#It's between me and my task tracker

[kingedmundsroyalmurder]

I am writing the next chapter of A Princess comes to Deerwood. I hope you're all ready for a wild Olive POV to appear!

[tonyspank]

"CHEF'S HERE..."

Summary: "Chefs here..." a voice murmurs as you burst through the kitchen doors

Warnings: nothing really, chef y/n is giving gordon ramsay a bit

Words: 800+

A/N: hi everyone! been a while eh

"Chefs here..." a voice murmurs as you burst through the kitchen doors.

You cast a quick peek around. A dozen cooks and servers are preparing for the evening rush, and the air is humid and damp from the hot burners.

"Where's Evan?" You inquire, scouring the room for a sight of his familiar face among the pandemonium. The other cooks trade looks, displaying a mix of perplexity and fear.

Ava gestures at Evan, who is frozen in his trackers, as if he has just seen a ghost. His eyes widen, and he stares at you with his mouth open. You can watch the color drain from Evan's face as he cautiously approaches you, stuttering over his words.

Everyone in the room goes silent as they watch this unexpected meeting occur.

You rush over to him and take him by the elbow, forcing him to look at his plate, which had been returned due to the lobster being undercooked.

"What is this?" you question, pointing at the lobster. Evan moves his focus from you to the plate, his face shifting from panic to perplexity.

Everyone in the room is waiting for an explanation while he stammers, attempting to find the appropriate words to explain the situation.

"Uhhhh," Evan says, searching the kitchen for help.

"It's lobster, idiot," you snarl. "How long have you been here?" "Why do I have to deal with your messes all the time?"

Evan's face flushes with shame. "I... uh..."

"Don't say anything!" You cut him off with a snap.

He looks at you, perplexed.

"I break my fucking foot working my ass off in this restaurant, and the one day I need you to be on your A-game, of course you disappoint." Evan averts his gaze, his shoulders hunching.

Holding the lobster tail in front of his face, you seize it. "Apologize."

Evan's lips move in and out of uncertainty over how to reply. You snarl, "I said, apologize."

He glances at the lobster for a moment, then back at you, his expression bewildered.

"I'm... sorry?"

You turn to face the rest of the kitchen and aggressively toss the lobster in the garbage. "Someone, get me a fucking apron... now!"

You swiftly tie an apron around your waist after a server approaches you with one. Realizing that the other employees have seen your outburst, you observe them exchanging anxious glances as you make ready to return to work.

Taking a deep breath, you attempt to gather yourself and concentrate on the task at hand.

"Alright, everyone, listen up! It's time to turn this day around!" You say this, clapping your hands together.

The kitchen is silent, and the staff stands still, looking between you and Evan.

"Now," you point at the food on the stove, "someone give me a lobster; I'll prepare it myself."

No one moves.

"Well?" You demand, "We don't have all night! The dining room is packed, and we have tables that are waiting!"

At this point, the staff jumps into action, and the kitchen comes alive.

"Yes, Chef," someone mutters and hands you a plate with a lobster tail.

Within a couple of minutes, you're walking back out of the kitchen, your hair tied up and an apron wrapped around your waist, walking in the direction of the table that had originally ordered the lobster.

"Hi there, I'm so sorry about the delay. Can I offer you something on the house to compensate?" You ask, approaching the table, smiling apologetically, trying to mask the anger that is still coursing through you.

The brunette finally looks up, meeting your gaze. You immediately recognize those brown eyes.

"Y/N?" She asks, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Hey, Jenna." You say, letting out a small laugh. "What— what are you doing here? I thought you were in New York."

"Well, I wanted to surprise you." She laughs, shaking her head. "And what about you? I thought I told you to rest your foot."

You run a hand through your hair and mutter, "Baise-moi... (Fuck me...) Uh... it's a long story,"

With a lighthearted smile pulling at the corner of her lips, Jenna raises an eyebrow. Oh, gosh. She leans in closer and adds, "Well, I have all the time in the world to hear it."

You give your girlfriend a sidelong glance while sulking. "It's not that serious, baby. The boot helps a lot."

She sighs slightly and rolls her eyes. "You should be at home, resting."

"I'm fine." You sigh and cross your arms.

Jenna tilts her head, purses her lips, and raises her eyebrows.

"I swear, baby."

"Well, as much as I like the fact that you're here, I don't like the idea of you hurting yourself. Especially after how hard you worked."

You grin and nod slightly. "In any case, try the lobster. "Made by yours truly."

"Of course. Thank you, darling."

You nod and walk back to the kitchen, smiling at the sight of Jenna digging into the food you cooked.

"How'd it go?" Evan asks.

"It's my girlfriend," you tell him, untying the apron and setting it aside.

"What? The blonde one?"

"No, not the blonde one."

"The brunette one? Jenna Ortega?!"

You roll your eyes, grab your jacket and slip it on.

"Yeah, Evan, the brunette one," you say, pushing open the doors and making your way towards the exit.

"Oh."

[wrestlingwithlife]

That Is Some Wild West Shit Right There

When a mission goes of the rails and Y/n gets separated from the rest of the task force he is forced to use the skills he learned growing up in his home town to get back to his team.

Task Force 141 x Male!Cowboy!Reader

—————————————————————————————————————

“This has got to be the stupidest place to build some sort of evil science base.” Y/n hissed into the coms, back pressed up against a massive crate.

What Y/n assumed to be a lab was built practically on the side of a cliff. On one side of the lab you had a mess of trees that was practically just a jungle, and on the other a sheer drop off that led to one of the angriest looking rivers Cowboy had ever seen.

“Relax, we’ve almost got the last of the files downloaded.” Ghost eased the antsy male. Y/n grumbled a bit.

There were a few more beats of silence before a blaring alarm sounded, Y/n cringed at the noise. “Relax, huh?”

As a group of enemy soldiers went to run into the building Y/n stood up and opened fire on them to take the heat off the rest of the team and keep them from getting cornered in there.

“Y’all get yer asses out here now!”

Ghost was first out the door, sliding behind a box on the opposite side of the court yard for cover. The others weren’t far behind, but Y/n was on the complete other side of the yard. Trapped between the armed group of terrorists and the sheer drop off.

“Cowboy, how copy?” Price’s voice buzzed in the coms. Y/n ducked back down as a few of the soldiers turned their attention onto him.

Gaz threw out two smoke bombs, offering a bit of cover. Y/n took his chance and darted to another crate a bit farther away, but far to close to the cliff for his own comfort.

“Just peachy.” He hissed, ducking under the onslaught of bullets that rained down onto his crate.

“What the hell is that? Wait—“

“Get down!”

Y/n was able to cover his head just in time as a loud explosion shook the area. The crate he was behind blasted back in to him, shattering and sending his disoriented form flying back.

“Cowboy!” Soap shouted, breaking from his cover, but he was to late to reach his friend.

Y/n grabbed desperately at the edge of the cliff, but it was no use. Task Force 141 was forced to watch in horror as one of their own plummeted into the raging waters below.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

Y/n’s eyes opened blearily. His head was pounding and everything was fuzzy, but he forced himself up onto his elbows.

His eyes adjusted a bit and he took in the area around him. The room he was in was quite homey. Beautifully woven tapestries hung on the walls and intricately crafted pottery decorated almost every space. The male was laid out on a woven mat, all of his things sat nearby.

The h/c haired soldier checked his body, cursing when he found the damaged tracker. There was no way his squad would be able to find his location now. Where ever the hell he was.

Heavy footsteps sounded from the hall, and a middle aged man walked into the room. His face was kind and worn with smile lines, and he appeared to be of some sort of Hispanic decent. His smile widened when he saw Y/n was awake.

“Ah! My friend, we were worried for you. Fishermen found you in river.” The man spoke, his voice heavy yet still welcoming. “I saw the patch on your arm, you are American?”

Cowboy nodded. “Thank you for bringing me into your home, I could never repay such an act of kindness.”

The man shook his head, waving his hands in front of him. “It is you who I could never repay. Your service is the ultimate payment.”

A soft smile graced the southern males lips. “Then perhaps you could answer some questions?”

Y/n explained everything. The terrorists, the explosion, the river. The older man listened intently.

“We were supposed to go to La Ciudad Perdida after we completed our task for extraction in two days, but I don’t even know where I even am.”

At the mention of the city the man, who Y/n had learned to be named Mateo, perked up. “Our fishermen found you not long ago, and the city is not to far. Come, I will see if I can help you.”

At the mention of the slight hope Cowboy was quick to grab what he still had, following Mateo from his rather large home. As they walked out the older man leaned down and whispered something to a young boy who was quick to scurry off.

“My village does not have vehicles like trucks and jeeps, but there may be another way for you to travel.” Mateo spoke. “La Ciudad Perdida his eight miles west of here, a long journey on foot. However…”

The boy from before returned, rounding Mateo’s home with a massive black horse in tow. The horse moved with a sense of elegance and pride to it, like it had complete confidence in every step it took.

Mateo smiled at the beast before turning to Cowboy, who was still watching the stallion in awe.

“Can you ride?”

Cowboy turned to look at Mateo, eyes shining like new born stars. “I have my whole life.”

The older gentleman smiled. “Good. Than Guerrero will be your mount. He his unflinching at the sound of gunfire, he shall run for you bravely.”

“Warrior…” Y/n whispered the meaning of the stallions name to himself, stroking the giants forelock. “Mateo, how can I repay you for this?”

He waved the h/c haired male off. “I already tell you, your service pays for it all. Besides, I am wealthy man. I have many horses.” The old Hispanic’s eyes shined with mischief.

Y/n laughed, clasping Mateo’s hand in his own and giving it a firm shake. “I will not forget this, my friend.”

Y/n pulled himself up into Guerrero’s saddle, taking a moment to adjust his gun and equipment so the weight was more even. With a final wave to Mateo, Y/n rode off into the direction of La Ciudad Perdida.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

Y/n did is best to keep Guerrero at a trot the whole ride. As much as he wanted to get there as fast as he could he had no idea what kind off situation he would be riding into, and he wanted both him and the stallion to have plenty of energy when they did arrive.

“You know, I always used to imagine doing this.” Cowboy chuckled to nobody but himself and the dark horse. “Riding into battle on a horse. Maybe it seemed silly, but I always thought that would be so badass.”

Guerrero snorted, shaking his head in response. Y/n chuckled, patting the stallion’s neck.

It wasn’t long before the outline of the city became prominent against the horizon. Y/n couldn’t help but smile that they had made it in time.

“Guerrero, I promise to you I’ll have you taken to my ranch back home where you will be treated like a king.” The southern male promised the horse, rubbing his neck. Y/n felt impossibly giddy about the fact he was about to be reunited with his teammates.

Once the city began to take shape the stallions steps paused for a moment, ears forward as he listened intently. It was only a moment before Y/n heard it too. The sound of raging gun fire, it was without a doubt coming from the city.

“That’s not good.” Y/n kicked Guerrero into a gallop. “Hyah!”

The black stallion whinnied, charging towards the city at impossible speeds.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

Soap’s back was pressed flush against the truck he was hiding behind, Gaz right next to him as gun fire rained down over their heads.

After watching Y/n disappear into the raging water shit hit the fan. Ghost had went on a rampage, slaughtering every terrorist he could get his hands on.

Gaz had tried to find Cowboy’s location using his tracker, but the thing had obviously been damaged or destroyed in the river. That alone ebbed at Soap’s hope that he’d ever see the male again, but Soap knew better than that.

Cowboy was fighter. He was harder than nails with the kind of spirit that would put even the most wild of animals to shame. Soap knew if anyone could survive it would be him.

But that was counting on the fact that the rest of them would make it out. Whatever was left of the terrorist group had managed to regroup and followed them to their extraction point.

They had been caught unaware, and now all four of them were pinned down, unable to break from the cover long enough to wrap around behind the group.

Ghost cursed as he ducked his head back behind the crate he was using for cover next to where Gaz and Soap were. Price wasn’t far off, hidden behind his own rather large crate.

The most infuriating part about this whole thing is that there were only six terrorists. The task force without a doubt had them outmatched, but they had managed to get the drop on them.

“This is fucking insane. How many rounds could they possibly have.” Gaz cursed as the bullets continued to rain down.

Soap shook his head, reloading his own gun. “I don know, but I’m about sick of this.”

The shooting faltered for a moment, and the terrorists began shouting things Soap couldn’t make out. In the beat of silence a new noise was heard. It sounded like the beat of hooves on pavement, and it had the group leaning a bit to see what it was.

A hulking black mass was speeding down the street of the abandoned city, atop it sat a figure with a assault rifle poised and ready. The four could not believe their eyes as their teammate came charging in, giving a wicked laugh.

“Holy shit, Cowboy!”

“That is some Wild West shit right there.”

Y/n aimed his gun at the group of terrorists, the angle he came in at giving him the perfect opening. His heart thudded with wild adrenaline as he gave a loud war cry, littering their bodies with bullets.

The group didn’t know what had hit them.

Guerrero charged forward bravely, his ear hardly twitching as Y/n rained down hell onto the group. When the last of the terrorists had fallen Soap and Gaz were the first to move from their spots, followed closely by Ghost and Price.

Guerrero slid to a stop and Cowboy leaped from his saddle, Soap enveloping him into one of the tightest hugs he’d ever experienced.

“Ah, you amadan! I knew you’d be alright!” The Scottish man bellowed, grinning from ear to ear as crushed the h/c haired male in a hug.

Gaz was next to reach him, throwing an arm over his shoulders and ruffling Y/n’s hair affectionately.

Y/n ribs felt like they were cracking from their crushing force, but his smile was wide. He was ecstatic to be back among his teammates.

Once Soap reluctantly released the male Price reached up to ruffle his hair for himself, grumbling about Y/n giving him a heart attack.

“Yeah, I suppose I don’t want to give grandpa any more scares.” Y/n teased, giggling as he earned himself a playful slap to the side of the head from his captain.

A large arm wrapped it’s was around Cowboy’s shoulders, giving him a light squeeze. The male looked up, meeting Ghost’s steely gaze.

“Glad you didn’t die.” The masked male said, giving him a pat on the shoulder before letting him go. Y/n smiled, Ghost wasn’t one for public affections, so that alone was equal to Y/n being swept off his feet and praised from the mountain tops.

