#like give me mail to sort or something

[i-am-simply-here]

Watching the news at work has got me like damm I gotta get out of this office I can't keep working here. Those thoughts are also fueled by things other than the news but seriously. Why am I working at an investment firm for a guy that believes in big companies more than the government and thinks you can budget yourself out of poverty. He's shocked I don't have savings as if I don't live paycheck to paycheck.

Problem being, I live paycheck to paycheck, and this is one if the best paying jobs I can get. But I'm tired. And the world is on fire, under water, under rubble, and people are dying. And I'm what? Sitting in front of a computer ?

[britneyshakespeare]

i can't believe how much this company apparently does not want my money

[mildmayfoxe]

decided i'm gonna start posting my monthly playlists on patreon again! i make em anyway, so why not! this time around, though, they're gonna be little doodle track lists with some lite thoughts on each track. y'all get this one as a freebie but only my good good friends my patreon backers will get more! 😉 more a bonus than a true reward, just something fun! :)

[bi-writes]

Since he won't have MOB lift a finger in their home and given how he reacted when she came out in her lingerie, I like to imagine Simon gets a little flustered whenever he's doing the laundry and he's got to sort out her underwear from the rest of the clothes

mail-order bride

it's quiet this afternoon. it's cold outside again (what a surprise), and there's rain pattering gently against the windows. there's a stew in the oven, but it still needs a few hours to get that perfect tender texture. nevertheless, the house is filled with a warm smell, something hearty and wonderful.

something like home.

when simon walks into the living room, he sees you there. you're curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, head resting on a throw pillow as you watch a movie. there's a mug of tea in front of you, steam rising from it, and simon comes over to greet you.

you turn your head, looking up at him towering over you, and you smile up at him as you snuggle a little further into the pillow. you hold out your hand for him.

"wanna watch with me?" you ask, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. he takes your hand anyways, and you swallow hard as he presses your knuckles to his lips, giving them a light kiss before letting go.

"doin' the laundry. can't find yours."

you go to sit up, but simon frowns, visibly upset that you're moving from your spot.

"don't get up," he tells you, tucking the blanket back over you. "just tell me where it is."

you bite your lip.

"uhm...it's in the closet. there's...a bag there."

simon hums, thumbing over your jaw before making his way into the bedroom. he flicks the light on in the closet, moving hangers around until he spots a canvas bag on the floor there, stuffed to the brim with your dirty clothes. he picks it up, cursing a little from how heavy it is, and he carries it with him to the washroom. when he passes the living room, he stops for a moment.

"oi," he calls out to you, and you turn your head, smiling at him, and he points to the bag. "you put y'r clothes with mine from now on, yeah?"

you tuck your face behind the blanket a little more to hide your growing smile. you nod anyways, and he huffs a little before continuing. he puts his basket of laundry on top of the dryer, opening the lid of the washer, and he lifts your little bag up next to the basket. after he sets it down, he steps back when the bag starts to move.

"oi! wot the fuck?!"

at the shout, you scramble off the couch, hurrying towards where he is.

"what? what?! what happened?"

"bag's fuckin' movin'!" simon huffs, but when you try to come further into the room, simon puts a hand on your chest gently, pushing you backwards and behind him. he blocks you completely with his body, and you still can barely see as you stand on your toes and try and look over his shoulder.

"simon--" you sigh. "simon! wait--let me see!"

"fuck no," he snarls, "stay there."

he pushes the bag over so that it tips over, falling onto its side. your clothes tumble out, spilling onto the dryer and onto the floor, and simon reaches around him and wraps one big hand around your waist protectively to hold you back as he cranes his neck to see.

"what is it? simon!" you hiss, and simon holds his breath as the bag continues to move. there's a wiggle of a shape under the canvas before a familiar little head pokes itself out from the opening, one of your shirt sleeves framing their face and hiding their ears.

simon groans audibly, relaxing immediately.

"fuckin' hell," he mutters, letting you push him aside, and you hold onto his bicep as you try and hide your laugh. the cat wriggles its way through your shirt sleeve before shaking, fluffing her hair back up before she takes a seat on the edge of the dryer lid and starts to lick her little paw. "'ow did it fuckin' breathe in there, eh?"

you step past him and reach for her, picking her up off the dryer and tucking her into the crook of your arm. she lays her little head on your arm, blinking slowly up at you, and you tap her nose gently before looking back and up at simon.

"sorry she scared you, big man," you giggle, and he scrunches his nose a bit as he glares at the cat.

"wasn't scared," he huffs, and he brings you closer with a hand on your jaw, drawing you nearer. he runs his tongue over his teeth, looking down at you, and you swear his gaze lingers on your lips for just a second too long. "got precious cargo in m'house. couldn't let anythin' happen ta 'er."

you blink up at him, opening your mouth to say something, but you sputter, laughing, looking away from him. you shrug him off with a roll of your eyes, but you look back at him just as you're about to turn the corner and leave. he's already back to picking up your clothes that have fallen onto the floor, and you nearly choke when he's got one big hand wrapped around bright red lace.

he holds up the edges of it for a moment to inspect it, and he swallows when he realizes it's a pair of your panties.

your favorite panties.

when he looks over his shoulder, your eyes lock, and you squeak as you hide behind the doorway, shutting your eyes as you cringe at yourself for reacting so silly.

for fuck's sake, it's your husband--husbands wash their wives undergarments, right?

you poke your head back into the doorway, just enough for your eyes to get simon in view again. he's putting the rest of the clothes in the washer, putting a small amount of soap into it before shutting the top and putting the water on cold. you hide again when he turns around, flattening your back against the wall, and when he comes out, he's got a hint of a smirk on his face, knowing, because he knows he's caught you.

when he passes by you, you go half-lidded and slack when his hand finds your face again, thumb against your bottom lip. his eyes are so dark; beautiful, pupils blown wide, a magnet that draws you closer, up onto your toes until his thumb is nearly touching your tongue and your lips are nearly brushing against his.

simon takes your breath away when he leaves. you follow him hoping to get it back.

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: sweet baby boy drew whos willing to help u, nothing else rly

next

authors note: i wanted to give it a sort of “the proposal” / “anyone but you” type of feel !! this is obviously going to be a series so let me know if u want to be added to the tag list from now on so u dont miss an update ! <3

your body freezes in place when you’re asked about the wedding. crap, you forgot. but it isn’t like you received any invite.

“theo sent you an invite through the mail. you got it right?” your friend, leila, asks you. leila and her fiancé theo have been your friends for years now, ever since you met leila during a movie priemere and shared respect on each other's careers. she’s been your closest friend, so theo naturally had to come along too.

