#can’t see DUCK ADS!!!

[quackwerkz]

Local super hero gets bullied

Redraw of this comic panel

[wcters]

𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗙𝗔𝗨𝗟𝗧

pairing: lando norris x fem!sainz!reader

summary: you and lando’s relationship gets revealed by your cousin . . . but are people surprised?

request: “would you be able to write a lando x driver sainz!reader fic where reader is carlos' cousin, drives for one of the teams and maybe has a secret blossoming relationship with lando. focused on the mexico gp when lando had celebratory dinner with carlos' family and reader is also there. fans ship them and have speculations (maybe write a little bit about this, possibly a thread or fan fave moments and interactions between them during gps or on social media). only the grid knows about the relationship and maybe carlos accidentaly exposes them on social media.

warnings: established relationship, bullying (jokingly) | faceclaim is lola lovinfosse, to whoever sent this request, thank you for the nice note 😚 stuff like that makes me continue to do this !!!!!!!, no cause why would carlos actually do that, i saw a tiktok comment saying “carlos always looks like he doesn’t know where he is or what he’s doing” and i totally agree

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, and 585,021 others

yourusername let’s go to mexico! 🇲🇽

view all 203 comments

f1 vamos!

user1 they’re not ready for her

carlossainz55 adelante!

user2 you know she’s going to terrorize the whole grid during media day

user3 sainz-sainz podium??

landonorris oh geez

↳ yourusername BOO 🍅

user4 you deserved a barbie cameo

↳ yourusername let me get greta on the phone 📞

user5 her and lando beefing is so funny to me

↳ yourusername he’s so annoying 😔 petion to have duck tape permanently on his mouth

user6 i can’t wait for media day

f1

liked by yourusername, user2, and 344,727 others

f1 ready to race 👊

view all 103 comments

user1 carlos looks like he’s in a constant state of confusion

↳ yourusername he is. you should see him when we have family reunions

yourusername @landonorris you need a stylist 😐😐😐

↳ landonorris what about carlos???

↳ yourusername better than you 🤷‍♀️

↳ landonorris i hope you crash

user2 lando’s going to get a talking to for that comment

user3 she’s slaying 😘😘

user4 y/n ATEEE per usual

yourusername added to their story! landonorris added to their story!

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, f1, and 521,345 others

yourusername good qualifying in mexico with a p5! eventually found the right feeling with the car. ready to fully focus tomorrow 👊

view all 189 comments

user1 you got this !!!!

↳ yourusername thank youu

user2 give it all my girlie ❤️

carlossainz55 👏👏👏

user3 you’re going smoke em

↳ yourusername i love your confidence

user4 you ate that 😘

skysportsf1

liked by yourusername, user1, and 83,023 others

skysportsf1 lando norris in an interview after qualifying on his talk with FIA after his comments on y/n y/l/n’s instagram!

view all 102 comments

user1 ariana? what are you doing here 🤨

yourusername karma.

↳ user2 girl you’re next 💀💀

user3 she was right, he does need a stylist 🤷‍♀️

user4 y/n’s so iconic

user5 you can see her smirking and giggling 😭😭

landonorris there’s so much else i wanted to say

yourusername

liked by landonorris, carlossains55, and 1,024,746 others

yourusername felicidades carlos por p1 !!!! you did so incredible and i know aunt reyes will be estactic! congrats as well to charlie 🙂 and lando 😟

view all 317 comments

user1 the difference in emojis says it all

landonorris what’s up with the emoji

↳ yourusername 😯😦😐

user2 she cooked him

carlossainz55 gracias! y mamá está muy feliz

↳ yourusername la conozco muy bien 😌

user3 i know the sainz family is happy today with p1 and p5

charles_leclerc merci y/n!

f1gossip

liked by user1, user3, and 128,893 others

f1gossip mclaren driver lando norris and redbull driver y/n y/l/n seen cuddling up in the background of an instagram story posted by carlos sainz after celebrating the mexico grand prix. thoughts?

view all 154 comments

user1 we all saw how they looked at each other during media day

user2 her face when she congratulated lando!!!!

↳ user3 that man was blushing HARD

user4 no one’s surprised

user5 that person on twitter was on to something 🤔

user6 this is such a carlos thing to do

↳ user7 right?!

yourusername

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, and 1,013,053 others

yourusername it’s true . . . i am looking to get rid of my boyfriend. he is short, annoying, and snores. there is a $20 entry free 😔 anything higher than $2 i will accept

view all 321 comments

landonorris this is so debilitating

user1 I KNEW IT

user2 she really took him out with this one 💀

landonorris ALSO I AM NOT SHORT

↳ landonorris and i’m not THAT annoying

↳ yourusername nothing to say about the snoring??

↳ landonorris i’m afraid everyone knows that one already 😔

carlossainz55 my bad

↳ yourusername it’s not your fault old people don’t know how to use phones

user3 carlos just got a permanent headache

landonorris

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, and 1,105,986 others

landonorris i’ve just accepted the bullying

view all 376 comments

yourusername stop lying you love it

↳ landonorris do i? 🤨

user1 i just know carlos is even more excited for family vacations

carlossainz55 i’ve had to deal with it for years, it’s your turn

user2 she’s so silly

↳ yourusername right? it’s not my fault 😔

charles_leclerc the whole grid knew and we had a bet on who was going this spillc and it wasn’t carlos

↳ user3 who did you think it was going to be?

↳ georgerussell63 lando

↳ oscarpiastri lando

↳ alex_albon lando

↳ yourusername It was just a matter of time before the muppet slipped up 🤷‍♀️

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 17

Somewhere in the back of Bruce’s mind, there a voice that was grateful that no one Bruce had slept with had experimented on their own child. With Talia and himself there were already lines that had been crossed, but what Danny had been through was another level of horrible. Which is why that tiny voice didn’t mater.

This wasn’t about Bruce, this was about Danny. Danny who looked ready to bolt again. Bruce reached out and placed his hand on Danny’s still cold cheek.

“Danny, being my clone doesn’t make being my son any less true.”

“That’s not—” Danny’s eyes welled with tears again and he leaned into the touch even as his foot scooted backwards. “That’s not how it works.”

“It does for us. Our family is messy. It’s complicated and confusing and… wonderful,” Bruce said. He spoke slowly both so that his words were clear, but also so that he could find the right words. “It’s a butler and orphans, assassins and demi-gods, sons and daughters and sometimes people who are neither. You being a clone is just one more thing in that mix. You’re still my son, if you’d like to be.”

“You can’t want me, I’m dead,” Danny insisted.

Jason set a pot down, loud enough that Danny’s eyes flickered to him.

“Kid, Danny, that doesn’t mater,” Jason said in a carefully controlled tone. “It’s the same as I’ve said before, they all know I died.”

Danny’s eyes widened, causing the tears to sleep free. He blinked rapidly.

“…Oh.”

-

They’re sat around the living room, each with their own mug of hot chocolate, even Bruce Wayne— even… well, Danny supposed it would be Tim Drake-Wayne, once he had shown up. He had flown through the door as he spoke through gulped breaths of air. He didn’t have a domino on either. They all sipped slowly at their drinks.

They were waiting for him to talk.

Talking seemed an insurmountable challenge.

Danny took another sip of the hot chocolate and licked the sugar sprinkle bat from his lips. He didn’t look at them as he spoke.

“Dick Grayson, Jason Wayne, Tim Drake-Wyane. Cassandra Wayne… Duke Thomas, and Damian Wayne. I don’t know Spoiler or Oracle. I only… I looked up Bruce Wayne on a library computer after I ran. That’s why I know.”

“Close friends of the family,” Mr. Wayne said.

“And ex-girlfriends,” Night— Dick spoke up.

“Right. Red— Tim said him and Spoiler had dated.” Danny mumbled. He glanced over at Hood from under his bangs. Hood… Jason? Hood. Too many changes. Hood hadn’t said anything since he had revealed everything.

He must have noticed Danny looking though, because he sent a melancholy smile Danny’s way. “I get it. We kept a really huge piece of information from you, but we didn’t lie. When we said you had us no matter what Bruce Wayne did, we meant it.”

“But he’s your dad.”

“And that means we're all very good at not listening to him,” Tim said proudly.

Mr. Wayne just gave an amused snort at that.

“Dandelion,” Hood said, ignoring his family, “the first time that you looked up at Red and I we both clocked who you were instantly.”

“Not the clone part,” Red added.

This time it was Danny who gave a little snort.

(Fuck, they even snorted the same.)

Hood just flicked Red off. Tim. “Sure, not the clone part.”

“Because someone wouldn’t let me take DNA,” Tim interrupted again.

“It’s corrupted anyways,” Danny said and suddenly all eyes were on him again. He ducked his head down into a shrug. “From my death. This form I guess it would match enough? But my ghost form wouldn’t be any help.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Tim said softly. “But also Hood was right, you didn’t deserve us doing that to you right then, even if I just wanted to help. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t know that you came from Bruce. You just came from him in a different way than we thought.”

“You were family right away, kid,” Hood said. “If didn’t matter your name or pronouns or history or if you’ve died or even that you’re a clone. As soon as we got a good look at you, you were family.”

Danny could feel the tears coming again and he wiped at his eyes in frustration. He wanted to just stop crying today.

“You could have been wrong,” Danny said. They didn’t get it, why didn’t they get it?

“Could have. But you were still a hurt kid that needed help,” Hood said.

“You don’t need blood to be family,” Dick said. “Me and Jason and Tim and Cass and Duke… Alfred, none of have blood with each other or Bruce and Damian. If you had turned out to not be related to Bruce at all? Well, you were already family.”

The tears came now and Danny couldn’t stop them. The hot chocolate was taken carefully from his hands by Jason while Dick pulled him into a hug.

“I don’t— I don’t get it,” Danny said through the sobs. “Why can you all— why can you all love me after a month when they— when my— when the people that were supposed to be my parents never did?”

“Danny—”

“They killed me!” Danny roared. He was shaking now and Dick help him tighter. “They made me just to kill me and cut me into pieces! I was their son! I was…. I was their son. Why couldn’t they love me?”

Between one blink and the next Mr. Wayne was up from his chair and in front of Danny. His large hand was so warm on Danny’s cheek. Danny sobbed harder.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, I don’t know because you are so loveable. It’s something wrong with them, not with you. I already know you’re wonderful and I can’t wait to get to know you more.”

Danny didn’t get it.

Danny didn’t believe it yet.

But god did Danny want it.

Danny flung himself forwards, landing in the arms that were waiting to catch him, and let himself cry.

-

“Nose bleed stopped and he’s resting now. Jay is staying in there with him in case he wakes,” Dick said as he closed the door to Danny’s bedroom softly behind him. A sad, wet blue lump was in his other hand. “We’ll try to get his bear dried out, it was in the bag he took.”

“See if the dryer has an air dry setting,” Bruce said. When both sons in the room looked at him in surprise he just gave a little shrug. “Dickie used to play with Zitka outside all the time. I learned to help make sure she was always ready for bed.”

Dickie gave a little laugh. It was heavily tinged with stress, but it was a laugh. Bruce would take what he could get right then. Jay still had a job, so he’d be alright for now. Dick would need to stay busy and close to people, but both those would do most of the work for the moment. It was Tim that Bruce had to worry about the moment; he was being very silent.

“Tim, chum, are you done with your drink?”

Tim blinked up from staring down at said drink. “What?”

Bruce crouched down in front of Tim (trying not to think of how he crouched down in front of a sobbing Danny just a bit ago) and took the mug. “What are you turning over in that head of yours, chum?”

Tim fiddled with his nails now that the mug was out of his hands. Bruce wouldn’t stop it unless Tim managed to make himself bleed. It wouldn’t be the first time or the last.

“Sweetheart?”

“It’s going to take him a long time to believe us— this,” Tim said, the words almost a rush.

Bruce nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

“And he could run again,” Tim continued, still speaking quickly. “It could all be going well and then suddenly he could be thinking of running again because he’s doubting things.”

“Okay Tim,” Bruce said with careful words. His mind was running through all the times when Tim had pulled away from the family, “what do you think we can do to help that?”

Tim shrugged and looked away. “I guess— I mean, saying things to him is good but it won’t get as far as actions. And those actions need to include making him feeling useful.”

“But—” Dick started, the dryer now rumbling away in the linen closet.

“I’m not saying make him do work,” Tim interrupted. “But until he can consistently believe that we want him in the family, him feeling useful will help give him a reason to stay. As long as he’s useful, he won’t think that there’s no reason for him to stay when he thinks no one wants him around.”

Gently, Bruce reached out and took Tim’s hand away from where his cuticle had started to split and bleed. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the spot gently. “We’ll make sure to offer him ways to help out. We’ll talk as a family about where the lines will be and what sort of work is alright, especially as Danny is still healing.”

Tim took a careful breath and nodded. “Good.”

“And Tim?” Bruce waited until Tim was looking at him to continue. “I love you and I’m very glad that you are part of this family.”

-

Bruce sent Dick back to the manor after Cass arrived. They talked about what was best and agreed together that for Danny, Bruce still needed to be here in the morning. Bruce knew Dick hated to leave, but he was the other one who could handle Damian and whatever moods this may have invoked. And they were both worried about pulling Jason away from Danny right then.

Once Dick had wrangled Damian, they all had a meeting. Jason joined in with headphones Tim delivered and stayed mostly silent. Alfred lingered behind Dick’s shoulder.

Bruce went over the day, doing his best to treat it like a debrief just so that he could get through it without his heart breaking the rest of the way.

Danny had run of his own volition, afraid that those who had hurt him would find them. He was most afraid of them hurting Jason and Damian. (Dick pulled Damian close). He wasn’t Bruce’s son, biologically speaking, but his clone. They would try, with permission, to take some blood and analyze it soon. There were worries about the state of Danny’s DNA that Bruce wanted them to look into, for Danny’s safety.

There was worry any tests might set Danny off.

Danny knew about their identities, though they did not share Stephanie and Barbara’s name— both girls gave their go ahead. He seemed confused, but alright. They had to be ready for a possible out burst over it later after everything that had sunk in.

They would be sure to give Danny things to do that made him a quick part of the family, Bruce wanted everyone to think what those would be. There was to be nothing that was patrolling or anything dangerous. They would all agree on the list.

When Bruce ran out of things to say, Alfred stepped forward, there as always to help with the next step. “Is there anything specific I should prepare for his room?”

“Blue,” Cass suggested.

“Stars,” Tim said from where he was tucked into Cass’ side. “He likes space. Maybe one of those projectors that turns the ceiling into the night sky?”

“Soft blankets,” Jason spoke, a quiet addition.

“An air diffuser, natural scents like flowers and earth,” Dick chimed in.

“A… a pet,” Damian said, words uncharacteristically hesitant, though he straightened up defiantly at the look of confusion on everyone’s face. “If he is a flight risk, then a pet will be something he stays for. It will also be a responsibility for him that is little effort and not dangerous. Also, when he needs company but the family is… overwhelming, his pet will be there for him. There are many cats and some suitable dogsat the shelter right now, I will take him.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched up in a little smile. “That’s a very good idea, thank you. I’m sure Danny would like your help, after we introduce you two properly.”

Damian nodded, though that slight uncertainty was still there in the curve of his shoulders.

“Dami?” Dick prompted.

“When will I be able to meet him? Properly.”

“How about in a few days, before we move him to the manor, I’ll bring you over with me, okay ayouni? We can bring lunch with us and have a meal together,” Bruce offered.

Damian nodded sharply, a slight smile on his lips. “Acceptable.”

“Good. We will try to have everyone over before we move Danny, which will be mostly on his timetable. For now, everyone get some rest.”

There was a chime of voices agreeing to that and signing off. Bruce made sure he was the last to leave the call.

---

AN: It's... mmm... not great day, so you all are getting this now instead of tomorrow when ao3 updates. Stay delightful, darlings <3

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 03 - public sex

ghost x f!reader | 2.4k words cw: noncon/rape, violent threats, spit, degradation, improvised gag, unnegotiated and vague allusion breeding kink, abduction a/n: if anyone is better acquainted with the vw camper vans, no you’re not (please don’t call me on details, ty) summary: two birds, one stone. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

A knock at the door mid-saxophone solo wrenches you out of the 1980s.

It’s Lost Boys night at the drive-in, one of your favorite films at one of your favorite places. To be interrupted, your knee-jerk reaction is what does this asshole want—

Except, said asshole looms over your door, clearing your car by almost a foot, treating you to a view of a broad torso in a hi-vis vest. Ducking down, your frown gives way to confusion. It’s the security guy who waved you into this very ‘spot’ not ten minutes ago. You had to beg him to let you turn into the drive-in, frantically explaining that work kept you late, causing you to arrive just as the movie started.

“Lot’s full.”

“That can’t be right, I-I have a ticket! Please?”

(If you’d dipped a little low to give him a good view of your cleavage, that was neither here nor there.)

