#been chipping away at this for several days

[babey-fruit-bat]

Practical Life Skills for Everyone

Wolverine X Reader FLUFF

Content: The new Home Ec teacher encounters the Shop Class teacher at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters

Note: photos come from Pinterest and collage made by me hehe

Tw: SAFE FOR POC/FEM READERS- Author can’t write dialogue, Logan is called short ONCE (written with comic accurate Wolverine in mind-but can be movie Logan too) reader is given pet names/refered to as she/Ms.

I haven’t written a serious fic since high school and I want to get back out here again hooray!

—————————————————————————

A new semester, apple on the desk, pots and pans freshly washed, sewing machines at the ready. Nothing this semester could stop you- starting fresh at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters brought to fruition everything you’d hoped for. Family, a career, children, and most importantly- stability.

A word normally foreign for mutants of all kinds, yourself included. Settling down as a teacher helped to blend your identity. Charles had located you on purpose- something you’d come to terms with over the last few months spent bonding with the staff and fellow X-Men. You’d been offered a position as a teacher and had accompanied several missions, all successful due to your mutation. It wasn’t easy- and took many years to develop and control your abilities the way you could. You’d managed on your own just fine before this but life was lonely at best, suffocating at worst. A life spent using your mutation to survive- Now you could live.

You’d initially been brought on to train a young mutant named Rouge- with a similar ability, training her was rewarding. It was like a reflection of your younger self staring back st you. About a century ago you had no community, family, friends.

That reality seemed so far away compared to the life you lived now. You mused this thought to yourself unlocking the door to your classroom. You set the books on top of your perfectly organized desk- perfect timing as the students began filling in for the day.

You pulled up their bell work to complete on the projector watching one by one as they sorted themselves into groups ready. A slight drone of music started down the hall and the bell announced the start of another day.

Beginning with collecting the bell work, you started the students off with a simple recipe to complete before the end of class. Classic chocolate chip cookies- a family favorite and good way to observe the student’s skill levels.

“More salt Colby, the acidity is necessary”

“Yes Ms. Y/N”

“Scrape the flour off the top of the measuring cup for an even amount, Emma”

“Thanks, professor Y/N!”

It wasn’t long before each student had a decent batch of cookies ready to grade and devour- the edible ones at least..

But before any grading could be done- or eating the music level from the hall rose to an absurd level

“Does anyone know who has their music so loud this morning?” You stated opening the door to the hallway “I hardly think this time of morning is-“

“It’s the shop class down the hall” one of the students stated, also mildly annoyed

“Hmmm, shop class? I didn’t know we offered shop this semester.. Do you think the professor would-“

A chorus of “No way!” “Do not!” and “He’ll kill you!” erupted from the students

“Who? I hardly think anyone would be so ill-tempered about asking to cut the music down so early”

“It’s professor Logan, he’s back this semester”

“Then I guess we’ll have to give him a ring- this volume is a little much, surely he wouldn’t mind?”

The students held their breath as you dialed the shop’s classroom on the school phone

It was a wonder anyone picked up the phone in the shop. Many students gathered around the bike Logan was introducing as the senior class project. A chance to not only test their skills but add personal flare- a teenagers wet dream truly.

Some eager students had been sent to gather the tool on the bench when one notice the phone ringing. They answered and briefly spoke to the teacher on the other end before hanging up the phone. One student simply turned the music down- enough for Logan to notice. He didn’t like the settings messed with unless he did so himself, especially by his students.

“Who touched the radio?” He demanded

The students silently stood there as the music paused completely. One student bravely spoke up

“It was the phone-“

“The phone cut the music down?” He interrupted

“No, a teacher called and asked us to do it”

“Who? I sweat if you answered Scott and listened! What’s the first rule in shop!?” He sighed, already tired from the day and needing a drink.

He wasn’t cut out for this ‘teacher’ shit, Logan thought to himself. He’d tried to argue with Charles claiming he had better things to do and had been promptly reminded of how much time he spends in the garage should be put to good use.

He signed as he sensed his pupils unease and cut the music back on and instructed them to get started. He stalked to the phone clicking a few buttons to figure out what classroom called to complain ready to give Scott a piece of his mind. He ran out to steam seeing it was your classroom that had called. The new teacher who’d started their first semester just down the hall. He’d meant to stop by and welcome you but meeting people without confrontation had never been his strongest quality. What better time than now. He left the students to their assignment and carried himself down the hall ready to introduce himself.

A knock on the door interrupted the classroom buzz and a hush fell over the students. You padded over to the door and peeked out the small window. A short man, clad in a black t shirt and jeans stared back at you with an unreadable expression.

“Good morning! What can I do for you?” You trailed off not recognizing him.

“You called the shop a minute ago” he stated twirling the toothpick in his mouth

“Yes, I’m sorry to bother- You must be professor Logan”

“Mm hm” he answered shortly, stepping out further in the hall while you closed the door behind you.

“I’m sorry if I upset you, it was just a little loud for my students and I this morning-“

He held a hand up “Not a problem, doll. I can’t upset my favorite teacher, right?”

“Favorite teacher? We just met” you said with a light laugh

“I’ve been around a long time- I know a good girl when I see one”

“I hardly think that’s appropriate to say here”

“No? Maybe I can say it another way or another time?” His lips curling up in a smug smile “How about you come down to the shop after classes- Grab a drink later?”

“Oh! Uh sure? I guess so?” From the way the students reacted you’d assumed this teacher was awful, even horrible. Be here is his- polite as ever and asking to grab a drink?

“I like that answer” he laughed leaning closer “Meet me later at garage three- I’ll take you to Abe’s”

Abe’s was one of the nicer bars in the city, a place known for anniversaries, couples flocking there left and right for an evening out. You’d never stopped by until tonight- now you had plans for once with a complete stranger- a handsome one at that.

“I’ll see you later then, garage three”

“Looking forward to it, sweetheart” he said turning to head back to his class

You entered your room once again as the class held their breath. No yelling, no cussing, no words of any kind were heard and the students had feared your first day would be your last- they didn’t know that this was just the beginning

[verefex]

Corrupted by slime. I don't think the city is safe

[weredogart]

I rewatched Op. S.N.O.W.I.N.G. because it's been so warm lately, and it made me want to draw again.

Snowless version under readmore.

[jesterguy]

Basically what my past two weeks have amounted to

[alexiroflife]

"megumi is annoyed with gojo for getting distracted with you and being late for everything because of it, so he makes it his life’s mission to ruin gojo’s chances of dating you..."

fluff, crack

gojo has a severe issue with constantly following you like a puppy dog wherever you go. after that day he had run into you on a whim at the park, your pretty (e/c) eyes locking with his as you both shared passing glances the moment your shoulders brushed, he was stuck to you. gojo stopped dead in his tracks, calling out to you and asking what your name was. you turned over your shoulder, stuttering to a stop upon realizing that handsome guy had been talking to you. you told him your name, that you attended the university down the block, and he was set.

gojo was sure to secure your number before you parted ways that day, approaching you as interested in friendship rather than someone completely enamored by your beauty and desperate to get to know you more. he would text you every day, from then on, pressing further about your hobbies and inserting himself into your daily routine, which you fortunately did not mind. the two of you end up spending a lot of time together, thoroughly enjoying each other’s presence.

megumi, ten years old, witnesses gojo’s clinginess with you fast because it quickly has an affect on how often gojo fulfills his responsibilities in looking after him. megumi remembers the first time gojo forgot about him because he was distracted by you. he had been meant to purchase and drop of megumi’s weekly groceries, but he ran into you at the supermarket and ended up helping you take your groceries home instead. megumi had to wait three hours for gojo to bring him his next week’s supply of food. things like this continued to happen the longer you to knew each other, but megumi knows it isn’t your fault that gojo is attached to you at the hip and flirts with you shamelessly but won’t muster up the courage to tell you he likes you. 

megumi’s last straw is when he is left stranded outside of his elementary school for forty-five minutes because he ran into you “eating at a cafe by yourself and you needed company.” the ten year old watches gojo pull up slowly with you in the passenger’s seat, waving at him apologetically with a kind smile. his blood boils as gojo smiles, shrugging bashfully and saying he lost track of time. megumi decides with a hastiness that he would ruin every chance gojo takes to flirt with you after the twenty one year old suddenly announces that he is driving twenty minutes opposite of his house to drop you off at your dorm. 

gojo first senses something is off when you are over at megumi’s house one day after school, looking for snacks in the cabinets. gojo and megumi are sitting at the kitchen island while megumi does his homework and gojo watches you move around with a soft smile on his lips, chin propped in his palm. you turn over your shoulder and ask the two if they have any chips, to which megumi beats gojo to answering: “gojo ate them all. he’s always eating everything in my house. i try to get him to stop, but i guess he just gets too hungry.” the white haired man slowly turns to face megumi as you carry on about your business, eyes wide and a mortified smile on his face. megumi doesn’t look at him, continuing his english homework. 

gojo knows he’s being targeted the second time around, when he suggests that you sleep over in his room because it is getting late and megumi advises you not to because he allegedly saw a nonexistent redhead leaving his room last night and is ‘worried about your exposure to lice.’ gojo chases the spikey haired kid around his living room later on after you inevitably go home, threatening to take him back to the zenin clan. 

the day megumi outright proposes that you get a boyfriend during a car ride over to your campus, gojo almost loses control of the steering wheel and decides he has to keep you as far away from megumi as possible. megumi gets his wish when gojo begins to pay more attention to the days he’s supposed to pick him up from school and separates his days with you from them accordingly, but megumi doesn’t plan to let this slide so easily. for weeks, he suffered the aftermath of gojo getting distracted by being your shadow, and for weeks gojo would suffer his karma.

when he hears you on the phone with him, megumi barges in the room and loudly asks to talk to you. you, overhearing, welcome the conversation gladly and ask gojo to hand over the phone while he glares animatedly at the boy’s blank face. he has to wait twenty minutes for megumi to finish talking monotonously about his day into the speaker, and by the time gojo gets his phone back, you have to head to a meeting with your classmates. the call ends and gojo ponders over why his kid is praying so intently over his downfall. 

and of course there are the days when you ask to come over to see gojo and megumi, and gojo is physically incapable of refusing quality time with you or telling you no in any regard. he practically begs megumi on his knees to behave five minutes before you arrive, to which the fushiguro blatantly ignores. the blue eyed sorcerer is fuming with rage as he sits across from you and megumi, watching as you help him with his science project after him asking for your assistance, a stunning, bubbly grin on your face. gojo’s initial frustrations shift into envy for your attention, and before you know it he’s pouting with his arms crossed in silence. 

megumi is satisfied with himself, concluding that gojo is officially fed up and has given up completely on pursuing you. he commends himself mutely for his successes after working so hard, though his actual enjoyment of your tranquil company made the experience more tolerable. he runs off to take a shower when you’re grabbing your belongings, preparing to uber back to your dorm. normally gojo pesters you about letting him drive you home when you’re over, so when he only flashes you a smile and holds the door for you as you walk through, you immediately think something is wrong.

the blue eyed man’s lips press together, eyes blank as he shakes and tells you everything is okay. your eyes slim in suspicion as you look over his face, unconvinced by his horrible lying skills. you ask again and he smiles again, telling you he is fine and to go enjoy the rest of your day without him. you furrow your brows in confusion before realizing that you had been busy with little megumi all day and hardly paid attention to your friend. he’s jealous. you giggle, and find it cute the way his half smile melts and he broods, perplexed by your laughter. 

you tease your friend of a few months, telling him that the next time you hang out, you two will spend the day alone. pink rises to gojo’s cheeks. “you still wanna spend time with me?” he asks and you scoff. “yeah, why wouldn’t i?” “i don’t know, i just thought megumi convinced you not to like me…”

you laugh again, the sound ringing like church bells in his ear. you tell him he’s ridiculous for getting worked up over a ten picking on him and puffs his lips and rolls his eyes. you know there is a mutual attraction shared between you and gojo. you’ve liked him since the second he asked for your number, but never said anything because he limited your relationship to what you assumed ws platonic flirting. now, watching him pout over the thought that megumi pushed you away makes you realize that there may be something real to his attachment to you.

a smug smile lifts to gojo’s face and his mood immediately improves. he tells you he’ll pick you up from your math class tomorrow for a ride, just the two of you. you hum in agreement and lean up to your tiptoes, holding the side of his face with your fingers and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. “it's a date,” you say. you pull away and his expression is dopey, eyes dazed and grin bright. 

megumi runs back into the living room at the wrong time. he goes to grab his bookbag from the sofa and return it to his room when he catches a glimpse of the horror, his face scrunching in disgust as you peck gojo’s cheek at the front door. megumi turns grim, mourning over his failed plan. oh well, he tried. he wishes you luck dealing with that freak, and figures that the next time gojo annoys him, he can just save himself half the trouble and log him out of the shared netflix account.

you are halfway out the door, smile making your cheeks ache and heart bursting, when you hear megumi shouting from inside. “wash your mouth when you get home, (y/n)! you don’t know where he’s been!” you hear the front door slam and dramatic, muffled complaining follow as you walk to your uber stifling a laugh.