“what? yeah,” you lie right through your teeth, and guilt punches you in the face when you stare right into her bright eyes. you raise the cup of coffee. “was literally jumping for joy when i got it.”

leila sighs in relief. “thank god we got the right address,” she says and you question what she means by that before she continues, “we didn’t know whether to send it to your apartment or drew’s.”

your breath is caught and you pause before your drink reaches your lips.

“drew,” you repeat, and she nods.

“yeah, but we figured you’ll both see it either way so, sent it to his place ‘cause theo said it was closer,” leila says, and you raise your eyebrows in amusement. “but anyway! before the wedding, i wanted to stay with our inner circle so if it’s possible for a little two-week vacation? the venue is close to my mom and her boyfriend’s house so we’d just be staying there. i would’ve picked after the wedding if theo didn’t already have the honeymoon planned. he’s too excited.”

“wait, two weeks?” you inquire, “who’s coming?”

she shrugs, “you and drew, libby, gia . . .” she trails off as she thinks about it, and you swallow as you set your cup down. “i forgot who else. i know it’s one of theo’s coworkers but i forgot who. let me text him actually.”

your face lights up at the opportunity to get away, and you nod. “i need to call drew actually,” you say, and she smiles and nods as you stand from your seat and make your way to her living room. “need to remind him to take the . . . fish . . . out.”

“fish?”

“we’re having fish tonight, yeah.”

you turn away to scroll through your contacts until you find his, then click on it. you settle down on the couch as you wait anxiously for him to pick up, and just hope that he does.

just before the call goes to voicemail, the line clears. “yeah?”

“you are such a—!” you hiss quietly, careful not to let leila hear you. “why didn’t you tell me leila and theo sent you a wedding invite for us?”

“i literally just checked my mail, alright? i would’ve said something about it as soon as i saw it,” he tells you. “i just flew in two days ago, y/n. i’m at the . . . i’m not at my apartment right now but my mail’s all on my counter. i’ll look for it once i’m home and then send you pictures of it, okay?”

you know that your situation with drew is slightly complicated. you were together for five years before ending things just a year ago.

because of your careers, you aren’t surprised that people assume you’re still dating. even close friends like leila and theo. everything was kept private. a year into the relationship was when fans even found out about you two.

you both have been looking for a time to address the breakup, to friends first for sure, but with your conflicting schedules, the time’s just never come up, and sending a “by the way, we broke up” text to an imessage groupchat wasn’t totally ideal.

even with the wedding coming up, having to be around everyone while you celebrate your closest friends, how are you either of you supposed to bring it up now?

“okay,” you tell him. “just text me when you’re free. any time before 10, please.”

“okay,” drew’s voice is soft and understanding. the line goes dead and you pull your phone away from your ear, seeing that he’s hung up.

your expected text comes around 8pm. drew’s sent you four different attachments. all are photos of the elaborate and detailed wedding invitation. the designs must’ve been leila’s idea.

you’re surprised to see an incoming call on your laptop right after. you hover over the accept button, then click on it.

his face fills a rectangle of your screen. he’s on his phone—“do you see it?”

“yeah wait,” you mumble, clicking out of the facetime to open your messages with him, then click the first photo. “leila and theo; rsvp by september twenty-seventh.”

“the letter’s addressed to my place but they put our names on the envelope,” drew tells you, and it looks like he’s ruffling through something before he flips his camera to display his counter. on it is the envelope in question, which is addressed to his apartment, but for y/n and drew, it says.

you hum. “are you going?” you ask him.

“of course i’m going. what do you mean?”

you shake your head, “nothing.”

drew only knows of leila or theo because of you, because leila works with you. maybe he’s made friends with theo but it’s not something you’ve personally seen, so you’re just assuming that maybe since you’ve broken up, there’s no reason for him to go? especially when he’s filming soon?

you stare down at your keyboard as you speak again, “leila wants us to come on a two-week pre-stay with her and theo. and others.”

there’s a brief pause from drew, like he doesn’t understand.

you sense it immediately and continue. “like, before the wedding, she told me today about how her mom has his house she wants us to stay in, just a few of us for two weeks, then they have her wedding— i don’t know, i need to ask her more about it. i think she just wants to fly everyone out and spend more time with us before she’s on honeymoon and living the wife life.”

“could be fun,” drew says. “i mean, i can’t even remember the last time i was out with theo or leila. it might be good for us.”

you furrow your eyebrows at him through the screen, and you try to read him to see if he’s joking. “there is no more ‘us’, remember? and by the way, neither leila or theo or anybody else knows that.”

drew hesitates as if he’s trying to justify your situation.

you rub your eye before resting the side of your head against your fist, “they addressed the invitation to both of us, drew. i feel like we should at least tell them the truth so that when we get there, they know.”

drew hesitates, his eyes moving around as if searching for the right words. “yeah, i know. it’s just . . . complicated.”

“complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you say, feeling frustration build up. “it just feels dishonest. they think we’re still together, and if they find out at the wedding, it’ll look like we’re hiding things.”

“we are hiding things,” he reminds you. “we’ve been avoiding the topic. do you really want to drop this bomb on them right before their wedding?”

you go silent as you think about it, because if telling them isn’t a good option then . . .

“what if we just kept up the appearance that we’re still together?” drew suggests. it draws your attention as you look up at your laptop. “for the wedding and the pre.”

you blink, taken aback. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” drew continues, “what if we act like we’re still together while we’re there? it might make things easier for everyone. seeing us apart will just create tension. people will feel like they’ll need to walk on eggshells around us.”

you give him a skeptical look. “acting like a couple isn’t the same as actually being one. i’m not sure i can just pull it off without it feeling fake.”

“we’re not faking,” drew says gently. “we’re just playing a part for a bit. we’re professionals. it’s literally our job. we can do this for a few days.”

you pause, considering his words. “but what if it just makes things worse? what if pretending just complicates everything?”

drew’s expression softens, and he speaks more earnestly. “look, we’ve been in tough spots before. there’s been so many times on set with you and i before that we’ve had to navigate headfirst. this is no different. think of it as a role we have to play for a short time. it doesn’t change what’s real.”

you sit back, processing his suggestion. “so we fake it for now and deal with the truth later?”

he hums. “it’s not ideal, but it could save a lot of awkwardness and stress. we can be civil and supportive for their sake, and then handle everything after.”

you let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of the decision. “it just feels like a lot of work to keep up a pretense. but i guess if we’re going to do this, we need to at least figure out how to make it believable.”