He’d given you a long look, sighed, and then guided your puttering van into a relatively flat space by the dumpsters beyond the final row of cars. When you stuck your head out to thank him, he muttered something about tardiness. 

It appears he still has a bone to pick with you.

You crank the window down, one eye still on the screen.

“Yeah?”

“Just wonderin’, that a ‘75 Volkswagen camper?”

“It’s an ‘82 T3 Westfalia,” You rattle off. “You a collector? ‘Cause The Bluebird’s not for sale. She was my dad’s, so...”

“I’m not. Is it the model with the foldin' table?”

Oh, so he’s just another nosy enthusiast. Good thing you have the rundown memorized from years of strangers walking up to play twenty questions.

“Yeah,” you say with a little sigh, eyes still on the movie. “Everything’s original except for the seat fabric.”

“Mind if I pop in for a look? My dad 'ad one too, before 'e passed.”

Great. Now you have something in common. You unlock the doors and furiously gesture for him to take a peek. 

“Yeah, yeah, climb in. Just keep it quiet, I love this movie.”

“Quiet’s the goal, sweet'eart.”

Cripes.

You listen to him inspect the cupboards and examine the curtains your dad installed years ago. True to his word, the security guard’s silent. When the door shuts, you automatically turn to ask if it is anything like his dad’s model, but nobody’s outside the van. It’s like he vanished into—

Something cold touches your cheek.

“You scream, and I’ll ruin daddy’s ’ard work.”

Your eyes strain in their sockets to glimpse the tip of something black poking into your flesh, and your imagination fills in the rest. Your mouth dries, killing the screaming trapped at the base of your throat. You nod mechanically.

“Good girl. Now, give me the keys then keep your ‘ands where I can see ‘em.”

Sucking in a panicked breath, you slowly reach for the keys and blindly hand them over your shoulder. They disappear with a faint jingle.

“P-Please. You can have her. I’ll–I’ll get out, sit on the ground quietly, and you can drive off. I won’t fight o-or make a scene–��

“You won’t do either of those things, Blue,” he chuckles before stroking your temple with the tip of his gun. “Now. Turn the radio up so you can listen to your movie, then climb back here, carefully.”

You hesitate. Does he mean…?

“Between the seats. C’mon.”

Oh god.

“I’m not a patient man.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You wheeze. You turn up the radio until it drowns out your thundering heartbeat and clumsily scramble into the back. You nearly trip, eyes widening to see that in his explorations, he’s converted the back seat into the sleeping configuration. He’s made the bed. 

He stands hunched in the narrow gap between the bed and the driver’s seat. Crammed into a space meant for a man seemingly half his size. The bed isn’t the only thing he’s changed, you notice. Gone is the medical mask. In its place is a crude, painted balaclava. It makes him look all the more terrifying as if he needs the boost to his image.

He gestures at your chest as you hover awkwardly behind the passenger seat, hands raised, trying not to fall onto the bed in the cramped space.

“Clothes off. Won’t say it twice this time, so get a move on. Sit if ya need to, but not a fuckin’ word.”

Tears spring to your eyes. Your cheeks burn as you comply, a sob catching in your throat when you glimpse him unbuckling his belt. This can’t be happening. This can’t be fucking happening. The fact it is happening at the drive-in, in the van, is a double whammy. The stranger’s going to obliterate two of your safe spots in one go.

He growls when you stand there in your bra and panties, hands clasping awkwardly at your front. 

“You stupid? Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Your bra tumbles down your shaking arms, and you kick it next to your clothes. As for your panties—he snatches them out of your hands before you can toss them. He brings them to his face, mashing them into the fabric covering his nose, and jerks his head in a silent but clear order.

He practically purrs when you climb onto the cheap, lumpy makeshift mattress. The upholstery is clean, you see to its maintenance, but it scratches at your palms and knees as you crawl.

“Look at that arse. Give it a wiggle, Blue.”

With the gun and his casual threat of ruining the interior with your interior, you pathetically comply. He belly laughs, louder than the revving of the motorcycles on screen. You try to ignore it, focusing on the interior handle of the van’s rear latch that’s a shuffle away. But as soon as you reach for it, a hand the width of a shovel wraps around your ankle and yanks.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” He growls, easily overpowering your squirming, sobbing self. 

The fight you put up, if you could call it that, feeds the growing shame in your gut. It ends as quick as it began, with your panties jammed behind your teeth and wrists pinned. He hovers, breathing rough through his mask. He releases your hands with a cautionary squeeze.

“Try that again, and you’ll be joinin' your dad tonight. Simple enough?”

You nod so fast you crick your neck, tonguing fabric. 

With a patronizing pat to your cheek, he sits on his knees, head ducked and back curved, touching the roof. “That’s more like it.” His eyes linger on yours, assessing, then drop to your body, a soft, perverse laugh rattling out. Hedged with a smoker’s cough. 

It’s as surreal as the movie. Like you’ve been sucked beyond the silver screen. One minute, simply watching, the next, part of the nightmare.

Ghost, he tells you between sharp nips and bites to your tits, is what you’ll call him when you plead, beg, and whine. And that’s what you do, trading breaths for muffled whimpers as he paws at your belly, hips—whatever he can reach, which is everything. He leaves indentations of his teeth all the way down your body, stinging and raw.

“Nice cunt you’ve got ‘ere,” Ghost grins as if complimenting the upholstery or fixtures. He rolls and tucks his mask, revealing a pale chin and thin lips. You catch a couple of old, gnarly scars in the light filtering through the windshield. A knitted cleft. Helpful detail to identify him later, your hysterical mind notes. His lips twitch as he pries your legs open. “She’s fuckin’ soaked. Playin’ rough do it for you?”

Blunt thumbs rub circles into the soft skin at the crux of your inner thighs, teasing and pulling you open. He spits a large glob directly onto your hole. Either you’re not as soaked as he said, or worse, you think, he’s planting yet another little flag on your body. He plays with you for a moment, unskillfully toying with your clit, and stroking himself, spreading the drool from his leaking cock. He slaps the heft of it once, twice—then without further preamble, begins to shove his way in.

You can’t stop your hands from flying up to claw at his arms, your mouth falling further open in a silent scream, cotton tickling the back of your throat. The stretch is immense, and you feel like a bug the way your legs instinctively try to close, bracketing his broad form and pressing into his sides, from how you feel squashed as he bottoms out with a throaty groan.

Ghost rocks his hips to take whatever room’s left and chuckles at your wide eyes, glassed over with unshed tears. You stare up at the dark pits above, glinting with satisfaction. 

“Go ahead and cry. Been wonderin’ what you’d look like since you got all blubbery at the entry.” He picks up the pace and successfully knocks your tears loose as he fucks you hard into the mattress. The whole van must be rocking on its suspension, giving you a little hope a fellow movie-goer or an employee will investigate and scare him off. But there’s no way he doesn’t notice the sway of the van. He must not care.

“Please,” Ghost mocks. “Please, I ‘ave a ticket! It’s my stupid job and my stupid manager,” he laughs meanly, smacking into you to punctuate his speech. “These stupid ‘ours and stupid customers.” You wince at hearing your near-hysteric ranting and begging parroted back at you. “Ever think about what all those got in common? Ever think it’s you who might be stupid, Blue?”

He slips a hand back to your clit, thumbing it in tight circles broken by occasional flicks, coaxing a reluctant yet responsive heat like a skittish animal. His mask lifts more with a big smirk and a mean laugh as you choke around the gag, sobbing. 

“After all, you did let a strange man into your car.”

Your fingers dig into his arms but do nothing. He drops his weight, snakes his arm under your head, and ruts. His rubbing hurts. He uses way too much pressure than you normally like and pinches, muttering filthy orders into your ear. He kisses your drooling mouth and licks your cheeks. 

“C’mon, give me it, come on my cock. Want you nice and tight f’me, need you to keep it all inside.”

The inevitably of him finishing inside you chases another wail from your mouth. He finally slots his own over it, burrowing his tongue inside to dig around. You can barely breathe as he fucks you through whatever it is he’s doing. Your eyes spin and bounce off the fogged windows. Surely, any minute now, someone will interrupt, someone will save you. They’ll throw away their trash and hear your muted shrieking. 

And, as if summoned by thought alone, the beam of a flashlight bounces off the rear windows. Ghost pauses his mouth before his hips, slowing to a leisurely roll. He lifts his upper half to stare out the window as the light passes over the glass again. You watch, heartbeat borderline painful, and squeak when he raises his hand. His face snaps to you.

“Not a word.” He warns.

Ghost wipes the mist from the glass and his lip curls. 

“Just a kid.” A hand migrates over your mouth and presses, apparently not trusting you even with your underwear half-lodged behind your teeth. His other hand reaches and unlatches the window. You tense so hard in panic that he hisses and squeezes your cheeks with a second pointed look. He cranks the window open enough that surely his masked face is visible outside.

“Didn’t your mum teach you it’s not polite to stare?”

A pitchy, crackling voice of what sounds like a teenager responds. Fuck. You can hear him pretty clearly, even over the radio. He must be only a foot away. 

“I-I-I….W-Whatever it is you’re doing, sir, you can’t–”

“I’m enjoyin’ the show. At least I’m tryin’, but ‘ere’s some whelp stickin’ his nose in my business.” His voice is cruel, mocking. “I suggest you go back to your booth and forget about me. I can leave an impression if you’d like, but you like solid foods, yeah?” 

There’s a choked, scared sound that cuts through the film audio. It makes Ghost huff and drive deeper into your cunt, making you bite through cotton as his cockhead glances sharply into your cervix.

“Yes, sir. Sorry sir.” By the sound of his retreating footsteps, the kid’s power-walking away.

Ghost shuts and locks the window, muttering, and returns his attention to you. He gives you a toothy grin, flashing a silver cap on a rear molar. 

“Now, where was I?” 

A heartbeat passes before he’s back to fucking you mercilessly, tongue jamming into your mouth yet again.

He ignores the rake of your nails when you shove your hands up his shirt to find skin to ruin, and merely grunts as he lifts his head. Your underwear slides out of your mouth in his teeth, damp and wrinkled. He spits them out beside your head, then returns, wetting your dry tongue with his own.

Ghost swallows your shrill cry as you come and endures your kicking legs while flames as hot as hellfire sear you to the bone beneath him. The train whistle and screams pumping through the van’s speakers smother the rest of your bawling. You dangle above the abyss, spent.

It doesn’t take long for his orgasm to follow. Panting into your mouth, blown pupils fixed to yours, mouth screwed up in a sneer. He barely makes a sound as he loses his rhythm and floods your cunt. 

He withdraws after a brief eternity and kisses you. Exhausted, overwhelmed, and aching, you slip unconscious. Lost.

When you stir, you find yourself cuffed to the wall of the van, wearing only a hi-vis vest. It chafes your nipples as the van bounces along. Blinking, you groggily moan in pain and try to compute what it is you’re seeing through the lace curtains. Green. Patches of gray and white. Mountains. But the closest range is…

Your eyes whip up front, where Ghost fiddles with the dial. He pauses, registering your movement in the corner of his eye, and meets your gaze in the rearview. 

“Made a collector out of me, Bluebird.”

[nezuscribe]

it’s a different feeling to help something you’ve hunted for so long. he comes from a line of hunters, a line of people who kill you.

and gojo has become the best of the vampire hunters, a household name that everybody praises. he’s fast, nimble, and gets the job done seamlessly. he’s killed so many vampires that he’s lost count. they’re dangerous, they kills humans, they hurt people.

so why, he asks himself, is he helping you?

why, when he was tasked with hunting you down, did he stop? he’s never paused before, never given himself a moment of doubt. but he saw you clearly after trailing after you for a week, the fear in your eyes, the tremble in your lips. you’re skin is clammy, hands shaking.

you haven’t feasted in a while, that much he knew. you’re weak, surviving off of pure adrenaline but even that was running out. this could be gojo’s easiest kill yet - you were right there.

he’s found you in the woods, watching as you scramble, backed into a corner that you couldn’t escape from. the little belle that everybody has heard of, the infamous daughter to the vampire king of the great north.

“i don’t harm people,” you murmur, “i swear. my father does all the killing. i tell him not to, but he doesn’t listen to m-me,” your voice is shaking, chest heaving. you can’t cry, but if you could your cheeks would be soaked.

“lies,” gojo seethes, his eyes blazing. it’s dark, and the lantern he dropped a bit ago is the only light except for the moon.

“i don’t!” you cry out, your dress in ruins, tracked with mud and grime, “i only feast on animals!”

a part of him believes you.

he doesn’t say anything, getting closer to you as you whipper, eyeing his silver blade he has resting in his hands.

you watch fearfully as he raises it upwards, turning it so that it faces him, and your eyes widen as he cuts a line down his arm.

blood trickles out, the sweet scent filling the air.

“i know you,” he mutters, watching you intently, “you haven’t gotten a lick of blood these past weeks,” you swallow thickly as he shoves his arm nearer to you, “you don’t drink us?” he’s chiding you, “are you sure?”

your lips tremble, mind and soul working against each other, a raging battle in your body as you turn your head away from him, curling into yourself as you cry for him to leave you alone.

he taunts your further, dragging the silver blade upwards, the sweet smell infiltrating your senses as you whimper even more. it’s torturous.

“i don’t harm humans,” you whisper finally with all the strength you have left, “i promise.”

and gojo can’t really see your face anymore seeing how you’ve burrowed into the giant trees behind you, but he can see the way your body crumpled to the ground, weeks of exhaustion, hunger, and pain adding up as the final straw proves to be you pushing down your vampire instincts as to not drink from him.

and for a second, he’s stunned into silence.

the blade sits heavy in his hand, your head right there, easy for him to take back as a trophy, just like he’s done before, just as what is expected of him.

but he sheathes it away, ducking down to rest your body upwards on a log behind you, cradling your neck delicately in his hands as he lifts his arm up to your mouth.

he doesn’t know why he’s filled with a sense of fear when you don’t stir at the smell of blood, doesn’t know why this sense of urgency is overtaking his mind.

“eat,” he seethes, “eat.”

and slowly, your eyes blink open, fearful once again to see him next to you, but a bit confused at the arm strewn in front of your face.

“come on,” gojo whispers, “take it, you’re hungry. i know you are.”

and you don’t move for a bit, not knowing if it’s a trap, but when he doesn’t make any sudden movements, you slowly give in, tugging his wrist closer to you as you try as hard as you can to gingerly bite down.

in that moment, all the strings that have been meticulously stitched together in different tapestries start to unravel. centuries of history burn together as gojo blood fills your body, and your family’s teeth sink into his skin.

whether he likes it or not, you’re intertwined together now.

and all he can do as this realization sinks in is let you drink from him, letting you take what’s his as you make it your own.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 12 ] || [ Chapter 14 ]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.9K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: the start.

Chapter 13: Yes, and?

Once Ghost touched down from the mission, and after being seen in the infirmary for a couple of nicks and gashes, he went, as usual, to Price’s office to debrief. As he walked out, his one thought was that he needed to get out of base and take his phone to be repaired… Or maybe get a new one.

Normally, he wouldn’t care so much, but ever since the two of you started texting constantly after that night together, he couldn’t help but be attached to the little device. Even Soap had made a joke about how addicted to his phone Simon was and how it must all be “thanks to his little date that he refuses to tell me about”.

As he rounded the corner to his hallway, he spotted Gaz leaning on the wall next to the door to Ghost’s quarters.

“Gaz.” Ghost greeted with a nod as he pulled his I.D. card from a pocket in his vest and slid it into the card slot, popping the door open.

“Sir.” Gaz acknowledged as he pulled away from the wall and stood there, arms hanging by his sides, waiting.

Ghost went leaned against the door jamb. “Something you’d like to say?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” Gaz said with a nod and cleared his throat softly. “Your… friend DMed me on Tinder looking for you.”

Ghost closed his eyes and sighed for a moment before he opened them again and stared at Gaz. “And what did you say?”

“The truth. Your phone broke and either way you had left for a mission so you wouldn’t reply for a while.” He answered.

Ghost nodded. “Thanks for that. Didn’t think I’d leave them worried sick.” He said sincerely and began to turn to duck into his room.

“I also went out with them.” Gaz added right as Ghost crossed the threshold.

That stopped Ghost in his tracks and the bigger man turned to look at Gaz over his shoulder. “You did?” 

“Yeah… Went for lunch… Got curious once I learned you two had a date, sir.” Kyle admitted, lowering his voice out of respect for Ghost’s privacy.

Full of respect, Gaz was. Ghost always appreciated that about the sergeant. Except right now.

“And since when do you have a right to be curious about my life? Is it any of your business?” Ghost asked, though his tone was calm and deadpan, not hostile or angry at all.

“Since I matched with them before anyone else… And you moved in after Captain Price.” Gaz retorted.

“Are you trying to call dibs over them, like Johnny did?” Ghost asked as he took a step to stand over Gaz.