[opencommunion]

"The story of  'John Doe 1' of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is tucked in a lawsuit filed five years ago against several U.S. tech companies, including Tesla, the world’s largest electric vehicle producer. In a country where the earth hides its treasures beneath its surface, those who chip away at its bounty pay an unfair price. As a pre-teen, his family could no longer afford to pay his $6 monthly school fee, leaving him with one option: a life working underground in a tunnel, digging for cobalt rocks.  But soon after he began working for roughly two U.S. dollars per day, the child was buried alive under the rubble of a collapsed mine tunnel. His body was never recovered. 

The nation, fractured by war, disease, and famine, has seen more than 6 million people die since the mid-1990s, making the conflict the deadliest since World War II. But, in recent years, the death and destruction have been aided by the growing number of electric vehicles humming down American streets. In 2022, the U.S., the world’s third-largest importer of cobalt, spent nearly $525 million on the mineral, much of which came from the Congo.

As America’s dependence on the Congo has grown, Black-led labor and environmental organizers here in the U.S. have worked to build a transnational solidarity movement. Activists also say that the inequities faced in the Congo relate to those that Black Americans experience. And thanks in part to social media, the desire to better understand what’s happening in the Congo has grown in the past 10 years. In some ways, the Black Lives Matter movement first took root in the Congo after the uprising in Ferguson in 2014, advocates say. And since the murder of George Floyd and the outrage over the Gaza war, there has been an uptick in Congolese and Black American groups working on solidarity campaigns.

Throughout it all, the inequities faced by Congolese people and Black Americans show how the supply chain highlights similar patterns of exploitation and disenfranchisement. ... While the American South has picked up about two-thirds of the electric vehicle production jobs, Black workers there are more likely to work in non-unionized warehouses, receiving less pay and protections. The White House has also failed to share data that definitively proves whether Black workers are receiving these jobs, rather than them just being placed near Black communities. 'Automakers are moving their EV manufacturing and operations to the South in hopes of exploiting low labor costs and making higher profits,' explained Yterenickia Bell, an at-large council member in Clarkston, Georgia, last year. While Georgia has been targeted for investment by the Biden administration, workers are 'refusing to stand idly by and let them repeat a cycle that harms Black communities and working families.'

... Of the 255,000 Congolese mining for cobalt, 40,000 are children. They are not only exposed to physical threats but environmental ones. Cobalt mining pollutes critical water sources, plus the air and land. It is linked to respiratory illnesses, food insecurity, and violence. Still, in March, a U.S. court ruled on the case, finding that American companies could not be held liable for child labor in the Congo, even as they helped intensify the prevalence. ... Recently, the push for mining in the Congo has reached new heights because of a rift in China-U.S. relations regarding EV production. Earlier this month, the Biden administration issued a 100% tariff on Chinese-produced EVs to deter their purchase in the U.S. Currently, China owns about 80% of the legal mines in the Congo, but tens of thousands of Congolese work in 'artisanal' mines outside these facilities, where there are no rules or regulations, and where the U.S. gets much of its cobalt imports.  'Cobalt mining is the slave farm perfected,' wrote Siddharth Kara last year in the award-winning investigative book Cobalt Red: How The Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives. 'It is a system of absolute exploitation for absolute profit.' While it is the world’s richest country in terms of wealth from natural resources, Congo is among the poorest in terms of life outcomes. Of the 201 countries recognized by the World Bank Group, it has the 191st lowest life expectancy."

[falling-endlessly]

The Finer Things in Death

Alastor x Soulmate!Female!Reader

Summary: An AU where your soulmate's first words to you are tattooed on your body in their handwriting.

Oh dear, where's your smile?

You knew those words by heart. Could recite them backwards, in your sleep even. Those damning words have been inscribed on the inside of your ankle for as long as you could remember, the elegant cursive strokes poking out of your shoe line.

In theory, somewhere, someone else was supposed to be sporting your own neat, boxy handwriting. You'd say you lucked out with yours. Some soul marks were less than pleasant, and others were downright embarrassing (imagine having the words move, asshole written on your stomach for the rest of your life. No thank you).

At least your soulmate was trying to cheer you up, right?

Yeah, but there was just one teeny, tiny problem.

Your soulmate was dead. Long dead actually.

Were they stillborn? Did their toddler self die in a house fire or something? Night after night you laid awake in your bed, pondering what the hell could have possibly happened to have altered the entire course of fate.

All you really knew was that your soul mark was a light gray (indicating a severed bond) instead of the usual inky black, and it had been since the day you were born. Everyone was in shock to see the faint words on your little ankle. After all, how could a soul mark exist if the other person wasn't even alive to speak those words into existence?

Simply put, you were a conundrum, and it had been some time since you had dedicated effort into figuring out why? You'd accepted it. Your soulmate was dead. Life went on.

Besides, you'd spent enough time grieving over someone you'd never met before.

Your lifestyle was not extravagant by any means, but it was comfortable. You had a steady income, lived on your own in an apartment in the city, and survived off of more than ramen bowls. Every day you would come home and read in your little fluffy alcove that you'd built yourself by your window, or pop open a bag of chips (and the occasional bottle of wine, if you were feeling fancy) while you watched the latest crime show releases from your couch.

Yes, so comfortable was your little routine, that you didn't notice the robbery happening in the convenience store you were browsing in, or the stray bullet coming for your head until it was too late. Your skull exploded in a world of pain, eyes rolling back as your body crumpled to the ground.

Dying was an interesting experience, to say the least. Your soul floated from your body, the final notes of music that blasted from your earphones fading into nothingness like the sound of a car driving away.

There was a brief moment where you were struck numb, hovering in the air as you stared down at your glassy eyed corpse, blood pooling alarmingly from the circular shaped hole in your head. You heard screams of the other customers behind you, but they were kind of muffled, like you were underwater.

It didn't last long though, because before you knew what was happening, you felt an almighty tug downwards,  like an anchor had just chained itself to your stomach.

And that was how you ended up in hell. Fun. What were you here for? You had no idea. Maybe God got mad that your teenage self stole a few packs of gummy bears in high school. But a life of eternal damnation and suffering seemed a little harsh, didn't it?

Before you could contemplate the semantics of it though, something...strange happened. Your ankle, right where you'd tried countless times to forget your soul mark existed, was burning like a fucking brand.

You hissed sharply in pain, frantically pulling down your sock to assess the damage. Was the eternal punishment starting already or something? Shit, you had terrible pain tolerance.

But what you saw made you gasp. In fact, you could hardly believe your eyes.

Because in the place of your faded grey soul mark, the letters had been reinvigorated, darkened with a swift hand and—glowing they were glowing holy shit.

"Hah," you huffed in disbelief, shaking your head slowly. "So that was it, huh? I was destined to meet my shitty soulmate in hell this whole fucking time?" You punctuated the last words with a few angry kicks to an unassuming patch of weeds. What a cosmic joke at your existence.

But, like you always did in shitty situations, you gathered all of your raging emotions, stuffed them tightly in a box at the back of your mind, and cooled your head. Freaking out in this place would do you no good.

Turned out hell was pretty much like the world you'd left, except for the fact that you could kill someone on the street and nobody would bat an eye. Like all of the depraved aspects of humanity were on full display now in a somehow still functioning society.

You managed to snag a job at an old record store, the owner giving you one look before grunting and gesturing to the register—but not before lifting his jacket to show you the long assault riffle strapped across his chest. Yeesh, you got the message.

It wasn't a bad job by any means, especially considering where you were. Sure a little boring and monotonous, but you'd restock thousands of old albums if it meant staying away from the overlords.

Oh, yeah, another thing. Overlords were like the big shots around hell. Messing with them usually meant a death sentence, or worse, a contract.

And if there was anything at all that you picked up from all those nights of watching television, it was that you do not make deals with the devil. Really, elementary level shit. And you'd never actually seen Lucifer, mind you, but these demons were probably a close second, right?

Yeah, so really, you were just living a shittier variant of your life on earth it seemed. Repetitive, safe and comforting. You were even starting to like the scent of musty cardboard, as weird as that was.

And once again, all thoughts of your soulmate slipped your mind.

Until one day, when everything went to shit.

****

It started like this: with the sad sight of your empty fridge.

You groaned, dragging a tired hand down your face. Seriously? You thought you'd restocked already, damn it. 

Your stomach growled achingly, and you sighed, wondering if you'd actually die again if you starved yourself. Begrudgingly, you decided that you didn't really want to chance it, throwing on the first set of clothes that you saw and slipping out of your dingy apartment to make a quick grocery run.

You generally hated leaving your apartment, and didn't do so except to retrieve bare necessities or walk across the block to go to work.

Why? Well, see exhibit A to your left: some poor, random demon screeching and running around on fire. See exhibit B to your right: a turf war between two rival gangs. And finally how could you forget, cannibal colony, slurping up intestines like bloody, chunky spaghetti. Disgusting.

The worst thing about hell wasn't the fact that you were in hell, it was the fact that the worst of the worst people were all cramped together like some fucked up refugee camp, and some people were significantly worse than others. Which sucked, for the poor unfortunate souls just trying to get by. Like you.

You sighed, ducking under a stray stream of bullets (you weren't falling for that shit twice) and side stepping pools of blood and guts. Just a regular Monday morning in hell. God damn it.

It seemed luck wasn't on your side though, because an ugly, dog-headed demon blocked your path, sneering down at you smugly. "Hey bitch, it's your lucky day. The big boss is hiring, and you fit the profile."

You clenched your grocery bags in a white-knuckled grip. Nobody would give a flying fuck if you were dragged off of the street in broad daylight. "Not interested."

"Oh it wasn't a suggestion," he chuckled darkly. You tensed as you were surrounded by at least four other demons. Shit, you knew you should have slept in.

"You like apples?" You nodded sharply at the demon in charge.

His face twisted in annoyance. "Why the fuck do y—"

You reached into your bag, before hurling a granny smith straight at his forehead. He yelped as it made contact, stumbling back as he shook his head in confusion. While everyone was still in shock from your weapon of choice, you shoved your way out of the circle, gunning it straight down the street because your second life did depend on it.

"Get her!" You heard a yell of absolute rage, making you shiver. Fuck, that did not sound promising. That apple must have really pissed him off.

Putting your limited aerobics to use, you ducked, dodged and lunged through the crowd like a pro. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, air burning your lungs as you pumped your legs faster. But of course, your grocery bag ripped open, sending all of your food tumbling and you by extension, tripping and face planting in the dirt rather pathetically.

A meaty hand gripped a handful of your hair, yanking it up harshly. You cried out as he pulled, hands uselessly trying to smack his away, but his hold only tightened. A liquor-filled breath and cheap cologne invaded your senses, making you cough.

"Uppity bitch," he growled, giving your scalp a painful yank for good measure. "You actually thought you could get away? Maybe I should teach you a lesson, huh? Sample the goods."

You froze, every nerve in your body going cold. So far in your stay in hell, you'd managed to avoid the more depraved souls here. You kept your head down, didn't draw attention to yourself, and were mostly left alone. Looked like today, your luck had finally run out.