“we’ll figure it out,” drew says, his voice a little more hopeful. “it’s not about being perfect. it’s just about getting through the weeks without making things worse.”

you nod slowly, still feeling uneasy but recognizing the practicality of his idea. “okay. pretend for leila and theo, and then deal with the fallout afterwards.”

there’s a faint smile on his face as he nods at you. “just two weeks, remember? we can do that,” he says. “i’m gonna head to bed. i’ll talk to you tomorrow about it, alright?”

“okay,” you murmur, and drew hangs up on you.

the facetime window closes and displays your last app that’s been open, your messages. you’re face-to-face with the photos of the invitations once more, and a part of you is overwhelmed with emotions—fear, excitement, guilt.

two weeks. that’s all it is. just two weeks with your ex-boyfriend. you can survive that . . .

right?

[yanderenightmare]

part two

TW: none? ig

fem reader

You’re there with a friend, only waiting, holding her stuff—feeling in-the-way posted on the wall as closely as possible, making yourself as small as you could while models and other busy passersby buzzed about back and forth in front of you.

Your friend—one of the many models—had just done her fifth outfit change and was all but running back to the photo shoot. Apparently, the photographer was a real jackass.

Jackass was an understatement. You feared he’d turn around from the white background sheet he was facing, spot you and tell you that you didn’t belong in there and to get the fuck out. He was certainly shouting that same thing to some of the models.

Your friend was then next to bite the bullet—being the fifteenth model he’d sent on their sorry way. 

You’d honestly thought it was for the best—she’d get nothing but scorn modeling for that narcissistic drama queen anyway. You give her your best sympathetic smile as she teeters over. It doesn’t surprise you to see her on the verge of tears. Some of the prior ones had been all but bawling their eyes out, running out of the room as fast as they could. But you couldn't blame them—if anyone were to shout at you that way, you’d most likely have died on the spot.

His eyes fall to the back of the room in frustration—a heavy sigh leaving him. Seems he was out of models already. What a pity until—right there, standing small and almost insignificant next to the changing area, there’s you—the perfect face he’d been needing.

“Oi you, get dressed,” he bites with a finger pointed towards you. But no, he must have changed his mind about your friend who’s standing next to you as you hand her back her clothes.

She brightens up when she notices, dropping her clothes back in your arms to go back, only—

“No, not you,” he very nearly sneers. “You there,” he points again—this time, it isn’t a question of who it’s directed at. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

There’s such a harshness to his tone that you’re almost convinced you’ve done something wrong. But no, you’re not supposed to be dressed.

“I’m not a model,” you call back.

At that, he scoffs. The smile on his face must be the cockiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Everyone’s a model, sweetheart. We’ll send you a check in the mail.”

Your eyes are round—too stunned to be affronted. He taps his shoe, hardened gaze directed at you, unwavering in wait. You’re almost scared to say no.

“Well? What’s it gonna be?”

It’s only been a few seconds, and still, he sounds as if he’s been waiting forever—exuding impatience on a level you’ve never seen.

You open your mouth to tell him off, but a tug from your side makes you stop.

“You have to,” your friend ushers. “It’ll be trouble for me if you don’t.”

You give her an incredulous look—but she only grabs you and drags you with her into the many rows of clothes, picks out your size, and helps you get into it before you’ve even said another word aside from a pitiful “Wait—” 

Lastly, she applies some light makeup to your face before pushing you out into view of the waiting photographer.

You’re in too deep to be turning back now. Besides, you wouldn’t want your friend to get fired when she works so hard just to have gotten in the same room as the guy before you—so you end up walking over, ever so awkwardly—not used to the height of the cigarette heels.

If he notices, which he most certainly does, he doesn’t say anything.

He seems to have found some patience he lacked, watching you—bearing an expression, almost amused.

You don’t return the favor, looking down as you stop before him.

“So, uhm—what, ugh—” you mumble, on your way to peek behind you, hoping to get some sort of direction from your friend, when he grabs your chin and makes you face him.

Still, he makes no sound—only wetting his thumb with a lick of his tongue before putting it to the outer corner of your eye. You gasp, but it doesn’t deter him as he smudges the eyeliner to his liking. Doing the same with the other eye. He continues until he’s satisfied. Keeping his grasp on your chin, he angles your face here and there slightly while his intense glare rakes over you like he’s a tortured artist chiseling a sculpture to some vision in his head—then hums with a smile, softly, “Perfect.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[moonstruckme]

hi Mae I have a lil fic request if u like the idea! I would love to see something with reader and Remus where may be she is James neighbor and friendly with James and she sees Remus all the time coming and going and she finally works up the courage to ask James and be like what's ur friend's name? And he's like who? And she's all blushing like ya know the super pretty one that's really tall and last week he was reading x book! I actually love that book! And James realizes she's into him and plays wingman

Thank you for your request lovely!

cw: kind of shy!reader coded

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 809 words

You answer the door, and it’s the boy from next door. 

Well, not the boy from next door. There are a few always passing in and out, and only one that you know of who actually lives there. But this is James’ friend, the one with the scars and the soft eyes. The one with the name from a fairy tale.

“Hi,” he says, “I’m Remus.” 

“Hi.” You’re spellbound for a moment before you remember to tell him your name in turn, but he doesn’t appear to notice. “What can I do for you?” 

“My friend, he lives next door…” 

“James?” 

His lips tilt. “That’s the one. He’s sent me to see if you have an egg we could borrow. Or, erm, take. I’m sure James will give you an egg in exchange once he gets some more, though.” 

Laughter bubbles easily to the surface, your stomach fizzy with nerves. This is surely a scheme. James could have come and collected his egg himself, but instead he’s sent the friend you asked him about only two days prior. You aren’t sure whether to be grateful or angry with him; it may depend on how this goes. 

“That’s okay, I can stand to give up an egg.” You go into your kitchen to fetch it. Remus follows partway, stopping at your bar counter. “Do you need something to keep it in?” 

“No, that’s alright. Have you read this?” 

You turn to find him looking at a worn out paperback, fingers skimming gently over the fold of pages. You blink. You hadn’t left that there. 

“Yeah,” you say. “It’s one of my favorites.” 

Remus looks up with interest. “Is it really? I’ve just finished it.” 

You clamp your lips together so I know can’t escape. You’d seen Remus carrying the book into James’ place when you’d been getting your mail. You’d gotten your mail twice that day just to have an excuse to talk to James about him. 