“Maybe?” Gaz replied and shrugged, dipping his head back a bit to look the taller man in the eyes. “I mean…” He trailed off and shrugged. “They’re nice, sweet, kind, caring, funny, easy to talk to…”

“Yes, and?” Ghost retorted. “What are you trying to say, sergeant?” He asked, his voice wavering just a bit.

“I’m just… asking permission, I guess.” Gaz said, his tone the most cordial and reverent he could.

“Permission?” Ghost asked and had his skull not been in the way, Gaz would’ve seen his eyebrow cocking.

“To keep seeing them.” The younger man clarified.

Ghost’s eyes narrowed as he looked Gaz up and down. “You’re asking what exactly? To share them?” He asked as he curled his head a bit to the side, as if to hear him better.

“I guess so.” Kyle replied. “Is that alright?”

Simon’s lip curled in contemplation before he nodded curtly. “I guess I can’t object to that.” He conceded.

“But does it bother you?” Kyle asked in earnest, his brows furrowing a bit in concern.

Ghost shook his head a bit. “I don’t have a claim to them.” He said calmly.

“With all due respect… That’s not what I’m asking, sir.” Kyle insisted.

With a deep breath, Simon took a step into his quarters and gestured the sergeant inside. Then, he shut the door behind them and leaned himself against the wall by the door.

After a deep breath, Ghost shook his head. “Bothers me a little.” He admitted. Gaz nodded in understanding.

Another deep breath later, Ghost continued. “They… make me feel… human.” He explained and turned his head to look away. “Outside of the soldier, outside of the Ghost.” He said in a tone that entailed more than simple friendship.

“There’s no expectations. No one asking me to kill. No one telling me ‘Jump!’ only for me to reply ‘How high?’. It’s just…” He trailed off.

Gaz looked down at his feet and rocked back and forth, a bit awkwardly. It was the first time he and Simon had a conversation as deep as this… Having never quite felt that the Lieutenant let him in or saw him as worthy of something other than small talk and jokes over comms.

“I see.” The younger one said and sighed. “I… I can give up on it, if you wan-”

“Don’t.” Ghost interrupted and looked right at Gaz. Then, he took a deep breath and scratched at his exposed forearm, his gloved fingers dragging along the tattooed skin.

“I’m going to buy a new phone. Or get mine repaired…” He explained. “But… after that I was planning on going to see them… tonight. If they accept.” He said with a sigh.

“Maybe order take out… Game and watch movies…” Ghost said and with the tone of someone who’s making a great effort to speak, he looks at Gaz. “Do you wanna come with?” He asked in earnest.

-

Kyle had already texted you, per Simon’s request, to warn you of their intentions to grab takeout and head over… And you seemed quite giddy. So it didn’t surprise him when you opened the door for them with a smile.

“Hi!” You greeted them, took the bag of takeout food, and ushered them inside, instructing them to take off their shoes. Simon didn’t even need to be told, he already took initiative to do so. 

He had made an effort, Kyle had noticed, and put on a white henley shirt, a leather jacket, and black jeans… but still kept his stupid bloody mask on. Kyle himself was wearing an oversized purple-ish jumper and blue jeans. 

Kyle observed quietly as Simon shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair in the ‘dining’ area of your sitting room. “You bought a new candle.” He announced as he looked at the small lit flame on the coffee table.

“I did!” You acknowledged as you carefully opened the take-out containers and spread them all around the coffee-table. “Don’t just stay there, Kyle!” You told him, prompting the lad to finally move away from the entryway door, approaching you to sit on the couch.

Him and Ghost sat on opposite sides of the couch, leaving just enough for you to get squished in the middle, sandwiched by them. You each grabbed your food and, at first, it was incredibly awkward. The silence too large to allow for any of you to truly feel comfortable.

You looked back and forth between the two of them, eyes darting as if you were following a tennis game. Above your head, the two men also shot glances at you and one another.

“So… elephant in the room.” You quipped as you carefully bit a Jamaican patty and chewed it. That prompted both the men to look at you. “What’s going on?” You asked them.

“We both enjoyed our time with you.” Simon answered quickly. So quickly, in fact, that it startled Kyle.

“So you both wanted to hangout with me?” You asked as you looked between the two of them.

“We both like you.” Simon continued in his round of honesty. Kyle’s head snapped toward Simon, brown eyes widened. Simon was, however, completely absorbed in his meal.

Kyle was pretty sure he was right when he joked that you had Ghost under some sort of spell. Never had he seen Simon be so open and honest. Direct, sure, Ghost was always directly. But… sincere like this? Never.

“I like you both too.” You replied in earnest as you took another bite of your food.

“Not like that, sweetheart.” Simon replied and finally glanced over at you while dusting off his fingers on a napkin. “I mean we’d both date you if we could.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widened a bit and you blinked away the shock. 

The way Ghost looked at you… That’s when he finally understood what he had meant when he spoke about you. There was a fondness in those usually cold, dead brown eyes… 

Kyle felt like he was intruding. Like it was wrong of him to be weaseling his way in between the two of you out of some childish claim he claimed to have over you… Because the way Simon made him understand how good you were for him.

He sat in a relaxed way, legs sprawled, thigh touching yours, wearing clothes he could’ve sworn Ghost would never even own, and you never once flinched in his presence. Granted, you weren’t aware of all the blood in his hands, in their hands… But you acted as if Ghost was just some bloke you were dating and not.. well… Ghost.

“Kyle?” Simon quipped and it finally rose him out of his thoughts.

“Hm? Sorry?” He asked, noticing he had spaced out.

“I asked if you two were jealous of one another and that’s why you’re so tense.” You repeated yourself. “Simon said he wouldn’t call it ‘jealousy’.”

Kyle and Simon shot each other a glance, as if wordlessly communicating. It was something they were used to doing in the field, but this was a completely different circumstance. 

Sighing, Gaz shifted around in his seat. “I wouldn’t call it jealousy either… But…” He trailed off. “Well, I saw how… how happy you make Simon.” He admitted.

Simon’s eyes, which had momentarily hardened, softened again as Kyle spoke. “And well… you made me… feel it too. It’s… easy to be around you. Easy to spend time laughing with you and always want more.” The younger man continued.

Your own eyes softened too and your cheeks warmed up a bit with his kind words. “So in a way I felt like… well… like I deserved to try to date you too.” He explained. “But it’s tense because, well, neither of us want to share.”

With a chuckle, you leaned back against the couch and covered your mouth with your hand. “Shared? What am I… some video game?” You joked. “Are you going to go to your mum to tattle when the other doesn’t let you have enough time with me?” You teased.

Immediately, all tension was gone, both of them rolling their eyes and scoffing. “Shut it, you.” Simon grumbled, amused.

“Most people would be honored to have two guys want to date them, you know?” Gaz remarked.

“Fuck that, most people would be honored to have me want to date them.” Simon quipped.

“Oh, you get down from your high horse!” You scolded him and nudged him with your arm, which made Simon chuckle.

“After this, we could watch a movie!” You announced as you resumed eating your Jamaican patty. 

“Good idea.” Simon praised you.

“Not another horror movie.” You added.

“You have very bad taste.” He quipped.

Strangely enough, watching you bicker with Simon only made Kyle feel warmer than he already did. He still felt like he was intruding but… the bickering was familiar. He saw that often between Johnny and Simon…

“How can I have bad taste? I literally like you both.” You remarked.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!): @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak

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[luveline]

hi love! i absolutely adore ur writing and u should be so so proud of it. anyway i was just thinking about coworker james when readers car wont start in the parking lot and he like takes a look at it and is under the hood and reader is just like "oh...😍" cause the muscles are OUT and shes down bad

ty lovely 💌 fem

“Oh,” you say, “of course.” 

You drop your face into your steering wheel and sigh. An annoyed burst of sound, not cute or feminine or fun, a grunt of defeat. This sucks. Work sucks, life sucks, your car not starting is the least of your worries and yet somehow the most prevalent. 

How am I gonna get home? you think to yourself, defeated.

“Hey!” someone calls. Jogging, the last person you want to see in the world right now stopping at your door. James frowns at you. “It’s not starting?” 

You pop your door, careful not to pop him at the same time. “How’d you know?” 

“I heard the engine turn over.”

“It’s making a clicking sound,” you say, twisting the key so he can hear it. 

“It’s dead, probably. Your battery.”

James has an odd way of talking occasionally, as though you’ve started a conversation and he’s adding onto it. Remus says it's ADHD. You like it no matter what it is and despite yourself —it’s getting harder to pretend you don’t like him. Like, you hate him, he’s annoying beyond explanation, but your more positive feelings for him are heavy and ever present. So, so heavy.

“I’ll pull my car up and we can give it a jumpstart,” he says. “Easy fix.” 

“You don’t have to go?” 

“What?” 

“You have rugby today.” 

“Oh, no, it's the off season now.” He smiles and you don’t get why. “Let me go get the car.” 

James jogs back to his car and brings it next to yours. Everybody who isn’t Human Resources or security has left already, leaving the car park practically empty, ample room for him to park beside you. He gets back out. 

“I don’t have, uh, cables,” you say.

James gives you a smile that is as patronising as it is attractive. “Don’t worry about it, beautiful. I have everything you need.” 

He feels along the edge of your hood, pops the seal, pushes it up into the air, and hooks the prop rod into place. He’s clearly done it before, and the whole while you’re watching his arm. His rolled sleeves draw attention to the tightness at his bicep, and the moving ligament and muscle of his tricep as he leans into the engine to look things over. “I’m no mechanic, but I do know everything, and I thought maybe things were a bit hot but your engine’s stone cold.” 

“So it’s definitely the battery?” 

“Probably.” He scratches his jaw, peering curiously into the guts of it all. “When was the last time somebody looked in here?” he asks, squinting at you, unaware that he’s the finest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Your breath gets caught. 

“Have you ever had it looked at?” he asks, concerned. 

“I… maybe I did. I think so.” 

“You’re supposed to have it looked at every year? For MOT?” 

“I know, I thought you meant before that.” He’s distracting.

James looks you over. “It’s fine,” he says emphatically, “even if I can’t fix your battery, I can still drive you home. You’re panicking for no reason.” 

“Right.” Panicking! Yes, this is panic.

“Listen, can you get the jump leads from my boot? I have to open the hood.” He gestures for you to go. You do as he’s asked, wobbly, and struggle when you get there to actually open it. You slides your fingers under his car's emblem and flinch as it flies up past your face. 

His boot is surprisingly well organised. There’s a duffel bag to one side half-zipped that showcases a flash of red and white uniform, a pair of formal shoes, a dark jacket folded and hidden behind the bag. You want to be nosey and you don’t want him to think you’re stupid. You rush to grab the cables and almost clip yourself on the boot as you duck from under the boot and round the car. 

James smiles when he sees you. No indication that you’re an imposition, it’s sort of like you’re two friends. 

He pushes his sleeves farther up and digs in. It’s awful, what business does he have looking so sharply put together? You hadn’t thought you were preferential to muscle until right this moment watching James move around your engine like an expert. 

“What are your plans tonight?” 

Your palms are hot behind your back. “I was thinking I’d watch a new movie.” 

“That sounds fun.” He ducks away from the engine. “I don’t watch many movies.”

“What do you do with all your time?” 

“Argue with Sirius about who’s turn it is to wash the dishes.” 

You startle. “You and Sirius live together?” 

James laughs and pulls the leads to his own engine. “You didn’t know that?” 

“You come in different cars.” 

“I come in much earlier than he does. And after work he and Remus always have things to do. It’s weird, isn’t it, how couples are always busy? I feel like I never do anything.” James grins at you. “This is interesting, at least. My Friday night isn’t a total waste.” 

James gets into his car and you into yours. With some fiddling, pleading, and a strange noise, he manages to push life back into your car. His smile when it works is his worst one to date, elated and shockingly handsome. 

That Monday, against your better judgement, you bring him a little carrot cake in a tin. A thank you card felt like too much. 

To his credit, he doesn’t brag to anyone that he saved you. He says thank you for the cake with another real smile, and for some reason, despite the mild weather, he rolls his sleeves up at his desk. Almost like he noticed you…

Well, he couldn’t have. Right?

[reiding-writing]

Ooo please write cold!reader being a complete badass in the field and Spencer just being in love

TAKEDOWN [PART ONE]

/ˈteɪkˌdaʊn/ /part two/

Who knew watching somebody take down an unsub would cause Spencer to feel so many emotions at once?

WARNINGS: fem!reader, guns, knives, minor character injury

spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff?? || 1.6k || series masterlist!!

a/n: glad people have taken as much of a liking to cold!reader as i have 😭

main masterlist!!

“Don’t. Move.”

Having a glock levelled at the back of somebody’s head was never the best way to spend your Thursday afternoon, but alas, it is what it is.

You press the barrel into the man’s head with enough pressure for his shoulders to tense, his eyes widening as they remained fixed on Spencer and Morgan in front of him, who both had their own guns raised in his direction. “Drop the knife.”

The man raised both of his arms slowly, butterfly knife held loosely in his right hand.

“Drop it.”

You can’t see the man’s expression from where you’re standing, but if you had to wager a guess based on the flickering of Spencer’s irises you’d say he was smiling.

The way he started to let go of the knife in his hand solidified your theory.

He loosened his grip on the split handle of the knife one finger at a time, tantalisingly slowly like he was treating your threat like some kind of game.

“I said drop it.”

“Slow your roll sweetheart, I am,”

You bite the inside of your cheek at his comment, pressing the barrel of your gun harder against the back of his head. “I have a gun levelled to the back of your head, drop the knife now or I will send a bullet straight through your skull.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me,” The way he speaks down to you makes your blood boil, and you make a show of pulling the slide back, the metal making a loud clicking sound that verberated through his skull as an unused round falls onto the ground by your feet.

“Try me.”

“Alright alright,” The man laughs at your display, although you can tell by the tension in his shoulder blades that his confidence is starting to dwindle, especially when the three people pointing their guns at him turned into four as Emily joined Morgan and Spencer with her firearm raised.

The last finger he has holding the butterfly knife is his index finger, and you can see Spencer’s expression furrow with his hand tightening on the handle grip. Clearly he didn’t think that the unsub was going to surrender that easily.

You mirror the way Spencer tightens his grip as you focus your gaze on the knife in the unsub’s hand, and the way he raised his index finger excruciatingly slowly, almost rolling the knife in his hand rather than actually letting go of it.

Spencer’s apprehension was well founded it seemed, and the split-knife handle twisted around the back of the unsub’s hand before being clutched back in his palm as ducked his head and swung backwards towards you.

You pull your head backwards as he turns to stop the knife from going straight into the side of your head, grasping his wrist with your left had as you slam your right elbow down into the curve of his arm so that he’s forced to kneel or else have the bones in his arm snap under the force, the knife falling to the floor in the process.

His knees hit the floor with a loud ‘thud’, and you force his arm behind him painfully tight as his chest meets the concrete, and you again press the barrel of your gun to the back of his head, this time with the added leverage of leaning over him whilst he’s rendered defenceless on his ground with your knee planted directly on his spine.

There’s a short whistle from where your co-workers are standing once you’ve got the unsub immobilised, one that clearly came from Morgan as he walks over with his gun held loosely in his right hand and a pair of handcuffs held out towards you as they balance precariously on his left index finger. “Nice, that was hot,”

You exchange your gun for the handcuffs with a scoff at his comment. “Shut your mouth,”

You tug the unsub to his feet once he’s cuffed, passing him off to Emily so that she can escort him to the SUV with Morgan as backup just in case he tried anything.

“You uh- did a good job,” You give Spencer a small hum as acknowledgement of his comment as you pick up the butterfly knife from the floor, turning it in your hands as you stand up from your knelt position to turn your attention to Spencer.

“You’re bleeding-” His eyes widen as he catches the first full look at your face since the confrontation ended, blinking softly with his eyebrows slightly furrowed in concern.

You raise an eyebrow at his comment at first, a small stinging emanating from your cheek as you tense the muscles needed to do so, and you swipe your left hand across the apple of your right cheek, pulling it back to reveal a red stain smudged across the back of your knuckles.

You were bleeding. The unsub must’ve nicked you when he swung earlier.

“It’s fine,” You wipe your hand on the thigh of your jeans, pocketing the knife to bring it back to the station later.

“You should… Uh…” Spencer blinked a few times as he tried to formulate his words under the view of your actions, the smudge of blood left behind from your hand being joined by a fresh trickle that was slowly making it’s way down your cheek and suddenly making Spencer forget everything he knew about the English language. “You- uh- you should-”

He points lamely over his shoulder towards the ambulance on standby, hoping that his actions will save him where his words are failing.

“It’s fine Reid,” You shake your head at his suggestion, rolling your right shoulder with your left hand planted firmly at the joint.

“You really- Just in case-” Spencer continues to fumble blindly over his words as he tries to give you a reason to have your cut checked out.