“Have I got a story for you guys.”

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

“Thanks, Ricky. I really appreciate this man. Alright, talk to you later.” Y/n hung up his phone, pocketing it as he went back to towel drying his hair. Ricky was Y/n’s transport guy. The man in charge of getting Y/n’s horses and live stock from one place to another.

And thanks to Ricky, Guerrero was now on his way to Y/n’s ranch. Where Y/n was sure that the stallion would get the full royal treatment.

Y/n tossed his towel into the hamper, opening the door to his bedroom. Price and Ghost were already there waiting for him.

Price was sitting on Cowboy’s bed, leaned up against the wall and reading a book. He sported a grey T-shirt and pair of loose black joggers, his usual hat sitting on the bed side table.

Ghost was leaned up against the head board, a few pillows stacked behind him for comfort. The masked male wore a black tank top and dark grey sweats, his sleeve of tattoos also on display.

Y/n shuddered a bit, he had a few tattoos of his own. The emblem of his ranch on his left shoulder blade and a few more on his legs, but the sight of Ghost’s sleeve just made his heart flip. He’d have to get one of his own soon.

Cowboy made his way over to his bed, crawling over Ghost to sit closer to the wall. Once he settled against the pillows he huffed, throwing his legs over Price’s lap. The Captain only chuckled, shaking his head before going back to his book. Though, one of his hands stayed resting on the males thigh, his thumb drawing small circles into it.

Before Y/n could get fully situated Ghost reached out, tugging the shorter male in with an arm around his shoulder. Y/n’s head hit Ghost’s chest and he looked up to meet Ghost’s gaze, but the other wasn’t looking at him.

Cowboy knew Ghost needed this. Needed to feel him, needed to hold him, needed to know he was still here. Y/n could only imagine the storm of emotions they had all felt watching him topple over a cliff and disappear into the raging waters.

The southern male hummed a bit, reaching for the remote to get the true crime show pulled up. Now all they were missing was—

The door to Y/n’s room burst open, causing the three to jump a bit as Soap and Gaz tumbled into the room, each holding a bowl of popcorn.

“Alright we’re ready! Sorry it took so long, someone kept burning theirs.” Gaz shot Soap a look, making it clear who the guilty subject was.

Soap stuck his tongue out at Gaz before fumbling his way into the bed. He somehow managed to get between Y/n and the wall, laying his head on the males hard stomach. He gave the country boy a grin, offering him some popcorn which he happily accepted.

Gaz huffed when Soap took the best spot before plopping himself down by Y/n’s leg, resting his head on the thigh that Price wasn’t rubbing circles into.

Now that everyone was settled Y/n started the new episode of the show and everyone soon became engrossed into it.

With all of the bodies piled around and on top of him Y/n’s body was pleasantly warm, he snuggled back a bit into Ghost’s hold at the cozy feeling. Ghost’s eyes cut over to look down at the h/c haired male.

Ghost leaned down a bit, lips brushing the top of Y/n’s head through his mask. He turned back to look at the TV before Y/n could look up at him.

But Y/n didn’t need to look up, a smile crossed his face, he knew. He brought a hand up to rest on Soap’s head, playing with his fluffy Mohawk as he watched the old murder mysteries play across the screen.

・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜゜・．・゜

Phew, there you go my lovelies! Hopefully this didn’t feel to unrealistic, but I’ve always imagined the riding in on a horse scenario ever since I thought of Cowboy Reader in the military lol

I’m planning on doing a little 4th July special for Cowboy Reader too so be looking out for that!

As always, hope you enjoyed!

- Author~Chan out ✌️

[thebiggerbear]

So Close

Summary: You meet Colter and Russell at the morgue to help them gain access. Had you known how this was really going to go, you might have pushed Colter's call to voicemail.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader; Russell Shaw x FBI!Female!Reader

A/N: I have zero idea what this is. My muse demanded I type this out after watching the morgue sneak peek scene and at this point, I'm giving her whatever she wants. I have never seen this show, know nothing about the characters and any relationships they may have or their background stories, only vaguely know what the premise is, and I'm waiting to see the episode like everyone else. And yet, the muse still put me to work. She can be so brutal sometimes.

I wouldn't call this speculation for 1x12 because I have no idea what's happened before it yet. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Full text in italics is dialogue from the morgue scene.

Warnings: mention of dead body; angst

Word Count: 2096

Sequel | Series (please let me know if you would like to be tagged in the series or any future Russell or Tracker works)

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

You can also read on AO3

You met Colter and Russell Shaw at the morgue, telling them that you were only doing this one small favor and that was it and only for Colter. Colter, as always, understood. Russell, not so much.

The older man turned to look at his younger brother. “I thought you said she’d be a big help to us on this one.”

Before Colter could answer, you narrowed your eyes in Russell’s direction. “I’m putting my job at risk helping you,” you snapped.

And still just as infuriating as ever, he gave you a smile, that teasing gleam in his eye. “It’s good to see you again, Y/N. You are looking…” He worked his fingers into the all-too familiar gesture of approval, giving you a glance over. 

“Go to hell, Shaw.” You spun on your heel and started marching towards the building. “Let’s go,” you barked. “We’re on a timeclock.” 

You never looked back to see if they were following you but you heard Colter mutter not too far behind you, “You mind not pissing her off until after we get to see the body?” 

“Yeah,” Russell quietly agreed, sounding far more serious than he had a moment ago. As a matter of fact, he sounded a little down, which made you wonder what was really going on. You already knew of the strain between the brothers so them working together was odd in itself but Colter hadn’t given you details when he called you and you hadn’t asked for them. You hoped this case they were working had nothing to do with anyone who Russell might… You forced away the thought and renewed your focus on the task at hand. You weren’t here for anything pertaining to that. You needed to keep your mind clear, and your eyes and ears open. 

Once you were all inside, you noticed an older woman sitting at the reception desk. You were about to walk in and pull your badge, ready to lie your ass off and give your official spiel when Russell held a hand up. “I got this,” he assured you both, before waltzing right in. You and Colter exchanged a look before following him.

The woman glanced up briefly and saw you all approaching before going back to her computer. “What can I help you with?”

“Hi, um…” Russell glanced down at her nametag as Colter moved to stand next to his brother, sporting a small smile. “Yolanda. Well, that is—that’s a beautiful name.” You slowly shook your head and crossed your arms. He was seriously going to try to charm his way in? Well, this ought to be fun to watch.

You weren’t surprised when she barely spared him a glance before going back to typing.

And of course, that didn’t deter him one bit. “Sadly, we, uh, we heard about Len Claimans. Recently deceased and, uh, we just need to see the body.”

That caught the woman’s attention as you expected it would. She immediately turned to face him and slipped her eye glasses onto her head. “What for?”

“How do you like working here?” You nearly smirked at the increased pitch in Russell’s voice, betraying his attempt at bullshitting and also a small case of nerves. It was almost as if he’d never lied before. Funny that. 

From Colter’s expression as he watched this trainwreck up close, he had to be thinking along the same lines as you, but more so wondering why this was even being attempted with you standing right there.

“Huh?” Russell continued. “I get a good vibe from you, you know. Kind eyes — helpful eyes, I like that.” You bit your lip to keep from saying something you shouldn’t. Russell had never been what you would call a good flirt, but he certainly was dialing up the charm to try to compensate. 

Too bad the charm didn’t seem to be working. Yolanda’s eyes immediately transferred to Colter. “What’s he talking about?”

Colter shook his head and turned to look at her. “The body might be connected to the disappearance of another man,” he explained. You noticed Russell glancing back at you out of the corner of his eye and you arched an inquisitive brow in his direction which made him immediately focus on Yolanda again, nodding along as his brother talked.

“Oh.” Yolanda looked regretful for a moment before going back to her computer. “I’m sorry, but unless you’re family, I can’t let you back there.”

Knowing this was the point Colter needed your intercession, you began to step forward but immediately froze when Russell snapped his fingers and spoke up. “I didn’t mention.” He gestured between him and Colter, giving Yolanda a smug grin, almost as if he had finally found the ruse that would work. “Cousins.” 

If you could have facepalmed right there without anyone seeing you, you would have. Wow. How was he so bad at this? And why didn’t he just let you do the talking? Or his brother for that matter?

Yolanda huffed out a breath of impatience. She was clearly done with this conversation and quite frankly, so were you.

Russell suddenly leaned forward. “We just-we just need a minute. Or two, you know? I promise we won’t disrupt a thing and then afterwards, maybe, uh, go grab a drink or, uh, somethin’ somethin’.” This time, you did briefly cover your face with your hand. This was just beyond embarrassing. Why did you agree to help these two again?

You could not believe what you were hearing and neither could Colter. You watched as he stared at his older brother before he decided to give it one last ditch effort and played along, turning a strained smile onto the woman.

And as expected, Yolanda finally reached her limit. “No. Sorry.” She got up from her chair and walked away.

Russell let out a disappointed breath. “That was so close.”

“No,” Colter rightfully disagreed.

You’d now reached your limit as well. Stepping forward, you loudly cleared your throat and came to a stop next to Russell. Yolanda turned to look at you, wondering what was coming next from the circus act that had apparently decided to roll into her office this afternoon. You gave her your best professional smile. “Hi there. I’m Special Agent Y/L/N with the FBI.” You slipped out your badge and held it up for her to see before putting it back into your pocket. “My associates here are correct. We’re currently investigating a missing persons case that may be connected to Mr. Claimans’ death. I’m going to need to take a look at the body as well as the autopsy report.”

Yolanda, clearly not believing anything you were selling today, stared over at you, unimpressed. “Do you have a warrant?”

“I can have one sent over to you in the next hour,” you lied. “But right now, we’re on a bit of a timeclock as I’m sure you can imagine.”

She glanced between you three, thinking it over. Russell and Colter looked back and forth between you two.

“Let me see that badge again.”

You grabbed it and handed it to her as she walked over. She studied it and then gave it back to you after a moment. “Ten minutes,” she decided. Both of you ignored Russell’s little smack to the counter and triumphant grin mixed with a quiet “I knew I liked you” in Yolanda’s direction. 

She looked bored. “That’s all I can give you.”

You gave her a nod of gratitude. “That’ll be plenty. Thank you.” 

She nodded and passed next to you to lead the way. You glanced in Colter’s direction and he nodded his thanks. Russell turned to you, his grin all but gone now, the serious tone from before back. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Sure.” He gave you the beginnings of a grateful smile, his gaze never leaving yours. You could feel yourself being sucked in, almost as if there was a strong magnetic force trying to pull you back in. There was so much going on behind those eyes that looked almost as if they were pleading with you for something — something that you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to give. You were still putting yourself back together, trying to repair the damage that his chaotic whirlwind had caused.

Colter quietly cleared his throat and it shattered the moment, and for that you were grateful. Especially when you noticed Russell had been discreetly moving closer to you. You moved away a bit, making Russell’s jaw tighten and his eyes harden, and started after Yolanda. “We should go,” you told Colter, happy to look upon him once again while you regained your bearings. “We’ve only got ten minutes and I really don’t need an ass chewing from my supervisor because your brother has no game.” 

Colter smirked and followed after you. Russell’s jaw dropped and he appeared alongside you once more, keeping pace with you. “I have game!”

“No, you don’t,” you snorted, keeping your eyes straight ahead, unwilling to look at him.

“Yes, I do. It worked on you once upon a time, didn’t it?”

You leveled a menacing glare on him before turning to look at Colter on your other side. “Why did you ask me to help you again?”

Colter pressed his lips together and decided to keep quiet, focusing on waiting for Yolanda to open the door to the morgue. “I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

Russell leaned closer and murmured to you, “I do, too. And Y/N, after we get out of here, why don’t we go grab that drink I talked about? Just you and me? We can talk and catch up.” You turned your wide eyes onto him. Was he serious? He shot you a charming grin but you could also see the tiny gleam of hope in his gaze.

You ignored the familiar scent of his cologne as it wafted over you and you tamped down the painful memories it induced.

Colter looked like he would rather be anywhere else right then. You wished you were anywhere else right then. You turned your eyes forward, refusing to look at him anymore, not wanting to see any part of his reaction to what you were about to say. “You’re both on a timeclock, remember?” You asked quietly. “After we get what we need, you should go to the spot that's next on your list or immediately chase down any leads. As for me, I have to get back to work.”  You then surged ahead, standing right behind Yolanda and stepping into the room when she opened the door.

After a moment, you heard the brothers enter behind you and Colter muttered to Russell, “You good?”

“Yeah.” You nearly closed your eyes hearing that tone that you were starting to hate once more. “So close.” This time, when he echoed the words from before, there was no false bravado attached to them, no playfulness or humor, only what you detected as regret. 

This time, Colter didn’t say anything in response. Both brothers joined you and you all watched as Yolanda selected a drawer and slid it out. Feeling Russell next to you, you swore to yourself that this would be the last time you would take a call from Colter for a long time. While you liked the younger Shaw, it was the older Shaw you didn’t want to chance running into ever again. 

You stared ahead as Yolanda unzipped the body bag, tensing as you felt the sleeve of Russell’s jacket unintentionally brush against you. So close? Too close.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Russell watching you intently, his expression serious and that regretful look in his eyes once more. You forced your gaze back to the woman reminding you of your ten minute window, refusing to allow any sympathy for the older man on your left. You hadn’t been the one to ruin things between you; you’d only been left to pick up the pieces. You were done feeling sorry for Russell Shaw. 

You took the report Yolanda offered to you before she left and began flipping through it, skimming the text, as Colter took a closer look at the body. From your peripherals, Russell stared at you a moment longer and then moved to stand next to his brother, their backs to you. Sadly, a familiar sight of the man you’d once loved. You blinked away rapidly forming tears and went back to reading.