In fact, when James had come over last night—oddly, to borrow an egg then, too—you could have sworn the book was on your coffee table. And now it’s relocated to the kitchen counter. 

Maybe James Potter is more conniving than you’ve given him credit for. 

You pass Remus the egg. “What did you think of it?” 

Remus’ eyes flit up to yours, and it’s a concentrated effort to keep your knees solid underneath you. He cradles the egg carefully in his hand. “I thought it was really good,” he says. “I liked how each subplot was given its due importance.” 

“I really love that about it, too.” 

“Do you have a favorite part?” 

You duck your head, face warming. “It’s embarrassing.” 

“Oh, come on.” You can hear the smile in Remus’ voice. “We read the same book. How embarrassing can it be?” 

“I’m a romantic.” You shrug. “I liked the kiss scene best.” 

When you peek up, Remus is indeed smiling, brown eyes warm. “That’s not embarrassing,” he says. “That’s sweet. It was a good scene.” 

His gaze moves between you and the book, and you see a thoughtfulness come over his expression. Remus doesn’t strike you as the oblivious sort. He’s likely pieced together why exactly his friend sent him over here. 

But he doesn’t look upset. No, whatever’s going on with his face is a lot more pinkish and complicated. 

“Well,” he says after a moment, “thank you for the egg.” He offers you a small smile, moving towards the door. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other. James’ kitchen is never adequately stocked.” 

You grin. “I’ve gathered that.” 

Remus’ smile widens slightly, and then he’s slipping out your door, starting back for James’ place. You very carefully do not look out the window to watch him, but unfortunately (or fortunately, as the case may be) the doors in your building are thin enough that you hear everything that goes on in the hallways whether you’d like to or not. 

“Remus!” James exclaims, by the sound of it keeping his friend from re-entering his apartment. “What are you doing back so soon?” 

“You sent me to get an egg,” Remus replies drily. “It doesn’t take long.” 

“Right, but—I actually forgot. I need flour, too.” 

“What the hell do you need flour for? I thought you were making an omelet.” 

“Plans change, Moony. Go on, then.” 

“You’re going to eat this poor girl out of house and home.”

A laugh. “I think she’s alright with it.” 

Your face burns. 

“We don’t know if she has flour for you to borrow. How much do you even need?” 

“I dunno—um, two cups. Or something like that. And if she doesn’t have it, the two of you can go to the grocery!” 

“James.” 

“Just get back over there.” James’ voice rises, as though calling down the hall. “And talk to her about books!”

[wonderjanga]

Biblical Marvel

This is connected to the Revival post. If you don’t want to go find that, let me give a quick summary of it. In that post, Mary and Freddy die a lot in their Marvel forms. As a result of this, Billy has to revive them a lot. It honestly stresses the poor boy out too because at the end of the Revival post, Billy finds some grey hairs. So, yeah.

Anyways, so people think Marvel is god sent in human form to protect them. (Let me also connect this to the Billy is Really Old post too. In that post, Billy has been a hero since 1940.) It explains why he hasn’t aged over the almost 80 years of him being a hero. Not only that but once, a homeless person asked him to turn water to wine, and he did, though that’s more a of Jesus thing.

Speaking of Jesus, some people think Mary and Junior are Jesus split in two. I mean, Mary has blue eyes (from C.C.) and brown hair (From Marilyn) for Christ’s sake. Not only that but her name is Mary. Maybe Jesus/Mary is honoring his/her mother. And as for Junior, maybe Mary took the looks and he took the gender?

Marvel: *sorting through letters and replying to a bunch of fan mail while sitting at a table in the kitchen.*

Wonder Woman: *Sitting next to him, eating ice cream*

Flash: *zips over and is now leaning on Marvel’s shoulder looking at the fan mail* “Dude, is that fan mail?”

Marvel: “Yup.” *finishes replying to a letter and putting it in the ‘done’ pile*

Flash: “How do even get fan mail? Do they know your address or something?”

Marvel: “Whiz Kid.” *picks up a super fancy looking letter*

WW: “Pardon?”

Marvel: “Whiz Kid. He gets them, and then he gives them to me.” *opens fancy letter*

Flash: “Wait, that little dude who does the radio show?”

Marvel: *Doesn’t like being called little but thinks it would be weird for him to defend himself while in Marvel form* “…Yeah… That ‘little’ dude.” *Takes out letter and reads it before sighing*

WW: “What’s wrong?”

Marvel: “The pope asked me to dinner again.” *sighs again and puts letter down on table to slouch and spin in his chair like a depressed little kid* “Now I gotta think of another excuse.”

WW: “The pope? As in the Catholic pope?” *eats bite of ice cream*

Flash: *looks to WW* “You know who the pope is?”

WW: *looks to Flash* “Yes? Flash, I may be from Themyscira, but I’m not completely ignorant of man’s world.” *looks to Billy* “If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you want to go?”

Marvel: *shrugs as he slows his spinning to a stop, having came up with an excuse. Picks up letter and starts replying* “I don’t know. Do you want to have dinner with a guy you’ve never met?”

WW: “I see. I suppose not.” *goes back to eating ice cream*

or

Mary: *Watching a show on a TV in Mount Justice*

Robin!Tim: “Mary? Could you help me with something?”

Mary: *pauses show* “Huh? Yeah sure.” *flies over to Tim* “What’s the problem?”

Robin!Tim: *sitting at the kitchen at the counter with a laptop* “Can you tell me everything you know about angels? I’m writing a paper about it for school.”

Mary: “Oh. Uh, sure?” *Proceeds to talk Tim’s ear off for the next 15 minutes about angels and their different types and personalities and such*

Robin!Tim: *finishes paper* “Thanks a lot.” *closes computer and hops off chair*

Mary: “No problem, but why’d you ask me specifically? Why not use the internet?”

Robin!Tim: “Aren’t you like the primary source?” *heads back to his room*

Mary: *confused*

or

*Captain Marvel flies down and asks to pet a woman’s dog when all of a sudden, a mother holding a child runs up to him*

Mother: “Please cure my child!” *holds child out to him* “You can perform one of your miracles, right? Please!”

Marvel: “What?” *looks between Mother and child.*

Child: *looks really sick*

Marvel: *gets concerned at the sick child* “You haven’t taken him to a hospital?”

Mother: “It’s too expensive! Please! Just this once.”

Marvel: “Uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh…” ‘Solomon! Help me!’