"Get the hell off of me!" You spat, twisting around vehemently, only for your head to snap to the side as you were harshly backhanded.

"Stop your fucking whining and stay still!" He snapped, narrowing his eyes.

You bared your teeth, snapping at him aggressively.

A round of mocking chuckles went around the group of your kidnappers, the one holding your hair giving you a wicked grin. "Shit, that was cute. Really—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because his head exploded. Literally exploded, blood and brain matter dripping from your face. His hand went slack, dropping you on your wobbling knees.

Everyone was silent for a second, staring at the bloody mess where the demon was standing two seconds prior.

And that was when you heard it. Static. Loud, crackling and ominous.

Your mouth went dry. Shit. Shitty shit shit. You knew what that meant. How could you not? The asshole broadcasted his killings all over hell like a fucking psychopath. And now, it was your turn to become hell's gory entertainment. Fan-fucking-tastic.

You stood frozen, breath stuck in your throat as dark, menacing tendrils slowly curled along the walls. A large, grinning shadow rounded the corner, before the culprit himself stalked into view, razor sharp teeth on display as he tilted his head. "Oh," his grin widened. "Am I interrupting?"

"N-No man," one of the braver demons stuttered, taking a step back. "You can have her—"

Splat.

You turned slowly to face the bloody wall, eyes wide in disbelief.

"How distasteful," the radio demon shook his head. "As if I'd participate in your brainless thuggery. No, no. Unlike you gentlemen, I have class. Truly," his eyes lit up like glowing radio dials, a dark shadowy mass rising behind him as his antlers branched out like a gnarled, rotten tree. "Did your mother never teach you any manners?"

Faster than you could blink, the demons around you were reduced to blood, cartilage and splintered bone. The overwhelming irony scent made you want to gag, but you didn't dare move a muscle, eyes fixated on the terrifying sight before you.

When the radio demon noticed your staring, his smile sharpened, antlers shrinking as he leisurely approached you. Oh no. Nononono.

You struggled to keep from hyperventilating, your body going into shock as he leaned into your personal space. Two bloody fingers pushed into your cheeks, forcing your mouth into a morbid, artificial smile. "Oh dear," he tutted in amusement. "Where's your smile?"

You jerked back violently, eyes wide as icy cold realization washed over you. Dread squeezed your lungs as you stared at the grinning, bloody figure of your soulmate in horror.

The radio demon. Psychopath and mass murderer.

Your soulmate.

What the FUCK.

"T-This," your voice shook. "This is not happening."

There was a sudden screech of radio static, before his own eyes widened. Shit. "What," he said sharply. "Did you just say?"

"A-Ah," you trembled, leaning back. Every single nerve in your body was alight, screaming at you to get the ever-loving fuck away from him.  In what was probably the stupidest and most desperate plan of your life, you pointed over his shoulder fearfully. "Look! Another one!"

As soon as he turned his head, you bolted down the street.

****

You slammed your front door closed behind you, double—triple checking your lock before sliding down to the floor in a panting mess.

Immediately you grew paranoid. What the fuck were you thinking? A lock wouldn't keep the radio demon out. You needed fifty more locks and ten more doors. You needed to barricade yourself inside for the next month. You needed—

"Hello there!" An exuberant voice chirped.

You screamed, throwing the first thing you could grab in his direction. He caught the house slipper, inspecting it in amusement, before tossing it over his shoulder.

"My, did I scare you sweetheart? Apologies," he grinned smugly, relaxing in your recliner with a mug of coffee. Your favorite mug.  

You blinked. What the fuck?

"What are you doing in my house?" You squeaked, fingers digging into your welcome mat.

"Oh dear, allow me to introduce myself," he set the mug down on your coffee table, leisurely rising from the couch and offering a hand. "I'm Alastor! A pleasure to be meeting you sweetheart, quite a pleasure."

You didn't take his hand, instead choosing to gape at him like a dead fish.

He retracted his hand, tilting his head with a shit-eating grin. Twirling his cane, he continued like there wasn't just an awkward and terrifying pause. "I hope you don't mind that I followed you! You see, I believe our conversation was cut a bit...short." His eyes glowed as unidentifiable symbols floated in the air around him.

As quickly as they appeared however, they disappeared like they were never there. Jesus Christ, this man was giving you emotional whiplash. "Anywho!" He perked up again, ever the charming grin on his face. "Enough about me! I've yet to catch your name, darling."

Fuck. You really didn't want to give him your name.

But before you could open your mouth, he leaned closer to you, grin widening ominously. "I hope you're not thinking of lying, my dear. I must say, I'm not very fond of that quality."

"Y-Y/n!" You said quickly, raising your hands to shield your face.

There was a slight pause, before a gentle touch swiped at your cheek, retracting after a moment. You peeked your eye open, only to become vaguely ill at the sight.

"You had a little something on your face," he chuckled in amusement, holding out a clump of brain matter. With a swift flick, it was magicked away.

"What do you want?" You whimpered, overwhelmed with the entire situation.

"Oh dear, is it really that strange for me to want to get to know my soulmate?" He tilted his head, leaning towards you uncomfortably close.

"Y-Yes, actually," you stuttered, trying to look anywhere but his prominent red eyes. "I thought you'd do something more along the lines of...killing and eating me." You shrunk back as his grin widened. "Please don't eat me."

"How morbid, I would never!" He waved it away, like the idea was preposterous. "My word! What awful rumors you've been hearing about me!"

"You frequent cannibal colony and I just saw you tear apart six demons like they were freshly baked bread," you stared at him incredulously. "What hasn't been spot on?"

He paused, before giving you a humoring chuckle. "Well it seems your impression of me needs correcting!" Before you knew what was happening, nimble fingers encircled your wrist, pulling it forward gently. He pressed warm lips to the back of your hand, before giving you a charming grin. "Enchanté, ma chère."

You blinked, breath stuck in your throat. "What—What does that mean?"

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about it!" He gently set your hand down, before pinching your cheek condescendingly. "Well my dear, I'm afraid I have other responsibilities I must attend to!"

He stood up with a flourish, leaning on his microphone cane as he smirked at you. "Not to worry!" He snapped his fingers, and a slim, feminine shadow emerged from the ground. "Missy here will watch over you in my stead."

"What? No, I—"

"I'll be back before you know it!" He offered a chilling smile, before melting into a puddle of shadows.

You gaped at the spot where he once stood, trying to process what the actual fuck just happened. Your gaze slid over to the feminine looking shadow, still standing in the corner of your living room. She grinned at your attention, teeth sharpened.

You closed your eyes, head thumping back against your door in exhaustion. 

"I'm so fucked."

****

Enchanté, ma chère : Charmed, my dear

[xjulixred45x]

I could't contain myself guys sorry--

Bro, do you realize how scary it would be to have Vox as a Yandere?

just imagine it. You could be one of his workers, maybe too good at your job, because not only do you do what Vox tells you without asking questions, but you also know what to say and what not to say to avoid a "tantrum" from him. or rather, when his insecurities attack with force like when Alastor returns.

Vox would probably be a somewhat condescending yandere (as seen with Val) but don't think you can't turn tables easily, if you stroke his ego enough, you can have him around your finger. but that doesn't make it any less dangerous for those around you.

He makes the typical 180 degree turn in attitude when it comes to Other Employees and when it comes to You. Damn, you may be the only one of his employees who gets paid vacations (or even vacations) or even birthday bonuses, things like that. He likes to give you his things or products with the excuse that "they are for testing" even if they have already been released on the market.

Like:

Vox: who the fuck eat My leftovers!?! WHENEVER WHO WAS I'M GOING TO-

Darling: it was me sir.

Vox:--give You the rest and take You out for lunch, You haven't eaten in the whole day AGAIN, didn't ya?

He definitely avoids conflict with you by hypnotizing you, when he starts to feel hostility, fear on your part or that you want to leave, he makes you "out of nowhere" have "ONE MORE TASK" and you can't help but do what he says.

and IT IS NOT just to avoid fights or for you to leave, it is something CONSTANT (once every two days MINIMUM), although Vox is not worried about your brain turning into mush due to its powers, it always keeps nutritious things in your diet and they come out relatively often , as you have to follow him everywhere.

Eventually he becomes more clingy and needy in this case, it's practically not that he's proposing to you or anything, he's just slowly dragging you into a relationship without you realizing it (because you're not lucid enough). Unless you develop a higher level of tolerance to his hypotonic trick, I don't think you'll notice his Red Flags.

I think it would be ESPECIALLY BAD if Darling is also a Sinner, because then they wouldn't even be able to get out of the pride ring to run away from Vox. leaving you with many fewer options and having to avoid all of Vox's technology, which you could only achieve by 1- going to the Cannibal Legion or 2- going to the Hazbin Hotel.

Running away is EXTREMELY DIFFICULT, not only because of his hypnotic trick, but because he literally has EYES EVERYWHERE, on every screen in hell. If you somehow manage to get away with it and run away, Vox would be SO ANGRY and looking for you all over hell with their screens.

Although definitely if you were gone more than a day, he would be more distraught than angry and would begin to despair. Even Val and Velvet would give him a hand because of how bad it would be.

Just imagine, thinking that you finally lost sight of Vox's search drones, without realizing that you stand in front of some store and VOX ITSELF appears on the screens :)

If you made the stupid decision to go to the Hazbin Hotel, Vox would be distraught and would even think that Alastor was somehow holding you hostage, obviously! Why would you go there if you knew his biggest enemy was there? Alastor must be using you as a bargaining chip! How dare he!?

(in this case, fortunately, the punishment is much less severe, but he would definitely monitor you for the rest of your life)

When he eventually gets you back (after a few days or even WEEKS of anguish) expect, first of all, to be in a mortal embrace that lasts AT LEAST 2 days and then receive your "punishment" which would be to be under hypnosis for AT LEAST 1 YEAR to be sure that this NEVER HAPPENS AGAIN.

Although calm down! He gives your mind breaks periodically because 1- he doesn't know if that would ultimate mess with your head and 2- it's nice to hear YOU talk instead of the robotic version.

When that year FINALLY ends, you will be a much more obedient, more terrified, sweeter version of You, according to Vox, like a frightened Deer. It was a long and hard process, but the good thing is that you don't have to do anything anymore! absolutely! Just do what he tells you and everything will be fine.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Not one of the Best yanderes to have, but Def not the worst

[clockwayswrites]

Birds and wings and hope Part 13

Masterpost

Danny had thought hat if he finished with Frostbite early that he would spend a few days in the zone to catch up with some of the other ghosts. He hadn’t wanted to with the wings. It wasn’t that Danny was ashamed of the wings, not from the fact of having different features, but Frostbite had seemed certain that Danny was in a heavily mutable state right then. The more people that knew Phantom with wings, the more likely they were to stick as they cemented in consciousness and identity.

Or something like that.

Danny had a whole stack of reading tucked away in his chest to go through later.

Just wanting time alone, Danny had given himself somewhere between an hour and a day (time was hard to tell in the zone) to sulk among the sparks and dust that were long dead stars before forced himself to get a grip and go home. He was an adult for, well, him sake he guessed. He could deal with this.

The reading set on the left side of the coffee table with a fresh notebook next to it. It wouldn’t do to mix up this work with his actual work, so Danny was sure to pick out one with a green cover from the stash that he kept on hand of his favorite dot patterned paper notebooks. He’d draw a blob ghost or something on it later. A few color pens and a highlighter joined the little pile, set in a battered and chipped Amity Park tourist trap mug.

Sam had gotten it for Danny as a present due to the so hideous it was funny caricature of Phantom on it.

On the right side of the coffee table went a box of protein bars, electrolyte drinks, suck’em candies, and Danny’s well stocked pill container. He moved the coffee table a little closer to the couch, turned the TV on to a playlist of Mythbuster episodes, and made sure he had his favorite blanket in hand before he transformed back.

And fuck that hurt. Pain shot up Danny’s back, radiating up through his shoulders, and shooting along his Lichtenberg scars so intensely that they burned. Danny collapsed inelegantly onto the couch with a defeated whimper.