As much as you hated to admit it, Russell had been right. So close indeed.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[baka-bakeneko]

Enmesh - Miguel O'Hara

Miguel O'Hara x Fem Spider Scientist reader (afab biology)

a/n: venom venom venom miguel is the dirtiest and slimy but i'm loving this alot. also i ain't copin' to shit. (part two)

tags: Minors DNI, NSFW, Spiderverse hopping, scientific discovery, symbiotic relationship (kinda), references to self-harm (destruction and/or suicide), obsessive Venom, just as obsessive and possessive Miguel O'Hara, consensual non-consent, breeding kink, missionary, oral sex, tentacle (not tentacles), anal fingering, no use of lube, creampie, hint to cervix penetration

wc: 4.24 k

synopsis: Miguel asks you, fellow scientist and spider-in-training, to investigate an anomaly that popped up on the radar.

Miguel had tasked you to follow a couple of Spiders out on patrols, due to the spike in anomalies on Earth TRN688. He’d attempted to go out to that verse himself, but was called to aid Spiderwoman.

You did as ordered, keeping close remarks in the New York you appeared in. Following the Spider you were partnered with, you kept up with your own built-in web slingers and scanned over the landscape with your anomaly tracker.

Miguel followed your tracking, monitoring the spikes in the radar and mapping the New York geography. He was distracted in his own task, enough so that Jessica pocketed his personal tracker on you.

You managed to stop on the same rooftop as Reilly, catching your breath with another scan of the radar.

“What’s up?” He asked, pulling off his mask to catch his breath.

You shrugged, narrowing your eyes at the tracker as a spike rose up in the landscape. “We need to get over there.”

You pointed across Central Park, directly over the water. “There’s a spike out there.”

Reilly exhaled, returning his mask back on and kicking off of the rooftop. “Let’s go.”

You scampered after him, looking over the ledge of the rooftop to see your companion free-falling into New York traffic before catching himself on a web at the last second. You released a shaky breath, shooting out a web and jumping from the ledge, swinging after the Spider.

Upon reaching the anomaly spike, you landed roughly on the scorched grass in Central Park. You pulled yourself up and walked around the crash site of the meteorite. Reilly landed carefully behind you, watching as you slowly approached the cracked open, smoking space rock.

You leaned forward to look at the rock, plain of anything significant.

A splash of shadow lurched out at you and, in the split second of you lurching back in shock, Reilly shot a heavy web out to stop it. The captured ooze writhed on the ground before your feet, slowly soaking in Reilly’s web until you stamped a foot to cut it off.

You dug through your research bag to find a vial large enough for the thing to fit in and bent to stuff it in. You screwed on a tamper seal, holding the vial up to your face as the ooze, dark as night, began to float within the glass like a lava lamp.

Your thumb folded over the front of the glass, watching as the ooze lurched in the direction of it like it tried to attack you.

“The fuck is that?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. But it’s alive.”

“No shit. It almost ate you.” Reilly said, standing to fold his hand over the back of his neck. “O’Hara would’ve killed me if something happened to you.”

You tore your gaze away from the ooze to look at Reilly. “I appreciate you babysitting me. I’ll tell Miguel your contribution to my safety.”

Reilly dropped his arms to his side, then crossed them over his chest. “Is that all we came for?”

You pursed your lips, bringing the vial into your full hold. “I think so.”

You gave the ooze another curious look then straightened up the contents of your bag to put it in carefully.

“Let’s go show him what we found.”

-

As soon as you were back in headquarters, you bounded towards Miguel’s office. You held onto the strap of your bag carefully, slipping between the countless number of Spider-people in the direction of the epicenter.

You paused at the gate of Miguel’s office, catching your breath once again when you noticed it was occupied with a group.

“Hone— Miguel,” you corrected yourself, pushing yourself forward to Miguel’s platform.

Miguel was directed at the front of the group, looking down at them in pause of giving orders. His eyes slowly shifted over to you, noting your ragged breathing and flushed face.

“Dismissed.” He waved off the group in an instant, lowering the platform to allow you up. “What did you find? Are you okay?”

You nodded, immediately digging into your bag to retrieve the ooze vial. “Your anomaly…was a meteorite. This was found at the crash site.”

You held the vial up between the two of you, your view crossed between it and Miguel’s gaze. Your fingers held the top of the vial and the two of you watched as the ooze lashed up at where your fingers touched the glass.

“Shocking,” Miguel whispered, gripping the bottom of the vial in effort to get the ooze to react to his touch.

The ooze paused, homing itself at the top of the glass where you touched before drooping a glob down as if to test the waters at Miguel’s touch. The two of you watched as it stretched along the vial, touching both ends of the glass and thrumming slightly.

“What do you think it is?” You asked, wanting to hear another scientist’s theory.

“I’m not entirely sure. Is it dangerous?” Miguel asked, tugging the vial from your hold and rolling it in his palm.

You winced softly, watching your discovery slosh about the vial. “It lashed out at me when I arrived but Reilly caught it.”

Miguel’s brows furrowed, pulling his eyes from the ooze before meeting your gaze. “You’re okay?”

His free hand reached out, retracting his claws, and caressed your cheek. You grinned briefly, leaning into his touch.

“I’m fine. Web-slinger’s coming along great.”

Miguel hid a gulp, mirroring your grin before retreating his touch. “You did great, hermosa. I’m dismissing you.”

You nodded, your eyes cutting to the ooze vial in his palm. When you looked at it, the ooze reacted and lurched out in your direction.

“Okay. Will you be home for dinner?”

Miguel folded his lips together, looking down at the ooze vial then back at you. “I may be a bit late. Gonna see what makes this thing tick.”

While you wanted to stay to conduct research with Miguel, you knew that Lyla would be just as good as you in that aspect. You reached for your shoulder, tensing the muscle that throbbed in its place.

Raising on your toes, you leaned forward with bracing Miguel’s thick forearm. “Don’t be too late, okay? You need your sleep.”

You kissed his stubbled cheek, rested your forehead to his temple. “And I miss you.”

Miguel fought the deep exhale from his chest, turning in the direction of your mouth. He was tempted at your soft lips, his nose nudging yours. “I miss you too. I promise not to overdo it.”

“I’m holding you to that,” you whispered, pointing your pinkie finger out for Miguel to cross with his own.

He did so, noting your thumb circling the silicone band on your ring finger. “Get some rest.”

-

Miguel managed to find another container to move the ooze into. He tapped it into the jar and immediately flipped it over.

Watching the sludge dart to the bottom of the jar then below to the table. He forced his hand over the bottom of the jar to keep it from slipping free and marked its response to light.

Nothing.

Its response to water, a quick drop next to it made the ooze not react. Miguel glared at the sludge, shifting the jar back and forth for some sort of response from it.

"You're alive, I know you have a weakness."

When he spoke at it, the ooze seemed to perk up in the direction of his voice. Miguel quirked a brow, tilted his head. "You can hear."

The ooze fashioned its glob in the direction of Miguel's tilt, as if to mimic him. Miguel peeled the jar up and tentatively poked out to the ooze.

"Are you..." Miguel began, watching the ooze lash out to his finger and worm quickly up his arm.

"Whoa, slow down." He reached to stop the sludge but it disappeared under his palm.

Miguel still felt the crawl of the ooze on his body, over his skin and, then, under it. He fashioned his claws, ready to tear into his skin but took a deep breath.

"Lyla!" Miguel called out, looking around his office for his AI. "Run a diagnostic. Quickly."

Lyla blipped into being, scanning over Miguel as he took a few deep breaths in before he felt a sudden onset of heat.

"Mierde," he released in a pant, waving for Lyla to dissipate his suit for the full scan.

"What's wrong, Miguel?" Lyla asked, zipping around Miguel's head as she produced a virtual tablet. "Your temperature's raised to 125."

Miguel's stomach rumbled slightly, his throat growing dryer by the second. His mouth was drying, his tongue aching from the lack of moisture.

"What do you have so far?" Miguel asked, resting his hands on his hips and following Lyla round his head. He kept his breathing steady, blinking slowly while his heart pounded hard against his ribs.

"I-I'm checking," Lyla cut out her attitude, running through her tablet at the scrolling diagnostic. "What is this, Miguel?"

"The-the anomaly," Miguel muttered, snapping his fingers in the direction of the empty jar. "The thing understands words, cognizant of what I say."

Lyla nodded, looking up from her tablet. "I see. The thing is trying to make a nest in your chest, Miguel. It's attaching to your spinal cord."

Miguel gulped, straightening his stature. "Is it...aggressive?"

"Not as I've seen so far. The...thing is trying to inhabit your spleen and draw nutrients from it."

"No," Miguel grunted, immediately clenching his side and puncturing his skin with his claws. "Not if I have a say in it."

Hungry.

Miguel heard the word echo through his head, the word husking into his ear. He tilted his chin, raising his hand to Lyla. "It speaks."

Lyla raised her brows, scrolling through the tablet and stopping at a blip. "It appears to be receding from your spleen. Quick, say something."

Miguel deadpanned at Lyla, cocked his jaw as his body grew in chills. "What are you hungry for?"

Anything.

Miguel looked to Lyla as she turned the tablet towards him. He noted the ooze retreating back to his spinal cord, housing itself between his vertebrae.

"Do you have a name?"

We are Venom.

Miguel exhaled and Lyla resumed her final diagnostics.

"You say you eat anything, yet you garner for my spleen. Why?" Miguel asked, retracting his claws from his skin.

We eat anything. Humans are food.

"Why not eat me immediately?" Miguel asked.

You are with the woman. The scientist. We are symbiotic. We want the woman.

Miguel grit his teeth. "You can't eat her."

We do not wish to eat her. We want her to host us.

Miguel scoffed, waving for Lyla to retrieve his clothes. "Never going to happen. You want to stay with me, that's fine. But you're never getting her."

The ooze within him hummed, the noise reverberated down his spine and he tensed his top lip.

"That's the only way you'll stay. Otherwise, I will destroy you."

Not before destroying yourself first.

"So be it." Miguel cocked his jaw, unfolding his pants after they blipped into existence on his workstation. He gave a nod to Lyla. "I have nothing better to do anyways."

What about the woman?

"My woman," Miguel stressed, pulling on his pants. He reached for his shirt next, folding it over his head and pulling it over his torso.

Mi amor, you call her that. What does that mean?

Miguel scoffed, suddenly glancing to Lyla. "It tapped into my brain stem too?"

Lyla solemnly nodded. Miguel hid a roll of his eyes.

"It means 'my love'. My second language."

And hermosa?

Miguel shook his head. "'Beautiful'."

She is.

"Hey." Miguel snapped his fingers as he stared straightforward. "Venom, right? You...stay out of the way of her. If I recognize a single drop of you in her, I'll dissect myself to kill you. Do we understand each other?"

Venom laxed within Miguel, the closest form of contentedness he felt after the being melded into him.

Fine. We go home to her, though?

Miguel shut his eyes in slight disbelief. "Yes. We do. She's my fiancée."

Lucky.

-

You tried to stay up for Miguel, even after you climbed into bed. There was nothing to keep you in the meantime, after eating dinner and cleaning up the apartment, you waited.

It wasn't until your head jerked back up that you realized you had dozed off. And there was still no sign of Miguel. Shutting off your light, you returned to bed and soon fell asleep.

Miguel appeared in the bedroom when you were finally gone. He waited at the door, listening to you rustle between the sheets.

Venom demanded to be fed as soon as Miguel left headquarters. In order to keep his part of the deal, Miguel stopped at a convenience store and stocked up on roller hot dogs.

The taste of rolled-over grease settled wrong on his tongue, he gagged over not hacking the food back up.

"Why not chicken?" Miguel asked, on his way back to the apartment while suppressing a belch.

Chicken, no.

Miguel stepped into the room and stood at the foot of the bed, staring at you splayed over the mattress. He chuckled, tugging at your big toe.

She's pretty.

"She's my everything," Miguel offered, kneeling onto the bed and moving over you.

She smells delicious.

Miguel cut his face to the side, snarling at the darkness of the room. "You stay out of my mind. She's private."

Venom growled within Miguel. He felt a soft wiggle in his side, acknowledging the familiar ooze that emanated from his skin.

We feel how you do about her.

Venom's appendage caressed Miguel's chin and his nostrils flared.

"I'm not open to sharing." Miguel retorted, his top lip peeling up to reveal his fang.

Who said anything about sharing? We share your body, Miguel. Everything else is one.

Miguel leaned down and rested his forehead to your stomach, nudging his nose along your skin. You stirred, your hand tensing.

"She's mine, only mine," Miguel whispered.

You wish to impregnate her.

Miguel slammed his eyes shut, teeth grit harder as he folded his bottom lip to your skin. "I want her through and through."

Touching.

Miguel tsked, kissing up your body as he applied his weight over you. Venom's appendage slithered over the bed and ghosted over your pillow.

"You don't get to touch her," Miguel ordered softly. "Not unless it's through me."

Your rules.

Venom retracted the appendage and Miguel kissed behind your ear.

"Hermosa, I'm home." Miguel whispered. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Your tired hand reached up to comb through Miguel's hair. "You're burning up, baby."

"I know." Miguel rolled his eyes, his hands planting at your hips. "Cool off with me."

You grinned, working up to waking. "Keep moving like this, I'll break out in a sweat too."

Miguel hummed, kissing across your cheek. "I miss you."

You arched into Miguel, feeling the heat of his body all over you like a rash. His crotch was raving with heat, pressed just over your panties.

"I missed you," you hissed back, feeling your body awaken to his touch.

Her sounds, they are delicious too.

Miguel bit at your earlobe, earning your coo. He bowed his head, forcing out a remark to Venom. "Stop it."

"I can't help it," you moaned, raising your leg.

"Mi amor." Miguel returned to your mouth and kissed you, feeling the anomaly within him ebbing up his throat.

He pulled back with a harsh swallow. His jaw cocked, Miguel reversed back down your body with kisses.

In your shirt, he muttered at Venom to stay in their lane. He bit at the waistband of your panties and peeled them down, lashing his tongue out to stripe your pubic bone.

You sighed, raising your hips for Miguel to pull your panties down. He did so, grinning devilishly as he did. The heat rose under his skin, feeling a prickle at the sight of your sex.

Miguel selfishly leaned in to kiss your inside thigh, dragging his lips along your skin before descending on your pussy. He didn't waste a moment, making a meal of your clit.

You edged awake, sitting up to tighten your grip on his hair. "Baby."