Solomon: ‘Repeat after me, Billy’ *proceeds to rattle off healing spell*

Marvel: *repeats spell and heals child*

Mother: “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” *hugs child tight* “I’ve never been much of a religious nut, but now I’ll have to start believing more. Thank you so much!”

Marvel: *Little confused by sudden mention of religion* “Your welcome? Have a good day, miss.” *floats off the ground, giving her a little wave before flying off*

or

*Freddy is hanging outside one of a meeting rooms in the Watchtower because he wasn’t allowed in due to the face he looked like a kid. He’s now talking to someone on the phone.

Junior: *talking on a phone he magicked from God knows where while floating a foot or two off the ground*

Kid Flash: *bored out of his mind, leaning against a wall, standing next to him cause he also wasn’t allowed in for the same reason*

Junior: *ends call*

Kid Flash: “Who were ya talking too?”

Junior: “My friend, Cain.”

Kid Flash: “What, like bible Cain?” *was joking*

Junior: “Yup.” *didn’t realize he was joking*

Kid Flash: “What seriously? The Cain from the Bible? The Cain that stabbed his brother? The Cain that’s immortal because he stabbed his brother?”

Junior: “Yup.” *starts typing on phone, a little too nonchalant about the conversation*

Kid Flash: “And Cap just lets you be friends with him?”

Junior: “Uh yeah? Why wouldn’t he? You know he’s friends with him too, right?”

Kid Flash: “Wait really? Shouldn’t they hate each other or something?”

Junior: “No? Cain’s pretty chill.”

Kid Flash: *blinks a couple times at that* “Huh.” *he seems a little surprised*

*The meeting ends and the heroes file out of the meeting room before Kid Flash can ask another question*

[luveline]

can we please have more coworker JAMES 💜

james calls you something he maybe shouldn’t | fem

You’re feeling at a James-given mark when Sirius appears. 

You don’t know Sirius half as well as you know James nor Remus, but you’re ninety five percent sure he’s a good guy. He’s funny at lunch, whenever Remus has managed to convince you to go with them. He’s like James in terms of scandal. They like making bad jokes. Sirius really likes making Remus laugh, so he must be nice. 

“Hey,” he says, “where are they?” 

You nod toward the boss’ office. “Presenting the last of the Lang and Co.” 

“Oh, right.” Sirius moves in to James’ desk. He knocks one of his figurines over purposefully, then moves one to have its face in the other’s backside. 

“I’ll have to tell him that was you,” you say. 

“Rat. Why?” 

“He’ll think it was me otherwise, and then–” He won’t kiss me later, you’d been about to say. James has grown suddenly and enthusiastically fond of withholding affection whenever you mess with him. As a joke, of course, but you refuse to risk your lunchtime kiss. “You know what he’s like with me.” 

Sirius smiles oddly. “I do.” 

He sits at James’ desk. Ever since you and James… started whatever it is you’re doing, things have been raw for you. Maybe you’re stupid, it’s only kisses, but you’re sort of thinking it isn’t. Like, this is dating. You might not be boyfriend and girlfriend, but you’re exclusive. 

James is too good, and some small part of you doesn’t like admitting it, but the bigger part (the part that wants to kiss him and be kissed by him) knows it surely. How could you have grown to fancy him otherwise?

“Doing anything fun this weekend?” you ask. 

“Not likely,” Sirius says, tucking hair behind his ears. “We’re all helping Remus’ dad paint the house. It’s a tiny thing n’ it won’t take long, but he lives in Aberystwyth. S’gonna take hours to get there and he wants to stay up there ‘cos his dad gets lonely.” Sirius scratches his jaw. “His dad’s nice, mind. I don’t mind going up there. Just hate being stuck in the car when James is driving.” 

You won’t see James this weekend, then. He hadn’t mentioned it. “It’s beautiful in Aberystwyth. Maybe you can go to the beach,” you say. 

“That’s what I’m trying to convince them to do.” Sirius grins. 

“Not the best weather.” 

“It’s always nicer up there. We spent a lot of time up there, you know, in the summers. We ping-ponged between Remus’ house and James’ parents.” 

“Do they live there too?” you ask. 

“Nowhere near.” Sirius laughs, a deep, rich sound. “You think I’d be used to long drives.” 

“Where’s James from?”

“My parents live deep in the West Country,” James says, his hands sudden on the back of your chair. 

Fuck, you think. You had no idea he was coming, distracted by Sirius and the patter of rain against the window. “You creeper.” 

“You’re the creeper. Grilling dear Siri for details on my personal life.” James dives for a biscuit from the plastic packaging laid out on your desk and then away from you. “If you want to know where to send your fan mail, just ask me, sweetheart.” 

“How do you sneak up on me like that?” you ask. 

The space between your chair and the wall isn’t super tight, but it’s still weird to think he’d approached from the right and you hadn’t noticed. Just, James isn’t generous with details about himself and you’re too timid in your standing with him to ask. 

“Practice… Sirius, what have you don’t to my little women!” 

“I thought they were boys?” Sirius says. 

“That gives you no right to knock them over and make them do frankly obscene things to one another. This is a workplace.” James knocks Sirius out of the way, desk chair and all, to set each of his little green figurines onto their feet. The ones that are standing, that is. The sleeping one he puts back in pride of place underneath his computer’s monitor. 

“She told me not to,” Sirius says, not looking at anyone now, peering backward toward the office. “But I didn’t listen, don’t blame our sweet Y/N.” 

“I wasn’t going to.” James sends you a secret smile. 

“She wouldn’t physically withheld me if I weren’t so devilishly fast.” Sirius’ voice warms. “Hello, darling.” 

Remus huffs as he sets down a huge binder of paper. “Hi.” 

“You okay?” 

The tone he uses is so tender, so soft, you aren’t jealous of Remus but you’re not far from it, either. Remus’ frowning is quick to turn up at the sight of his meddling boyfriend. It must be nice to see someone and have them make a bad day good. 

You look up, finding James paused with a hand on his desk. He’s looking at you, impassive. 

“You okay?” you ask him. 

He squints, wrinkles his nose. “Fine. Got shouted at a bit for the reports. Bet you’re glad you have a twisted ankle.” You’re confused at first, then caught. James’ wrinkled face darkens to glare at you. “You lied?” 

“I really didn’t wanna see him today.” Your boss sucks. 

“And we did? Remus, we’ve been betrayed.” 

“James, I knew she was lying, I just don’t care.” Remus rubs his face. “Why shouldn’t one of us escape him?” 

Sirius takes Remus’ empty hand hanging at his side, picture of a concerned lover. 