“It’ll be fine,”

“Even- Even small uh.. Even small cuts and scrapes can get infected and lead to sepsis if you’re not careful-” He got a full sentence out this time. Barely. For some reason he was having a really hard time focusing under your gaze, even more so than usual.

Maybe it was the fact that he’d just watched you swerve a knife swing and take down a 6’4 unsub like he was a ragdoll. Maybe it was the fact that you were so nonchalant about the gash on your face and the blood trickling down your cheek. Maybe it was the natural narrowing of your eyes as you looked at him that made his heart feel like it was going to drop into his stomach.

But it wasn’t fear, so it couldn’t have been any of those things, if it were to do with that then surely he’d be feeling intimidated rather than, well, whatever he was feeling right now.

“Will it get you off my back?”

Spencer’s vision comes back into focus at your question, shamelessly staring in your direction. “Yeah uh- mhm,” He nods timidly, lips pressed tight into a line as his teeth tug at his lips nervously. “Please get it checked?”

You let your head fall back until you’re stood facing the ceiling, your eyes closing momentarily with an exasperated sigh. “Fine,”

Spencer follows the small trail of blood that extends past your jawline and down the side of your neck as you lean your head backwards, eyes snapping back up to your face once you tilt it back straight with your eyes locked on his face. “Lead the way then,”

“Right-” Spencer gives a sharp nod as he turns around towards the ambulance and begins walking with you on his tail, half grateful that you’re not in his line of vision anymore as his heart rate slowly returns to normal.

It was just the adrenaline surely.

He stays with you as you get your gash checked out by the EMTs, eyes following the antiseptic wipe that cleans up the drying blood stain down your neck and up the side of your face, the hiss that leaves your mouth and the sight of you wincing slightly under the sting as it reached the sight of injury causing his heart to drop and his pulse to race once more.

He was just concerned about your well being, that’s all.

[iwaasfairy]

FAIIRYYYYYYY!!!!!! WRITE FOR KENMA AND MY LIFE IS YOURSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!

a quick little smt smt because kenma has been on my mind since I watched the movIEEEE I loVE HIM O WANT hIM ♡♡

tw twincest, implied past underage content

“Don’t let the twins run off together without supervision,” your mom used to tell your aunt if she’d babysit. ‘Babysit’ as in lighten the load of two sneaky, restless pre-teens on your very overworked parents. Your brother was quiet, and shy around everyone that he didn’t know well, but he was always a force with you. One who knew what he wanted, and would get you to play along as long as you’d let him.

They’re up to no good, she’d pet your head with affection, but brows furrowed with something other. Aunts, cousins, family friends. Always said it with a certain look at you both, before leaning in to whisper— and you guess back then they knew something you didn’t.

Kenma probably knew. He just didn’t care you never did, because even with the added surveillance of older cousins he’d still find a way to dash off with your hand in his. Giggling and panting where you’d snuggle together in the alley behind the woodshed, or ducked into the pantry under the stairs to whisper and let him show you all kinds of things. Usually it was just the next enemy on his beat up Gameboy, or some cards he traded with Kuroo, or even a new trick with the ball. Sometimes it was something else, hand over your mouth when he told you to keep quiet.

“Your teacher told me a certain pair of twins always skip out on classes together,” your dad chastises over dinner one night after a big volleybal match. “Wonder which twins he could possibly be referring to.” This time it was the back room behind the gym equipment— only hastily cleaned up before the teachers stormed in. Can’t help it, a slight smile starts pulling at your lips.

You almost laugh when Kenma kicks your foot under the table, as your spoon clings too hard against the porcelain plates. “Just because Kenma does stupid boy stuff that will get him in trouble—” Your father’s thin glasses are down his nose as he looks at just you, interrupting your opened mouth to point your way, “doesn’t mean you have to join him. I really expect better from you kids.”

He acts like you’re supposed to know better. Maybe he should wonder if Kenma’s just convincing. It’s a simple and quick answer, he is. From the way Kenma slurps his soup, staring you down across the table under thick, playful lashes, you learn that apparently it’s more acceptable for boys to act mischievous. “Sorry, dad.” Big brother sighs.

Kenma’s feet grab yours to pull it up onto his chair, then plays with your toes so that you have to hold the giggle from breaking out in between the sharp breathing through your nose. “Sorry, daddy.” You parrot when he doesn’t let up, biting your lip at the way he pushes his thumb in.

Your dad is none the wiser, and just sighs. “You’re the older brother, Kenma. I want you to take care of your sister, not lead her astray.”

He does though, you want to say. Just maybe not in the way they’d like to see him care.

It’s only natural that you follow your big brother, your other half, across Tokyo after graduation. Into a bigger apartment where he can stream— when he asks it under hushed whispers trailing fingers down your arm. Of course you say yes.

It’s how you find yourself with your head on his lap, letting his long, skinny fingers trail through your hair as he sinks deeper into the couch. “D’you want some Thai too? I have to work at three so we can’t go out yet. That’s okay by you, right?” He’s so pretty from here, looks down at you with those sharp, calculating eyes with a softness reserved for just you.

“I’ll eat what you eat, nii nii,” you yawn, and also lift your upper half a bit more to press kisses to his hard cock, lick up the bead of glistening precum there. You’ll do whatever your twin wants you to do. You’ll do what you’ve always done.

Taking his cock into your mouth makes him let out the prettiest mumble, pushing up into your soft lips a little more as he agrees. “I know.” You let your head be pushes down as you hollow your cheeks around him, and choke just a little before you reach his pubes- pushing into the back of your throat. It’s hot, and he tastes so good. “I don’t need anyone else. Y’know that?”

“Mhm,” you’re nodding while pulling back, instead going to suck on his balls with an eager tongue. His cock twitches to get back to you. And the coy smile on your face as you look up from his lap makes him groan, holding the phone away from his mouth for a few seconds to watch you. “Guess we shouldn’t have been let off without supervision, huh?”

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Dissecting is just a hobby of his

barbie dolls: Rosekiller x you

word: 1.1k

summary: ppl spread rumors about you and your boyfriends and the skittles discuss it

warnings: pandora and evan are siblings, regulus goes fucking rabid for gossip he loves gossip, barty and evan are i wanna say raunchy but i also dont, they’re barty and evan ykwim? oh jesus my joints hurt, evan is into dissecting things, barty has a love hate realationship with chess, dorcas is fed up with her friends, skeeter mentioned, a tiny bit of making out and then insinuation that they leave to bang

You quite enjoyed cuddling with your boyfriends in the commonroom. Granted you mostly just cuddled with Evan seeing as Barty couldn’t sit still for longer than seven seconds. Evan had your legs pulled over his lap with his nose pressed to the side of your face. Regulus was nearby in an armchair, reading his newest book and muttering when it didn’t pan out the way he wanted. Barty was investigating his chess set. A week ago while you three were on a date Barty mentioned that he hates how chess looked and worked. It was an odd thing to say seeing as he spent a good portion of his time on the game. His complaints seemed to spark inspiration in himself because within minutes he was scribbling away on the back of his homework designing the “better chess”, his words. Barty kept flicking his wand at the board before turning back to his notes and writing something down. You didn’t see anything happening but you were confident in Barty to accomplish his chess dreams.

Eventually, Pandora and Dorcas came back from studying in the library. Dorcas huffed, flinging herself onto the commonroom couch and dropping her bag onto the floor. Pandora picked up Dorcas’ feet, settling on the couch with them in her lap. You frowned at Dorcas’ exhausted state. Pandora opened her magazine, holding it in front of her face.

“Did the books bite back?” Evan asked. Dorcas snapped her head to glare at him.

“I told you they do, you guys never listen to me. Oh, Barty’s off his rocker again, man fuck you guys.” Barty muttered, mocking Regulus’ voice. You gently knocked Barty with your knee in sympathy.

“I do not sound like that,” Regulus muttered, turning his page more aggressively than before. Barty glared at him. You diverted Barty’s attention back to you as you knocked your knee again.

“It’s okay baby, you have all the time in the world to get your chess game right.” Barty snarled at you, turning back to the board. Dorcas pointed at Evan, you imagined smoke coming out of her ears.

“You and your freaky little partners really need to stamp out the rumors circulating the school,” Dorcas said, huffing and flinging her head back onto the pillow. Pandora dropped her magazine down, meeting your eyes immediately.

“They are kinda getting out of hand. I’m hearing things about my kin that I don’t really want to hear.” Pandora added, grimacing at the memories. Evan groaned next to you, ducking his face behind your shoulder. Regulus hummed.

“I heard you three got caught with your pants down in the headmaster’s office.” Regulus set his book down the second he caught a whiff of gossip, leaning forward to drop his rumor.

“I heard we all detention for giving each other handies in the back of potions,” Barty muttered. You pointed at him.

“See people just talk, they’re going to make up crazy stuff so they can get a kick out of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if this had Skeeter all over it. They should take away her school newspaper privileges. “ Evan nodded against you.

“Though Barty did offer to give us handies in the back of divination.” Barty spun around at Evan mentioning his name. Pandora grimaced and turned her head away from the conversation. Dorcas sat up to pull her braids over one shoulder before settling back down.

“That is just nasty,” Dorcas muttered, smacking her lips like it left a sour taste in her mouth.

“They can’t even get their facts straight.” You whispered. Evan hummed, knocking his nose to your cheek in approval.

“I heard that Barty was drawing raunchy pictures of you both in the margins of his classwork,” Regulus said, an evil grin pinching at his cheeks. You turned to Barty. He was frozen like if he moved he’d get caught. His eyes flickered around as he waited for someone else to talk. You kicked Barty in the side, laughing your way through his name.

“You said you’d stop doing that,” Evan muttered under his breath, glaring at Barty.

“It's not like I turned them in. Sorry, I got bored in class and thought of my lovers. You guys suck ass.” Barty said, rolling his eyes and tossing his chess piece down.

“It's one thing to think of your lovers, it's another to think of them naked and draw it out,” Dorcas said, making Pandora stand up altogether. Pandora stalked out of the room without a goodbye, deciding the conversation was enough for her.

“They weren’t fully naked.” You and Evan both groaned at Barty’s response. Regulus cleared his throat.

“I also heard that people saw Evan sketching out the muscular system and when someone asked what he was drawing he said ‘my partners’ with zero context.” Evan nodded at Regulus.

“That one is actually true.” Evan clairfied.

“you drew my muscular system?” You asked. Evan nodded. You cooed and gently pecked Evan. “I'm flattered.”

“Because of that interaction, people also said Evan dissects you both,” Regulus added. You hummed.

“Well, I think he would if he could. If it didn’t kill us, he would.” Barty muttered, flinging himself back to rest against Evan’s legs. Evan dropped his hand to gently play with Barty’s hair.

“I do give you full permission to dissect me after I die though.” You said, turning to Evan. Evan’s jaw dropped open, staring at you with wide eyes.

“You mean it?” You nodded, smiling at him. Evan leaned forward. ”Love it when you talk dirty.” You grinned meeting Evan’s lips. He pulled you against him more, if it’s even possible.

“See and that’s why you bitches never my extra biscuits at dinner.” You heard Dorcas say. You ignored her, pushing our tongue past Evan’s lips. His breath hitched just enough for you to hear. You pushed back against him. Evan’s hand made it to your shirt, gripping the fabric roughly. You heard a sigh come from the floor. You slide one hand up to the back of Evan’s neck.

“Here I am, sitting here all alone and unkissed.” You pulled back at Barty’s voice. You looked down to see Barty staring up at you with his puppy eyes. You leaned down towards his face.

“Oh no fuck that. Go somewhere else right now or I'm hexing you all.” Dorcas said. You looked over at her to see her covering her eyes with both hands. You glanced at Regulus to find him `all the way across the commonroom, hiding behind his book. He peeked over the edge, shaking his head at you. You shrugged.

“Gladly.” You quickly reached out and took Barty by his hand. He stood up as fast as he could, tossing his wand onto his chess mess. You walked towards the stairs with Barty behind you. You glanced back to make sure Evan was following. Sure enough, Evan was right behind you. He smacked Barty’s ass on the way up the stairs, leaving you both in the dust. You quickly caught up, dragging Barty behind you, on the way to the dorms.

[loveinhawkins]

There’s perks to working a summer job where there’s seemingly no manager. Steve got an at most five minute interview with an overly smiley dude who said, “An independent workforce is very important to us,” and didn’t even check his references before telling Steve that he was hired.

So it’s down to him and Robin alone to open and close Scoops Ahoy. And the lack of any boss—not even a supervisor—is mostly great, means that no-one’s hovering over their shoulders droning on about ‘company policy’, means they can take their breaks as and when, and no-one’s tapping their foot with an eye on the clock.

But then there’s the times where it’s absolutely swamped with customers, and the statistical likelihood of having to serve an asshole skyrockets; and most assholes don’t tend to think of teenagers slinging ice-cream as being worthy of even the tiniest shred of respect.

“Are you wilfully this stupid, missy?” a douchebag snaps at Robin during the lunchtime rush, after she added chocolate sauce on his sundae instead of raspberry.

She remakes the order with a look that, if there was any justice in the world, would make him drop down dead on the spot. But instead, he just scoffs when she passes him the new sundae.

“Have a spectacular day,” Robin says acerbically, and if it was any other time, Steve would be ducking down behind the counter, pretending to check on stock levels so he can hide his laughter.

Except Robin’s also doing that thing where she blinks a lot, and Steve knows she’s fighting tears of frustration because he privately does something remarkably similar.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest coupled with what’s becoming a steadily frequent flare of protectiveness. That one usually comes with the kids and The Upside Down—except Robin is a girl who’s round about his age, so he half-heartedly assumes it must be because he has a crush on her.

But he’s not even thinking about said crush at all when he gently bumps her towards the break room with his hip and says, “Take yours first, I’ve got this.”

For half a second, Robin’s eyes seem to shine in gratitude before she puts a hand over her heart and declares, dripping in sarcasm, “You’re a god among men, Harrington, I never believed what anyone said about you.”

“You’re wel—hey, what did they say about me?”

The door to the break room shuts, but not before he hears Robin let out a genuine snort of laughter. He smiles and pivots back to the register.

The line’s calmed down; Steve recognises a substitute teacher waiting to be served: Mrs Greeves, who’s been at Hawkins High since the sixties, at least. There’s no other adult in the shop, so it’s presumably her little granddaughter who’s running about the place, without so much as a glancing eye on her.

But Steve doesn’t have to worry about a potential lost child scenario, because a guy suddenly slips out of the booth he’d been sitting in, bending down to the kid’s eye level and subtly ensuring that she doesn’t hightail it out of there.

It takes a few seconds for Steve to recognise him; he’s still getting used to the whole phenomenon of seeing people without the high school setting behind them. Like, Robin used to be just a name from a class he can’t even recall, and now he knows her for her dry wit and love of cryptic crosswords.

And this Eddie Munson is sort of a different beast from the guy Steve saw stomping around the cafeteria tables.

He’s dressed pretty much the same, (Hellfire shirt sans the leather jacket must be the ‘summer look’, Steve reckons), but he’s quieter as he chats with the little girl, letting her try on one of his skull rings to distract from her obvious boredom. His grin is softer, too.

Mrs Greeves clears her throat, and Steve promptly puts on his vacant ‘delightful customer service’ smile.

“Afternoon, Mrs Greeves, what can I do you for?”

She orders a simple strawberry cone for the kid, Abigail, and two scoops of lemon and vanilla in a cup for herself—appropriate, Steve thinks, because her face looks like she’s sucking on a lemon half the time.

As he prepares the ice-cream, he’s quickly remembering why she’s on the list of substitute teachers that students dread, even if he’s only had the ‘pleasure’ of being in a class supervised by her once. He has vague memories of how she’d talk with other teachers in a scandalised stage whisper about students from ‘broken homes’—he’s pretty sure she’s still an austere teacher at the Sunday School, too.

“Abigail,” she says sharply, when Steve finishes the cone, and she finally seems to realise her granddaughter isn’t by her side, “what have I told you about—”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Eddie says hurriedly. Abigail hands him the ring back, very carefully dropping it into his palm, and he gives her a gentle smile. “I don’t mind—”

“—not talking to strangers?” Mrs Greeves finishes, as if Eddie hadn’t spoken.

“But,” Eddie says with tiny frown, “you know me, ma’am, I’m—”

“Let me be plain then, Mr Munson.” She finally turns to favour Eddie with a scathing look. “I meant that I don’t want my granddaughter around a corrupting influence.”

There’s an awful silence while Abigail collects the cone.

“Oh,” Eddie says, still crouched down by the booth. He sounds very small.

And Steve’s view of Mrs Greeves quickly turns from a general dislike to an icy hatred.

“And here’s yours,” he says, sliding the cup over.

She looks down. Her mouth goes all pinched in displeasure.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“It’s your ice-cream,” Steve says, playing up a confused blink. “Is—is this not what you ordered? I’m terribly sorry for the—”

“Don’t be obtuse, Mr Harrington. These scoops are tiny; they barely fill the cup!”