Miguel moaned into you, staring across your body to meet your tired eyes. Venom rattled in Miguel's chest, the ooze ready to lash out and gain his own taste of you.

Miguel pulled away, bit his own tongue to draw back the anomaly. You groaned, shifting your hips up to gain his mouth back.

"Stay," he hissed.

We want to taste.

You purred, grinding your hips back to the mattress. "So bossy."

Miguel flashed a grin at you, bowing back to resume between your legs. "Not a chance. Live in my wake," he muttered against your lips, kissing them before parting you with his tongue.

He forced his crotch to the bed, trying to work out his own pleasure while focusing on yours.

You want her. We want her too. We can help.

"Get bent," Miguel slopped, suctioning his mouth over your clit.

You crooned, breath picking up with each soft lap to your bundle of nerves. "Miguel, please..."

She begs for us.

"Not for you," Miguel offered, popping your clit from his mouth with another heated glare at you.

He shifted, grinding his pelvis against your heat. Your face pinched, a breathy groan escaping your lips. Your hands went to Miguel's hair, combing it from his face to see the lust driven in his eyes.

Instead of crimson lashing through his irises, it was obsidian. The black that pooled his pupils flashed then receded and you swallowed.

Miguel met your lips, allowed you to taste yourself on his tongue. Venom's appendage reappeared, slipping against your thigh as Miguel shifted out of his sweats.

His mouth occupied his demand for Venom to take a backseat. While he didn't understand the anomaly's obsession with you, he knew the need.

Hissing away from your kiss, Miguel bowed his head again. "Stay out of her," he whispered to himself.

She wants you, let us help please her.

"Not a chance," Miguel whispered, angling his stiffened cock against your entrance.

He sank in an inch, allowing you to adjust to his size. You squirmed, your hips lifting to earn more of him. "Please, baby. More."

You rocked your hips in effort to gain his friction. Miguel's hands at your hips held you still, hissing at the heat in his body. Venom ran laps along Miguel's spine, snarling and biting inside for a chance.

Miguel grabbed at the stray appendage of Venom slithering towards your ass and tossed it aside. He sank another inch into, adjusting to your clenching walls.

The heat from within you and the rising temperature of Venom made Miguel sweat out of his pants.

"Miguel, you okay?" You asked, taking note of the rivulets of sweat that doused his face.

The obsidian flashed in his eyes again, making him shed his shirt before going for yours next.

"I need to feel all of you," Miguel grunted, suddenly a man possessed.

The film of sweat on him slicked over your body, his hands gripping tighter in your hips as he sank further until you tensed. It was too much too soon, his size always being something to ease into.

Miguel ducked his head to your shoulder and recanted his hips. "Forgive me, mi amor. I'm starved for you."

His voice was laced with filth, the tone of him so needy and rough. He felt his throat was dragged through desertion to end at the fountain of you.

Miguel's arms caged over you, centering you in the middle of the bed while his skin dripped over yours. So open and naked, his eyes primal while he gulped at the sight of you.

She's so ripe.

Your legs melted further apart at Miguel's hips, your knees easing up while your stomach curled at the carnal stare that bore into you. You shared a soft swallow, feeling Miguel's throbbing cock nestled in your beating walls.

Venom's appendage snaked up your inner thigh, making your walls clench tighter, until a warmth settled between your cheeks.

Your hand reached down to examine the feeling, only to be caught by Miguel's hand on your wrist. You quirked, glancing between your bodies to acknowledge the warmth as Miguel's other hand wedged under your body and traced down your back.

He rested his palm to the small of your back, angling your hips to allow him more. You panted before his lips, feeling Miguel's fingers part your cheeks with a timid grin.

"I want to make you..."

Ours.

"Mine all over," he finished, leaning into your lips to peck. "Is that okay?"

You released a shaky breath and arched into Miguel's body. "Make me yours."

She's filthy. We like her.

"Stop me if it's too much," Miguel offered, finally relenting to Venom's appendage to take lead at your tighter hole.

At the same time, Miguel began to thrust softly into you. He readily eased your mind while Venom lapped the flexible appendage against your hole, making a movement like licking.

"Miguel," you gasped as Venom pushed in softly, testing the pucker of your ass.

Miguel nodded along with you, thrusting with your breaths and intoxicating himself between the two of them. He could taste Venom's excursion on his tongue, feeling the tight muscle slowly give way to the tip and thrust in.

The three of you vibrated on a similar wavelength, Miguel snarling as he fucked into and tasted you all at once. You wiggled at the slow drag of Miguel's assumed dry fingers in your ass, the feeling giving way to your slick being used as lube.

Venom pushed in softer, wiggling in soft half-circles to caress every sensitive wall. You cried into Miguel's mouth when both his fingers and his cock collided within you and sent a shockwave of pleasure to your system.

Your knees shook at Miguel's sides; he stared down at you, drinking in your demeanor while he and Venom made work of you.

She's beautiful.

"You're so beautiful," Miguel stole his words back from the anomaly as they echoed.

You smiled, drunk from the pleasure that vibrated through you. Miguel huffed against you, kissed your lips again as he ground his pelvis against your clit.

You felt another shock to your system, your toes curling as his fingers curved up to meet the thrusts of his cock.

Give her something good.

Miguel cut his eyes behind his lids, finally ignoring the alien and picking up his thrusts to meet your level of high. He was going to take you both over, not the anomaly obsessed.

Your hands gripped at Miguel's shoulders, not able to help the desperate clawing to his massive back to gain your standing. It was a fruitless effort, finding your hips rocking as Miguel's fingers ruined your ass and his cock paved through you.

"C-cum in me," you choked out, resting your forehead to Miguel's.

Make it good. Breed her.

Miguel ignored Venom's disturbed wants, only listened to you. He ground into you again, this time earning your body trembling as an orgasm tore through you.

It made a mess of you, your stomach heaving while your knees knocked at Miguel's sides. Your palms flattened to the small of Miguel's back, forcing his hips further into you. You rocked your hips to ride out your ecstasy, attempting to drive Miguel over at the same instance.

She's a keeper, alright.

Miguel mirthlessly scoffed, following the rock of your hips until the sweat broke out in another wave. He pushed into you, to the hilt, touching the white hot soft ring inside your pussy and came.

He doused your cervix with his cum, kissing at the womb's entrance with the desire to drive deeper into you. Miguel's mind raced, thinking of spelunking further, making you a whole new his.

At the same time, Venom slinked back to its recesses. Reeling back into Miguel, sated and quiet.

Miguel caught his breath over you, losing the strength in his arms and resting his full body against you. You panted just the same, staring up at the dark ceiling while your fingers combed through the nape of his hair. Your other hand traced up and down his spine, inadvertently petting the anomaly housed inside him.

"I," you began, lining your dry throat with a new coat of saliva. "I take it research wasn't a bust."

Miguel kissed at your neck, nuzzling his face in the crevice of your shoulder. "No, it wasn't. You...you brought me a blessing."

We're a blessing?

You edged your chin in to glance down at Miguel. "Really?" You asked, incredulous.

Miguel shook his head. "No, it's an actual pain in the ass. But worth further study."

You laughed softly then, resting your head back to the mattress. "Yeah, speaking of ass..."

Miguel tensed against you, ready for you to catch onto his secret play underneath the skin.

"I liked that," you admitted, rolling your eyes at the raw feeling of your hole, your walls still throbbing around Miguel's still-hard cock.

Of course she did.

Miguel grimaced at the anomaly's cocky nature echoed through him. He pecked at your skin. "I'll never do it again unless you want."

You blushed, shutting your eyes. "As long as I'm yours."

[cyb-by-lang]

Cascade

Someone a while ago asked me about what Kei's school life in Shell Game would've been like if she was a kid in 1-A as opposed to 1-C, so here's some noodlin'.

(Kei replaces Mineta's slot because I don't feel like dealing with him.)

The facet of being a UA student that bothered Kei the most (immediately) was the scrutiny. The celebrity. The total inability to fold herself and her flat expression and sleep deprivation back into the comforting anonymity of a world without widespread cell phone usage. Every other rando in Japan—arguably the world—knew the school’s reputation and its uniform. The more invested enthusiasts knew the names and faces of all the hero kids in each year and ranked them based on their apparent promise. Kei’s entire being retreated from the spotlight as though possessed by a cockroach. 

The runner-up of annoyances was being trapped in high school again. She’d done her time one life ago and resented that the experience just pigeonholed her into bilingual missions now. But explaining that to Sensei wasn’t on the table, so away she went. 

In the end, though, there was a small silver lining, as thin as cobweb. Unlike general education students, the two heroics-focused classes had occasional permission to use their Quirks to achieve their goals. Such as winning a sports contest between students, but still. It was something. 

“Gekkō. Your turn.” 

Kei jolted back to life like the engine of a forty-year-old car, covering her mouth with one hand as she yawned. Sure, Bakugō’s big boom ball throw had startled her awake, but she’d slept like total garbage last night. The stress from anticipating a new development in any mission made staying asleep an impossibility. 

So she’d kind of sleepwalked through the first few rounds of fitness tests. A lot of the other students’ Quirks didn’t help with their performances—exemplified by the invisible girl and the boy with electric powers—and so Kei didn’t meaningfully stand out. It helped that the students with physical Quirks usually really excelled at very specific tasks, but were dead average elsewhere. Kei barely needed to work to keep in the middle of the pack, only using her water manipulation for effect. 

And now everyone was looking at her. 

Dammit, Kei thought. She rolled to her feet with a little huff and made her way off the sideline with the air of a two-toed sloth dragged out for a quirky sports movie. 

“Do you need a reminder of what the rules are?” Aizawa asked, his voice as dead as Kei sort of wished she could be in this exact moment. 

“No, Aizawa-sensei,” Kei replied as she passed him. An instant later, she caught the tracker-equipped softball without looking, thought it had been thrown at her head. Not like it would have done any damage even if it made contact.

“Then quit wasting our time.” 

Kei didn’t even remember her placement during the UA entrance exam, but this still felt targeted. The numbers didn’t matter. She’d already known she was in, so the only consideration left was keeping the extent of her powers under wraps.  

It wasn’t like Kei didn’t get why Aizawa “Eraserhead” Shōta hated her presence in the class. Her enrollment in UA was basically anathema to the entire purpose of the program. Sensei and the principal couldn’t just cut the guy entirely out of the loop without causing Kei logistical problems when it came to doing her job. At the very least, an uninformed teacher might ask questions when Kei inevitably ran out of the classroom to deal with some crisis. Just because Aizawa looked like he wouldn’t care if his students fell down an open manhole cover, but that was the trouble with judging by appearances alone. 

I could take over the moment it leaves your hands.

Be my guest. 

Kei tossed the ball in the air, clapped her hands together, and summoned a blob of water that expanded in sync with her hands as she pulled them apart. When the falling softball landed amid the watermelon-sized sphere, it warped briefly into an image of Isobu’s curled-up shell before stabilizing. That was a telltale sign even to people without worthwhile chakra detection abilities—as long as they knew. 

So, basically Aizawa. Kei didn’t need to look in his direction to feel his glare.

There we are. Isobu’s power reached forward to engulf the brand new source of ammunition. 

Then the blob, the captive softball, and some simulacrum of Kei’s dreams shot off into the void. Only the thinnest possible thread of water connected Isobu’s new toy to Kei’s index fingers. Kei and the a couple of her classmates watched its erratic balloon-like course until, inevitably, the thread snapped. 

Eventually, there was a beep from Aizawa’s phone. “Five hundred and fifteen meters.” 

Kei rubbed at her eyes, already done with the entire affair. At least this data might be useful for Kei and Isobu’s future adventures in mass hydrokinesis. Perhaps Isobu’s range would be even larger if they added more of his chakra. Running those experiments would have to wait for another day, though. 

“Next,” said Aizawa. Going by the way a couple of students jumped, the next contestant was already on deck and suffering from stage fright. 

Kei wandered out of the chalk with barely any uptick in energy levels. She even yawned again. If the teacher wanted her out of the way faster, he could damn well throw her out.

But because this mission clearly wanted to establish the kind of pattern embodied by a combat deployment—boredom followed by intense spikes of activity, and then more boredom—Kei didn’t get a chance to nap. She found herself blinking away the drowsiness to the sound of Aizawa verbally ripping a kid to shreds. 

And it wasn’t Kei’s fault. Or even related to her. 

Novel.

While Kei had sat down and read brief profiles on all of her classmates on the Saturday before the term started, their names occasionally slipped her mind despite how painfully on-the-nose they could be. She’d get that data into her head later; for now, all Kei needed was a list of powers. 

Part of the reason Midoriya (today’s sacrifice) stuck out to her was how his name didn’t contain even a hint of his Quirk—just like hers didn’t. Because she didn’t have one. Going off the logic displayed by his classmates’ parents and their naming choices, Midoriya’s personal name should have had something to do with turning his own skeleton into dust. 

With his capture weapon and hair floating like the entire scene was underwater, Aizawa laid out everything wrong with the nervous kid’s approach to the ball toss. Given that the test in question was literally throwing a softball and this kid tended to hover around the middle of the pack, maybe he’d been planning to use his hyper-destructive Quirk to finally get an edge. Like any kid sitting through someone else getting shouted at by a teacher, Kei pretended not to hear the specifics.

It was still sort of difficult not to, even with her classmates trying to build a small reservoir of side chatter to insulate themselves.

There was a lot in Aizawa’s lecture about “basic competence” and paraphrased warnings about not breaking all the bones in his body. Because, well, someone who did that would probably need to be carried off a battlefield on a stretcher if not in a body bag.

“With your power,” Aizawa was saying, his voice as flat and cold as an executioner’s blade, “you can’t become a hero.” 

Midoriya’s expression said he knew damn well what was at stake now. If he couldn’t figure out how to throw a ball without laying himself out flat, he was screwed. 

The real question was if breaking bones was the prerequisite to accessing that monstrous strength, or just a shitty side effect of having no control? If it was the former, the first time the kid fell off a jungle gym or crashed his bike should have made the news along with a crater. 

While the other students consulted among themselves whether they’d ever heard of Eraserhead before—which disengaged Kei even further from the conversation in favor of naptime—Aizawa withdrew from the chalk circle to let Midoriya figure his shit out. He’d either fly or fucking die. 