James, on the other hand, steals another biscuit despite your laughing protesting and nimbly switches off your monitor. 

“Had enough,” James says. Turned away from the boys, he smiles at you playfully, hand twitching at his side like he wants to give you a squeeze. Or a shove. “Your betrayal is noted.” 

“Mm.” You take a third biscuit from your pack to offer him. 

He takes it, letting his knuckles brush under your arm before pulling away. “And filed away for a later date.” 

When Sirius has pulled Remus away for another early lunch, James retakes his chair and slides as close to you as he can be. He looks for your hand under the desk. You pretend it’s just casually there on your knee and not waiting for him to hold. 

“My dad’s family is very well off,” he says, rubbing your index finger with his thumb, “so the estate is huge. They own a lot of land, but he’s not, like, a lord or anything. You’d love it down there though, it’s nice.” 

“I bet I would.”

“Don’t look so surprised.” 

“No, I’m not, I know you’re rich.” 

“Not that sort of surprise. It would be nice to go down there together.” He can tell he’s getting ahead of himself and backtracks. “Well, this weekend I’m going to gorgeous Aberystwyth and you’re…” 

“Doing laundry.” 

“Well,” he says quietly, “maybe you can make some time Sunday night after all of that and we can get a late dinner.” 

“I thought I was in trouble over the twisted ankle.” 

“Who could be in trouble for an injury?” James sandwiches your hand in his. 

“Fake injury.” 

“Oh, my girl,” he murmurs, almost inaudible, “so honest. No punishment on account of owning up to it.” 

Great. My girl and he’s going away for the weekend. James Potter’s your personal nightmare. 

—

james coworker au

[rcmclachlan]

fanclub dues (bucktommy, tommy & maddie friendship)

Buck's just pulling into the parking lot when the realization that he left his recertification paperwork on Tommy's kitchen counter hits him like another lightning strike, and he drops his head to the steering wheel with a whine. His cert expires today and absolutely has to be postmarked by noon or else Bobby's going to decapitate him, or worse: be really disappointed in him.

His first instinct is to call Tommy, because Tommy's starting a lovely stretch of 72 hours off, and if Buck called him he would absolutely drive the packet over.

Except Tommy's spent the last week reminding Buck to mail the stupid thing before the postmark deadline. If he calls and asks, Tommy won't say I told you so, but he will pause for a second like he's thinking about it before he tells Buck it's no problem. Which is in the exact same pantheon as Bobby's disappointment.

So, he does the next best thing.

"Actually, that works out, because I'm going to be in that area anyway," Maddie says. He can hear the rush of wind and traffic over the line. She must already be driving. "You know how we got on the waitlist for that kindergarten I was telling you about? Looks like a spot is going to open up next year and they asked me to come in for a tour."

Buck frowns. "You're already talking about kindergarten?"

"Jee's four, Buck," Maddie says long-sufferingly. "Kindergarten starts next year."

"That's insane, and also illegal. Tell that girl to stop growing or else she's getting arrested. I know a cop who would absolutely do it, no questions asked."

Maddie laughs, which makes him grin at his reflection in the rearview like an idiot. It always feels like he's won something when he manages to make her at least crack a smile, even when they were kids.

He thanks her profusely, texts her Tommy's address, and then rides that wave of joy right into the station, which continues to carry him through the first couple of hours of his shift.

Around 10:00, his phone chimes with a message. Just pulled up! Front of the house looks great! :-) :-) :-)

Buck smiles down at his phone. He helped plant the flower beds last weekend, and even though he's still finding bits of mulch in weird places because Tommy had pressed him back into the dirt and kissed him filthy in broad daylight in full view of his street, until their smiles got in the way, he can't argue with the end result. They do look good.

This little handoff probably will only take five minutes. Tommy still feels a little awkward around Maddie for reasons Buck cannot fathom for the life of him. Maddie is the kindest, coolest person on the planet, and she's so happy that Buck is happy and Buck is happy because of Tommy, so there shouldn't be any sort of weird vibe. But this is the first time Tommy's ever been in a relationship that made it to the stage where he gets to meet the family and he's so terrified of leaving a bad impression that it's translated into him acting like a robot whenever she's around.

It's maybe a little mean of him to send Maddie to Tommy's literal doorstep. He can just picture the deer-in-headlights look on Tommy's face when he opens the door, but Buck figures exposure therapy can only help. The more Tommy sees Maddie, the more he'll hopefully relax. Small moves.

Maddie will probably send a text in another few minutes about her ETA, but then the bells go off and Buck doesn't give it another thought until a few hours later when they're climbing into the truck to head back to the station.

Unearthing his phone, Buck is expecting a Looks like you're out on a call. I left your stuff on Bobby's desk. See you later!

He's not expecting a video.

Blinking, he checks the timestamp of the message—not twenty minutes ago—and feels the first nibbles of worry in his gut.

What if something happened at the station? What if Gerrard made an unexpected appearance, hoping to, like, challenge Bobby to fisticuffs to get his job back but found Maddie there instead? What if he says something to her, or tries to burn the building down while she's still inside? Maybe she took a video as proof before the ceiling caved in—

He nearly drops the phone trying to press play, and Chim slides in next to him just in time to see Maddie fill his screen.

But instead of evidence of their bitter ex-captain committing arson, it's a selfie video of her in a pair of sunglasses and a cap dancing and singing along to a song Buck doesn't recognize. He does recognize the kitchen behind her, though, because he'd eaten breakfast in it just this morning. There are two bottles of wine on the counter, one empty.

And after a moment, Buck realizes the sunglasses are Tommy's aviators and the pilot cap is the same one Buck accidentally stumbled upon in one of the upstairs closets and made Tommy wear a few nights ago.

But before he can process any of that, Tommy cha-chas his way into the background holding a plate of what looks like sandwiches. He's singing along too. Maddie turns around to look and starts laughing hysterically, the entire screen shaking like they're in the middle of a 9.1 earthquake, when Tommy starts hip thrusting.

Buck's jaw drops. "He said those dorky-ass dance moves were for my eyes only!"

"Wow, I never realized there was a patron saint of FOMO, but here I am sitting next to him. What an honor," Chim says with a laugh, but something in the video must click because his grin is suddenly swallowed by sheer outrage. "Wait, are they having a George Michael dance party without me? Maddie knows how much I love George!"

"What's your definition of dirty, baby, what do you consider pornography!" Maddie and Tommy shout gleefully at the camera.

Chim gasps. "Oh, divorce!"