Yup, Steve thinks with a savage satisfaction. They’re the size of a melon ball, and even that’s being generous.

“Mrs Greeves, I’m afraid it’s store policy. Nothing to do with—”

“What kind of policy could possibly justify—”

“Rudeness,” Steve says smoothly.

Eddie’s head jerks up at that, his mouth slightly agape.

“Mr Harrington,” Mrs Greeves says, her face turning puce, “I would like to see your manager.”

“The manager,” Steve says flatly. “Okay, sure. I’ll go get him.”

What he does next, compared to everything else that’s happened in his life thus far, isn’t all that stupid.

Well. Maybe a little.

It’s worth it though, to see the way Eddie Munson’s eyes widen at the sight.

Making sure to have zero expression throughout, Steve mimes walking downstairs, throws off his hat while crouched behind the counter, then re-emerges with a quick ruffle of his hair.

“How can I help you?” he asks, like they’ve only just met.

The cup of minuscule ice-cream is soon up-ended as Mrs Greeves storms out, barking over her shoulder, “Abigail, come here!”

Eddie stands to let the kid out of the way, who seems blissfully ignorant with her cone. Steve’s sure he hears him mutter under his breath, “Jesus, she’s not a dog.”

“I’ll be reporting you, Steve Harrington, make no mistake!”

Yeah, good fucking luck. I sure as hell don’t know who really runs this place.

“Uh-huh,” Steve says. “Looking forward to it. Harrington with two ‘r’s one ‘n’, ma’am.”

“Shit, Harrington,” Eddie drawls. He’s leaning next to the booth, hip cocked, and if it weren’t for the fact that he’d seen it himself, Steve might’ve been convinced that the Eddie from a moment ago was a different person. “That was not worth getting fired over.”

“I’m not getting fired,” Steve says—although honestly, if that had been a real threat, he thinks his actions would probably have been the same. Huh. “I meant it, dude, there’s no manager here.”

Eddie nods slightly, looks up at the Scoops Ahoy sign and grins. “So you and Buckley are the skeleton crew on this ship.”

“Uh, I guess?”

Come on, man, Steve thinks, as Eddie keeps up the wide grin like it’s a shield. This isn’t the high school cafeteria; I’m not about to hit your lunch tray or whatever.

Out loud, he calls into the back, “Hey, Robin, the chocolate’s low. I’m just gonna put in a new batch if you want some of the old stuff.”

The sliding doors open.

Robin sighs as if she’s just had a very relaxing facial, but she’s actually holding a folded newspaper with the cryptic crossword all finished.

“I am so chilled out,” she says, with a delivery that could rival Eddie Munson’s trademark dramatics.

“You’re so weird,” Steve says mildly while making up a cup with the leftover chocolate ice-cream.

“You’ve just got no taste, Harrington.” She waggles the crossword at him. “You should give ‘em a try.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “I’m no good at that code-breaking stuff.” He passes her the cup, goes to start assembling his own and pauses. “Hey, Munson, you want some?”

“Oh, uh, I’m good,” Eddie says, sounding suddenly wrong-footed. “Sorry, I’m just, uh, killing time before my movie starts. The other stores said if I wasn’t buying anything I should get out, so…”

“So you’ve come to our oceanic sanctum,” Robin deadpans.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know, just ‘cause you do crosswords doesn’t mean you have to turn into a dictionary. Ow.” He doesn’t quite duck in time to avoid the newspaper smacking him in the face. He turns to address Eddie again, who appears to be fighting back laughter. “What’re you gonna see, Munson?”

Eddie’s eyes glance away for a second. “Something very scary and befitting of my stature, Harrington.”

Robin, who’s made a habit of memorising the mall’s movie schedules, checks her watch and narrows her eyes. “Return to Oz?”

Eddie’s cheeks start to glow. “Fuck off, Buckley, I’ve never liked you.”

“You’re such a liar, I’ve heard your applause at band practice—”

“Okay, but,” Steve cuts in, jumping up onto the counter with one hand. “I thought the whole point was Oz was a dream. How can she return to—?”

“Christ, I don’t know, Harrington,” Eddie says. “I didn’t pick it for critical analysis; the poster had a dude with a pumpkin head on it, and I thought it looked cool.”

“Oh, I saw that,” Robin says. “Made me think of when all those pumpkins went bad. Like, imagine if they had faces.”

Unthinkingly, Steve says around his ice-cream spoon, “No way, I’m not dealing with that, too.”

“Excusez-moi?” Robin says.

“Hmm?” Steve says innocently.

“Hey, you missed quite a show earlier on, Buckley,” Eddie says. “Reckon Harrington deserves a tally in the ‘you rule’ column.”

Steve glares at Robin. “I told you to keep that outta view of the customers.”

“Ah, but I’m not buying anything,” Eddie points out, “ergo, not a customer.”

“Ergo,” Steve mimics.

“That board is strictly for romantic successes,” Robin says.

Eddie snorts. “Aw, that’s hardly fair. I think it should have more… rounded criteria.”

Robin’s eyes narrow again. “Eddie Munson, you’ve never complimented a jock in your life, don’t start now.”

“Hey,” Steve says, overselling a ‘wounded’ expression. “I’m more than that, y’know. I contain multitudes.”

“Sure,” Eddie says, smiling. “Folks, we’ve got Hawkins’s own Whitman right here.”

Steve flips him off and, on a whim, decides to channel his inner Dustin.

“Maybe I just see the world more clearly than you two ‘cause I’m free of societal constraints.”

“You’re working in a mall,” Robin says.

“High school societal contraints. I am unshackled and ergo, free.”

“Damn,” Eddie says, patting down his pockets for an imaginary pen, “I should use that.”

“Stop inflating Harrington’s ego and go catch your totally scary movie,” Robin says.

Eddie checks his own watch. “Oh, shit. Um.” And Steve thinks that it almost looks like he’s reluctant to leave. “Time flies, I guess. Better go ashore.” He catches Steve’s eye, gives a tiny little salute as he leaves. “May your summer continue to be mundane and manager-less.”

“You’re a poet, Munson,” Steve says, even though Eddie’s already out the door.

“So what was the show I missed?” Robin says. “I couldn’t hear anything back there.”

“Nothing that exciting.”

Steve tells her, and even though a smile tugs at her mouth as he re-enacts his mime, for some reason her eyes are kinda sad for most of it.

“Good job, Popeye,” she says thoughtfully—and though it directly contradicts her own words, she marks up a singular ‘you rule’ tally for the rest of her shift before wiping it off.

Eddie doesn’t re-appear after the movie—not that Steve’s keeping track of time, or anything—but at least they don’t have anymore nightmares for customers. As Steve mops, he thinks about how Dustin’s return from Camp Something Something is approaching—and the fact that he’s circled the date with a goofy smiley face is between him and his bedroom calendar.

He smiles to himself while clocking out of the now ghostly mall, recalling Eddie’s parting words.

The thought of a mundane, manager-less summer stretching before him sounds pretty damn good.

[prettiestgrlinthemorguexo]

Swipe (Lucifer morningstar x reader)

Description: after his divorce, he finally gets back into the dating game…through a dating app :)

Please note I’m writing this before the release of ep7 and ep8 so-

Takes place between ep 5 and right before ep 6

I wrote nearly 98% of this at like 3 AM-

Part 1 of 3

Warning: Lucifer being a dork, Lucifer being a dorky dad, age gap(reader died at like 25 and Lucifer is like a good few thousands years old so), talk of divorce, Charlie being a supportive daughter, I’ve never used a dating apps so i might get info wrong, Lucifer doesn’t know modern day technology or slang, lying, Lucifer straight up cat fishing reader,

No one’s POV

Lucifer was a wreck after his divorce with Lilith. Becoming the shell of the man he was, going from a family-oriented to a man who barely talk to anyone. After visiting his daughter and her hotel, he knew he had to be there, he already missed so much he wasn’t gonna miss another second of it. Becoming the best father he could also meant moving on, it’s been seven years since the separation. Charlie knew her Dad had been in pain since the divorce but she could tell, he was trying and she was going to be there.

Lucifer’s POV

“Charlie, are you sure about this?” I ask still hesitant, I knew Charlie just wanted to help and had the best intentions, but a dating app?  “Of course!” Charlie exclaimed, face lite up. “It’s perfect! You get to meet people without the face to face interactions!” Charlie said downloading the app, viva by Voxtech.

Charlie’s was more excited than I was, I wanted to meet people but an app? I can’t help but feel my heart race and my body get heavy, why was I this nervous. In the middle of my overthinking Charlie handed me the phone, it had a profile made it had my name and many details. It felt like I was giving it to all 9 rings of hell! “Ok! How we gotta add some photos an-“

“Charlie!”

We both turned are head to see Alastor and Vaggie standing there. “Can you help with something real quick?” Vaggie ask seeming annoyed. “Of course!” Charlie’s called back before as standing up. “You go ahead and add those photos dad I’ll be back!” Charlie said as she ran to the two, leaving me alone on the couch staring at the screen. 

I read over the info and it all was so…personal. How would anyone be comfortable putting this much out? I Don’t get me started with being the King of Hell it’s self, then an idea popped in my head. I turn my head slightly to see Charlie still talking to the pair so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I added photos of my duck inventions and made a duck with a white top hat as my ‘icon’. Now onto the name, Lucifer was too out there everyone would know, think! L names that are similar.

Lucifer..

Luci…

Luc…

Luca..

Luca! I instantly think changing the name quickly, removing the last name from the profile along with it. After that it looked like a normal profile. When I finished and satisfied with it Charlie was walking back over. “Sorry bout that dad! Now back to w-.” While she was speaking I shove my phone in my pocket and stand up. “No it’s fine! I set it up!” I nearly screamed it out as I stood from the couch. Charlie stared at me shock for a moment before her normal bright smile returned to her face. “Wow that’s great!” She said as she walked over “Look at you getting the hang of technology!” Charlie said happily. I didn’t know why I was so nervous by an app, but it was on my mind. After finishing talking to Charlie I was able to leave, soon I was back in my bedroom. I let out a sigh and feel onto the massive bed and pulled out my phone, Viva still open.

Y/N POV

Left..Left..Left..

God this app was a never ending app of swiping left on people wanting hook-ups was tiring. This was the last time I’d take F/N advice and use a dating app, the fact they exist in hell was already surprising. It was nude after nude of people looking for a hookup. Then something different popped up, instead of the naked body I almost have gotten used to, I was greeted by a rubber duck with a white top hat. My eyes widen a bit as I layed there I swipped to look at the second photo, more ducks. I then moved and read the bio. “Luca..” I said quietly to myself reading the short info. I looked at the photos and the bio, it stood out in the sea of profile, i stair a while longer…

…Right.

“CONGRATS! YOU GOT A MATCH!” Popped up on my screen in red shades, with the little duck icon. “…that was quick” I think to myself. I click on the little message option.

Y/N - Hi :)

No ones POV

Lucifer layed there looking at the profiles, this was dating. More like brothel. He could barely understand, after swiping left a few times he chose to just turn off his phone, it was a mistake to think an app could help. Almost as soon as Lucifer sat his phone down his phone went off, illuminating the room …then it went off again.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow picking up his phone to see two notifications, both from Viva. Seeing a match with someone named Y/N and a message from them. Lucifer felt himself lose the ability to breathe, “A match?” Lucifer asked himself, confused on what that meant, he open the Add to be greeted my the words “CONGRATS! YOU GOT A MATCH!” And the icon that belong to Y/N.

The icon was a photo of Y/N. Lucifer’s eyes lit up and he finally let out a breath. He admired their features. Their H/C H/L that looked perfect, their E/C eyes drew him in. He clicked the image see their profile, he was greeted my a normal photo of you, it stood out. Lucifer saw the message illuminating in corner of the screen, he let out a breath and opened the message and saw a simple

Y/N - “Hi :)”

I sat their staring at the message before typing himself

Luca - Hi

Time skip (why? Because I fucking said so.)

Over the past few weeks, Lucifer and Y/N talked every day. Learning every little detail of each other. Lucifer learned about your job, your friends, how you lived and how you died even. He couldn’t help but want to know everything.

Y/N learned he had a daughter and that he’d been “recently divorced”, his words not theirs. Y/N learned that he loves ducks and creating new duck toys, he was a big dork, like a big puppy dog. Of course you didn’t know you were talking to Lucifer himself, you thought you were talking to a man named Luca…

During Lucifer’s now frequent visit to his daughter and her little Hazbin hotel, Charlie couldn’t help but notice how her dad was one his phone more then usual, usual being never. Naturally, Charlie was curious. “Sooo..” Charlie started, a little unsure what to say about her fathers new found internet obsession. “Who are you talking to?” Charlie ask curious.

Lucifer was quick to meet his daughters eyes and quickly put his phone face down on the table . “No one!” He said in an almost scream, before it buzzed again..and again…and again. Charlie eyes went between her dads now sweating face and and his phone. Before Lucifer could even react, Charlie reached for his phone. “Wait!” Lucifer said reaching for his phone from her hands, the phone screen lite up and Charlie was greeted my 4 notifications from someone named Y/N from Viva. Charlie gasp turning quickly turning to face him, Charlie’s face lite up like Christmas lights. “YOUR TALKING TO SOMEONE?!” Charlie squealed from excitement, since she helped set up his password she quickly opened his phone to see more.

“Charlie don’t-“ Lucifer started to say before seeing her face fall from its happy to confused. “Wait..” Charlie said looking at his profile, “why is your name ‘Luca’?” Charlie ask her eyes moving from his phone finally to be greeted with Lucifer’s red face “well…,” Lucifer started, “I wasn’t comfortable putting my name and photo on there so…I put a different name and photo.” Charlie’s face went from suprise to more annoyed, not angry, just disappointed. “Dad you can’t just do that!” Charlie said to her father, her free rubbing her face. “You can’t just catfish her!”

Lucifer looked confused, catfish? Like the animal? “Catfish?” Lucifer asked, truly not understanding the term. “Yes dad you can’t just lie about who you are to someone like that!” Charlie said scolding her father. Lucifer after that was able to put two and two together, the weight of what he’s been hit him like a bus. “Dad,” Charlie said letting out a sigh, “you have to come clean to them.” She said as she handed him his phone. “Char ITS not that easy!” Lucifer said taking the phone from then hand seeing them newest text, her caring words, them asking if he he’s eaten, remind him to take care of himself, her word hit his heart hard. “It’s not a normal situation, I’m the king of hell, not some random sinner!” Lucifer said he eyes not leaving the illuminated screen. “Dad, they’re gonna find out sooner or later, it’s better if you do it now, early into you talking then later..”

Lucifer stated quiet, he knew deep down she was right, he did truly like them and want more with them, he could only imagine how you’d react if he waited much longer it’s already been a few weeks… Lucifer let out a sigh and looked up at his daughter. “your right..” he said quietly, “I’ll tell them just…give me time..” Charlie stared for a moment before letting before smiling again. “Just do it soon dad…” Lucifer knew she was right.

Later that night Lucifer layed in his bed, looking at her last message, contemplating how to tell them, shoudl he texted it, no they’d think he’s joking, “maybe…” he though out loud. “A FaceTime..?” He asked himself, no, he didn’t even know how to start one… maybe…a date? You’d know he wasn’t lying about being satan himself, he could explain better then over a device and he could only imagine how beautiful you were in person… Lucifer looked down at the message you last send hesitation purged his mind, but slowly he began to type.

Luca - hey, can I ask you something?

Y/N - of course ask anything! :)

Luca - I was thinking he could go out sometime? Like a date going out.

After a a minute he saw you typing a new message. He could already feel his heart race a mile a minute, he felt a cold sweat form. Why was he so nervous? Then a little buzz when off, it was you he was hesitant but swipe to open the message.

Y/N - wait really? You wanna go on a date with me??

Lucifer swallowed the lump in his throat before typing with shaky fingers.

Luca - yes Y/N I really do.

Y/N - Yes I’d love to!! ❤️

Lucifer’s eyes lit up seeing you answer in only seconds, he can’t help but feel his heart flutter at the simple heart emoticon. Soon you both planned to meet for dinner the next night at a nice restaurant, named killer appetite, closer to the center of pentagram city, then he hit him…you both were actually going on a date. Together…

Y/N’s POV

When I saw his message asking me out, I could have screamed. He actually wanted to see me! I quickly typed and agreed to it. We chose dinner at a nice high end restaurant closer to the center of the city, I’ve heard of the place it was up scale. I was so ecstatic.

The next day at work couldn’t have gone slower, it felt like every minute was a hour long but as soon as that clock hit five, I was out the door racing home to get ready.As soon I was ready, my hair and outfit was perfect. I was quick out the door to the restaurant. On my way I received a message from Luca.

Luca - hey! Placed a reservation under L.M.

“L.M?” I asked myself, wondering what it meant, maybe his initials? I smile and replied ok,only a few minutes later I was at the restaurant, even though it was only 7 the restaurant was lively, full and packed. I walked over to the hostess stand.