Aizawa probably didn’t care which. At least, not out loud. Better that this catastrophic failure happened in school and not in the field with lives on the line.

Kei shaded her eyes and awaited some conclusive result.

Midoriya didn’t disappoint; one colossal BANG later, the softball was rocketing off into the distance with a smoke trail marking its trajectory. But unlike the utter travesty that characterized his entrance exam footage, the kid that turned to face the group did so with all limbs intact. He’d destroyed only one finger in the process of setting off his Quirk this time.

Kei frowned while the other students cheered. Aizawa, too, looked excited to find improvement so close on the heels of his first sharp criticism. 

Sure, Blasty McSplode had a problem with Midoriya’s (qualified and still bone-breaky) success and then needed to be wrestled into submission for being a loud jackass literally a foot in front of the teacher, but that wasn’t Kei’s problem. Or, at least, his attitude wasn’t an interesting problem for Kei to puzzle over. 

Midoriya’s, though… There’s something wrong here.

Hm?

I don’t think his Quirk requires him to destroy himself to use it. If it did, he should’ve figured out how to minimize the damage way before he got here. Kei pressed her curled fingers against her lower lip as she thought. Damn, I usually just shrug off questions like this… 

But this secret may affect your risk assessment process when dealing with all of these humans. 

Maybe. But hell if it’s not a personal question. “Hey, what’s the deal with your Quirk totally pulverizing your vulnerable teenage skeleton every time I’ve seen it used?” That’ll go over well. 

“Gekkō,” said Aizawa, interrupting Kei’s thoughts with more school nonsense. He’d apparently picked her out as a zoned-out straggler. “Finish your tests. Side-hops and grip test, go.”

Kei sighed internally and trotted off to a different part of the field.

[ghostboneswrites2]

Lots of love if you write this, and lots of love if you don’t!

Could you do a Daryl x reader where at first he doesn’t like her, and she tries to get to know why hes so mean to her? Maybe he yells at her and then some comfort after?

Note: this is a cute idea! I might write a different version of this one later <3 not sure how I feel about it. This ended up a lot more angst and has a lot more of an argument than I originally intended tbh

Another note: I usually write in past tense but this one has both past and present tense. It’s lightly proofread but I apologize if I missed any errors in past vs present tense!

Summary: Every since he first saw you he’s seemingly had it out for you. All that frustration comes to a head when you have to go rescue him from the side of the road.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: Daryl bring a Dickson, profanity, TWD typical non graphic violence, guns

        Daryl stepped into the RV for a gun, shaking his head with annoyance at the sight of your failure. Well, multiple failures. See, you started with a standard Glock, but the recoil spring in that one was too hard to set in place. Then, you switched to the Beretta, where you found your current firing pin spring issue. 

        Daryl stared down at all the bits and pieces sprawled on the table in front of you. 

        “Y’gon’ take every damn gun apart ‘til we ain’t got none when we need ‘em?” He complained. You glared. 

        “Well, excuse me if taking apart guns to clean them wasn’t my hobby of choice before shit hit the fan.” You shot back. 

        That day was the beginning of a long standing feud between the two of you. A feud that was frankly one sided. You never had a problem with the smelly hunter. In fact, you often made meager attempts at impressing him or even going as far as to be friendly. Unfortunately, you were always met with rude snark and bitterness. 

        One time, at the CDC, you had a little too much wine with dinner. You were stumbling through the hall, attempting to find the room you had previously claimed, when you had the misfortune of walking right into Daryl. 

        “Oh! I’m sorry.” You giggled. 

        “Damn it.” He grumbled with an annoyed sigh. “Can’t ya watch where the hell you’re goin’?”

        “I’m sorry, really—“ You tried to apologize again but he had no intentions of hearing it.

        “Don’t drink if ya can’t handle yourself.” He snapped. “Got the dead roamin’ the damn earth and you get shit-faced the first damn chance ya get!”

        In your drunken, emotional state, you sniffled and cried quietly to yourself that night. Why was he always so damn mean? You missed your friends and family so much, and you couldn’t even bare to think about your cat.

        When Sophia got lost everything was worse. You’d offer to help with the search and you’d always hear the same response; “I already got one little kid to look for. I don’t need two.” 

        You also tried to console him when Sophia’s body came staggering out of that barn. 

        “You’re a great tracker, Daryl. We were all just too late.” You’d say. 

        “Ain’t no we! You didn’t do shit but stay back and twiddle your fuckin’ thumbs! Get on somewhere. I don’t need your caudlin’.”

        When the farm fell, he’d always snap at you for lagging behind the group when you were on the move. You couldn’t help it. You were so tired and hungry.  

        “Keep up, damn it. Can’t afford to keep slowin’ down!” 

        When you were all clearing the prison, he wouldn’t even let you shoot. 

        “Jus’ stay back and hit the fence. Distract ‘em. You can’t shoot for shit.” 

        Since then, you reasoned to just avoid him. You’d never met anyone who could make you feel so bad about yourself. You decided to stop asking yourself why he hated you. You weren’t going to try and change it anymore. You were just going to exist the best you could, as far away from him as the prison yard would allow. 

          Which brings us to now. Inventory is your main task at the prison. Some people make it hard. Carl never checks out his weapons, nor does Daryl. But with Carl losing his mom and Daryl being such an ass, you never say anything. You just make notes on the weapons they’re most likely to take without telling you. 

        Beth sometimes grabs formula without letting you know, but taking care of a baby is hard work for a teenage girl to be doing full time. You have no intentions of nagging her. So, as usual, you just check your inventory every day and report to Rick or Hershel, usually the latter. 

        When your inventory is done for the afternoon, you decide to find Carol and help her with laundry. Maggie is on the tower today with Glenn, so she’s all by herself out there scrubbing everyone’s smelly clothes. 

        “Hey. Need some help?” You ask her, pressing your lips into a thin smile. She returns the same expression and nods. 

        “Please? For such a small group we sure go through a lot of clothes.”

        “No problem.” You say as you get down on your knees and begin scrubbing and ringing out a pair of jeans. “Jeez. These really stink.” You mumble. Carol giggles. 

        “Daryl.” She sighs. 

        “Does he ever shower?” 

        “I mean.. never would be a strong word. Rarely, though, that might be the accurate description.” She jokes. You chuckle.

        “Hey, (Y/N)?” Rick asks as he approaches you. You look up from Daryl’s stained jeans. “Could you take a car out to the main road? Daryl’s broken down out there. He can’t carry all those supplies back.” 

        “Me?” You raise your eyebrows, tossing a quick glance to Carol. If anyone is accustomed to your strained relationship with the archer, it’s her. Daryl would often complain about you to her, and she’d just as often give you a reassuring pat on the shoulder when she’d notice his harsh treatment. 

        “Well, yeah, if ya don’t mind.” Rick nods. He is a little more oblivious to how rude Daryl can be toward you, but he isn’t  blind to the visible tension the two of you share. He just assumes it was never that serious. 

        “Um.. Sure.” You shrug. A pit in your stomach is already festering, growing bigger as it feeds on your anxiety. You had been very successful at avoiding Daryl since you’d been at the prison. The only solace you find is in the fact that you had grown more confident since you guys found this place. Being in charge of inventory gave you a much needed sense of control. From there, you realized just how much you really did have control over, and soon enough the scared girl you once were had become a productive young woman. Now, you have to put that confidence to the test, facing the man who kind of stole what little faith in yourself you had to begin with. You vow to yourself that today will be the day you stand your ground to Daryl Dixon.

        You brush off your jeans and accept the keys from Rick before making your way to the vehicle parked near the gates. When you start the engine, Carl drags open one gate, then the other, and you head out. You notice Daryl right away when you make it to the main road. He’s smoking a cigarette, leaned up against the red truck he had taken into town. 

         You can’t help but wonder why he was on a run by himself to begin with. It isn’t like Rick to send anyone off on their own. Then again, knowing Daryl, it’s not that hard to figure out why he might be a solo kind of guy. 

        You pull the car up beside the truck. He glances up at the vehicle but immediately looks back down at the ground when he realizes it’s you. He makes sure to seem indifferent. 

        Instead of letting his lack of a greeting (or gratitude) phase you, you just step out of the driver’s seat and pop the trunk open before approaching the bed of the truck and beginning to transfer all of his loot into the car. When the trunk fills up, you resort to packing the back seat. 

        By the time Daryl finishes his cigarette, he notices there are a few more items still in the truck. He huffs and impatiently grabs the three items, shoving them in the back seat and slamming the door shut, mumbling something about you taking your sweet time. 

        “What was that?” You speak up before sitting back down in the driver’s seat. 

        “Move over. I’m drivin’.”

        “That’s not what you said, first of all. And no. I drove here just fine, I can drive back.” You roll your eyes. 

        “Quit bein’ difficult damn it! I’m tired. Been workin’ all day out there riskin’ my neck.” He snaps. 

        “I’ve been working too.” You shrug, sitting down and starting the engine. 

        “Scribblin’ on a clipboard ain’t nothin’ like what I do.” He argues, still standing by the driver side, waiting for you to give in and let him drive. You won’t, though. You won’t cave in and bow to him like a puppy with its tail between its legs like you used to. He lost the privilege of your kindness — or maybe cowardice — a while ago. 

        “Actually, I woke up and spent two hours on the fence impaling skulls, then I helped Hershel hoe the ground for spring crops before I scrubbed the common area of the cell block on my hands and knees. Then I did inventory, then I washed your smelly ass jeans. So, no, I don’t just scribble on a clip board.” You correct him. “And, while we’re on that subject, you’re supposed to check out your fucking weapons. Would make the scribbling part a lot easier for me.” 

        He clenches his jaw and his fists at your insubordination. 

        “I don’t know when you grew a smart ass mouth but I ain’t got time for it so quit your bitchin’ and move outta my seat.” He demands. 

        “Or you could stop wasting time and just get in the passenger seat.” You roll your eyes. 

        “God, do you ever stop bein’ such a damn burden?!” He shouts. You run your tongue over your teeth and nod. 

        “Burden?” You repeat. 

         “Yeah. A burden.” He drawls. “As in, makin’ shit harder for everyone around you.” 

        “Hmm.” You hum thoughtfully. “Okay.” 

        With that simple response, you shut off the engine, toss the keys on the ground beside him, and stand up. With your knife in your belt for protection, you start walking toward the woods. You realize that he is absolutely unbearable. You won’t subject yourself to even a five minute car ride with him. 

        “Where the hell are you goin’?!” He calls out after you. You ignore him. “C’mon, (Y/N), get in the damn car!” 

        By this point you’re blending into the trees and he’s losing sight of you. He groans and slams the car door shut, snatching the keys off the asphalt before he marches off after you. He swears when he gets his hands on you, he’s dragging you back by your ankles and cramming you in the trunk with the rest of the shit he looted today.

        “(Y/N)!” He shouts. You sigh. 

        “Fuck off! You wanted to drive so bad, be my guest! Whole car to yourself!” You call back. 

        “Quit bein’ so damn—“

        You whip around, eyes blaring with fury. 

        “So what? Burdensome? Annoying? Stupid?” You cut him off, recalling some of the insults he had bestowed upon you in the past. “I’m so fucking sick of you! All I ever did was try to be nice to you! And all you ever gave me in return was cruelty!”

         You’re shaking now. He’s stopped a few feet away from you, silent as you unleash your pent up frustrations on him. 

        “You know,” you begin, not as loud and shrilled as before. “I didn’t even want to come help you. Because I knew it would be like this. I only came because I was asked to. So you wouldn’t have to try to carry shit back to the prison and go through more trouble. I didn’t talk to you, I didn’t try to be friendly or otherwise vexing. Yet, somehow, that wasn’t good enough. If my presence alone makes you so miserable, then I’ll walk.” 

        With that, you turn around and start storming back toward the prison. 

        “(Y/N)—“ He tries to protest but it just triggers another wave of anger. 

        “What?!” You throw your hands up. “What did I ever do to you?! Just leave me alone!” You shout, turning back to him. “Why do you hate me?!” 

        “I don’t hate you!” He fires back. 

        You scoff and cross your arms. “Sure seems like it.” 

        “Well if ya would just listen to me I wouldn’t get so mad!” 

        “I’m not your fucking dog, Dixon! I shouldn’t have to listen to you for you to treat me like a human being.” 

        “Treat you like what?” He scoffs. “All I ever did was try and look out for ya! Ya can’t do anything right! How the hell am I supposed to keep ya safe if ya can’t follow a simple fuckin’ direction?”

        “Look out for me? How? By making me feel like shit about myself? Reminding me every chance you get how much you just can’t fucking stand me? You don’t treat anyone else like that. Nobody.” Your eyes are watering now. The rage is slowly wearing down into what it really is at its core: hurt. He hurt you time and time again and you always tried to make it right, even when you had done nothing wrong. Shit, (Y/N), get it together. Don’t let him see you like this. 

        “Well why the hell are ya so worried ‘bout what I think?” He asks. 

        “I don’t know!” You snap, turning away from him again. You hug yourself and sniffle. “Just leave me alone.” You beg quietly. “Go drive yourself back. I’d rather walk.” 

        He stands there silently, mouth opening and closing like he has words to say but can’t find them in his sea of thoughts. He doesn’t want to make you cry. He doesn’t even know why you piss him off so much. He does know that seeing you there, hugging yourself as your shoulders rise and fall with silent whimpers makes him feel like shit. He steps toward you slowly, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. You flinch at his touch and he retracts his arm. 

        “I don’t hate ya.” He finally speaks. When you don’t respond he realizes he has to continue. “I just don’t want ya gettin’ hurt.”

        “Yeah, right.” You mumble. “All you do is hurt me.”

        He swallows a dry lump. Is that true? 

        “I don’t mean to.” He insists. “I just.. Ya don’t belong in this world. You’re nice. Ya ain’t violent, you’re pret—“ He stops. Your ears perk up. Was he about to call you pretty?

         “What I’m tryin’ to say is… Ever since I first saw ya I knew ya had to be looked after — kept safe. Ya ain’t like most people. I’d feel too bad if ya… If ya got hurt.” He admits softly. You turn your head a little, peeking behind you to try and catch a glimpse of him. 