Maybe it was the wings? Did having a different set of limbs as a ghost cause transfered muscle aches to his human form? He didn’t even have muscles as a ghost, not really, but the mind was a very powerful thing and not even Frostbite was entirely sure of how exactly the two parts of a halfa effected each other.

After the worst of the pain had dulled slightly, Danny managed to toss back his medication (missing doses while Phantom never did him any good) and pulled the candies close enough that he could use them as a distraction for his senses. Slowly the muscle relaxant worked its magic and Danny became a boneless lump. The episodes of Mythbusters idly distracted him as he just let his thoughts drift over what Frostbite had said.

Frostbite was sure that there had to be a reason— or several— that Danny’s form had shifted into a bird and after retained the wings still. Frostbite felt the first step to this all, if Danny was determined to either control or to get an understanding of where this all was going, was to understand the subconscious or symbolic particulars of the change.

The why Frostbite felt was clear: Danny had been without a haunt for too long now. Yes, he accepted, the pollen may have certain accelerated matters (hence the full bird then and only the wings now), but Frostbite was admit that the change wouldn’t have been occurring at this stage if Phantom had still been the protector of Amity Park.

Phantom had a purpose in Amity Park. Phantom was a protector and guardian. That guardianship extended to a very limited range. Now that Amity Park was many, many years behind him and Danny was living in a place already full of its own protectors, the Phantom part of Danny was left adrift which allowed for this new stage of ghosthood.

Why couldn’t his ghost half just be happy with a nice long nap?

“Fuck you, Phantom,” Danny grumbled as he watched a car be vaporized upon impact on the screen. Idly Danny wondered if he could get an object up to that speed if he flew fast enough.

Several hours and several protein bars later, Danny was managing to sit up enough to start going through some of the reading Frostbite had sent and make notes. Two more episodes and delivered Indian food later, Danny scrawled on the top of a fresh page ‘The Subconscious & Symbolic Particulars of Wings’.

Why on earth and beyond did he have wings?

‘Flying’, Danny wrote first and then as many reasons he could think of why he loved flying from the freedom of it to space to the way that it felt to move through a cloud. ‘Freedom’ branched off into movement and escape and getting to become his own person without the weight of Amity. ‘Gravity’ and ‘Identity’ sprawled into transformation and his death and the million of ways that it had changed everything about his life.

It was hard to think about.

Danny turned the page.

‘Wings’. Wings and feathers. Birds. Pigeons and crows and ducks and robins. And Robins. Biblically accurate angels who created the cosmos. Hope. And always hope.

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers — ”

Hope and Robins and Bats.

And always hope.

Was Gotham his haunt?

Was he the thing with feathers?

---

AN: shhhhh I've been writing as my wind down before sleep. Also special prize for @stoiczee. I promise we'll see more batfam next part. Danny just needed some time to react!

[whaddayadothatfor]

Ctenizidae

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re an anomaly from another universe. You’re not dangerous though, so Miguel’s made the executive decision to keep you around until more dangerous criminals are caught and sent home first. Unless that’s not the only reason he’s decided to keep you around…

Content warnings: dub-con, voyeurism, masturbation, obsessive!Miguel

WC: ~1k

AN: Y’all this is so unedited but I wanted to write smut for this man so I did! If y’all like it I can post a second, smuttier part.

MDNI

“Here.” You drop a small plastic bin of chocolate chip cookies in front of Miguel. As a peace offering. No, really.

Miguel raises his right eyebrow in question. He doesn’t even answer you anymore. The other Spider-people go about their day in the cafeteria, having seen this scene time and time again.

Every day for the past two weeks since you were suddenly teleported to Nueva York and promptly labeled an anomaly, you’ve been practically begging Miguel to send you home. He’s declined every time.

This is pretty much how the conversation goes each time:

“Miguel, I think I should—“

“No. We have to send the most dangerous anomalies back to their universe first—“

“I’m dangerous! I’m plenty dangerous.”

“The only thing you’ve maimed, tortured, and killed in the past month is a flippin’ houseplant. You’re staying.”

You see how frustrating this man is?

So you’ve decided that maybe bribery— sorry, a peace offering— will work better. Hence, the cookies.

“Maybe if you eat something sweet you’ll stop being so bitter and stubborn all the time,” you smile tightly. “Then you’ll find it in your heart— the one that shrunk three sizes— to let me go home.”

“I appreciate the offering— though you could use some more creativity in your approach— but just know that these won’t get you home.” He pries open the container and lifts one to his mouth before moaning in delight. “These are delicious. Thank you,” he said, sucking the melted chocolate off of his thumb. His overly enthusiastic groans were clearly a tactic to piss you off, and it worked.

You simmer in anger as he smirks while chewing his cookie. You try to snatch the bin back, but he moves it out of your way.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, pushing up from the small table he was sitting at and leaning down to whisper near your ear. “No take-backsies.”

He flustered you, and he knew it. He laughed as he walked away. You stuttered a retort in embarrassment, but he didn’t even have the decency to turn around.

“Ugh, I hate that guy,” you stomped in anger. You muttered several curses before you turned around to leave, only to see several wide-eyed Spideys staring at you in concern. This is why you wait until after you’re alone to throw a tantrum— it scares the locals. Whoops. “Uhh, carry on. My bad. Enjoy your lunch!”

You quickly walk away, feeling defeated. But it doesn’t matter, you’ve got nothing but time. You’ll catch him when he’s sleeping. He’s gotta be more amenable then.

Later

“You know, just for the record, I think you going to his room this late at night is a terrible idea,” Lyla warned as she flitted between standing and reclining with her arms crossed behind her neck.

“Well I think him keeping me here is a terrible idea. I guess we’re all full of them.”

“Seriously—“

“Lyla I don’t care! I’ve got a family to get back to. Friends, a life. I don’t care how fine that man is, I’m going back home. Tonight, preferably.”

“Whatever, it’s your funeral.” She acquiesced before disappearing into the ether, just as you arrived at his door.

“Wait, Lyla! Open the door.” Without a response, the door opened. “Thanks, Lyla.”

You walked in to the large room to see Miguel sitting up in a chair near the center of the room.

“Miguel, you need to listen to me—“

The sight that met you was so shocking you had to take it in one part at a time.

First, You see Miguel’s side profile as he faces the wall to the left of you. He’s breathing heavy, chest heaving as his hand vigorously moves up and down his— oh. Maybe you came at the wrong time.

With the sudden awkwardness that’s overtaken you, you look somewhere else, anywhere else, only to find the source of what he’s staring at— a video, no, porn. The second piece of the puzzle, you take in the video’s content. First, you just see flashes of skin and hear soft grunts and moans emanating from the screen. But then you realize, the voices sound familiar, really familiar. Then it hits you.

It is you.

And him. The both of you together. And that realization connects all the pieces of the puzzle together. He’s keeping you here, on purpose.

Your eyes dart back to Miguel, who has now abandoned his video in favor of the live view he has right in front of him. He’s shirtless but he still has some grey sweats on, pushed down just enough that he can jerk off. His hands move desperately over his cock, aborted grunts and breathy moans coming out sporadically.

He turned his head to the side, his cheeks flushed and his eyes narrowed with desire. You were frozen, stuck in time. Miguel kept stroking his cock while staring into your eyes. He did this right up until his orgasm overtook him, throwing his head back and jerking his hips upward as he called out your name.

His cum spurted out in waves, once, twice, three times. It was thick and opaque and made a mess all over his lower stomach. He sighed and sank back into his chair.

“Did you enjoy the show?” His voice is low and heady as he calls out to you. It takes you a moment to respond, because admittedly you’re still staring at his— well, his everything, dick included. Still It was a very, very nice, thick, veiny d—“Am I interrupting?”

His teasing knocks you out of your reverie.

“I-I should go.” You said. You’re starting to realize that Lyla might have been right. Maybe you should’ve waited until the morning. You start backing up to leave but Miguel shakes his head and the door shuts behind him.

“No, no, no. See, that’s your problem. You’re always trying to leave,” he chastises.

He stalks towards you, like you’re prey. You move backwards until your back hits the door. He reaches over you, placing an arm over your head and his index finger under your chin, lifting it upwards. He bends down, close enough that you can see even minute details of his face.

He narrows his eyes as he bares his fangs.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

[moonstruckme]

oooooo can i request reader getting jealous about spencer having to seduce the cinderella killer in 10x6 but being in complete denial and rossi, derek, etc are all like mmmmhmmmm sure ok 👀😏

At long last!! Thanks for requesting and for weathering the wait baby <3

cw: mention of weapons/guns (also I know she drops her shears in the actual episode but shhh) 

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 704 words

“Keep sucking your teeth like that, you’re gonna need braces,” Morgan teases. 

You roll your eyes but stop. “That’s not how that happens,” you say. 

(You don’t actually know how it happens, but neither does Morgan. You know from photo evidence Penelope had somehow gotten her hands on that he’s been genetically perfect since he tucked-and-rolled out of the womb.)

Reid’s hair has grown long enough to tuck behind his ears again, and he does it now, looking every inch the nervous admirer as he advances slowly, almost dazedly, toward the girl. 

“May I?” he asks, voice breathy and expression wide open. 

The girl—your unsub—looks just as smitten. She walks towards him as if in a dream, and you really wish Spencer had his gun out. You know JJ is covering him with her finger on the trigger, and Spencer has a knack for getting out of scrapes, but now he’s kneeling before a girl who’s killed several men, bending his head down as he slips a shoe onto her foot, and she has a pair of shears in her hand that she was just about to use to slit another man’s throat. 

You’re scared for him. That’s what this is. This is fear, just like you’d have for anyone else on your team. 

“What’re you so sour about?” Rossi asks, his tone lilting with intrigue. He looks away from the scene, the three of you leaned against the SUV while you wait for Spencer to bring her in, and studies your face. “Is there something about Spencer’s performance you don’t like?” 

Trust him to chip in. You swear, he and Morgan have to be the worst busybodies in the department. You start to kiss your teeth again, but stop when you catch Morgan smirking. 

“I just didn’t realize he was such a good actor,” you reply. 

And it’s true. Spencer’s performance is kind of astounding. There’s an indomitable sincerity about him that shines through even now, in the gentle way he looks up at the girl when the shoe fits. It makes your chest tighten slightly, and then something foul and warmish curdles in your gut when he takes her hand and presses his lips to it. 

Spencer’s a kind soul. He’s got a sweet voice to go with his sweet face, and the unsub trusts it just like you would, dropping the shears and following him towards where the rest of your team waits. He’s not afraid to touch her, brushing a guiding hand along her back to help her into the SUV. To maintain the ruse, you know. Still, knowing doesn’t help the irritated prickle that goes over your skin. 

Wordlessly (though not without communication, if you count Morgan’s smug look and your answering glare), the three of you peel off from the van, getting into your vehicles to drive back to the police station.

Spencer shuts the door behind the unsub, and you expect him to get in the front seat to help keep her calm on the way to the station, but to your surprise he walks in your direction, getting into the passenger seat of the SUV you’re driving. 

“Hey,” he says casually, like this is something he does every day. And this is a regular part of your job, but it’s not every day one of you pretends to be blindly in love with a violent serial killer while she holds garden shears over your head. 

“Hey.” You give him a little smile, putting the van in drive. “Nice job. She looked really enchanted with you.”

“Thanks, I’m glad Hotch thought to bring the shoe to complete the fantasy.” Spencer brushes off the compliment easily, more than used to excelling. “It’ll be good for her to finally get the help she needs.” 

“Well, you were awesome.” You glance at him in the passenger seat, and he’s got his head propped on his elbow, looking out at the rolling hills and vast greenery of Montana. You look back to the road. “You make a great prince charming.” 

Spencer turns his face towards you. “Thanks,” he says again, this time with more feeling, and that sweetness is in his voice again. You like it best when it’s for you. 

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 8]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

warm soup and bile

cw: illness, vomiting, a dash of angst, talk of death, period talk, emotional whiplash

wc: 4.3k

You’re still terribly febrile when you wake up. 