"What was that about FOMO, Chim?" Hen asks sweetly, but she's grinning so wide at the video—even from her upside down vantage point—that the dig doesn't stick the landing.

Buck looks over at Eddie, who is watching the video serenely, like he's not shocked to see his cool friend full-on shimmying his chest while shoving a grilled cheese into his face.

"Are you not surprised by this at all?" Buck demands.

Eddie shrugs. "If you ever came to karaoke like we keep asking you to, you wouldn't be either. I don't know what you want me to say, Buck. Your man's a dweeb."

He's so annoyed that this is something Eddie's seen so many times before that it doesn't even warrant a reaction that Buck almost forgets to be upset about Maddie and the aforementioned dweeb day drinking and bonding without him. He's oh so glad to see Tommy got over his fear of impressing Maddie enough that he thinks he's allowed to do the fucking running man while in the same room with her.

"C-c-c-c-c-come on!" Tommy howls. Off screen, Maddie cackles and whoops like she's at a rodeo show.

Buck turns to Chimney and says grimly, "After this? You totally get me in the divorce."

Chim makes a face. "Can I contest that?"

"No," Buck says, swiping out of the video before he throws his phone into the street. Almost immediately it chimes with a new text. In a new group chat.

Faxed ur stuff bc ur bf still has a FAX MACHINE and CONNECTIONS at the dir!

Yes and arent uoy glad???1? EVan youre all set baby

BABY lmao gross Going to Jees school now tell u how it goes

When Bobby hauls himself into the front seat, he looks back at them and pauses. Buck doesn't know what his face is doing, but by the dubious expression on Bobby's face, it's nothing good.

"Everything... okay?"

Buck shrugs. "Other than my niece being destined for a career of slinging burgers at In n' Out because my drunk sister and boyfriend are about to get her blackballed from the Los Angeles public school system? We're copasetic, Cap."

'Copasetic,' Eddie mouths, then starts snickering. Buck kicks his foot.

"Hey." Chim smacks him in the chest. "Don't diss fast food workers, they're the backbone of our society. You're just mad you're not cheating Jee out of an education with said sister and boyfriend."

"Aren't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm well-actualized enough to simply rise above the betrayal," Chimney says easily.

Hen rolls her eyes. "He's not. Between the two of you, we're going to be hearing about this for the next four years."

"Sorry, Maddie and Tommy are doing what?" Bobby asks slowly.

The corners of Chim's mouth twitch downward. "Dancing to I Want Your Sex. Without me, might I add."

Buck's head turns so fast he hears something pop in his neck. "It's called what?"

"Oh god," Hen mutters. Eddie looks like he's ready to start dozing off.

Buck's gearing up for a really good rant when his phone goes off again, and when he opens the message, it's a selfie of Maddie and Tommy pressed together in someone's backseat—hopefully an Uber's—and grinning so hard it almost looks a little painful.

Jealousy starts to rear its head like a snake, but before it has a chance to strike he clocks the name of the group chat.

The Official Evan Buckley Fan Club.

Be safe out htere! We love you!

"I'm just saying," Chim gripes to a visibly unsympathetic Hen, "Maddie wasn't even a George Michael fan until I made her listen to Hard Day!"

Buck turns to Eddie and kicks his foot again. "Want to join The Evan Buckley Fan Club?"

"Dude, I've been treasurer for like seven years," Eddie says without opening his eyes. "And I cast the deciding vote when Tommy ran for president at the end of last year."

Once upon a time a there lived boy in Hershey, Pennsylvania who never dared to conceive the idea that multiple people might someday love him enough to start a fan club over it.

"You over it yet?" Eddie asks.

Something warm and sweet wells inside him and he ducks his head around a pleased laugh. "Yeah, for now."

He does make a mental note to have a serious talk with Tommy about the proprietary nature of those hip thrusts, though.

[boldlyvoid]

Neighbourhood Beauty

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Summary: Penelope is hosting Christmas at her apartment this year, she invites everyone... Including her new neighbour, who is exactly Spencer's type.

Warnings: flirting, love at first sight, kissing, making out, teasing, drunk bau friends, food mentions, Baker!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

She was sad the whole journey home from work knowing that Christmas was tomorrow and she was going to be alone. As she gets into her apartment complex, she runs into her neighbour at the mailbox. She’s got 3 packages in her hands while trying to figure out how to carry the last two, “do you want help?” 

“Oh, please?” She sounds so relieved. “What a blessing it is to see you today.” 

She smiles for the first time in a few hours, “Oh, anytime Penelope. Are these all gifts?” She asks as she takes the two packages in her hands. She’ll come down for her own mail later. Nothing interesting should be in there. 

Penelope nods, leading them towards the elevators. “I’m having a big holiday gathering tomorrow— wait, do you have plans, are you going home to see family?” 

“No,” she admits, sadly. “I couldn’t get a plane ticket, I tried but they’re so insanely expensive lately.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Penny sighs. “I haven’t gone out to see my brothers in years, they’re in California.” 

“It sucks… but you have lots of friends here, right? I’m sure they’re coming over tomorrow?” She asks, mostly so she can feel some sort of comfort if she isn’t doing anything tomorrow either. 

“I’m having Christmas here for the first time,” she shares. “Dinner starts at 6:30 but we’re having a little bit of everything for lunch around 2, if you want to stop by at any time?” 

“Oh no, I couldn’t—

“You can, and you will!” Penelope insists. “You don’t need to worry about gifts or bringing any food, just show up. I hate the thought of you being alone next door.” 

“Okay, I’ll come,” she gives in with a smile. “But I’m bringing a baked good… have you ever been to my bakery?” 

“You own the bakery?” She’s so flabbergasted. “I thought you just worked there?” 

She smiles, “I do… we do okay but I’m by no means rich enough to buy a plane ticket home.” 

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing cause now I can eat whatever you bring tomorrow!” 

—

She spends the whole night baking. She makes molasses cookies with powdered sugar on them in shakes of little Christmas trees and she makes chocolate croissants. One of which she brings to Penelope around 10 am so that she can have a nice breakfast before the party starts. 

She showers, picks a cute outfit and by 3pm she’s anxiously waiting by the door trying to hype herself up to go over. She only knows Penelope. They’ve lived beside each other for 3 years now. She’s seen her friends coming and going and heard them talking in the halls but she’s never talked to them. But if they like Penelope, they’ve gotta like her too. 

So she bucks up and heads over. 

She knocks and within seconds, a handsome man is throwing the door open. “You don’t have to— oh, hi?” 

“Hi… Penelope invited me? I’m her neighbour… Y/N,” she awkwardly introduces herself. 