        His hand finds your shoulder again and this time you don’t shrug him away. You sniffle and wipe your eye clean of tears. 

        “So you’re mean to me to protect me?” You summarize. He realizes how stupid that must sound. 

        “I just get frustrated when I see how vulnerable ya are. Can’t clean a gun and put it back together, can’t aim to save your life, can’t—“

        “Couldn’t.” You correct him. “I couldn’t do those things, but I’ve learned how. You just haven’t been around to see it. Or encourage it.” 

        He nods. “‘M sorry.” He mumbles. “Maybe you could, uh, show me sometime.” 

        “Show you what?” You turn back to him. 

        “Dunno.” He shrugs. It’s a lot harder for him to speak freely when you’re actually looking at him. “What ya can do.”

         “Oh.” You nod. “Maybe you could stop being such an asshole.” You suggest. 

        He smirks a little. 

        “I can try.”

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[cheynovak]

The plan   

Russell Shaw x F/Reader Y/N            

Warnings: Age difference not too explicit.

Words:  1650 

*Does not follow Tracker’s storyline * 

I finally started writing about Russell, it took me a while, but I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!

-- --      

Russell is ready to start his ‘retirement plan’ like he used to call it. He saw an old brewery on one of his jobs and went back to speak to the owner, an old man named Frank.  

Frank also owns a bar close to the brewery, his granddaughter Y/N works there as a bartender. Russell liked her immediately, realising he had to overcome two impossible tasks. One, to try and win Frank over to buy the brewery, two win Y/N over to go on a date with him.  

-- 

Russell had seen it all. His years working as a mercenary for the Horizon Group had taken him to every corner of the globe, exposing him to the darkest sides of humanity. Now he was ready to leave that life behind and find some semblance of peace.  

His plan was simple: buy an old brewery on the outskirts of town and live out his days crafting beer, a craft he had fallen in love with during his travels in Belgium. The brewery he had his mind set on, an aged brick building with ivy creeping up its walls, had been owned and operated by Frank Miller for the past forty years.  

Frank was well-known in the community for his craftsmanship and the warmth of his pub, which had become a beloved local spot for ex marines. However, convincing Frank to sell was proving to be more challenging than Russell had anticipated. 

It was late afternoon when Russell stepped into the pub, the scent of malt and hops mingling with the aged wood of the bar. The place was cozy, filled with the hum of low conversations and the clinking of glasses.  

As he approached the bar, he caught sight of a younger woman, her eyes sparkling with life, her movements graceful and assured as she served a group of regulars. She could easily be 10 to 15 years younger than him, a striking contrast to the pub's worn-in charm. 

"Can I get you something?" she asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts. Her nametag read Y/N. "Uh, yeah, just a pint of whatever's on tap," Russell replied, trying not to stare. She had a disarming smile, one that made the lines of his past seem a little less heavy. 

As she poured his drink, he couldn't help but notice the ease with which she moved, the way she seemed to know exactly how to engage each customer. When she handed him the pint, their fingers brushed slightly, sending a surprising jolt through him. "First time here?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she wiped the bar down.  

"Yeah," he admitted. "I'm actually looking to buy the place." She laughed, a light sound that made him smile. "Good luck with that. My grandfather's pretty attached to this old place." "Your grandfather?" Russell echoed, a sinking feeling in his chest. "Yep. Frank Miller," she confirmed. "I'm Y/N." Russell took a long sip of his beer, trying to gather his thoughts. "So, you work here often?"  

"Pretty much every day. I've been helping out since I was a kid," she said, leaning on the bar. "So, why does a guy like you want to buy an old brewery?" He glanced around the pub, then back at her. "I've spent my life in a pretty rough business. This place... it feels like the kind of peace I've been searching for."  

Y/N studied him for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "Well, you're going to have a hard time convincing my grandpa. He loves this place more than anything." Russell nodded, appreciating her honesty. "I'll keep that in mind." 

Days turned into weeks, and Russell found himself visiting the pub more frequently, ostensibly to discuss the sale with Frank, but in truth, he was drawn to Y/N. They began to talk more, sharing stories over the bar, finding common ground in unexpected places. 

Despite their age difference, there was an undeniable connection between them. One evening, after closing time, Y/N found Russell sitting at the bar, nursing his usual pint. "You really don't give up, do you?" she teased, sliding into the stool next to him. He chuckled. "It's not just about the brewery anymore."  

She tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Really?"  

"Yeah," he said quietly, meeting her gaze with a flirty look. Her smile faltered for a moment, replaced by a look of surprise and then something else, something deeper. "Russell, I..."  

Before she could finish, the door creaked open, and Frank walked through, his presence instantly commanding the room. His eyes, sharp despite his age, zeroed in on Russell. "Look, buddy, I don't know how many times I need to let you down, but I'm not selling." Russell raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm just here for a beer, Frank." 

Frank's gaze softened slightly but didn't lose its edge. "Y/N, you need to look out for this man. He's ex-army. You never know what kind of trouble that can bring." Y/N laughed, a sound that lightened the tension. "So are you, Grandpa."  

He grumbled something under his breath, but a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He turned back to Russell, his eyes assessing. "So, you're here for the beer, huh?" Russell nodded. "And the company."  

Frank looked between Russell and Y/N, and Russell could see the wheels turning in the old man's head. Finally, Frank sighed. "Alright, just keep away from my granddaughter." Y/N grinned, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she refilled Russell's pint. "You heard the man." She winked at Russell. 

As the evening wore on, the pub emptied until it was just the three of them. Russell found himself opening up in a way he hadn't expected, sharing stories Frank, in turn, told tales of his own army days, and Y/N listened with rapt attention, occasionally interjecting with her own memories of growing up around the brewery.  

It was late when Frank finally stood up, stretching his back. "Alright, time for this old man to hit the sack. Y/N, lock up when you're done." Y/N nodded, watching her grandfather leave before turning back to Russell. "He's a tough nut to crack, but he likes you."  

Russell raised an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me." She laughed softly. "He sees a bit of himself in you, I think." Russell looked down at his drink, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Y/N, about what I said earlier..."  

Y/N interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. "Listen, Russell, you're a nice guy, and I get it. I'm a younger woman who's been friendly and serving you with a smile, but that doesn't mean there's anything going on here, okay?"  

Russell laughed, the sound echoing softly in the nearly empty pub. "That's one way to break a man's heart." Y/N knew he was joking, but she couldn't help but smile. "I know a lot of men, and one thing I can tell you, you don't strike me as the kind of guy who gets his heart broken by a woman." 

He chuckled, appreciating her candour. "You might be right about that, or maybe I haven’t found the right one yet." He leaned in closer.

She tapped his hand on the bar, signalling the end of their conversation. "Now, pay up so I can close up." Russell reached into his pocket and pulled out some cash, placing it on the bar. "Keep the change." Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Big spender tonight."  

"Just trying to stay in your good graces, might need it to win Frank over." he said with a grin. She shook her head, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "Good night, Russell."  

"Good night, Y/N," he replied, standing up and giving her one last look before heading for the door. 

-- 

The next day, he found himself back at the brewery, ready to face whatever came next with a renewed determination. Whether it was winning over Frank or getting to know Y/N better, he felt ready. But when he arrived, something was off. The brewery was closed, and a couple of police cars were parked out front.  

Russell’s heart sank as he spotted Frank talking to the police. He quickened his pace and approached the small group. “Frank, what’s going on?” he asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. Frank turned to him, his face lined with worry and suspicion. 

“There was a robbery last night,” he said, his voice gruff. “And Y/N’s been missing ever since.” Russell felt a cold wave of fear wash over him. “Missing? What do you mean, missing?” Frank’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer to Russell.  

“She closed up last night, didn’t she? You were the last one here. Now she’s gone, and you show up again this morning?” Russell raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Frank, I swear, I left shortly after you. I haven’t seen her. You have to believe me.”  

One of the officers stepped forward. “Mr. Shaw, is it? We’ll need to ask you a few questions. “When was the last time you saw Ms. Y/L/N?” Russell recounted the previous evening, explaining how he’d paid his tab and left shortly after Frank had gone to bed. “I went straight back to the motel and didn’t see or hear anything after that.”  

The officer nodded, taking notes. “We’ll need to verify your alibi. In the meantime, if you think of anything, please let us know.” Russell nodded, feeling a mix of helplessness and frustration.  

As the police continued their investigation, he turned back to Frank. “I want to help find her.” Frank’s gaze softened slightly, but the suspicion lingered. Russell pulled out his phone. "I might know a guy who can help us." He said with his phone to his ear. He turned away from Frank.  

"Colter?... I need your help." 

--

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Tag list:-> If you want to be added let me know what you like to read! If anyone feels like you're tagged too much, also let me know please. :)

@suckitands33

@mostlymarvelgirl

@globetrotter28

@jackles010378

@hobby27

@call-me-mrs-winchester

@cevansbaby-dove

[xtreklx]

I love yous ~ Ninja Turtles x reader

Scenario: bayverse Turtles x reader

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: SFW, fluff + angst

A/N: I don't really know what to call this; I guess it's a drabble? (no, it's a scenario, idiot <3 -- future Lulu) basically, I had these thoughts for scenarios in which you and your turtle of choice exchange your first 'I love you's. Enjoy my scribbly nonsense :)

__________

You met the turtles over a year ago, when they saved you from the Foot Clan. You had gotten lost on your way home from a new job when the Clan had pulled you off the street and into a warehouse. When the turtles had shown up, the Clan ran away and set the place on fire, leaving you behind. The turtles saved you just in time, and took you to the lair to tend to your injuries. After, a friendship had quickly grown between you all, and you developed feelings for one turtle in particular. The feelings were mutual, and you and your turtle started dating around six months ago. Your feelings for each other have been growing stronger and stronger everyday, but you both have yet to say the three magic words...

~ Leonardo ~

Leonardo considers that this may be the most stressed out he has ever been.

You'd think that that would be a difficult level of stress to reach, considering that him and his family were mutants tasked with the daily protection of the most populous city in the country. But he was definitely approaching that level, as he had no idea where the current most important thing in his life, you, were at.

You were supposed to be on your way to the lair, last he spoke to you, which was normally a 10 minute journey because of how close you lived. But that was more than 45 minutes ago, and you were not responding to his calls or texts, so it was safe to say that he was freaking out. He would normally go up to the surface and look for you himself, but it was currently the middle of the afternoon, and he couldn't risk being seen. At least, not yet. He was currently in the lab pestering Donatello, who was trying his best to track down your cell phone location.

"Okay, I need a few minutes for my system to ping the nearby cell towers and look for her signal. Once that happens, I can narrow down her location to about a city block's radius. We'll find Y/N in no time." Leo breathed out a sigh as he watched Donnie type and click around on his wall of computer screens. "Thanks, Don," he breathed, bringing his three-fingered head up to his forehead and rubbing his temple. "I should have had you install a location tracker on her phone months ago. This is my fault," he mumbled, almost to himself. Donnie turned to eye his older brother, slightly concerned.

"No problem, but Lee... don't you think you're experiencing a slight overreaction? I mean, she's not even an hour late yet." Leonardo frowned. "Well it's been almost an hour," he spoke, "And she usually responds immediately while she's in the tunnels. And with everything going on lately on the surface with the Foot Clan and the Shredder..." Leo sighed again, trying to calm himself down as his heart rate picked up, just thinking about the possibilities.

"I would just rather be safe than sorry. If anything happened to her--" He stopped himself before he could say anything else, closing his eyes and squeezing his fists tightly at his side. Donnie watched him, somewhat admiring the depth of the love that his brother so obviously felt for you. He concluded that he would do what he could to help Leo ease his mind, knowing that the stress of the situation on the surface was definitely getting to him.

At that moment, the two heard a ping come from the computer, and Donnie turned to it, examining the screens. "Alright, let me get a closer look," he said, clicking his mouse. Leo held his breath as he waited for Don to speak. "According to my approximations, Y/N should be..." He clicked the mouse, and then paused.

"...right here."

The two brothers were silent for a moment, before they heard the sound of one of the tunnel doors opening out in the lair's main room. Leo ran out of the lab, Donnie walking quickly behind him, to see you walking in, wearing your backpack and looking exasperated. But as you turned to see your boyfriend approaching you, with his brother behind him, a smile grew on your face. "Hey! Sorry I'm--"

Leonardo cut you off by squeezing you into a hug. "...Late," you finished your thought, confused by the intimacy your boyfriend was displaying in front of his brother. Nevertheless, you hugged him back while you continued to explain yourself. "My phone battery is so old and it's been dying so quickly lately, so it died on my way here, and then I wanted to make a quick stop at a store I saw the other day, and then the subway was late, and to be honest I got a little lost, and..." you rambled as Leo eventually released you from his hold.

"Ugh, it just made me so stressed out," you said, breathing a sigh to let go of the tension in your head. "But, aside from that... are you okay?" you asked your boyfriend. He looked at you for a moment before a soft smile grew on his face, shaking his head slowly. "Yeah, I'm fine," he spoke, and you noticed Donatello face-palming in the background before going back into his lab. You giggled at the encounter and shook your head, not bothering to ask any questions, and then reached for your backpack.

"Anyway, I stopped on my way here because last week I saw this in a store window, and I wanted to get it for you! I couldn't stop thinking about it. Look!" You pulled out a plastic box containing a limited edition action figure from one of his favorite TV shows. You handed it to him with a wide smile on your face, and he looked down at it in quiet awe. He brought his gaze back up to your face, sporting a look of admiration and his same soft smile.

"I love you, Y/N," he spoke, before wrapping his arms around you and bringing his lips to yours. You gasped, overjoyed, and smiled into the kiss. He broke away a moment later, and pressed his forehead to yours, gazing at you a moment more.

"Hey princess, let me see your phone," Leo said to you a while later, while you two were lounging in his room. "I bet Don could fix the battery. And he can install some updated software you might need..."