Stiff muscles and joints scream as your eyes flutter open, bleary eyes hardly able to make sense of your surroundings. Faux darkness smothers the room, thick curtains forbidding sunlight from raiding your vision with its unforgiving rays. Sediment builds between your bones where they crack and crumble into dust as you sit up, head protesting the movement with several throbs. A bottle jostles next to you on the mattress. A gift, you’re sure. You try to swallow the cotton-like dryness in your mouth before you greedily uncap it and take a rapacious swig. 

It’s dreadful. Salty, falsely sweet; your lips pucker as your tongue shrivels at the nasty flavor. Sea water would have been more appetizing and refreshing, yet your mouth is so dry you drink until half the bottle is gone. When you’re finished, you cough and it’s wet. Mucus and snot plague your throat, too far back for you to do anything but swallow it — thick, like cough syrup. 

Up your body urges. You’ve been stagnant too long, thick blood pooling in your limbs, weighing them down like lead as you drag yourself out of the bedroom, blanket thrown over your shoulders like a hermit crab. You’re a walking mess — a zombie with half a brain.

Lovely aromatics waft through the house as you descend the stairs, and the kitchen is sweltering when you wander in. A heavy wall of heat emanates from the stove as John works away at a cutting board, sleeves of his plain shirt rolled up his forearms. Carrots, onions, and celery dust the board as a pot of broth boils behind him on the stove. The knife glints in the light, and you will your stomach to settle. He greets you with a polite smile as you approach the kitchen island, hands fumbling with the barstool as you make room for yourself. 

“Mornin’ Chip,” he greets before glancing at his wristwatch. “Or, afternoon.” 

Sniffing, you attempt a smile back at him, but your face feels too swollen for it to come across correctly. “You’re making me feel like a bum.” 

“Well, considering the circumstances, you deserve to have a few days off,” he chuckles warmly. 

John turns, cutting board in hand, dumping the contents into the broth where it quells for a short moment before boiling once again. The sink turns on where smooth water runs over dirty dishes as he works on cleaning up his mess. There’s a slight urge to get up and help, to give something back to the people who housed you for the night, but the very thought alone is enough to make your muscles scream. 

Perhaps, just this one time, you will allow someone to take care of you.

“Riley bought enough chicken broth to feed a damn army, but I figured I’d spruce it up with some veggies. Give it some meat. Unless you fancy plain watered down bone juice,” he teases as he dries his hands. 

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you say, voice cracking. 

“Of course I did. This is you we’re talkin’ about.” 

Quiet feet tap against the beautiful, dark stained floor as Row enters the kitchen swaddled in a bathrobe and freshly showered. Her eyes light up when she catches sight of you curled over the counter, but there’s still that lingering glint of concern as she approaches with outstretched arms. Before you can protest, she envelops you in her arms, fresh rosewater washing over your stuffed senses in the process. 

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, holding your head tight against her chest. She’s warm, probably thanks to her shower, and you can’t help but melt into her despite your sickness.

“You’re gonna get sick,” you whine. 

“Well enough to talk back, it seems,” she teases before releasing you. 

Just as John turns the stove off, Row slides onto the stool next to you, elbow playfully bumping against your arm in the process. You bump her back and almost laugh — instead, you cough. 

“Have you taken any medicine?” she questions.

“Row, I just woke up,” you respond with a huff. 

“John?” 

“On it,” he chuckles. 

While the soup cools, John vanishes to retrieve whatever sort of medicine Row is going to force down your throat and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you look at her. She rests her head in her hand with a cheeky smile. She’s glowing, dewy skin illuminated by the bright kitchen light as she assesses you with careful eyes. 

“You seem… happy,” you say in an attempt to get the attention off of you and your ailment. 

Row hums as her feet flutter with girlish glee. “Yeah, guess so. Maybe more excited than anything else.”

“What about?” 

“John surprised me this morning with an early Christmas present. He’s got us tickets for a trip to The Maldives over the holiday,” she says, keeping her voice low as if it’s a secret. 

It’s impossible to hide the way your eyes widen at her words. Sometimes, you forget exactly how… well off John and Row are. Even as a child, Row lived a privileged life due to the status of her father as the Chief of Police. The man was virtually a pseudo politician, and with his dangerous job he had a very generous life insurance policy that was paid out when he died almost twelve years ago. Couple that with John’s establishment in the city, you doubt either of them have known a moment of discomfort since they had gotten married. 

There is no envy in your realization. You’ve known from the very beginning that their type of life isn’t for you — not with your hands dried from sanitizer and body weak because you don’t know how to scream no loud enough.

“Sounds fancy,” you smile. 

“Sounds warm,” Row corrects with a chuckle. “I’m tired of the cold. You should come with us. I’m sure I’ve got room in my bag. Think we can fold you up tight enough?” 

“Thanks, but I’m not a fan of flying,” you giggle through a cough. “Dad took mum and I on a trip to Italy once and I got sick and threw up on the way there. I probably would’ve thrown up on the way back if it wasn’t for me crying the entire time over it.” 

Row’s attempt to stifle her laugh fails miserably as she shakes her head. “I’ll bring you a souvenir then.” 

“Good idea.” 

John returns shortly with cough syrup in hand and he slides it across the island to you like a bartender. It goes down surprisingly easy; too smooth, albeit a tad bitter, you take it like a shot to quickly drown out the menthol burning the back of your nose. Somehow, it seems to clear your mind a little. Or, perhaps you have a proper night's rest to thank for that. 

“Do you have any plans for Christmas this year? And please, don’t say work.” The sweet melody of fresh soup pouring into a bowl accompanies Row’s question as John divides the meal before sliding it in front of you. You give him a quick, appreciative smile before she continues. “I swear, if you say work I’m going to actually force you on this trip.” 

“I’m not working,” you huff, swirling your spoon around your bowl. Thin wisps of steam tickle your chin and nose, melting the stuffiness that resides deep in your sinuses. “Bruce always takes off the days surrounding Christmas. Still gives us holiday pay, too.” 

“Good,” Row hums, though she has yet to be satiated. “Well, since John and I will be gone, maybe you can spend the holiday with Riley instead.” 

As your eyes close in disbelief, you’re able to recall part of your conversation from last night. How you called Row out for her using Simon to keep an eye on you. Ever since that dinner party back in October, she’s been trying to hook you up with the guy, and she has been less than tactful about it. 

Simon isn’t… a bad person. Despite the tattoos, and how he broke Andrei’s nose like he was punching through warm butter, he’s someone you feel surprisingly comfortable around. You’re not sure why. It’s like there’s a lullaby written into his DNA — something to counteract the sheer size and nature of him. Maybe it’s because of the way he took care of you that night; hiding you away in the VIP room when you panicked and blacked out. You woke up not feeling violated or scared, just confused. Or maybe it’s because you’ve felt his heart. How it beats in his chest, steady and strong.

You swallow your embarrassment down with a spoonful of soup. 

“I’m sure he’s got a family of his own. Taking a break from babysitting me would probably be lovely,” you say with unforgiving emphasis. 

For a moment, Row turns her attention to John, who’s already halfway finished with his soup. “Does Riley have any family?” 

John pauses. “In Manchester, yeah.” 

“See?” you point out. “He’ll leave London far behind, and I’ll most likely watch The Grinch on repeat.” 

A pout forms on Row’s lips, but it’s not the playful childishness you’re used to. Legitimate annoyance crosses her features, and you feel something wash over you in a cold mist. You get the feeling this conversation isn’t going the way she wanted it to. 

“I just… don’t like the idea of you being alone this time of year,” Row finally concedes. 

You try not to huff. There’s only true concern for you behind her tone, but that doesn’t make it any less smothering. Buying yourself time, you lift the bowl up to your lips with careful hands and drink from the broth as you think of a response that doesn’t make you sound like a child. Or worse: ungrateful. You are appreciative of every kind action that anyone has ever shown you — but the sour taste it leaves on your tongue knowing that you don’t deserve it has become nearly unbearable. 

“I’ll be fine,” you attempt to assure. “I’m a grown woman. It’s not like I’m a kid who’s going to be let down because there’s no tree or presents.” 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” 

Despite the fresh soup in your stomach and the fever ravaging your nerves, everything goes cold. The chill even reaches John, whose attention flickers back and forth between you and his wife, cold eyes attempting to decode the oncoming mess. There’s a twitch in his lip that rustles the facial hair on his lip — he wants to speak, but stays silent as his eyes return to his bowl, completely emptied. His spoon still scrapes the bottom anyway. 

“Row-” you start. 

“You promised me on Halloween you’d be kinder to yourself,” she interrupts. “But look at you. Sick, still trying to work yourself to death… Would you have even asked for help if I hadn’t called last night? You promised me you’d stop punishing yourself but the closer we get to the anniversary of his death, the worse you get.” 

“Hey now,” John attempts to intervene. But this isn’t his fight. 

“I know it’s not easy to- to talk about stuff like that, and I’m not saying you have to talk to me about it. I… I know why you don’t want to talk to me about it. I just wish you’d share this burden with someone. Chip, none of that was your fault, you were just a kid.” 

Metal clinks against pristine china as you drop your spoon in your bowl, head shaking. The antithesis to her statement screeches in your head like nails on chalkboard louder than the ringing in your ears. 

He’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you.

She always says you were just a kid. A child. As if that absolves you from the hot sin that burns your skin. You might have been a child then, but it’s been twelve years and you haven’t repented. Perhaps that’s why your ears still ring, and every flash of light seems like it’s reflected off the blade of a knife and-

“Please,” Row begs, “let me help you. Let someone help you. You don’t have to do this alone.” 

Your feet hit the ground as you slide off the barstool and your vision begins to tunnel. Spots swirl in front of you, a dizzying dance, and you shake your head as you turn away from Row. 

“I can’t,” you breathe. Your heart leaps into your throat, choking you, but you can’t swallow it. It pounds and writhes inside of you, twisting in ways that it shouldn’t as you stumble along the kitchen island. Despite your vision, you take note of the way John mirrors your movements as he follows you from the other side of the counter. He says something, but it doesn’t reach your ears. “I can’t.” 

John’s arm wraps around your front just before your knees collide with the ground. Plastic drags across the wood floor with an aching scratch as he lowers you, and you find your hands gripping the side of the trash just in time for your stomach to lurch. All of John’s hard work goes into the bin, and it burns on the way back up as it mixes with cough syrup and salt. Row slides onto the floor next to you, robe pulled taut as she rubs your back with an anxious hand. 

“Oh my god, Chip. Chip, I-I’m so sorry.” 

“Easy now,” John whispers. 

At first, you think he’s saying it to you. Some form of comfort as you spit the remaining vomit in your mouth into the bin, trying to rid yourself of its rancid taste. When you finally catch your breath and your stomach ceases its unnecessary convulsions, you realize he’s saying it to Row. Hot tears mix with her trembling lip as she stares at you with wide, reddened eyes. Overcome with compunction, she mutters apologies between shaky breaths, hands pawing at your back. 

Once more, your stomach lurches, but you’re able to bite back the bile. You hate seeing her cry. You’d do anything to make her stop. 

But you’ve never been good at comforting anyone. Especially yourself. 

Nothing feels real after that. Not the way John and Row help you back into the guest room to get some more rest. Not the way Row’s stifled sobs echo in the hallway as they leave. It tears you apart in a way nothing else has. You don’t know why you’re like this; so broken that you hurt others on the pieces of you in the process. If you could just talk — share that darkness inside of you — do something… but you can’t. The only thing you’ve ever been good for is running away and escaping by the skin of your teeth. 

Row takes you home later that night after the dust settles, but neither of you talk about the elephant in the room. Its weight sits so heavily on your chest you can hardly breathe. Neither of you mention her father, long since dead and rotted in the ground in a cemetery you can’t bring yourself to visit. She doesn’t ask why you keep everything under tight lock, seemingly throwing away the key. Despite your efforts at hiding, you’re always afraid that you’ll be found out eventually. Someone will come along and sniff out your secrets like a scavenger with carrion. 