“Hi, there should be a reservation for L.M?” I felt nervous, a mix of because of how busy it is and meet him…when I said the name of the reservation the hostess gave changed a mix of nervousness and excitement. “Of course! Right this way!” She said trying to put on a happy face but the nerves over shadowed that, she let me to a table already set up in a quieter area, almost completely different from the bustling atmosphere of the restaurant. “your server will be with you shortly, please enjoy!” She said as she raced out the room. I staired at the entrance way confused, why was that girl so nervous, and to have such a secluded area on a Friday night, it was unusual…

I sat down at the table that faced the entrance way. I pulled out my phone to text me.

Y/N - Hey! I just sat down! We have a really nice table, are you almost here? :)

I saw he read the text but no reply, I felt nervous again, my eyes kept watching my phone, my mouth was dry. But then I heard a voice “sorry I’m late..” the voice sounded nervous. I look up to a short blonde man. My eyes widen and my mouth is dry…

I was looking at Lucifer himself…

TAG LIST

@reverse-soe @kazurami14 @netheris @rainycloud858

[temilyrights]

just go with it

melissa schemmenti x fem!reader

summary: reader runs into an old frenemy at the bar and enlists melissa to play her date. hidden feelings are revealed. inspired by the movie just go with it.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: alcohol (beer), swearing, old bully.

a/n: this was so much fun to write! i hope you enjoy <3 i think i included all the warnings but as always pls let me know if i missed anything! if u wanna be added to my taglist just lmk or fill out my form on my masterlist!

The night hadn’t exactly gone to plan, not that you were complaining. The Abbot family were supposed to be celebrating reaching the end of another quarter, even going as far as to select a bar up to Ava’s standards with extravagant cocktails and comfortable booths (but still with a generic enough dart board that Melissa would turn up). Ava had shoot down your usual place saying, “Girl, I’ve got a reputation to uphold and even entering that place would lose me 1K on Instagram,”

However things had immediately started to splinter when Gregory and Janine failed to turn up, still very much in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. And then Barbara had ordered two cocktails which had immediately gone to her head and called Gerald to come and pick her up. Jacob got a text for Avi and ducked out apologetically, Mr Johnson disappeared somewhere, and then Ava declared she couldn’t be seen dead out in only a group of three so she ditched, which meant less than two hours into the night only you and Melissa remained at the bar. 

You’d initially been irritated, having looked forward to a family night out all week. But when Melissa dragged you to the dart board saying “We don’t need ‘em.”, her hand warm in yours and her smile bright. You’d suddenly forgotten every thought you’d ever had.

“Another bullseye for me!” Melissa smirks victorious, dancing as she turns around to face you. “I think that means ya owe me a drink, hon.” 

You roll your eyes, but can’t bring yourself to care that deeply at the sight of the redheads joy. She seems to be having a great time, despite everyone leaving. And you’re determined to soak up every moment of this additional out-of-school Melissa time until she decides to call it a night. 

It feels like a blessing, and the sight of her in a strappy leopard print top with enough cleavage to cause your brain to short circuit when she‘d first arrived definitely didn’t hurt. She looked beautiful with her red curls down past her neck, and her brown leather jacket and red high heels on. Any day now you were gonna get this raging crush under control and not look at Melissa Schemmenti and see the sun, any day… 

…just not today if your traitorous heart had any say. 

“Another of the same?” You ask, nodding towards her beer with a grin on your lips. 

“You betcha.” She shimmies closer to you, her teeth biting into her lip. “And when youse get back we’ll have another game. If you can take the heat.” 

Your face heats up and you force out a laugh to cover up how wildly attractive you find her. You push yourself off the barstool and side step her. “Uh yeah, another game sounds good. I’ll be right back.” You step back, giving her a slightly too tight smile before you run away to the bar. 

So chill Y/N. Wow, excellent game. If she didn’t want you before, I bet she does now.

You groan as you approach the bar, resisting every bone in your body that wants you to slam your head very hard against the bartop to hopefully knock some sense into yourself because that was just plain embarrassing. Instead, you settle on waving down the bartender and ordering two yuengling's. 

They make quick work of your order and you pay and mutter a polite, “Thanks,” before turning away with your drinks, ready to head back to Melissa. Determined to not make a complete fool of yourself this evening. 

“Y/N L/N!” A shrill voice calls and your blood runs cold, “Oh my god, is that really you?” 

Your eyes fall close as you blow out a breath and send a hail mary that maybe, just maybe, that voice won’t be connected to the woman you believe it to be. 

Of course, life doesn’t work like that and when you open your eyes you come face to face with your old college ‘friend’. If a friend meant someone who constantly put you down and had to be better than you at all times. Suddenly the last day of college doesn’t seem long enough ago, god you could’ve gone the rest of your life without seeing this woman and that still wouldn’t have made up for the torment of the three years of friendship with her. 

“Alisha, Hi.” You grimace. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“I know!” She cackles, “I’d never expect you to be somewhere this close to classy. I remember the dives you loved in college.”

Your smile tightens and you force a humourless laugh. “Well, great to see you Alisha, but I really should be getting back to-”

“No, no, no, come on we must catch up!” She interrupts. She shakes her hair performatively and presents her hand, showing off an obnoxious diamond, “I, of course, got married. My husband is here actually and you must meet him.”

“Congrats, but I really should be getting back to my-” 

“I’m sure your friend won’t mind.” Alisha waves a hand. 

She grabs the hand not holding the two bottles of beer, her face etched with pity. “I noticed you don’t have a wedding band. It’s okay, your time will come.”

You try to shake your hand free, but Alisha’s grip tightens. “Seriously, Y/N, not everyone can be as lucky as-”

“Hey hon, everythin’ alright?” Melissa interrupts, an obvious edge to her voice. Her hand perches on the small of your back as she gives Alisha a once over, and despite the other woman being four inches taller than her, you know Melissa could take her effortlessly. 

Alisha’s eyes widen before melting into a smirk as she extends her hand, “Alisha, Y/N’s closest friend from college.” 

Melissa looks at you before looking back at Alisha and scoffing, “Right.” 

Alisha drops her hand, but doesn’t look disturbed, in fact she looks more excited than you’ve ever seen her, if you exclude that one house party she threw where she got the entire football team to attend and ended up sleeping with the quarterback. 

More than slightly disturbed, you push the beer in Melissa’s direction, “Here, sorry.”

“Thanks, hon.” She accepts the drink, her fingers brushing yours as she does. 

You watch Alisha hungrily eat up the action, and you know what’s gonna happen next before she even opens her mouth. “So, you’re Y/N’s girlfriend?”  

The redhead’s eyes widen, her drink pausing on its way to her mouth. And before she can reject it, and Alisha’s face grows even more victorious in your pathetic aloneness, you jump in and answer. 

“Fiancée, actually.” 

You should be awarded an Emmy for the way you keep your face straight and don’t cringe as both Melissa and Alisha swing around to face you. 

“I left my ring at home,” You roll your eyes. “She only popped the question recently. Haven’t quite got used to wearing it yet.” 

“Really?” Alisha questions, eyes narrowing. “Well now you must join my husband and I for drinks. We can toast to the newlyweds and newly-engaged.” 

She grabs your hand, pulling you away before you can protest again. You look back at Melissa, silently begging for help, but she just watches you with an arched brow and smirk before she takes a long sip from her beer and saunters after you.

Alisha doesn’t release her grip until you reach the booth in the corner of the bar. Her husband, an even taller man, presumably quite handsome if you’re into that sort of thing - but in your opinion quite boring looking - sits scrolling on his phone and nursing what looks like a whiskey sour. 

“Honey, I found some friends.” She says, sitting down beside her husband. “This is my best friend from college Y/N, and her fiancée…oh,” Alisha tips her head, smiling widely “In all that excitement I didn’t get your name.” 

Melissa doesn’t respond, instead signalling you to slide in the booth first so she can be on the end. 

“It’s Melissa,” You respond, ignoring the redhead’s dark look for sharing her personal information. 

“Traitor,” She mumbles quietly into your ear, her breath hot. 

You roll your eyes, even as you struggle to breath properly. If she’d saved you when she had the chance you wouldn’t be in this situation. 

“What a lovely name,” Alisha gushes, and you don’t need to turn to see Melissa’s glare.

Alisha drops her head to her husband's shoulder, who wraps his arm around her back with a boy-ish grin, “And this is my husband, Victor.” 

“Ladies, nice to meet you.” 

You force a smile and take a long sip from your beer. 

“I was just saying to Y/N how funny it is running into her.” Alisha laughs, “We’re only in Philadelphia because the jet needed to refuel. It was not part of our plan,” She rolls her eyes, “Honestly, can you imagine living here?” 

“What’s wrong with Philly?” Melissa challenges, eyes narrowing

“I’m just saying it wouldn’t be my first choice.” She waves her hand, like she hasn’t said anything offensive. “Victor and I live in California, but we’re heading to Paris because this one’s talking at a convention for dentists.” 

“Wow, impressive.” You nod politely.

“You ended up here?” She asks, pity evident in her tone. 

“I chose here. I love Philly. I’ve got an amazing teaching job and an amazing group of friends. It’s a really good community.” You say seriously. There were some things Alisha could make you feel insecure about, but Philly was never going to be one of them. You were happy with your life. 

“And your fiancée, right?” She challenges, “How long have you been together?” 

Melissa’s arm wraps around your waist and she tugs you tightly into her side. You try not to let the surprise at the action show on your face. 

“Two years. Known each other for three through. She swooped in and saved me when the kids were drivin’ me mad and kinda hasn’t stopped since.” 

Your heart flutters as you stare at Melissa from beneath your lashes, warmth settling in your chest. You know the exact moment she’s talking about, it’s the first time you properly met, about a month into teaching at Abbott. You’d heard the commotion coming from her classroom while your first-graders were in music class, and had popped your head next door - just to check - and found a clearly stressed out redhead trying to control a large class of second and third graders. 

You’d made your way in, with a calm “How can I help?”. Melissa had just thrusted worksheets at you and pointed towards the third-graders. From then on you popped in to help whenever you had a free lesson, and if it meant staying later to catch up on lesson planning you decided it was worth it, especially as it led to one of your favourite friendships.

“You have kids?” Victor asks. “I love kids.” 

“No, teacher. We work together.” 

“Oh, that makes sense. Y/N was never one to have much of a social life outside of her work.” Alisha rolls her eyes, “Of course she’d have to meet her partner at her place of work too. She never had much luck when it came to dating, always so alone.” She juts out her bottom lip patronisingly. 

“I dated.” You defend, “I just happened to put my studies first, which was the whole point of being at college.” 

Alisha nods and takes a sip from her drink. Your eyes narrow at her. You don’t realise your hand has tightened into a fist until Melissa pulls it into her lap and begins gently caressing your knuckles, slowly coaxing it open again. 

Victor’s phone rings, an obnoxious beeping sound that shocks you enough that your hand pulls away from Melissa’s. You miss the touch instantly, wanting to reach back but knowing you shouldn’t. 

“Oh sorry girls, I should take this.” 

“He gets lots of important calls.” Alisha supplies proudly, as she slides out of the booth to let her husband out. Melissa lifts her brows, shooting you a look of disbelief and you struggle not to laugh.

They stand together beside the table. Victor drops his forehead to Alisha’s and inhales deeply. “Your beauty, your drive, your wit.” He breathes dramatically.

Alisha hums, “Your intelligence, your thirst, your strength.” 

Their nose’s rub together, and you swear your soul leaves your body as you watch them open mouthed in disbelief. You turn to Melissa whose face is screwed up in outright disgust. 

Alisha sits back down, a content smile on her face. “It’s something we do whenever the other person leaves. Say what we love most about each other.” 

“You really ain’t from Philly, huh?” Melissa laughs, taking a long sip from her beer. 

“You guys should try it.” 

“I ain’t doing-” 

“I don’t think-” Melissa and you both start to say at the same time.

“Not everyone can do it.” Alisha waves. 

Your eyes narrow and Melissa puts down her beer. 

“You know what, we’ll do it now.” You say, determined. 

Melissa smirks, eyes bright with challenge as she looks between you and Alisha. “Sure thing, hon.” 

“Okay, just look into each other’s eyes and say three things you love most about each other.”

You turn to face Melissa, knee’s brushing against hers. You blow out a breath, suddenly nervous looking at her this closely. Her green eyes hold your gaze, a reassuring smile on her face and it helps you steel yourself. 

“Okay. Uh, I love how much you care about the kids.” You start, easy, honest, tame. “You do so much for them, more than anyone even realises. But they love you so much. You’re a phenomenal teacher. You’ve got such a beautiful heart, even if you do try to keep it hidden.”

Melissa listens to you with soft eyes, a wet chuckle breaking from her lips.

“It’s not even just the kids. The things you do for Barbara, Janine, Me. You are extraordinary. I see how much you care, I see your kindness.” The words flow from your lips, the truth that you should probably keep hidden. 

She scoffs, shaking her head, “I ain’t that soft.” 

“I love how safe you make me feel.” Your breath shakes as Melissa’s eyes widen. God too much, too honest, but maybe she’ll just think you’re selling the lie and won’t know just how true every word coming from your lips is.

“Whenever something happens you’re the person I want to find. And you just know how to make it better. Before you, I never needed someone else, but now I literally…I just, I don’t know, I gravitate towards you. When I’m with you I just know everything is going to be okay. I feel safe, like together we could take on anything.” 

“I wouldn’t let anythin’ happen to you.” She smiles gently. 

Your heart stutters, “And your smile, god that smile.” It makes you soar, you can’t breath as words spill from your lips, “I love it. I look forward to lunch everyday because I know I get to see that smile. Your smile starts my day, and everytime I get to see it I feel like I’m doing something right.” 

She stares at you and you clear your throat, breaking your gaze. “And that's three.”  

Melissa grabs your hands, her fingers stroking your knuckles, prompting your eyes to return back to hers. “My turn.” 

You nod silently, unable to speak as you watch the women in front of you. Heart pounding. 

“I love your company. No matter my mood, it’s good. You’re just nice to have around. Whether I’m cookin’ for you, we’re drinkin’, or we’re stressin’ out over work. It’s fun with you.” She shrugs with a shy smile.

You grin. God your heart can’t take this. It still pounds and you can’t differentiate between truth and lie. She sounds so honest, eyes so gentle and you desperately want to fall in and believe every single word leaving her lips. 

“You’re stupidly generous too and I love you for it, even if it makes me wanna hit ya sometimes.” 

She rolls her eyes and you both chuckle. 

“You say I have a good heart, but I watch the way you keep giving to everyone around you without expecting anythin’ in return. You’re always offering to cover a lesson or lunch shift, even though I know it means you’re staying at school later to catch up on lesson plans.” 

You shift, you really hadn’t thought she’d noticed. “It’s nothing really.” 

“It’s somethin’. You’re good. Like, actual good, and you don’t find that often.” 

Your eyes soften, tears threatening to pool as you itch to reach out and pull her in, kiss her. 

“And you know what else I love? Your eyes.” She nods, with a shining smile. “When they catch the light? Stunnin’. They are so expressive, always shining, sayin’ things even if you don’t.” 

You draw in a sharp breath, eyes locked with hers. Wondering maybe if-

“I won a competition for the most beautiful eyes.” Alisha’s piercing voice interrupts. You jolt away from Melissa, having entirely forgotten about the other women’s presence. 

“I’m pretty sure I’d still win if you entered. No offence, Y/N.” She laughs shrilly. 

You drain the last of your beer, your chest still tight and your bearings off. 

Melissa snaps. “Alright, I’m done. I dunno if your parents were too nice to you as a kid or didn’t tell you they loved you enough but either way I don’t care. You ain’t speaking to my girl like that anymore, especially if you think your ugly ass fake contacts in any way compare to her stunnin’ fuckin’ eyes.” 

Alisha’s face finally falls. 

“So goodbye, we’re leavin’. And you and your guy can get the hell out of Philly fast before I find someone to jack your dang car.” She grabs your hand, fingers entwined with yours and tugs you from the booth with her. 

You laugh, feeling lighter the further away you get from the gobsmacked women you left behind. Melissa weaves you between people and out the bar, not letting go of your hand until you're safely outside and the door has shut behind you. 

“That was…” You look at the redhead, shaking your head and grinning, your entire body buzzing. “God, I just…”

She chuckles, her hand landing on your waist. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Her other hand digs into her back pocket pulling out her phone, “I’ll call a cab.” 

Your heart thunders. Your hand reaching for her chin bringing her face back to yours. She’s so close…. “You are extraordinary.” 

Her cheeks pink as she tries to shrug off your touch, “Y/N,”

“No.” You breathe, bringing her back to look at you. Your gaze falls to her red painted lips, your chest tightens. And you know you could let go, step back and you’d both pretend this moment had never happened, but you don’t want to. 