~ Raphael ~

You shuffled around your NYC apartment, cleaning up after the small dinner you had made yourself. You were incredibly sore; you had been pushing yourself very hard in training lately alongside the turtle brothers. After one of their patrols had gone south a few weeks ago, the Foot Clan had somehow gotten their hands on you (again). While you had luckily been rescued just in time by your short-tempered boyfriend, the event had still gotten you down. If only I was stronger and could have defended myself more, you couldn't stop thinking to yourself, I wouldn't have put anybody in danger. Hence, more self-defense training was your solution.

A tap at your living room window pulled you from your thoughts. You went over to find Raphael at your window, and your heart thrummed at the sight of him. You pulled open the glass and leaned out, your arms supporting you against the window pane. "Hey, hotshot," you said to him, grinning. He smirked back at you, hazel eyes shining behind his blood red mask. "Hey, dollface."

You moved from the window to let him inside, walking back towards your bedroom. "I was just about to change into my pajamas, I'll be right back!" You called over your shoulder to him. Raph climbed into your apartment, closing the window behind him, and mumbled out a "'Kay" in response. Normally, he would make some smug comment about helping you change, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you practically limping on your way to your bedroom. He thought about what Splinter had said to him before he left the lair today: "Keep an eye on the child. I fear she pushes herself too hard. She wants to do well, to be strong... for you."

A minute later, you came out from your bedroom in a tank top, shorts, and a flannel over the top to find Raphael leaning against the wall of your living room. He looked up from the ground at you, his signature frown gracing his features. He watched as you slowly walked over to him, almost tripping over yourself on the process. He was quick to catch you, a sigh falling from his mouth in the process.

"Ya alright?" He asked, looking down at you with concern. "Yeah yeah, I'm fine," You reassured him, stepping over to the couch. "I just need some rest is all." But as you sat down and your back hit the couch, you couldn't help but let out a low groan of pain.

Raph sighed again above you. "Aight, no more movin' for you. Yer stayin' put." He looked at you for a moment before leaving your side. "I'll be right back."

You hear him fumbling about in your kitchen, and he returns a few minutes later with a cup of hot tea. You smile at the sweet gesture and thank him, blowing on the cup and taking a long sip. Then, Raph sat next to you on your couch, it creaking beneath his large form. "Now turn around." "What?" You ask, confused and putting down your cup of tea. "No questions, turn around," He responded gruffly. You did as he said, but huffed and protested. "Raph, I'm telling you, I'm fine--"

"Ya ain't fine, now let me help you." He said forcefully, his gravelly voice scraping your ears, and you stopped your protesting. He gently pulled off your flannel, leaving you in just your tank top, and you felt his cool, massive hands moving slowly along the skin of your shoulders and back. He very carefully began to massage you, not wanting to be too rough at first. He was silent for a moment, focusing on the task at hand, before speaking.

"Let me take care of ya, doll. Yer pushing' yourself too hard. You don't need to be on our level." Raphael's voice grew quiet as his hands grew slightly rougher, pressing deeply into the muscles of your back. "I know you wanna be strong. And I want you ta' be strong. But what I don't want is for you ta' get hurt. I would never forgive myself." You felt him get closer to you, his breath on your shoulder as he massaged your lower back. You felt his lips on your skin, before he breathed out "So just let me protect ya."

Your heart was sprinting in your chest, your pulse like a hummingbird. The intimacy of the moment struck a fire in the pit of your stomach, and your breath was coming out in shallow gasps. You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes at the overwhelming emotions you were feeling. "I just, I just--" you struggled to speak, your voice cracked. Raph could tell you were on the brink of tears, and you felt his arms wrap around you from behind, his lips pressing into your skin again.

"I love you," you breathed out. You felt Raph go still behind you. You forced yourself to turn around to face him on the couch, putting your hands on his plastron. "I love you so much, Raph," your voice cracked again. "And if something happened to you because of me--" "Stop." His hands went to your face and his hazel eyes bore into yours. "I feel the exact same way, but I won't let ya kill yourself tryin' ta' protect me." A small smile grew on his face as he spoke, the scar on his lip raising with it.

"I love you, too... more than anythin'." He stroked your cheek. "Don't stop trainin' with us, baby, but just.. take it easy for me?" A smile grew on your face at his words, and you nodded, giving into him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled his lips to yours for a slow, tender kiss. You pulled away a minute later, a smile still on both of your faces.

"Fine. Now get back to work." "Mmm, yes ma'am."

~ Donatello ~

Donatello let out a sigh and brought his hands up under his tortoiseshell glasses, rubbing his eyes. He has staring at his wall of computer screens for hours, trying to interpret the test results of a chemical his brothers had found in the Foot Clan's possession on their latest patrol. Things on the surface had been really ramping up lately, meaning that he was working more and more and sleeping less and less.

He could feel the gears in his brain crunching to a halt. He had been on a roll all day while running the tests, but he knew that he was burning out. He couldn't help but hear the voice of you, his wonderful girlfriend, in his head telling him that he was going to run himself into the ground.

Suddenly, his phone rang, and his favorite picture of you wearing his glasses popped up onto his screen. Wow, speak of the devil. Or... think of the devil?

Donnie answered and felt a soft smile grow on his face. "Hi Don!" He could hear the smile in your voice, and it was like music to his ears. "Hey, honey," he spoke into the phone. "How is the latest project coming along?" "Uh..." He looked back at his computer screens, "Let's just say it is coming at a turtle's pace. And not the mutant kind."

"Oh," Donnie could hear the smile in your voice move to a frown, and almost chuckled at how easy you were for him to read. He heard rustling on the other line. "When was the last time you had a break?" He looked at the clock. It was around 7pm. "Um... breakfast?"

"Yeah, not happenin'." You were gonna nag him now. "You don't even have breakfast, you have coffee. And it's way past time for your government mandated break. The state of New York requires at least a thirty minute break for every six hours of labor, you know." Donnie chuckled out loud this time at how predictable this speech had been for him, as he had heard it probably a hundred times before. "I suppose I could take thirty minutes. And I assume you will be enforcing this mandated break?"

He heard a familiar sound on the other line, and footsteps approaching his lab. "Way ahead of you," You continued to speak into the phone as you walked into the lab, a big goofy grin on your face. A grin grew on Don's as well as you approached him, hanging up the phone call and dropping a take-out bag of his favorite Chinese place onto his desk. "I figured you hadn't eaten, either," You said as you gave him a hug, him still in his desk chair as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "Too in the zone."

Donnie chuckled, but hugged you even tighter, nuzzling his head into your stomach. He could feel the stress slowly dissipating from his body, fizzing off of him like water evaporating. You stroked the top of his green head softly, letting him melt into the embrace.

"I know you've heard this one before," you spoke softly to him, "but if you don't rest your big, genius brain, it's going to overwork itself and short-circuit." Donnie sighed into you. "Sometimes in moments like this, I wish I didn't have a big, genius brain. Or a brain at all," he mumbled into your stomach. "Ignorance really does sound like bliss."

You chuckled above him. "But I love your big, genius brain! Not because it's big and genius-y, but because it's yours." You gave his head a little pat, trying to keep the mood as light-hearted as possible so that he would be able to take his mind off of his work. "Don't worry, I hear that Chinese food cures all. It must be the MSG or something."

Donnie laughed into your stomach and then pulled away slightly to look up at your smile. A comfortable silence covered the two of you as you both just enjoyed the embrace. He appreciated so much the care you took with him, how you always seemed to be there when he needed you, how you were his escape from his thoughts and work and stress and all the bad things in the world.

As you reached down to fix his glasses, which had become crooked atop his snout and purple bandana, he breathed out a dreamy sigh. "I love you," he stated firmly, almost as if he had just drawn the conclusion after a series of experiments. You let out a gust of air that you didn't know you were holding in, and broke out into a wide smile. "And I love you," you said back to him, stroking the side of his face.

Suddenly, Donnie grabbed your waist and lifted you onto his desk, standing between your knees. "Like music to my ears," He replied, with a grin on his face. He kissed your lips sweetly, both of you unable to help smiling through it.

~ Michelangelo ~

"Mikey, if you don't turn the damn oven on, I swear to god--" "I just personally think that pre-heating is a scam, but if you say sooo~"

You laughed at him but were satisfied when you saw him move to press a button on the oven. You were in the kitchen of the lair, and all of the other members of the family were off doing their own thing. You and Michelangelo often liked to do fun and random activities to spice up your everyday lives, and you decided to take it upon yourselves today to make pizza from scratch.

You currently had your hands in a big metal bowl, trying your best to massage the dough down. Mikey, of course, had the duty of setting up the topping station, and you had to keep scolding him for eating too much cheese out of the package.

Nevertheless, it made your heart soar to see Mikey truly at peace as his goofy self. You were worried that the pressure lately was getting to him; patrols were getting later and longer, as was training, and the threat of an attack by the Foot Clan was growing. You often saw him trying to stay positive and crack his normal jokes, but his brothers grew stressed, too, and sometimes they snapped at him more than you knew he liked. You wanted to do what you could to help, and you knew that the best way for you to do that was to get his mind off of things and give him an outlet to goof off and have fun.

Mikey watched you as you kneaded the dough, knowing by the thoughtful look on your face that your mind was elsewhere. He smiled softly to himself, admiring how effortlessly beautiful you were. He popped one last piece of pepperoni into his mouth and decided to bring you back to him in reality.

"Need some help there, sweetcheeks?" He spoke in a sing-song voice, coming up behind you. You turned your face over your shoulder to him, a smile growing. "Eh, I think I'm doing okay. The dough is still pretty gooey though, it keeps getting stuck to my wrists." A grin grew across Mikey's features, and his orange mask highlighted a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. "Ya know, I think I have just the solution for that," he said, before reaching his hand towards the bag of flour on the counter.

You knew what was going to happen a moment before it did. Mikey had thrown a handful of flour at your face, letting out a guffaw at the way you froze, your face covered in white. You slowly turned around to face him as he laughed, pointing to the expression on your face. As his laughter died down, he let out a whistle. "Damn, girl!" He exclaimed. "Now your cheeks really are sweet."

You couldn't help the smile that broke out on your face as he took a step closer to you, but you gasped as he leaned forward and licked your cheek. He thought to himself for a moment. "Actually, it's definitely not sweet. It doesn't really have much of a taste--" You cut him off mid-sentence with a handful of flour of your own, covering his face, orange mask, and the top of his plastron with white.

You let out a laugh, and a smile grew on Michelangelo's face, his teeth showing through the white. "How does that taste, big boy?" you asked him smugly, sporting a cheeky grin. He eyed you before slowly stepping backwards. "Oh, it's oooooon, little mama. You messed with the wrong turtle."

And immediately, a full-on food fight broke out. Pepperoni, mozzerella, olives, parmesan, bell peppers, mushrooms, and more were flying across the room. You both laughed and squealed as you battled, neither of you willing to give up the victory of the food fight you had started. Finally, after he threw another handful of flour into your face, you tackled your giant boyfriend onto the ground. As you lay atop his plastron and him on his shell, both of your laughter died out as you smiled up/down at the other.

Mikey pecked your lips from below, and his smile grew. "Mmm, you taste like pizza," he said to you, and you giggled above him. You were so happy to have these kinds of moments with him, and you loved that he was having fun and enjoying himself. The warmth in your chest grew as Mikey took a moment to look around the kitchen, a smile still on his face.

"Ya know, I think Leo is actually gonna kill--" "Hey, Mikey? I love you."

Michelangelo looked back to you with a shocked look on his face, but after a moment, his signature grin grew back. He squeezed you into a hug, rocking back and forth on his shell, making you laugh. "I love you too, babygirl," he said, and stopped his rocking to bring your face to his, connecting your lips. His mouth moved against yours, the taste of flour and cheese making its way into your kiss.

Suddenly, the oven beeped loudly from above your heads, breaking you both out of the moment you were sharing.

"Ah, the oven's done pre-heating."

[borderlinereminders]

do you have any tips on mood tracking for someone with debilitating adhd who struggles to do things that require consistency? my heart cant handle adhd medication and so im out here living on hard mode 😔 I love what you do here btw, peer support blogs that actually make me feel welcomed are few and far between

Honestly, I am not great at tracking my mood every day, or the amount of times I want to track it a day. (I aim for a morning entry, afternoon and evening, sometimes late night if I'm up late.) I also have ADHD and it's hard. I fill it out when I remember, and I don't get discouraged if I miss some. I just carry on!

I used a couple self care apps that I enjoy and find motivating, and one of my tasks on both of them is to record my mood.

I also record my mood somewhere that's easily accessible to me. In my case, it was a notes app on my phone. This is an extremely personal decision I made and isn't something I recommend anyone doing unless you want to, but my best friend has access to my note. She uses it to check in sometimes to see how I'm doing, but it also makes me feel a bit more accountable and she'll sometimes message me to ask if I've filled it out.

Something I'm starting to do is some sort of pretty chart that I've seen. I made a mood tracker, and I fill in the legend with the colours I want to use, and then each day I colour in the circle for the corresponding time (morning, day, etc). I find it really satisfying to colour in the circles, and when I feel more than one thing at once, I use a couple colours. I use a new one weekly and add them to my folder. (I date them at the top.)

My tracker is below the read more if you want inspiration! I use the "notes" to include any big things that may be relevant to moods like a fight with someone, or going to an event I love, etc.

[sunsetmaidenwrites]

Ooooh kindergarten tracker for the WIP game?

Hi! Thanks so much for you ask. This one is basically a mash-up between the 90s movie Kindergarten Cop and the new TV show Tracker. Instead of being a cop in this scenario, Bucky is actually a survivalist and rewardist, who makes his living by locating missing people and collecting the reward money. As a favor to his boss, he has been tasked with locating the young daughter of drug runner and all around bad guy Brock Rumlow, before Brock locates the child himself. His search takes him to a school where Sam is also a teacher, and sparks fly. In this universe, we also have cameos by various younger MCU characters like MJ, Peter, Kate, Tandy and Tyrone, etc as kindergarten students. Here is a random snippet:

“Mrs. Hagley is a way better teacher than you.”

“Is she?”

“Mmm hmm. My dad’s a better teacher than you, too.”

“Great. Thanks for that, Kid.”

He began to work on his room, both surprised and a little bit cheered when she immediately started helping. She picked up a fallen chair, then bent to start picking up blocks. “On Monday, my dad tutors. Mrs. Quinn takes care of me. She’s not even a teacher, but she’s a better teacher than you, too.”