For now, you let that flesh rot inside of you and pray that Row can’t smell it as she embraces you in the car. If it weren’t for the center console, you’re certain she would pull you into her lap; cradle you against her chest as if you were a child again. She doesn’t whisper anything more than a farewell to you, but you can feel the apology exuding from her body. You think that’s why, after all these years, you and Row are still as close as you are. Both of you are sorry for something, and neither of you know how to say it. 

Over the next few days, your symptoms improve. You spend most of your days sleeping and resting in bed where you sip on cold medicine like its sugar water. It feels strange doing nothing, and you’re certain your paycheck will feel the effects too, but for once you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Eventually you can breathe unobstructed and you no longer choke every time you try to speak. Your mind clears, but lingering aches still ravage your muscles with vigorous hunger and they only worsen throughout the week. Radiating further than just your legs and stomach, you don’t realize until it’s too late that your period is the one to blame. 

Out of the pan and into the fire, it hits you while you’re at work. You’ve nearly bled through your pants by the time you’re able to make it to the bathroom, and without any proper sanitary items, you’re stuck using cheap toilet paper for the rest of your shift. Clumped up paper, it feels disgusting shoved between your legs, but you were unprepared. Still, nothing rivals the discomfort of the cramps that shred your muscles apart, insides twisting and writhing as it expels unwanted blood and tissue — it hurts more than usual.

Another unintended side effect from Marco’s lovely cold. Your body hardly had time to recover from being sick, and now it’s expending even more energy. Your only saving grace is that you find a handful of pads when you get home. No more tampons. This month your flow is heavier than usual, and you’re bleeding through them too quickly — you’ll run out by tomorrow. It’s a frustrating realization having just gotten home and knowing you’ll have to force yourself back out. 

Tomorrow. You’ll brave the world with blood and endometrium tissue tomorrow, but for now you’re content in bed, curled around a heated rice pack. Its warmth seeps into you but only skin deep. Angry muscles still convulse inside of you, unthwarted by your attempts at satiating its anger. Huffing, you attempt to distract yourself, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, watching videos, anything to forget the pain. 

A message buzzes on your phone, vibration tingling your fingers, and you don’t have to look at the ID to know that it’s Simon. Both of you have the worst sleep schedules due to the hours you work, and with it nearing one in the morning you know it can’t be anyone else. Or, maybe you’ve just grown to know him so well.

How are you feeling? 

Of course he’s checking in. It’s his job, isn’t it? 

better thank you! been living off of the soups and drinks you bought.

It’s a slight lie. The soups are great. That perfect canned stuff that harbors just the right amount of brine, but you can’t stand those electrolyte drinks. Maybe you would be feeling better right now had you just toughed it out and drank them, but you quickly swapped them for regular water instead. They’re currently rotting in the back of your fridge. 

Glad to hear. 

You stare at the message so long you feel your eyes cross and vision blur. Fatigue and pain is finally getting the better of you, and you can feel sleep calling for you, weighing your body down until you feel glued to the bed. It nearly takes you, forces you into the depths of dreams, but you’re jostled awake by another message from Simon:

Going Christmas shopping tomorrow. Wanna join? 

It’s fairly easy to sniff out the fact that this is Row’s doing. You’re certain the guilt is still eating her alive from last week, and neither of you have really messaged one another beyond a hope you’re feeling better. She loves deeply and strangely; you’re not even sure she understands it herself, and still…

sure! i need to do some shopping anyway.

Simon hums when your message pops up on his screen, happy with your answer. It’s frigid in the garage, so much so that he can see his breath. Usually he’s inside by this time, watching a show to put himself to sleep or making a late dinner, but not even that can satiate his insomnia. Instead, he finds himself cleaning his bike, which has grown thick with dust over the last month of him having kept it shoved out of the elements. Somehow, a dirty bike is a bigger eyesore than a dirty car, but he won’t complain too much. At least it gives him something to do while wicked insomnia racks his body. 

I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon. 

As he shoves his phone back in his pocket, he thinks of you curled up in bed again. How warm you were against his hand, yet how you couldn’t seem to stop shivering. It was a painful reminder about how you were the day he found you in that alley, hardly able to stand on your own, overcome with terror. He hates that he can’t get that vision of you out of his head, but he hopes you’re telling the truth when you say you’re better than before.

Grunting, he gets back to work on his bike while his mind wanders. He still hasn’t forgotten about Andrei or the work Johnny has been putting in to figure out who the bastard really is. The most headway they’ve been able to gain has been thanks to Kyle, who saw him at some sort of political gala the other week. Shady enough to be found lurking in an alleyway but important enough to be hanging with London’s top 1% is never a good sign. 

Doesn’t matter. There’s not a skull in the world Simon Riley doesn’t know how to crack open. He doesn’t think he can rest until he knows you're safe from whatever monsters are lurking in your shadow. 

When his phone buzzes again, he thinks it’s a text back from you until it doesn’t cease. He quickly wipes his hands until they’re free of cleaner before retrieving his phone once more. The screen flashes brightly, alerting him that his mother is calling. 

“Hello?” he answers. There’s slight worry in his tone as he wanders away from his bike, almost as if he’s getting ready to run on foot all the way to Manchester if his mother so requested it. 

“Ah, I knew you’d be awake. Still working late shifts, I take it?” she asks as if they’re talking over tea. 

“There’s no mornin’ shifts at the club, mum,” he cheekily reminds her. “More concerned ‘bout you bein’ up this late.” 

She chuckles, and it sounds different from when he was a kid. There’s gravel in her voice, vocal chords changing with age, but it still fills him with the same warmth that it always has. 

“Don’t worry about me, love. Got too carried away with the garden documentaries again,” she assures. 

“France again?” Simon asks. 

“Italy this time. Their gardens are beautiful. Much more natural,” she explains. 

Simon hums. “I’ll take you to see ‘em one day.” 

Mrs. Riley laughs at her son, a silly cackle that has a smile pulling at his lips. “Oh, my sweet boy, I’d be plenty happy with just a simple visit. Speaking of, you’re still coming home for the holiday, yes? Little Joey’s excited to see his Uncle Simon again.” 

It’s impossible for Simon not to smile at the thought of his nephew. Sweet tyke is about four years old and he can still envision his toothy grin perfectly. His idiot brother was able to do some sort of good in the world after all. 

“Course I am. We’re going Christmas shoppin’ tomorrow. Probably be headed down Christmas Eve, if that works?” he explains. 

“We?” she repeats, the lilt of her words giving away her grin. 

Simon blinks, Freudian slip having gotten the better of him. “A friend, yeah.” 

“What kind of friend?” she prods. 

“Just a friend.” 

There’s no stopping the storm of words brewing up in his mother’s mouth. Even from over the phone he can feel them swell with the curve of her lips and tilt of her head. 

“Well, there is plenty of space in the guest room if this friend of yours wants to join us for the holiday. Just recently moved a queen sized mattress in there, too. I know how hard it was for you to fit on the twin sized bed…”

“Mum,” Simon sighs, cutting his mother off before she can continue. “It’ll just be me.” 

“Oh, alright. Can’t blame a crone for trying,” she chuckles. “But Christmas Eve, perfect. I’ll make sure to have everything set up.” 

The conversation dwindles into small talk before Mrs. Riley eventually gets too tired to continue. Her documentary on European gardens can only entertain her for so long before the night gets the better of her. They wish one another goodnight, with promises of seeing each other soon, before the line goes dead. Though the silence is benign, he can’t help but be grateful that he doesn’t have to explain to his mother — yet again — why he never brings any girls home for the holiday.

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Simon checks the time only to get distracted by a glowing notification. You had responded to his text while he was on the phone with his mother: 

sounds good! see you tomorrow si (: 

He stares at the message longer than he should. It’s… cute. The shortened use of his name coupled with the smiley face. Usually he’s not a fan of nicknames. His last name, Riley, isn’t something he’s proud to carry, but no one at work seems to want to call him anything else, and he hasn’t been referred to as Ghost in ages. Still, he imagines your voice as he rereads your message, and he has to shake his head before his thoughts devolve into a mess he can’t afford to entertain. 

See you tomorrow, sweetheart.

[ovaryacted]

TIME CRUNCH

PAIRING: DBF! Joel Miller x fem! reader || WC: 2.7k

SYNOPSIS: The Miller household is hosting a neighborhood barbecue for the 4th of July with your father on the grill. While you're there, you steal a couple of minutes to get much more than beer and cooked meat.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. [NO OUTBREAK] SMUT. Age gap implied (Joel is 36, Reader is 21+). Kissing. Oral & Fingering (f receiving). Panty stealing. Bathroom shenanigans. Beer drinking. Allusions to secret established relationship/messing around. Joel is down bad & calls reader several pet names. Descriptions of reader wearing a dress & mini skirt. No use of y/n.

A/N: Hi hi. I don't know how this happened, but it just did. The idea came to mind yesterday and I sat down and wrote the whole thing in one sitting lol. Anywho, it's just some fun silly smut with DBF! Joel being a simp cause I love him like that. I imagined HBO Joel specifically for this one so this is a win for Pedro Pascal fans. Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! Not-beta'd cause I'm just real like that. Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

The sun scorched the streets of Arlington, and the heat wave warning issued across the state of Texas did little to reflect the overwhelming weather. Coincidentally, it was the 4th of July, a seemingly exciting day for most patriotic Texans and Americans nationwide. You didn’t care much for the holiday, but it was a great excuse to enjoy the day off.

Your father had other plans. He hoped to use most of the weekend to crack open a cold one and fire up the grill. His good friend and neighbor offered to host a celebratory cookout at his place with mutual buddies tagging along, and with the newly available free time, you didn’t have any excuse to reject the offer. 

You found yourself in the backyard of the Miller’s residence, a home you’ve grown quite familiar with over the past few years, and especially since coming back from the college semester in Chicago. Initially, you had travel plans for the summer with friends, but your luck struck out when you landed an internship opportunity in Dallas, and your father was more than glad to welcome you back home.

It has been a busy summer for you since the beginning of June, and the prospect of a four-day weekend was too generous to pass up. You didn’t expect Joel Miller to be a face you saw regularly when returning to Texas, but you didn’t complain. Actually, you were much more content than you should be, and his close friendship with your dad only served as a better excuse to have him around more often.

Nursing a bottle of beer, you brought the lukewarm tip to your lips, sipping away at the tangy beverage as it washed down the thirst settling in your throat. You watched from afar as your dad was in his element, operating the grill like a soldier would his post. He flipped the burgers and poked at the hotdogs with ease, the black smoke surrounding him as he continued to cook.

“Meat’s looking nice.” You told him affirmingly with a smile and a hand on his shoulder, passing him a fresh bottle of beer.

“Nothing I haven’t done before.” He said, graciously accepting the bottle and taking a drink, sucking his teeth at the bitter taste. Miller Lite, it wasn’t his preferred Budweiser, but it will do the job. “Sun’s beating down on my back, though. Not easy to grill in this heat.”

“You’re handling it well, bearing the burden for all of us.” He laughed at that, gently kissing the top of your head in paternal affection.

From your peripheral, you observed Joel coming into his driveway, returning from a pitstop at the grocery store for extra hot dog buns and more beer. His younger brother Tommy strode ahead, carrying the buns in one arm and a bag filled with chips and salsa in the other. Behind him, Joel carried a large box of beer in his grasp, your sight trailing down his forearms to peek at the veins that protruded his skin.

His long legs sauntered over to the coolers near the tables, decorated in red, white, and blue embellishments. Sarah Miller came scampering towards her father, dragging Tommy along to reiterate a joke he had mentioned, playfully teasing her uncle. The next time Joel raised his head, his brown eyes landed on you, prolonging his gaze for a second more and giving you a charming grin before you looked away.

By 2 pm, other residents in the neighborhood and long-time friends of the Miller household flooded through the backyard, busying themselves with eating your dad’s cooking and drinking more alcohol. Some of Sarah’s friends had stopped by, engaging in the girlhood tradition of exchanging gossip or whatever the young kids spoke about in this day and age.

