the shop bell. Trent is surprised and slightly disconcerted to see none other than Rebecca Welton bearing down upon the counter in all her glory. The agency heads rarely visit the shop in person; Trent typically corresponds with Mr Higgins for the Dogtrack’s interests.

“Ms Welton. What can we do for you?”

“I’d like to see your Canterbury Tales special edition,” says Rebecca without preamble.

Trent blinks. “Certainly. This way.”

In the back room, he opens the case where the Chaucer collection is stored. Rebecca begins looking it over critically. She hefts a rocket launcher experimentally, testing its weight. “Which one is this?”

“The Wife of Bath. Gives you five shots.”

“Hm,” says Rebecca approvingly. “I rather like the sound of that.” She inspects the double-barrelled shotgun dubbed the Man of Law and the poison darts of the Pardoner. “I’ll take the lot for the rest of the month.”

“That’s a lot of firepower,” says Trent bluntly. “You’re not trying to kill your husband, are you?”

“I don’t know why you’d say that, Mr Crimm. Though I suspect he might be trying to kill me.”

“Is it all for you? Or is any of it for the American?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Rebecca, expression immaculate. “Do invoice Mr Higgins.”

“Darling,” says Trent in long-suffering tones, “please get out of the tree.”

Cleis responds by clambering to a higher branch. She’ll be a while. Trent sighs and puts his hands on his hips, gazing out across the green. It’s a pleasant Sunday morning in the park, though it doesn’t stop him from tracking every jogger and picnicking couple in the vicinity, combing the milieu for hands in pockets and inside coats, calculating distances and trajectories.

His gaze moves across and catches on a lone jogger making his way up the path in their direction. That’s Ted Lasso, he’s sure of it: head down, shoulders hunched against the bite of wind off the water, but there’s no mistaking that moustache. As Trent watches, he raises his head and their eyes meet. He does a very convincing double-take. He’s either genuinely surprised to see Trent here, or his acting skills are commendable. That Trent can’t tell says a lot. Then his face splits into a broad grin.

“Hey there, Trent Crimm, The Independent!”

“Hello, Ted Lasso from America.” Trent eyes Ted as he jogs over, beaming affably. He waves his hand awkwardly. “You…live around here?”

“Oh yeah, Beard and I have digs around here. Like to come out for a run on the weekends.”

“Your vacation is stretching on rather,” Trent informs him.

“Oh, we picked up some work,” says Ted evasively. “Thought we’d stick around, make hay while the sun shines. Though you ain’t got a whole lot of hay around these parts. Not like what I’m used to, at any rate.”

“What sort of work do you do, Ted?”

“Human resources,” says Ted blandly.

Trent removes his glasses and fixes Ted with a searching look. Ted meets his gaze, perfectly amiable. Trent narrows his eyes. Ted doesn’t blink. The whole effect is ruined when Cleis leaps out of the tree unannounced and tumbles onto him.

“Oh for f – ” Trent bites off invective as he staggers. “For the last time, my love, climb down.”

“But this is faster,” says Cleis innocently. She appears to notice Ted, and peers at him curiously as Trent sets her down.

“Well hey there, sweetheart,” says Ted. “What’s your name?”

“Cleis.”

“Fais attention,” says Trent, more sharply than is his wont. Cleis stiffens and tucks herself behind his knee. She always takes her cues from him, and he realises too late his body language has been telescoping an ease with Ted that he should not have brooked. She has never introduced herself to a stranger before.

Ted must pick up on some of that, because he stops short of coming over, instead maintaining the distance between them and crouching down till he is at Cleis’s eye level. “That’s a real pretty name,” he tells her. “It’s from a poem, ain’t it?”

“Sappho.” Trent’s throat feels tight.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” says Ted. “Like a small golden flower. Did you name her?”

“No,” says Trent. “That was her mother. She's – she liked the classics.”

On Trent’s first mission to Morocco, he was paired with a young agent with a French accent and a Classics degree. The former was nearly imperceptible except when she was under pressure; the latter was of no use whatsoever on the mission, any more than Trent’s own English degree was.

“You’re gay, aren’t you?” she said after they had spent four minutes making out pointedly in an alcove to distract the security guards of the Casablanca mansion they were breaking into.

“I’m afraid so,” said Trent, picking a lock.

“That’s a relief. I was worried I was losing my touch.” The lock clicked open, and she whistled appreciatively. “Sing to me, Muse, of the man of twists and turns.”

“The Odyssey? Really?” Trent was secretly delighted that he was no longer the only one pretentious enough to quote classics during a field op. Or Casablanca in Casablanca, even.

She winked at him. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Her name was Coralie Chénier, though they called her “the Owl”. Trent used to envy her this; everyone, despite his best efforts, referred to him as “Chester’s boy”. Then came the Cuba incident, which was such a bloodbath that it earned Trent the moniker “the Jackal”. After that he decided monikers were overrated. At least they matched: the Owl and the Jackal.

Coralie was an orphan – the service preferred either orphans, or those to the manor born, like Trent – and so for the ten years they spent in the field, he was the closest thing she had to next of kin. It was him she told first about Cleis.

“The father?”

She waved a hand dismissively – not in the picture, then. She did not say who it was. Trent knew it to be a crowded field.

“Are you keeping it?”

“I shouldn’t, should I? It’ll take me out of the field for a good stretch.” But he already knew, from the way she rested her hand over her still-flat stomach, that she would.

“I could marry you, if you liked,” he offered.

She laughed. “That’s the sweetest thing any man has ever said to me, darling. But I think I’ll be just fine.”

The last thing she said to him, before she pulled out her comm and charged back into a building rigged with explosives, was: “Promise me you’ll look after her.”

“There must be another way – ”

“I’ve got to do this, Trent,” she said, too gently. “Make sure she knows how much I loved her. All Croesus’ kingdom.”

“I promise – ” but by then she was already gone.

“I’m sorry,” says Ted, bringing Trent back to the present. His hand tightens on the shoulder of Coralie’s daughter.

“Thank you,” he says, for lack of anything better.

“Heck of a poem,” Ted adds.

“Oh yes,” says Trent. I wouldn’t take all Croesus’ kingdom with love thrown in, for her.

#wip ask game #ted lasso #trent crimm #ted x trent #ted lasso/trent crimm #tedependent #rebecca welton #coach beard #keeley jones #roy kent #dani rojas #miss bowen #long post

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