You want to lean in and kiss those pretty lips. Finally say fuck the point of no return. Because all the fears and risks that were keeping you from plunging in all seemed irrelevant when your body felt this alive. 

It’s like you’d finally woken you and you knew you didn’t want to go another day without kissing Melissa Schemmenti. 

You lean in. Melissa’s shaky breath expelling against your lips before she meets yours. Tentative at first, once, twice, three times, before her hand fists into your shirt and yours moves to her hair, and then a moan is pulled from her lips and your gone. Frantic and heated you devour each other. Her phone is roughly shoved into your back pocket so she can paw at your ass and then she’s walking you back into the wall. Her body is finally flush against yours and you gasp in delight as you drown in the sensation, unable to think clearly as you passionately kiss her.

When you finally separate, you’re both breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other. Melissa’s lipstick is a mess, her lips swollen, and you think she’s never looked more beautiful. 

“Ya mess.” She tuts affectionately, breathing still broken as she reaches out to wipe her lipstick from your lips. 

“And who’s fault is that?” You chuckle, grinning like a fool. 

She rolls her eyes and you want to kiss the expression off her face. You lean in to do just that, but she steps back, her eyes shifting away from you. 

“Hon,” She shakes her head, finally wiping the lipstick off from around her own mouth. 

A pit lands in your stomach, panic coursing through your body. No. You’ve come this close. You weren’t losing her now. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel this too.” 

She looks at you, eyes soft and pained, “‘Nd you can’t want this.” 

“Did you not hear a word I said in there?” You ask incredulously. “God, Mel, all of that. Every single word. I meant that.” 

“You meant it?” She questions, unsure. 

You shrug, vulnerable, exposed. “Of course. How could I not? You’re the best person I've ever met.” 

She scoffs, wet, stumbling forward back into your arms. “Fuck you.” She murmurs and captures your lip. You expect it to be harsh and heated, but she’s so gentle and slow, her lips tenderly moving against yours like you’re something to be treasured and if she pushes too hard you might break. 

You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek lovingly when you separate. She watches you in awe, eyes so gentle and you’ve never felt so content in your life. 

“I meant everythin’ too.” She confesses.

You grin and press a quick peck to her lips. “I had my suspicions.” 

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever. You wanna actually get out of ‘ere?” 

You laugh, “Yes, please.” 

“Leftovers and beers at mine?”

You hum in delight, not missing the way Melissa’s eyes darken, her eyes dropping to your lips. “That sounds perfect. And watch something on Netflix?” 

“Whatever you want, hon.” She responds, dragging her gaze away. “I’ll call a cab now.”

She takes a couple steps away, to make the call and you unashamedly watch her the entire time. Your eyes taking in her figure and lingering on her ass. Because, hey, who can blame a girl. 

It was Melissa goddamn Schemmenti. 

Your teeth pulling at your bottom lip, do nothing to suppress your grin.

I guess you really might have to thank everyone in Abbott for leaving tonight if this was the result. 

You weren’t quite a big enough person to thank Alisha. 

You would have gotten there without her.

Eventually.

taglist: @aburman03

[subbypeterparker]

need loser!hazel callahan humping the readers thigh

just thinking of Hazel enjoying being on top of you, little gasps and moans escaping her lips when your thighs encase her waist, pulling her in closer. your hands are buried in her hair, pulling slightly on those beautiful soft locks.

“jesus baby, your lips feel so good,” she can’t help but whimper, words slightly drowned out by your tongue in her mouth as you hum in agreement. her hands are stroking small circles on the waist band of your shorts, cold rings sending chills through your body. your breathing has sped up a bit, and and Hazel can feel your heartbeat hammering under your skin.

your thigh suddenly slots between her legs, rubbing slightly on the heat in between them, earning you a moan when Hazel feels pressure being added to her clit. you’re both wearing thin matching sleep shorts, and as cute as you both think they are, there’s no denying the thin material leaves sensations easy to feel.

you pull away slightly, just enough so you can see her half-lidded eyes full of lust, her lush lips puffy and wet, and her cheeks flushed from the continuous movements of your thigh. “fuck Hazel, you look straight out a wet dream-” you sigh out as her head ducks down to press her soft lips onto your neck, tongue tracing over marks left over from the previous night.

you can’t help but roll your hips up, accidentally causing your thigh that’s between her legs to jerk up, pressing the seam of her shorts directly on her clit. she moans out, leaning back up to press her lips back onto yours, panting and moaning when you’re still moving your thigh against her cunt.

you notice the little noise she lets out, and smirk against her lips, pushing her hips down and applying more pressure, until she moans out against your lips. her hips begin moving on their own, grinding slowly against your thigh. “baby, you can go faster if you want..” you purr out. poor Hazel’s brain goes completely numb after that, as soon as she realizes that moving her hips faster makes her feel better.

“didn’t think…this would feel…so good-” she lets out against your lips, breathing increasing as she grinds down harder. you can’t help but let out your own groans, seeing your beautiful girl fall apart above you. she’s so wet at this point, you can feel her slick coming through her panties and shorts, and let out a lewd moan of your own.

“baby, take off your pants, please,” you breathlessly let out. her forehead rests against yours while she reaches down to quickly pull down her boxers and shorts in one go. a string of her slick connects her pussy to her panties, and your mouth immediately starts watering. the cold hair hits her wet folds, and she whimpers out at the sensation.

Hazel repositions herself so your legs can lay comfortably splayed apart, knees raised so she can straddle your thigh. your hands are quick to move to her waist, pulling her against the soft skin of your plush thighs. her wet cunt comes in contact with your bare leg, and she throws her head back at the first second of contact her clit has with your bare skin.

you let her sit there, so pretty for you with her cunt exposed to you, and her hips slowly jutting so she’s grinding against you. “good girl, there you are,” you let out, licking your lips at the sight of her. her eyes zero in on your lips as her hips begging moving faster and faster, and she leans down quickly to press fast and breathless kisses on your lips.

your thigh is now drenched with her slick, her hips moving more sporadically than before. “fuck, i’m already close,” she feels so pathetic saying that, but the more wet she becomes, the easier it is for her to slide along your thigh, and the closer she feels to cumming.

“please baby, cum all over me, please,” you pant out into her mouth. her arousal all over your leg feels like heaven, and you need to see her cum from just grinding on your thigh. Hazel angles her hips so that when she thrusts her hips, her clit can deliciously rub against the outlines of your leg muscles.

her mouth opens against yours, a warning she’s about to cum, and you’re quick to praise her with a little “please Hazel, you’re doing so good, cum for me baby, please.”

her thighs jerk and shake against your own thighs, and your hand moves to rub against her clit, sending her over the edge. she lets out quiet moans and sobs as the pressure in her stomach builds until her legs still, and she’s cumming all over your thigh.

“that’s it baby, that’s my good girl,” you pant out, rubbing her hips, which are lazily jutting against your thigh as she comes down from her high. Hazel’s head drops down into the crook of your neck, continuing to let out little moans while she accidentally overstimulates herself. “shhhh baby, it’s okay, you did so good,” you whispered in her ear, pressing kisses into her hair.

she lets out little giggles as she lifts her head up, her hips having stopped their desperate movements. “wow, didn’t know it was possible to cum from that,” she laughs. her face is even more red than before, bangs sticking to her sweaty forehead. but her eyes are shining, clearly elated from her orgasm.

you look at her, face hanging right in front of yours, mirroring the adorable smile she wears on her pink lips. “i know right…how many more do you think you have in you?” you smirk, pulling her in for another kiss.

you don’t miss the way she blushes and shifts her hips in excitement.

[revelboo]

Are you okay writing for tfp Knockout or Breakdown? Maybe they are either another (human) racer or heck even someone who works at the car wash who gives some of the best cars waxes, Knockout befriended. That or maybe they’re a mech experiment (mostly) human survivor that helped Breakdown escape MECH. Or literally whatever you see happening these where just some of my suggestions. The floor is yours if you’re okay writing for them? Thanks either way 😄

My Favorite Accident

Knockout x reader-race

• Huh. Of all the ways you might have imagined you’d die, death by a furious, alien pimp car wouldn’t have made the top ten. Or hundred. Fingers going white knuckled on the helmet in your hands, you feel curiously numb. Drag racing was dangerous and sooner or later, you’d push your luck past the point of no return. But this?

• When you’d managed to pass that stupidly gorgeous, red sports car for the third night in a row, you’d wanted to laugh your head off. Maybe dance a victory jig because your old, rusty Trans Am looked like an ad for tetanus and it’d still beaten all those other pretty, expensive cars. So yeah, when the candy apple red car had followed you and stayed right on your bumper after the race, you’d sucked it up and pulled over. Letting the guy follow you to your house wasn’t happening. If you were going to get screamed at, it was going to be on your terms.

• You grab your switchblade out of the center console and slide it into your back pocket in case wealthy sports car guy decided he could try and bully you out of your winnings. Hip cocked and arms folded across your chest, you wait for the guy to get out and yell- probably accuse you of cheating.

• That sound was something you’d never forget, almost a musical thing as metal shifted and rearranged. And grew to tower over you in the form of a sleek robot.

• An infuriated robot as it takes a thunderous step your way and your helmet hits the asphalt. More than anything, you want to run. The problem is your body isn’t on board. You can’t move at all as it crouches down. “Mind telling me how you beat me in that scrap heap?”

• Cold fury sparking through him, Knockout glares down at the human staring up at him. “Well?” He demands. “You cheated didn’t you?” Because there’s no way a human beat him in that… abomination. It’s not even a car, more a mobile scrap heap. And that just makes it so much worse.

• Huh. Indignation wins out over common sense. “I’m a better driver,” you say. Those strange black and red eyes narrow and you have the thought that you can duck, grab the helmet and sling it at the robot. Maybe buy yourself a whole thirty seconds before it stomps you to death.

• What you don’t expect is for it to throw up an arm in all too human exasperation. “Hardly. I’ve been driving long before you were even alive,” it says, walking past you to stalk around your car. “Do you have any idea how mortifying it is to lose to… this? What it does to my reputation?”

• You can breathe now that it’s not glaring down at you, because it’s popping the hood on your car and shaking its head in disgust. “That’s gotta hurt, huh?” You snark, wincing as it glowers at you over its shoulder with murderous intent.

• “We’re going again. Now.” Because he can’t stand it. And it’s been a long time since anyone’s given him a real challenge. A thrill of electric anticipation makes him smile when your uneasy expression smooths into a cocky sureness, because he knows you won’t just let him win- you’ll fight him tooth and nail for it. A kindred spirit.

Next

[syoddeye]

the warren part three - trouble

price x f!reader | 4.6k words part one/prologue - bait | part two - fix tags: alcohol, animal death (mentioned), animal sterilization (mentioned), weird and unsettling vibes. while this part is fairly tame, this is darkfic. a/n: it's been 84 years. banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

“Car trouble?”

You barely miss braining yourself on the hood, swiveling to catch John lumbering up the drive from the hill, pairing a smile with a concerned look. 

“You’ve...” he trails, head dipping in appraisal.

Looking down, grime and grease blotches your dress and skin. “Shoot.” You mutter, throat achy with suppressed, frustrated tears. “Yes. Car trouble.” You wipe your palms on your thighs. The outfit’s ruined anyway.

John’s brow furrows. He stares at the engine and hums a ponderous noise before procuring an archaic brick of a phone from a pocket. Punching a number, he jerks his head toward the cabin. “Clean up and I’ll phone a friend.”

You hesitate, thinking of money. “Friend? Like a mechanic? Listen, John…”

“Nik? Got a minute?,” John stares, listening to whomever this ‘Nik’ is on the other end, nodding at the door again as if to say hop to it. Embarrassingly quick, you do.

Inside, the soiled dress goes into the tub, and you furiously scrub your arms and hands in the bathroom sink. The filth stubbornly clings to your arm hair, your nails gumming up with sludge. Over the tap, you hear John call from the front door.

“Mind if I come in? The house, that is.” 

You check the lock in the mirror, and shout through the door. “Yeah, sorry. Stuff doesn’t want to come off.”

John’s heavy footsteps announce his path. “My friend Nik’s gonna pop by while we’re out and take a look.”

You rake your nails in small circles over a thick patch of muck. “I hope he’s only looking. I can’t uh, exactly pony up for a repair right now.”

He doesn’t immediately answer, and over the water, you listen to him move around the kitchen. “He won’t do a thing without my say so. Try this.” 

Beneath the door gap, you see John’s shadow. This is the second time he’s in your house, first time invited, and you’re in your underwear. You grab a towel to cover up, and, with a breath, crack open the door. A green-blue bottle knocks into the jamb, his hand attached. Dish soap.

You take it, stifling a laugh.

“Heard it works on ducks.”

You glance at the side of his head. It’s sweet he’s looking away. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Mind stepping into the bedroom and grabbing the orange dress? Should be on the corner of the bed, might be a few things on top of it. Don’t judge the mess.”

There’s a smile in his voice. “Back in a jiff.”

A minute later, the gauzy cotton appears pinched in his fingers.

“Thanks. I’ll be quick.”

“There’s no rush, not like we have a reservation. When you’re ready, we’ll walk down and take my truck.” His footsteps ferry him away, and you hear the swing and slam of the front door.

Despite his reassurance, you hurry, grabbing your bag and smoothing the dress when you emerge. John leans against your dead car and pushes off with a growing smile, clearly taking you in. He lets out a low, appreciative whistle.

“Think I like this one more.”

“Yeah?” you ask, adding a smidge more honey to your voice. It’s been a long time since a man’s admired you, even longer since one’s treated you kindly. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn't mean it. Sunset suits you.” John’s gaze takes its time arriving at your face. “And don’t fret yet. Nik’s got a way with machines.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Early evening birdsong serenades the journey downhill, the slap of your sandals on asphalt punctuating it. The adjustment from living in the thick of it to the middle of nowhere was difficult at first, accustomed to the white noise of sirens and mystery booms, but here, silence prevails.

“How’re the kittens?”

John cracks another smile. “Bigger. Clumsy, but movin’ more.”

“Will they be fixed when they’re older? I saw the veterinary office. I was thinking I’d reach out regarding some of my feline neighbors.”

He huffs, the noise emanating deep from within his chest, as if your question is a personal affront. “They’re not hurting anything, are they?”

A nervous titter of laughter escapes. “The local bird and rodent population.”

You turn onto the road, his store within view. “Sounds like pest control and the natural order of things.”

He picks up the pace, approaching an older, red Chevy on a mission. You’re gobsmacked, with a few butterflies in your stomach dropping stone dead. Growing up watching Price is Right reruns over your mother’s shoulder, a woman who all but canonized Bob Barker, you’ve never met someone against animal sterilization.

Breathe. Not weird, just different. 

“I suppose,” You wince at the angry creak of the door as he yanks it open, the sound too familiar. “I’m tired of scraping their work off the step.” You spare a parting glance at the makeshift shelter where the kittens live and climb in.

John snorts and starts the truck. “No reason to permanently alter the creatures. Hunting, killing, breeding. It’s all part of life.”

The certainty with which he says it gives you pause, the seatbelt’s tongue poised over the buckle. Your face burns, thrown by the shift in conversation. Reaching for the pleasantness from earlier, you remind yourself that John’s rough around the edges. You knew this when you accepted, or rather, suggested, the date. Gruff and blunt, yet possessing a homespun charm impossible to feign. You hope it shows itself again. He pulls out of the shop’s row of parking spots as you buckle in. It’s probably fine you’re in his car, not like you have a choice at this point.

You muster a belated response. “Natural doesn’t always mean correct.”

The notion diffuses John’s tension. He chuckles, shaking his head. “You say that now. Few months in the woods will set you straight. I used to think the same. Being out here changed me.”

You watch him search for a station between working the stick shift. “You said you’re retired, but you’re a little young for that, aren’t you? What did you do before running a store?”

“Military, medically discharged.” He says plainly as if that explanation’s enough. 

And you suppose it is. Another sensitive subject, one he does not owe you divulgence. It’s not as if you don’t harbor your own secrets, but politeness doesn’t overrule curiosity.

“Right. How long have you lived in Grouse Bay?” 

“Years. Where were you before this?”

It’s fair he returns the question. It’s why you rehearse. “Iowa.”

“Field of Dreams?”

“Yessir.”

“And what work lets you spend a summer holed up in a cabin?”

You briefly debate telling the truth and how much. John alluded to Kate’s loose tongue and hasn’t given reason for it not being a reciprocal feed. “I’m between things, but I’m a penny pincher.” You bite your lip to stop yourself from elaborating, taking a page from his book. A shiver of guilt still wracks you whenever you think about money.

“Is that why you haven’t been back to the store?” 

“I paid the invoice for the light, didn’t I?” 

“By giving Kate the–”

A big, defensive smile curves your mouth, placating in anticipation of anger. “She said she was going to see you.”

“Don’t interrupt.” he scolds. “I meant that you haven’t stopped in since you arrived.”