Every few minutes, you’d glance over to Joel to see what he was doing. Whether he was refilling the cooler, jesting with his brother, setting up the stereo, or even reminiscing with your dad, your eyes followed him wherever he went. As elegantly as possible, you approached the pair, politely stopping your dad’s conversation with his friend.

“Going to the bathroom. I’ll be back, Dad.” You told him, darting to Joel and meeting his eyes again before turning your back and walking towards the kitchen.

Stepping through the yard door to reach the stairs, you quickly trekked up to the bathroom down the hall and locked the door. Freshening yourself up in the room, you glimpsed at your reflection to fix the cleavage of your dress, making your breasts more prominent. A minute goes by, and you find yourself waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

At the three-minute mark, you hear a knock at the door, two firm taps followed by three smaller ones. Before opening it, you hid behind the door, allowing Joel’s broad figure to enter the gap and step inside. The click of the lock broke the tense silence in the room, and your lower back was pinned against the edge of the bathroom sink with Joel’s rough hands on your hips.

“Took you long enough. Thought you wouldn’t come up.” You muttered to him, his lips quickly leaving a trail of kisses over the side of your neck and shoulder.

“Sorry darlin’, your dad wanted to have a chat,” Joel said hastily, his mouth occupied with tasting the skin of your collarbone as your hand rubbed the hair on his nape. “Been thinkin’ about you since the other night.”

You beamed at Joel’s comment, the genuine tone of his voice brought comfort after hearing his confession. You didn’t know how this “relationship” with Joel happened if you were willing to call it a relationship to begin with. He wasn’t supposed to be this close to you, to know you so intimately, but the way you’ve inhabited his mind since returning to Texas was almost too much to bear.

He drove you home one late night from a club downtown, not wanting to bother calling your dad or worrying about taking an Uber alone. Ever the gentleman, he kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel, trying his hardest not to skim at your bare thighs when your mini skirt shifted higher up your leg.

You thanked him with a drunk kiss on the cheek, drawing away only to have his thumb caress your chin, luring you forward to mesh your lips against his own. The memories of that night were fuzzy, but what you remembered most was the feel of his hand curling around your neck and his cock thrusting in and out of your cunt, molding you to the length of him until you ached and woke up in his bed the next morning.

That happened a month ago. It was meant to be a one-time thing, an accident after too many tequila shots at the bar. But the convenience of having a capable man like Joel across the street was something you wouldn’t find back on campus. It couldn’t be so wrong to fuck your father’s best friend, not when it felt like reaching a high every time he made you cum.

“If you don’t say anything, I won’t either, and your old man never needs to find out. This stays between us.”

He told you that after the second time you “accidentally” slept with him, and since then, you have been around Joel whenever your father wasn’t paying attention. Having to dodge your dad along with Tommy and Sarah on Joel’s end wasn’t easy, but it was doable. You’d usually meet him late at night when you were free, opting to have fun in the backseat of his truck. When you both had the luxury of time, you’d spend the day at his house when Sarah was having sleepovers or when your dad was out of the house.

Any time you weren’t at work, or Joel wasn’t busy juggling his job and caring for Sarah, you spent it with him. So far, your summer has gone much better than you expected.

“You just saw me two days ago.” The smirk on Joel’s face was infectious, his signature dimples poking through as he feverishly kissed you again.

“Still not enough, and your dress ain’t helpin’ my case.”

“What’s wrong with my dress? Thought you liked it when I got dolled up for you.” The lightly colored sundress was a simple addition to your wardrobe, throwing it on for the barbecue. Despite the tame silhouette that hugged your figure, the low neckline sent all the blood in Joel’s body rushing south the minute he saw you on his front doorstep.

“Oh, I like it very much. It’s just a shame I can’t fuck you the way I want.” He pressed his hips into your lower stomach, the dark denim of his jeans doing nothing to conceal the bulge hidden underneath.

“How much time do you think we have before they send over the search party?” You asked him, gasping when you felt a soft nip behind your ear. 

“Five minutes, maybe eight. Your dad’s busy makin’ ribs, and everyone’s occupied downstairs for now.”

Joel maneuvered himself down to his knees, playing with the hem of your dress and raising it to your hips. His fingers grazed over the panties you wore, placing an affectionate kiss on your sensitive mound before tugging them down your smooth legs. He helped you step out of them, discreetly shoving the damp cotton into his back pocket to save for later. 

“You said we had five minutes.” Your breathless voice began to betray you, and you felt him grip your thigh with a large hand to set it over his shoulder.

“That’s all the time I need. Be a good girl and stay quiet for me, yeah?”

That was the last thing he said before he licked a languid stripe over your pussy, your teeth digging into your bottom lip to stifle the mewl that threatened to spill out. One of your hands reached down to clutch at his dark tresses, keeping him in place as he feasted on you like a man starved. 

“Fuck, Joel.” You moaned under your breath, huffing out an exhale and tossing your head back in pleasure. He hummed in reply, spreading you wider and nuzzling his face deeper between your legs, the hair on his jaw scraping your inner thighs.

Joel quickly learned what you liked, how you wanted your pussy to be treated, whether it was by his hand, his tongue, or his dick. Precise circles on your clit, diligent sucks around the sensitive nub, and two thick fingers curling inside to hit the textured spot tucked in the very roof of your entrance. He paid attention to all the signs that would signal the best way to make your body convulse under his touch and excelled in doing so.

Nudging the bridge of his nose against your bundle of nerves, he tilted his head up to wrap his plush lips around it, pulling a suppressed whimper from you with a roll of his tongue. Your hazy eyes opened to watch Joel, maintaining his ravenous gaze and bucking your hips, greedily seeking more friction. 

“That’s right, baby. Take what you need.” He mumbled against your folds, increasing the flicks of his tongue and dipping two thick fingers deep inside you, bending them just right.

The warmth that simmered deep in your belly intensified, coursing through your veins and rushing to the center of your body. Your knuckles turned white from tightly gripping the edge of the porcelain sink, and your throat bobbed to stop yourself from crying out Joel’s name. You were so close, so fucking close, whining as you quickly reached your climax. He didn’t need a warning, already familiar with the cue of your walls clenching around him when you were about to spill over his hand.

Joel gave you a blunt suck and drove the tips of his fingers further inside with practiced precision, sending you tumbling over the edge. Your legs shook from the force of it, his hand on your thigh holding you steady as he coaxed you to ride the wave all the way through. With a gentle yank of his head, he parted from you, placing one last wet kiss on your oversensitive clit before standing up straight with a grunt.

The dopey smile plastered on your face said all that needed to be said, and Joel took it in with appreciative eyes. He brought the two digits that he used on you to his mouth, cleaning off the remnants of your slick without shame. If you two weren’t on a time crunch, you would be on your knees repaying the favor.

“You’re insane. You know that, right?” You expressed with a laugh.

“It ain’t my fault you taste better than the cool beer downstairs, sweetheart.” He kissed you then, the leftover taste of your arousal on his lips made your head fuzzy and your body pulse. “You should go back before your old man wonders where you went.”

He dropped the hem of your dress back down, smoothing out any creases while you adjusted the neckline and fixed up the rest of your flush appearance. The plan was simple: you walked out first, and Joel followed a few minutes later with some eloquent excuse to use for cover. Surprisingly, it usually worked without a hitch, you two had this down to a science after all.

“I’m still seeing you later tonight, right?” You almost didn’t want to ask him that, afraid you’d seem too eager for his attention. But he was always there with the reassuring answer you wanted to hear.

“Yeah, baby, you will. I’ll come by and grab you. Now go, I gotta take care of this.” Joel gestured to the obvious tent in his jeans, your hand reaching for it to caress him with your palm. The rumble of a groan vibrated through his chest, kissing him once more and moving to the door. He spanked your ass before you slipped out of his grasp, turning back to catch his cheeky expression and leaving him in the bathroom to tend to his own needs.

You strolled back into the backyard with a pep in your step and found your dad setting aside a fresh round of cooked hot dogs and burgers for the crowd. He drenched the ribs in a concoction reminiscent of barbecue sauce, closed the grill to leave them to cook, and saw you closing near him.

“You alright, hun? Got worried the beer hit you the wrong way for a second.” Your father’s eyes were full of concern, soothing him with a shake of your head. If only he knew where his best friend’s mouth had been a few minutes ago.

“Nah, the beer is just fine, promise. How about a bite to eat? I’m hungry.”

Munching away at your burger, Joel returned to the yard just as you expected, with no hard-on and more charcoal he was allegedly looking for in the garage. You eyed him as he spoke to Tommy, accepting a new beer bottle and taking an ample sip. He knew you were paying attention to him despite his face remaining neutral, but his eyes told you another story, something only meant for the two of you to understand.

A calm breeze swept through the backyard and up your legs through your dress, forcing you to remember that you were bare underneath the flowy material. The culprit had the evidence safely tucked in one of the drawers of his dresser, away from sight and probably already stained with his release.

You didn’t need to worry, you know you’ll get them back later tonight.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[barcaatthemoon]

can you write an alessia x reader fluffy blurb for 23. "This sounds like an interogation." and 68. "When did you become an expert in this”, please? where reader is a guest on the tooney & russo podcast? thank you!

special guest || alessia russo x reader ||

"alright, now it is time to introduce our guest for today's podcast," vic said as all three girls glanced over towards you. you had been sitting in a chair next to alessia, who had been struggling to keep her eyes off of you. the internet knew that you were friends, but not anything more than that. most of her teammates didn't even know how serious the two of you were getting. to them, you were just a fan at emirates who came to see arsenal play a few times.

"ah yes, we have a very special guest today. some of you may have heard about her team being promoted into the wsl, and we wish her the best of luck. more importantly, you have been dubbed the internet's top expert on fish and chips in london, what do you have to say about that?" ella asked. alessia looked so proud of you when your team's promotion was brought up that you had to look away.

"when did you become an expert in this?" alessia asked with a laugh.

"well, my mum and da' do run manchester's best fish and chips stop," you said. alessia fought a losing battle against rolling her eyes. ella smiled as she watched the two of you, being one of the only people who knew how much alessia loved you. "we aren't here to talk about that though, are we?"

"no, i was just curious," alessia teased. you sat back in your seat and crossed your arms over your chest. ella and vic asked you a lot more questions than you had expected. you had sort of hoped to sit there quietly and occasionally chime in whenever alessia asked you to.

"there are several rumors of other wsl teams looking to sign you. are there any that you've been looking towards?" ella asked. this was the last place you wanted to tell alessia your news, so you were quick to divert.

"this sounds like an interrogation, and if so, i'd like my lawyer present," you told her. ella put her hands up at the pointed glare from alessia. "that's not the sort of thing i'm at liberty to talk about, but if my club wants to sell me, i guess i've just got to see who wants me. i'm not much special really, but i'm flattered."

"mate, i've got it on good authority that barca's been knocking your door since the everton days," ella said. she wasn't wrong, but you had your eyes set on a specific club. they had yet to make an offer, and you really didn't want to have to wear blue just to stay in london with alessia.

"tooney, drop it," alessia warned. that was the last of the transfer talk until the cameras had cut and alessia was the one to bring it up to you instead. "you've heard something, haven't you?"

"arsenal is being stubborn and the club won't accept the offer, so it looks like i'll be in blue," you told her. alessia bled red for arsenal, not unlike her england captain, leah, and you could see her face fall immediately. "i can go somewhere else, but the distance..."

"no, you go where you want to. if chelsea is what you want, then i'll support you. just not where anybody else can see." there was a bit of a jovial tone to alessia's voice, one that you appreciated greatly. signing for chelsea had been beating you up for weeks, but it felt like your only chance to stay with alessia and in the wsl.

[daydreamingqueen1]

Sweets thief

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Warnings/Content: none. pure fluff, a wee bit of bullying to spence (totally harmless and friendly though), crushes, unhealthy amount of candy ingestion lol, no y/n, gn!reader too

Summary: You've been stealing sweets from your resident genius.

Word count: 1.2k

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It wasn't unusual for the BAU members to carry snacks with them.