“Great. Thanks for sharing.”

“And Declan, my swim coach. Miss Suzanne, my t-ball coach. They’re better than you, too.”

“Look, I really appreciate your honesty, Kid. Truly. You happen to know someone that’s not better than me?”

“No. But I’m only five. I don’t know that many people.”

Bucky let out a bark of laughter. MJ followed suit.

Maybe the kid wasn’t so bad after all.

They worked in tandem, cleaning up the room for another twenty minutes or so before Sam Wilson appeared at the door. “What a day, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“It gets easier.”

“For him, it won’t,” MJ predicted.

“Michelle,” Sam said firmly.

“Sorry Dad. You taught me to never lie.”

Dad. Bucky’s heart plummeted. The man had a kid. And was probably straight. And really, why did it even matter? Bucky had a job to do and would be gone in a matter of weeks. “She’s yours?”

“Guilty.”

“She’s smart.”

“Guilty,” MJ said with a cheeky smile.

[belethlegwen]

General li'l update

So, things have done anything but slow down for me in the real world. To keep it as vague as possible, there's a chance I'll be losing my job within the next month or so, though we're all currently working on possible solutions to this. Hoping for the best.

I've already done my panicking and preemptive grieving. 18 years in a single career is a hell of a run for someone my age, and if it has to come to an end then I've made at least some peace with that idea.

Still though, working every day to find solutions. To fix things. To keep surviving. It's exhausting, I will not lie. We're doing what we can over here.

There's so, so much good to look forward to this year. These are just bumpy patches of road. And some of the bumpiest roads I've driven on have taken me to the best places I've ever been. I'll be alright. I know I'll be alright. I'll be more than alright, by the time this is all said and done.

Been doing more reading of late, which I've been loving. You all are putting out such amazing work and I love bouncing in to read even if it takes me 3 attempts and a couple of hours to get through a posted chapter. Lovely escapes, all around.

My sister turned me onto a game ("game" kind of seems like an odd word for it but either way) on steam called Spirit City: Lofi Sessions. You customize a character, you have a little room, it plays lofi music at you and you can poke at a few playlists, build soundscapes around it (rain noises, thunder, wind, birds chirping, crackling fire etc etc) while your character mills about in spots doing things as just a beautiful little vibe-generator. You can collect spirit pals to vibe with you. It's just really cozy and nice, I love it. Highly recommend.

It has an optioning for in-app journaling, and I've been meaning to get back into journaling regularly just for the sake of my memory and everything else. That's been a huge boon over the last 2-3 days. It's got a productivity timer, to-do list, daily task/habits tracker.

Anyway, I've been making progress on writing but it's slow, staggered. Hit a bit of a wall last night with some of The Stranding where I wrote 8.5 pages of a scene and then just felt... unhappy with it. I had clearly lost the thread of why I started writing it, and needed to walk away to see if a fresher mind could find a place to rewind to and pivot so I can salvage it, or if I'm just gonna carve the whole thing out and set it in the Cut Scenes doc. The other 20 pages I've got waiting? Fine. Good, even. Proud of those. This one, I'm proud of what I'm writing but again... just feels more like floating aimlessly and bouncing. It was clear I wrote it while heavily distracted or with gaps between focus, so it jumps.

I'll see what I can salvage. Can't promise an update and am avoiding making it feel like I'm 'back on schedule' just to find something I can reduce pressure from in my life for the time being. But: I love you all. The Kudos, the views, the comments, the everything. It means a lot. You're all great.

If I do any generic vent/vibe writing, not necessarily attached to anything, I'll consider sharing it here for y'all. You guys deserve a bit of fun and sunshine <3

Have a great time everyone, love y'all to bits <3

~ Belle

[redbird-tf]

Graveyard pickup

nightwing x (platonic) reader

Summary: Dick's simple school pickup mission takes a twist when he finds himself searching for you in a graveyard.

Notes: really tried to capture his caring and brother characteristics from the comics (fluff)

Word count: 804

Warning: talk of death

“MaStEr DicK i NeEd A faVoR” dick mocked as he stood against his car in the empty park lot. Alfred had asked dick to pick you up from school as he was running late from picking up Damien and Bruce was on one of his many “missions”

You were the newest addition to the batfamily, you had only been around for two months. he had met you a few times in uniform and maybe twice at the manor. That being said he was a little reluctant to take the favor, but hell, he had been through this more than 3 times, and if Alfred asked anything dick would do it.

The task was simple enough; class gets out at 5:30, stand next to the pull to the left hand side of the school, you’ll come out five to ten minutes after. Simple. 5:30 rolled around and groups of students filled out, dicks eyes shot around trying to spot you but no site of you just yet. After 10 minutes most kids had left and you were still no where in sight and at 15 minutes he was the only one standing outside. “you told her id be here, right?” Dick questioned holding hjs phone to his ear “yes master dick” “and you said left hand side correct?” He smiled through his words “master dick is something wrong?” Alfred asked. “Noo, i think shes walking out right now, gotta go” he said quickly hanging up.

He sighed as he leaned against his car, dialing another number “Hey Babs, you wouldn’t have already put a tracker on your phone would you?” He asked nervously. “I have” she replied, “could you ping me her last location?” He asked in his nicest tone “Sure…may I ask why?” She asked with a little worry “i was supposed to pick her up from school but shes nowhere to be seen, i just want to check things out before making a big deal out of it.” Dick explained “you don't want to tell Batman you lost his kid” Babs stated. “Can't a man want two things?” He remarked making Babs laugh. “Ok, her last location was Gotham cemetery” The tone immediately changed. “I'll go check it out, thank you, Babs”

It didnt take dick long to arrive as the cemetery was only a few roads down. Stepping into the cemetery was completely silent, the only sound being the autumn leaves cracking under his feet. He walked down the graveyard looking for anything out of place. It wasn’t until he got to the back did he see you laying beside a grave, he sighed in relief.

He made his way to your sleeping figure and knelt examining the grave, he didn’t receive the first name but knew the last name was also yours. Dick thought he knew about your family tragedy, but not well enough. His gaze came back to you, he gently placed his hand on your shoulder, your eyes shot open, “hey” he greeted “Hey” you replied groggily. “I was supposed to pick you up from school, kind of difficult if you’re not there” he half-joked. “I'm sorry” you apologized sitting up. Silence fell between you two and dick felt he had to be the one to break it “So, who is this?” He asked trying to be as sensitive as possible. “My sibling” you stated blankly “i didn't know you had any siblings” dick replied “They passed before… before everything else happened” you explained standing up. “I'm sorry i left without telling you” you apologized as you both started walking to his car.

“Don't worry about it,” he said with a small smile. your gaze was set on the ground and dick hoped he wasn't overstepping “you know, you think after losing someone it gets easier the next time around, but i never dos. Each loss affects us differently” Silence fell again and dick was sure he messed up. “Do you think Bruce knows about my sibling?” You asked quietly “The greatest detective in the world? I'm sure he does but he's not much of a talker.” Dick chuckled. “Does he have to know about today?” You asked looking up at him “And know what? That i lost his kid? No way” That made you laugh which made him smile.

“Thank you dick,” you said with a smile “I'm an older brother of 3, i do this all the time” he chanted. “Really?” “Really,” he replied opening the car door for you. “What I'm trying to say y/n, is that if you ever need anything I'm here for you.” He said with a soft smile “Thank you dick, really” you say as tears edge your eyes “Every time, i know what it's like living with the bat. Now let's get you some food, I'm starving”

[oftlunarialmoon]

How Can a Sticker Chart Affect Your Mental Health?

Originally posted to www.onlyfunthings.org on August 06, 2018

Ciao lovelies! Today’s post is for those of you who may be having some mental health difficulties lately, like maybe you have a lack of motivation, or can’t be bothered to clean because you’re sad, or maybe you’re forgetful so you can’t recall whether you’ve eaten today. If any of these sound like you, this post may help out a lot!

Today, I’m talking about a technique that I use when things get hard- Sticker Charts.

I know what you may be thinking “no way would I ever use that, sticker charts are for kids!”

And if this is your mindset, I will refer you back to THIS post, where we established that there really aren’t “maximum age allowed limits” on fun things, and I will also remind you that sometimes harkening back to your childhood can be good for your mental state. (For more information on that see THIS post).

In truth, while the practice of making sticker charts was designed for kids, there’s really no difference between a sticker chart and those “habit trackers” you see in planners now.

Both are designed to ensure that the user follows certain habits, or does certain chores. Both provide a moment of satisfaction when you complete a task and can fill in a square of your habit tracker or add a sticker to your chart. Both are ways to develop good habits and help you when motivation is low.

Why do I prefer sticker charts to habit trackers?

Well for one if we’re being totally honest, I have a boatload of stickers, and they have to go somewhere, right? Why not use them on a chart designed to help me?

And for two, I enjoy the whimsy of a sticker chart, while I can’t remember if I ever had one as a kid, there’s just something about it that makes me happy.

And lastly, while I do journal, I find that having the chart on my wall where I can see it everyday; I am reminded to update it, and follow the “chores” listed.

So how can a Sticker Chart help your mental health?

Sticker charts have many uses for mental health. 

For those who have depression: Sticker charts can provide much needed motivation when times get hard and motivation gets low. Just the simple act of placing a sticker on the chart can help you feel accomplished and can sometimes help get you out of bed.

For those who have anxiety: I find that a sticker chart helps my anxiety because it gives me a small semblance of control over my life. I feel like I have some kind of control over what I do. 

For those who are forgetful: I find that having a sticker chart really helps me remember the little things, like “Did I eat today? When did I last clean my room? Have I taken my meds?” Because you can look at your chart, see the sticker, and know that you did it. You can also write dates under the stickers to help with this even more.

For those who take medication (for any reason): You can use the sticker chart to track and remember to take your meds. 

For those with low self-esteem: I found that including a section of my sticker chart dedicated to doing “one self-love journaling exercise daily” helped improve my self-esteem! Maybe you could include a section like this too?

To conclude, sticker charts are simply a fun, whimsical way to help out with your mental state a little bit. Much like a habit tracker in a journal, these charts can help you develop new healthy habits and make the whole process more fun.

Remember to Stay Awesome and Love Yourself!

[megumi-fm]

this week on megumi.fm ▸ media analysis brainrot

📋 Tasks

💻 Internship ↳ setup Linux system on alternate drive (this took me wayy more time than i anticipated) ✅ ↳ install yet more dependencies ✅ ↳ read up on protein folding and families + CATH and SCOP classifications ✅ ↳ download protein structure repositories ✅ ↳ run protein modeller pipeline ✅ ↳ read papers [3/3] ✅ ↳ set up a literature review tracker ✅ ↳ code for a program to parse PDB files to obtain protein seq ✅ 🎓 Uni Final Project our manuscript got a conditional acceptance!! ↳ revise and update manuscript and images according to changes mentioned ✅ 🩺 Radiomics Projects ↳ feature extraction from radiomics data using variance-based analysis ✅ ↳ setup LASSO regression (errors? look into this) 📧 Application-related ↳ collect internship experience letter ✅ ↳ collect degree transcripts ✅ ↳ request for referee report from my prof ✅

📅 Daily-s

🛌 consistent sleep [6/7] (binge watched too much TV and forgot about bed time booo) 💧 good water intake [5/7] (need to start carrying a bottle to work) 👟 exercise [4/7] (I really need to find time between work to move around)

Fun Stuff this week

🧁 met up with my bestfriends! we collected the mugs we painted last year and gifted them to each other! we also surprised one of our besties by showing up at her place. had waffles too ^=^ 📘 met up with another close friend for dinner! hung out at a bookshop after <3 🎮back at game videos: watched this critique on a time loop game called 12 minutes //then i switched up and got super obsessed with this game called The Beginner's Guide. I watched a video analysis on it, then went on to watch the entire gameplay, then read an article on the game's concept and what it means to analyze art and yeah. wow. after which I finally started playing the game with my best friend!! 📺 ongoing: Marry my Husband, Cherry Magic Th, Last Twilight 📺 binged: Taikan Yoho (aka My Personal Weatherman), Hometown Cha Cha Cha 📹 Horror Storytelling in the internet era

📻 This week's soundtrack

so. the Taikan Yoho brainrot was followed by me listening entirely to songs that evoked similar emotions to watching the main couple. personal fav emotions include a love that feels like you could die, a love that feels like losing yourself, a love that makes you feel like you could disappear, a love asking to be held, a love that reminds you that you're not alone, and a love that feels like a promise <3

---

[Jan 15 to 21; week 3/52 || I am having a blast at work ♡ I feel like I'm really learning and checking out a lot of cool stuff. That being said, I think I'm slacking when it comes to my daily routines in regards to my health. and I'm spending wayy too much time chained to my desk. maybe I'll request for an option to work from home so that I can cut on time taken on commute and spend that time exercising or walking

also. my obsession with tv shows is getting a bit. out of hand I think. not that it's particularly an issue? but I think I should switch back to my unread pile of books (or resume magpod) instead of spending my evenings on ki**a*ian. this could be unhealthy for my eyes in the long run, considering my work also involves staring at a screen all day. let's see.]

[heathergsposts]

Here are some distract1ons i do, to prevent e@ting :)

•Watch tr1gger1ng, Movies/Tv shows/videos. It helps me to focus on my goals, and motivates me to continue. Or any show you enjoy!

(My favourite thing to watch is Supers1ze vs Supersk1nny or anything involving the comparison between the two)

•Watching other people e@t. I do find it gross (but it tricks me into not b1ng1ng) and makes me feel like their e@ting the f0od for me so I don’t have too <3

•Having a steps tracker, and setting the goal to 10,000 steps. It helps me feel m0t1vated to complete the task and plus it d1stracts and burns c@lor1es.

•Playing any video games, personally I love playing roblox. I know it’s not the best for your wellbeing but it can d1stract you for hours ;) I <3 playing dress to impress with my baddies

•And doing any hobby you love <3

•Dedicating more time into skin/ body care. So example being, to focus more time onto shaving to prevent cutt1ng yourself (so your not thinking about f0od)

I will love, if you guys can share any more ideas with me 🫶