The way John speaks toes the line between kind and patronizing; maybe with practice, it’d be easier to put your foot down. If he only knew the amount of groundwork you put into this ‘vacation’. The nights spent car camping in parking lots. Rummaging for coins abandoned in vending machines. Sneaking small bills from the offering plate. “I brought some groceries with me. I’m not completely helpless.”

“I didn’t say that. It’s a small town. I’m worried about our newest resident.”

“Guest.” 

“Guest. Which reminds me,” He lifts off his seat to fish out a billfold. Without averting his eyes from the narrow and winding road, he pries the old leather open and roots something out. “Been meanin’ to return this, found it on the floor of the shop the other day after fixing the light.” He pinches the corner of a card and holds it out.

Your face stares back at you, and your stomach draws to your spine in a deep, terrified breath. When did you lose your ID? Whatever ounce of pride you felt moments ago dissolves. Rationing your supplies and avoiding town to save money meant you hadn’t opened your wallet in days.

“Thank you.” You take the card, biting your lip at the last name printed next to your first. John must’ve seen it, and if Kate’s given him one name, he knows you by another now.

Worry thrums in your chest, settling into place like one would collapse into a favored armchair. You can hear it practically groan in relief, reclaiming its monopoly on your person.

“Know much about Ponderosa?” 

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “The basics.”

Before the move, you dug into the town across the lake and learned very little. Although founded roughly at the same time as Grouse Bay, Ponderosa’s the bigger, wealthier sister. The population drain following mine closures impacted both locales for the greater part of the century, but the cheap sale of land in the eighties led to a boom in tourism and development. You waffled between the towns, ultimately choosing Grouse for the lower rent and smaller population. Less chance of being found.

“Ponderosa’s a fine town, though folks are cowing more and more to greed. Greedy shits buying up and bulldozing pristine land to build mansions they call ‘cabins’.” He rants, chewing his words with a pinched expression like his teeth found the gristle. “Very few are decent. Though, you’d be hard-pressed to find better people than those in Grouse.”

It paints a picture you’re familiar with. Decades of architectural character and history replaced by boxy houses kissing property lines. It underscores John’s apparent, deep-seated opinions and judgment. How he wields them as a cudgel and gavel all in one. You’ve never felt strongly about one place or another, at least positively.

“Like vultures, huh?”

“Vultures have their use.”

The rest of the car ride, John fills in the gaps. When there were still children in the Bay, they attended school across the lake. He drives over weekly to retrieve inventory for the store. The single helipad for a hundred miles resides at their medical clinic, also the only one of its kind. It leads to a story. Last year, a hiker went missing for forty-eight hours from Ponderosa, but popped up on the summit of Mount Grouse. Dehydrated and delirious, claiming to have met angels. 

“He scared the shit out of a hunter checking on traps,” John chuckles. “But he was alive. Got airlifted to civilization and last we heard, he’s recovered.”

You laugh uneasily. Once, as a kid, you were separated from a babysitter—but that was at the mall for half an hour. Alone in the woods, on a mountain? You shudder at the thought.

Eventually, the road evens out into well-maintained asphalt. A sign crops up around a corner, Ponderosa sticks out in big gold letters, flanked by meticulously carved trees. John turns the dial down, the crackling rock and roll station fizzling into silence. He cranks the manual window down and drapes an arm out. Not for the first time, you admire the muscle beneath his slightly tanned skin and hair.

The view of the main street steals your attention. John slows to cruise down the block. Like the vantage outside Grouse, downtown Ponderosa looks like a postcard, albeit hedged by construction and development. It’s the July spread in a calendar celebrating Americana. Barely June and ribbons and banners decorate pristine storefronts for the Fourth of July. Sunset paints the promenade in sherbert oranges and pinks while old-fashioned street lamps buzz to life.

If John finds your gawking amusing, he doesn’t mention it.

The sign for The Echo Diner gleams, a fresh coat of crisp white paint stylized with red highlights to make it pop. The building’s pristine, too, with symmetrical flower beds along the walls. It's nothing like The Foxhole, beyond its glory days. Ponderosa, it seems, is as moneyed as John described.

The entry funnels into the fairly crowded restaurant, a sea of capped heads and wraparound sunglasses tilt in conversation or up at the big screens mounted above the bar. A woman hunches over a jukebox. Nobody pays you any mind until John steps into the small space behind you, his hand finding your shoulder. It takes a gentle nudge for your feet to move, wary of the several sets of eyes suddenly pointed in your direction. 

“John, good to see you.” A man cracking open a couple of light beers nods as you pass, attention bouncing off you as if you aren’t worth seeing.

“Likewise.” John rumbles, the single word breaking the spell, allowing the other patrons to return to their conversation and game.

He’s a regular. Ambling for an empty table beside a porthole-style window, you angle toward the side that looks out into the restaurant, but John’s hand flexes on your back. 

“I’ll sit there. Can’t eat comfortably unless I can see the door. Old habit.”

Who are you to argue? You’re the outsider, and with the awkward tension brewing since you left for dinner, you’re eager to make nice with John. You take the opposite seat, offering a placative smile as you bump knees. He manspreads, bracketing your legs with his own. You try not to think of how much space he fills.

The familiar nostalgia you felt riding into town resurfaces. The diner is charming, from the tacky checkered floor to the billiard lights over the laminate tables. Classic. Not a hint of intentional curation. Even the cracked, boomerang-pattern vinyl booths inspire a strange fondness. It all speaks to its age, its lived-inness. What it’s seen and weathered. The name of the feeling arrives with the single-page menu John hands you.

Homesick. You’re a little homesick.

It’s ridiculous, the notion. There is no main street to recall. There isn’t a house to miss. What you have is a series of cheap apartments that run together in your memory, with leaky pipes, roaches, and thin walls. Yet you relish the borrowed sentimentality. It’s a balm. Raised on a diet of neglect like a dandelion pushing through cement, you reach for whatever good thing comes your way. It’s how you ended up in—

The waitress interrupts to take your order, just yours. She knows exactly what John wants, boredly reciting the tab, minding a crossword instead of the ticket. As she shuffles behind the counter, the bartender approaches, placing a pitch-black pint glass on the table in front of a pleased John.

“The usual.” The bartender hovers, his grin beaming beneath his mustache.

John’s eyes flick between him and you. “Thanks. Get my girl the cherry cider.”

You stiffen, automatically reaching for the bartender, and blurt a correction. “Wait. No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. Water’s fine.” Your fingertips graze the stranger’s elbow, and he jerks away as if burned.

The immediate vicinity falls quiet. You didn’t raise your voice or stand, but doubt blooms when the bartender freezes in place. The men at the counter closest to you peek over their shoulders, and another waitress stops refilling a napkin dispenser, watching sidelong. You scan the odd bystanders, whom you notice are not looking at you. They look to John. So you do, too.

That same intensity from earlier is plain on his face. Mouth drawn tight in a line, blue eyes flat but focused. You think he means to insist until he nods. “Water it is.”

The bartender’s chipper grin reappears. The others go back to their business. 

“Great. One minute.”

The unease returns tenfold, smothering whatever daydream you entertained. The smile you offer is conciliatory. “Sorry, I don’t drink on first dates.”

It softens him. “First, huh?” John smirks. “That a hard and fast rule, the drinking?”

It is one of the only things your father taught you. Shy of fifteen, mistakenly mumbling a hope of attending a school dance. Sadie Hawkins. There was a boy, you don’t remember his name now—another blur, a collage of faces—who introduced himself on your first day and tempered your latest bundle of new school nerves. Your father set upon you like the Spanish Inquisitors you’d read about in history. You were in shock, too stupefied by his sudden interest in playing parent to remember anything beyond: Girls don’t drink on first dates, makes them loose. Surely, it came with a postscript, but that, too, is lost to time.

“I’m afraid so.”

John huffs a short laugh, the sound enough to flip your belly. 

Heat spreads across your face, which makes the bartender’s timing especially helpful. Your requested glass of ice water appears, and relief creeps through palm-first. John introduces you, prompting a polite smile, only for it to swiftly fall. “...and she’s staying at the old Warren place. Darl, this is Alex.”

You nearly kick his foot. Telling a stranger, another man, where you’re staying?

Above, Alex finally acknowledges you, eyebrows lifting as if you suddenly materialize. “Really. Did you meet the cats?”

“The cats?” You blink, annoyance quelled in an instant. “Are you…Are you familiar with the property? Do you know how many there are? I’ve counted–”

“He’s heard stories from Kate. Isn’t that right, Alex?” John interjects, staunching the conversation.

Alex smiles sheepishly, already moving toward the bar. “Yeah. Stories. Heard it's pretty as a picture.” 

You pivot to John for a follow-up, but he steamrolls ahead into a different topic entirely: The mystery of what you do all day.

“Nothing interesting.”

He hums, disbelieving. “You’re new meat. Everything you do is interesting.”

You search the ether for words, knowing he’ll badger something out. “I read, though I’m running out of books. I draw, poorly, so don’t ask to see anything.” A grin splits his face and jumps to yours, infectious. “I rockhound, swim, write, apply for jobs…”

“Any luck with work?”

Aside from filling out surveys for pennies and cobbling together speeches for strangers online, no. You tell him as much, leaving out the fact you spend hours each day, digital hat in hand.

John glances toward the door, focus stolen for a second before inhaling deeply through his nose. He straightens, arms folding over his barrel chest, puffing up. “Y’know, I could use an extra pair of hands at the store. Busy season’s here.”

You know you ought to jump at the offer, considering the state of your account. How difficult would it be to help mind a tiny store? Yet, the idea of working with John sparks concern. As an acquaintance, as a date, he’s—assertive, though that feels too weak a word.

“I don’t need an answer now, but if you’re interested, I’ll need to run a background check, given I sell ammunition.”

The world rapidly contracts. The one time you shopped, you focused on necessities. Tunnel vision. You didn’t see the entire inventory. The sip of water you take burns off fast, throat drying and excuses evaporating.

John’s face softens, reading your obvious panic. “Regardless of what turns up, the job’s yours if you want it.”

“That’s not–I don’t–John…” You try to focus on a break in the laminate, on the music drifting from the jukebox. A rich laugh from the bar about turns your head, but John’s hand darts, snatching yours in an unyielding grip. It’s like a bear trap, palm almost completely enveloping yours. It might as well latch into bone.

He lowers his voice, steadily pulling you to lean over the table. “I’ve got an eye for runaways.” His fingers squeeze gently when you flinch. “Sympathy, too. So whatever it is you’re running from—” He ignores your tug. “—you’re safe with me.”

John’s eyes shift, yours follow. A man stands at the bar, a holstered firearm on his hip, a business card proffered in hand. Clearly some type of law enforcement. Your heart stutters, a rock skipped over water, plunging when he, sensing your staring, glances over. You pretend to check the game, swallowing when the bartender takes the card and reclaims the man’s attention. The man dips his head, then wordlessly exists.

Air expels from your lungs in a full-body shudder. 

“Skittish thing. Wonder what that was about.” John teases, rubbing a circle into your wrist before releasing it with a quiet chuckle.

There isn’t a chance to catch your breath as the waitress returns with a tray. Your face tightens with forced niceties, accepting your meal with a murmured thank you. 

You eat in relative silence. A mercy. There’s more than food to digest. 

John focuses on his meal, giving you time to think. Losing your ID was sloppy. Not checking your wallet sooner was sloppier. Yet if John’s kept quiet with his suspicions, maybe you are safe with him. It may not keep him from looking into you, but perhaps the job is worth the risk. He clearly likes you. You can’t bite every hand.

“I’ll take the job. If you meant what you said, about sympathy.”

He dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn't mean it.”

“Then what would the schedule be?”

John’s eyes crinkle with a grin. “Thursday through Sunday. Noon to close.”

The uneasiness settles some, but not entirely. A lesson yet another man taught you echoes from the recesses: No kindness is free. Everything has a price. You feed him his own line. “And the background check? Is that…a hard and fast rule?” If your worthless car won’t take you anywhere, you hope flattery will.

He polishes off his beer with a contented sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Better than outright refusal. John’s proven stubborn. He doesn’t bend, he gives. Your thoughts flit to the armed man at the bar. It’s probably nothing, probably just the local sheriff making rounds. Despite your mistakes, it’s too soon for the trouble you left across state lines to find you. 

John excuses himself to settle the bill with Alex and tells you to get some air. You rest against the passenger door of his truck, mulling over the evening, too distracted to notice the man until a hand plants itself above your head. You jolt, clutching your bag.

“Pardon me miss, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” A voice drawls. 

Sandy hair and blue eyes, paler than John’s. A short, straight scar on the cheek with a notched ear to match. His smile is a practiced thing, like he’s had to rehearse it in a mirror. “Name’s Phil. Couldn’t help but notice you inside. You new to town?”

Your expression naturally mirrors his, eyes going big as saucers, but the hair on the back of your neck stands. It takes control to not peek at the weapon on his belt. “Hi, um, yes. I’m new.”

His cheek bulges from his tongue, his stare jumping from feature to feature. “Thought so. Just visiting or are you the newest Ponderosan?”

“She’s with me,” John answers in your stead, coming off the short walk in front of the diner. “Across the lake, that is.”

Fingertips dance on the metal over your head. “Grouse, huh?” Phil smirks, chewing his lip in assessment. “And how’re you, sir?”

“Swell. Darling, get in the truck.” It’s the same tone he used when discussing the cats. It brooks no argument, an order tied with brittle endearment.

You tear your eyes away from John to meet Phil’s gaze, who, after a moment, chuckles and slides his fingers down the car. The tinny squeak of flesh on metal shoots down your spine, then tunnels to your stomach, churning dinner. Your body moves automatically when Phil opens the truck door, forcing you to duck his arm to climb inside.

“Have a nice night.” Phil says as he shuts you in, pivoting to dig out and offer a card to John.

The men exchange words, their voices too low to be audible through the truck’s solid frame. Phil rocks on his heels, enjoying himself; John’s stiff and humorless. The former isn’t small, but he’s dwarfed by your date. The card hovers between them in Phil’s knuckles and remains there when John peels off to join you.

John hoists himself into the driver’s seat, grumbling. You stare at Phil, who shoots winks as he pockets the card. He remains on the curb until The Echo is firmly in the rearview.

“Who was that?” You manage as the lights of Ponderosa disappear beyond trees.

“Haven’t a clue.”

It’s a warning. You’ve heard the line before from another mouth. Different tone, different voice—but the edge is the same. Don’t push it. Keenly aware of where you are, in the sticks with a man scarcely a hair above acquaintance, you don’t. You talk about nothing, instead.

The rest of the conversation is stilted, swimming upstream against a mighty current. John is firmly lodged into the silty creekbed, unmoving regardless of your idle chatter. The source of his ire isn’t clear, so you default to keeping things light. As your new employer and the town’s resident Jack of all trades, the last thing you want to be is on the outs.

By the time the truck swings slowly up the hill to your cabin, it’s pitch black outside. A dozen cats scatter as the headlights shoot over the short drive, landing on the familiar red walls. John idles the truck.

“Thank you for dinner, John.” You linger in your seat, uncertain if you ought to kiss him. It’s been so long, you don’t know the protocol, especially for dates you’d consider middling at best and turbulent at worst.

“My pleasure.” John makes the decision for you. A compromise. He plucks your hand from where it fidgets with the hem of your dress, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. His mustache tickles and his lips quirk at the sight of your squirming. “I’ll let you know what Nik says about the car.”

“Right. My car.”

“And I’ll sit here ‘til you’re in.”

A second thank you ekes out of your mouth, and you hurry out. From the door, you wave, blinded briefly by headlights, as John turns around. His silhouette raises a hand in goodbye, and then he’s off, the truck disappearing into the dark.

You make quick work of readying for bed. Both dresses go into the laundry to be washed in the morning, and you hunt for your book with your toothbrush still in your mouth. The living room and bedroom turn up empty, leaving the screened porch.

Poking your head through the door, you hum, frowning as you cannot recall where you put the thing down. Just as you pull inside, you freeze at the sudden, low snarling of cats poised for a fight. Your blood turns to ice.

Gravel crunches across the yard, past the exterior light’s range. Your eyes bulge in your skull, trying desperately to adjust to the dark. The toothbrush slips out from between your teeth and clatters to the ground. Another crunch spurs a renewed chorus of hissing and growling, primordial fear straightening your spine. Then, something kicks up rock and dirt, skidding and charging across the crushed stone. The sound propels you backward, scrambling to throw the bolt.

Even through the walls, the sharp, sudden yowling chorus of cats pierces the air. Nails on chalkboard. Earsplitting. You hit the lights and shelter behind the couch, palms pressing to your head until the commotion tapers off.

The ensuing silence beckons like a siren. Tries to entice you back to the front door for a peek. But instinct prevails. You flee.

Only when you're shaking in a ball under the sheets, having barricaded the bedroom door with the dresser, do you remember your cell phone.

Which you left in your bag on the kitchen table.

Outside your window, something scratches at the cabin's walls.