The job was hard, stressful and, most importantly, it had unpredictable hours. So finding time to eat a proper meal wasn't always a viable option.

Nevertheless, eating is a basic human need and even if it's not completely healthy, the agents often found themselves battling their hunger with quick snacks.

As a relatively new member of the BAU, buying said vital snacks wasn't yet ingrained in your mind, resulting in you continually forgetting to buy something to munch on during cases.

Stealing was always an option though.

After several months with your coworkers, you are proud to say that you have managed to eat at the expense of all of their pockets, for experts in human behavior, they don't hide their treats so well.

However, after several months, you have come to know their go-to snacks and, subsequently, you have become picky.

Morgan eats some kind of high-protein bars with an awfully bright neon wrapper.

Emily loves those salt and vinegar chips every station has on their vending machines.

JJ, ever the healthy mom of the group, always has a few packages of oatmeal raisin cookies on hand.

Rossi carries eucalyptus and mint gummies like the old man he is.

And Hotch buys the most bland granola bars known to mankind.

With all of that said, the conclusion was obvious.

Spencer has the best snacks.

It is not only that he always has sweets but that he's the only one that manages for variety instead of a fixed thing. A bit ironic considering he is the most prone to sticking to a rigid routine. Well, you aren't complaining though, especially not this month.

You realized quickly that Halloween was a big thing for the resident genius, seeming to make the grown man regress to the mentality of an overly eager seven-year-old. It's lucky for you because that means that he chooses to try a new candy every single day of October.

It also means that you had begun stealing exclusively from him and, being surrounded by profilers, it wasn't long until you were discovered as the culprit.

A shadow had eclipsed your desk suddenly, making you look up to a squinting Dr. Reid. “Did you take my last Peanut Butter Cup?”

You shook your head, “No...”

Derek snorted on the desk nearby, “You've still got chocolate on your face, kid,”

Cleaning your mouth with the back of your hand, you smiled up at Spencer sweetly.

His converse sounded hard against the floor as he stumped away.

Apparently, you weren't that discreet. He ended up catching you many more times after that.

"Hey!" Spencer swatted your hand when you grabbed yet another handful of his M&Ms.

You shrugged, feigning innocence, “Hey to you too Reid, but we've been in the same room for a while.”

He huffed, inching the box slightly out of your reach.

Many more times.

Your hand was literally inside the familiar size bag of Starburst candy when Spencer came back from the bathroom.

“Oh come on!” he groaned, taking the bag out of your grasp, “Buy your own.”

You went back to the local police station office, giggling to yourself like a child with your hands full of candy.

At this point hunger had become a secondary motive to your stealing. The number one reason being how adorable Spencer's reactions were when he caught you.

In all honesty, you harbored a bit of a crush on the man. You didn't have the courage to tell him upfront, making your silly brain manifest your feelings like a preschooler pulling on the pigtails of their crush. Oh, but teasing him was so fun, and it got you free candy so it was even better.

Then, yesterday, there was an incident.

The team was on the jet, another kidnapped girl had been safely returned to her parents, fairly quickly this time too. Spirits were high at wrapping up a case with such a positive outcome, making most of the agents mingle and play games on the usually quiet ride home.

You were perched on one of the individual seats, scrolling away in your phone and absentmindedly eating some candy (you had bought your own for once).

You jolted a bit when a hand dived into your candy bag. When you looked up, you found a smirking Spencer standing right in front of you, looking fairly smug and popping a piece into his mouth. He thought he was finally getting back at you for eating all of his sweets.

His joy lasted for about three seconds before he realized his mistake.

See, to the untrained eye, he had just eaten a couple of innocent looking bear gummies. Except, these were not regular gummies, they were your favorite kind, the most sour kind.

Spencer's face scrunched up with disgust, the sour effect of the gummy doubled at taking him by surprise, the acidic taste completely taking over his taste buds.

You couldn't help it, you bent over your belly with laughter, inadvertently drawing attention to Spencer's predicament.

The whole team snickered as they watched him rush back and forth on the narrow hall of the jet until he got hold of a tissue to spit the offending candy.

“What the hell is that?” he turned around to confront you.

You gave him an apologetic smile, “Sour candy?”

More laughs filled the space and Spencer had sat down on the furthest chair from yours, pouting with his arms crossed over his chest.

Back to today, you feel actually kind of guilty about what happened. You have been munching on all of Spencer's treats for weeks and the one time he does it to you, the whole team ends up making fun of him. A bit of teasing was fine but you don't want the man to actually feel bad.

So when you see him stand up from his desk and walk into the kitchen, you quickly jump out of your chair and grab something from your bag, trailing right behind him through the bullpen.

He's making himself an exaggeratedly sweet cup of coffee when you corner him.

“Spencer,” you call, making him turn around. Your hands are inconspicuously behind your back, “Trick or treat?”

His eyebrows furrow suspiciously, “Neither if you're going to give me one of those monstrosities you like.”

You huff out a laugh, “No, no, I promise it's not that. Come on, trick or treat? ”

After measuring up how much he trusts your statement, he relents, “Treat.”

“Ta-dah!” you sing, revealing a single Hershey’s Kiss in your palm.

Spencer's eyes light up.

“I know it doesn't make up for everything I ate but it's an offer of peace.”

He gives you a small smile, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

As his hand extends to grab the chocolate, your brain has an impulsive thought.

You lean forward and peck his lips.

It lasts barely a second but it's enough to make your heart beat wildly against your chest.

Spencer stares at you frozen in place, a crimson color spreading all over his face.

“A kiss for a kiss,” you mumble dumbly, like saying that makes it better somehow.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ You think to yourself, your feet are prepared to flee the scene when he unexpectedly grabs your wrist.

“I– I...” he stammers, his cheeks turning impossibly redder, “I wouldn't mind if you stole more of those.”

A shy smile spreads on your face. Perhaps you won't start buying your own snacks soon.

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it's a bit silly but I was feeling halloween-y and craving sour candy

leave me a prompt or idea you'd like me to write!

♡, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

hope ya liked it, byebye

My masterlist

[everyonewooeverywhere]

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ caring bf!yunho x gn!reader

synopsis ✭ yunho absolutely loves it when you play with his hoodie strings. even though you rarely notice you’re doing it.

content/genre ✭ fluff, established relationship

word count ✭ 1.2k

notes ✭ this was a request from @justsomedreaming :)

thank you loves for the requests! they are still open. if you want to leave a request, just read my guidelines first! i'd love to hear from you.

also! i love love love hearing feedback about all of my work, and i also just love hearing from ya'll. so if you want to come say hi, my dms and inbox are always open!! 💗💗

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“Baby, where do you keep the popcorn bowl again?” Yunho yelled from your kitchen.

“It should be in the cabinet to the right of the microwave.”

You heard him rustle through the cabinet before he shouted again, “Oh! I found it!”

“Yun my apartment isn’t that big. You don’t have to yell,” you laughed softly at him from your spot on the couch.

He gave a soft “sorry” before going back to his search.

You had offered to help him make the popcorn several times, but he’d insisted that you let him do something nice for you. The amount of nice things he did for you were nearly countless, but you didn’t mind letting him have this gesture too even if you were a little worried that your apartment might smell of burnt popcorn for the next three days.

Nevertheless, you let him have his moment. He loved taking care of you, so who were you to take that away from him? Especially when it meant you could stay cuddled up on the couch with your hot chocolate, scrolling through streaming services to find a suitable movie for your date night.

When you finally settle on a movie, you peer over to your boyfriend in the kitchen. He’s dumped the bag of popcorn into a bowl and is digging around in your cabinets for more snacks to go with the popcorn. 

He’s so focused. You love how serious he is about things like this. He cares so much about even the little things, and he never fails to make you feel so special. 

It took him a couple of minutes, but, when he plopped himself on the couch beside you, he came armed with plenty of snacks. Not just the popcorn, but he also had a variety of chips and chocolates, too.

“Wow, you really spoil me,” you said, reaching for the popcorn bowl. When you placed the bowl in your lap, he immediately stuck his hand into it and grabbed a fistful of popcorn. “Ok, now you’re just being greedy.”

He laughed and kissed your forehead before shoving the food into his mouth rather ungracefully. As gross as you may have found it, you did love the fact that he felt so comfortable around you. Even if it meant being a victim to some of his obnoxious behaviors.

“What movie did you choose?” He asked, pulling your legs over his thighs so that you were basically in his lap.

“Barbie Princess Charm School,” you said, gesturing to the TV with the remote.

“Seriously?” he smiled down at you, eyebrows raised. He was making fun of you, but you were standing your ground.

“Yep! It is a vital part of my childhood, and it’s a crime you have never seen it.” You poked him in the chest, “And it is my turn to pick the movie, remember?”

He loved how passionate you were about this. The only reason he teased you over it was because he loved to see you so adamantly fight for why the movie was worth watching. 

When you pressed play on the movie, Yunho leaned back into the couch, pulling you with him. 

“How was your day?” he muttered, running a hair over your hair. 

You looked up at him and hummed, running your hand over his chest and playing with the fabric of his hoodie, “It was alright. We’re still pretty short-staffed staffed so things have been hectic, but tips have been good. So I guess that makes up for it.”

He gently grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, “I’m sure you’ll find more people soon.”

You sighed, “I hope.”

“Baby, if you need a break, take one, okay? I know you don’t like financial help, but I’m always here for you,” he lowered your hand back to his chest and kissed your forehead again, “Don’t overwork yourself.”

“Thank you, baby.”

He looked down at you. It was obvious from the bags under your eyes and the tone of your voice when talking about work that you were stressed. The biggest sign of your anxiety was that you were fidgeting with your hands quite a bit. That’s why he’d made a point to kiss your knuckles, he wanted you to understand with every part of you, both conscious and subconscious, that he was going to take care of you. 

“Hey,” he started, wanting to get your mind off work, “Didn’t you get lunch with that high school friend of yours?”

“Oh yeah! I meant to tell you about that.”

“How’d that go?” He encouraged.

He watched you very adamantly as you spoke of the little lunch date you’d had with an old friend. It had gone well from the looks of things. From the remembering smile on your face to the levity of your tone, he could tell that this meal had brought some sort of solace to your rather hectic life. 

It wasn’t long into your story though, that Yunho noticed you had started playing with the strings of his hoodie. He smiled fondly. He was pretty sure you never really noticed it. It felt more like a habit.

Nonetheless, he enjoyed watching you fiddle with the strings. Tying them into bows and knots as you talked. It gave you something to do with your hands, and that fact alone made Yunho incredibly happy. He was able to give you something, even if it was a minute gesture, to calm your nerves. 

The both of you forgot about the movie completely. Though you both never fully watched the movies you put on anyway. It always ended this way. One of you talking about your life while the other listened. Peacefully eating snacks and occasionally watching the movie in its final moments.

“But, yeah, it was really good to see them again,” you smiled softly at him.

“I’m glad you had fun, baby,” he leaned down toward your face again, this time kissing you on the lips. He was so gentle in moments like these. 

It was a simple gesture of his love for you, but you loved how he could make soft, quiet moments even more beautiful with a small kiss.

You did, however, pull on the strings of his hoodie, trying to pull him closer to you. He grinned against your lips, laughing just a bit.

Pulling back you looked at him, slightly confused, “What?”

“What do you mean?”

You were really confused now, “You laughed at me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his smile only grew.

“Yunho,” you hit him in the chest, though, not very hard.

“I’m just teasing you, baby,” he pecked your lips again.

You scoffed playfully, poking his cheek, “Well stop teasing me.”

“Okay, no more teasing,” he grabbed the hand you had by his face and pressed it to his chest. He brought his lips to yours one more time for good measure. This time letting it last a few more seconds before pulling back a couple of inches from your face, “I love you.” He whispered.

It was your turn to smile stupidly at him, “I love you, too.”

You pulled him back down and kissed him. He couldn’t help but grin again at the fact that you had pulled him to you with your hands tangled in his hoodie strings.

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notes ✭ thank you for reading!! as always, reblogs and comments are very appreciated. i absolutely love hearing from you guys, so don't be afraid to come say hi 💗