He’s at a loss for words— and breath, for a moment and then shakes himself out of it. “Spencer… Reid. Doctor… Doctor Spencer Reid.” 

It makes her laugh, easing the anxiety out of her system. “Can I come in, Doctor Spencer Reid?” 

“Yeah, yes, come in,” he steps out of the way and extends his arm into the room for her to follow. He closes the door after she’s inside and smiles. “How do you know Penelope?” 

“I live next door.” 

“Really?” He can’t believe it. “How long?” 

“3 years now…” 

“And you’ve never come over?” He looks offended. 

She smiles, “Why, sad you haven’t known me longer?” She manages to tease him. She’s not always good at reading people but something about how he’s acting makes her think he likes her. 

He blushes but nods, “Well, welcome. It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“You too,” she looks him up and down. He’s very handsome. And a doctor… “how do you know Penelope?” 

“We’ve worked together since I was 22…” 

“And you’re now…?”

“42,” he presses his lips together, awkwardly. “Old…” 

“No, no you’re not, I would’ve guessed 35 at the most,” she teases, stepping into his space, she places her hand on his arm. “You’re a very handsome 42.” 

“Are you doing anything for New Years?” He asks, removing all his fear and looking at her with hopeful eyes. 

She shakes her head, “no… I might be working but I can leave early, or you can come see me there?” 

“Where do you work?” 

“I own the bakery on 16th Avenue,” she smiles. “Penelope buys in donuts and things from me all the time, actually, I brought over baked goods this morning, they’re in the kitchen somewhere.” 

“Did you make those croissants?” He lights right up. 

She nods, “maybe I can teach you how to make some?” 

“I’d really like th—

“Y/N!” Penelope comes running from the kitchen and wraps her arms around her, “When did you get here?” 

“Just now,” she laughs. “Spencer’s been keeping me company.” 

“Ahh,” she pulls away with a smile. “Well, come eat, there’s lots of snacks in here.” 

She leads them into the kitchen where her other friends are around the table. “The ones with kids will be around later, they’re still putting batteries and things in their kid's gifts. But this is Rossi and Emily and Tara.” 

She reaches out to shake everyone's hand, realizing only now that she never shook Spencer's, but he doesn’t mind, he stays close to her. They sit side by side, he passes her things from the table that she wants to put on her plate and he gets up to get her a drink and everyone makes conversation while also watching him dote on her. It’s been 20 minutes but there’s something there… no man has shown her this level of interest or flattery before and not to quote Lana Del Rey but, when you know you know. 

They’re friendly as ever when there are people around them and they flirt like mad when they’re alone. She already has a date with him, but he’s just too cute and that shade of red he turns is starting to become her favourite colour. 

“You seriously used all the ice?” Penelope chastises Emily, who pretends she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “Go get some more, we have guests coming who don’t drink alcohol they need ice for their sodas!” 

“I am far too drunk to walk down the street,” she counters and points to Dave. 

“Not me,” Dave touches his nose, he doesn’t volunteer to do anything and Tara does the same thing, she’s just as drunk as Emily. 

Spencer goes to get his coat with a sigh, “I’ve got it.” 

“I’ll come too,” she rushes to the door with him, putting on whatever coat fits her so that she can follow him down to the street for some extra alone time with him. 

She reaches for his hand on the street, “So, what’s it like at the FBI?” 

He holds her hand gladly, “it's… okay. I just teach now. Fieldwork put me in the hospital too many times and I like being alive.” 

“I’m glad you’re still here,” she bumps shoulders with him.

His smile is beautiful. “So, about that date?” 

“We could do anything you want,” she assures. “But my offer still stands.” 

“I think I’d like a baking lesson,” he nudges her back. “It's the one thing I’m not good at.” 

“So what are you good at?” 

“Rambling, falling over, getting shot,” he teases but she swats his arm, leaning into him with a laugh. “Okay, but seriously, I have a Ph.D. in Chemistry, Engineering and Math.” 

“Well luckily for you, baking is just science and a bit of math,” she teases. “You’ll catch on quickly, smarty pants.” 

He pulls her in, chest to chest, standing beside an empty store with all their lights off. He cups her face, “what’s sweeter? Your chocolate croissants or your kiss?” 

She can’t help but laugh, “you’ll have to tell me…” 

He pulls her in for a kiss and sparks fly behind her eyes. As if every atom in her being is on fire, she melts into him. Kissing him deeply, she holds his sides and the hand he has on her cheek goes into her hair as they begin to make out on the snow-covered street. 

She pulls back first, smiling softly, “so?” 

“You, it’s definitely you,” he teases. “But the croissants are a very close second.” 

She laughs, “Well, keep up the compliments and there will be lots more kisses and sweet treats coming your way.” 

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the neighbourhood,” he teases, leaning in for another kiss but she stops him. 

“Just the neighbourhood?” 

“The whole world,” he corrects, which is the right answer. She lets him lean in closer, stealing another kiss. 

She kisses him again and again, trying to pull back but he kisses her a third time, making her laugh. “We need to get that ice, we’re going to be late for dinner.” 

“do you want to hang out after dinner?” He asks, “I can walk you home?” 

“And stay for more kisses?” 

“Or croissants,” he shrugs. Happy with either. 

—

They’re pretty normal for the rest of the party, she meets the rest of his friends and all their kids. And they’re some cute kids. The youngest is his friend Matt's 2-year-old, she sits at the grown-up table with them and eats one of the chocolate croissants with the biggest smile on her face. Y/N can’t help but think about how much her own kids might like her baking one day… and Spencer sees the way she looks at the baby too. 

His friends are so lively, the the party goes on until well after midnight. The friends with kids head out early, Emily and Tara get a cab home, Dave is passed out on her couch and Spencer isn’t going to leave until she does. And she’s helping Penelope clean up. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Penelope assures her, drying off dishes while Spencer washes them. She’s been putting things in Tupperware containers and organizing the fridge. 

“I want to help, as a thank you,” she smiles at her. “This has been a lovely night.” 

“And not just because I introduced you to your new boyfriend?” She teases and Spencer drops a plate. 

She laughs, walking over to place her hand on Spencers arm, “I mean, meeting Spencer is the best present you could’ve given me.” 

Penelope swoons, “Okay that’s it, love birds. Get out of my kitchen, go home, go canoodle and get to know each other. I knew this was going to happen.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me in advance?” Spencer whines as he dries off his hands. “I would’ve worn something nicer?” 

“You look cute,” she teases. 

“See, that’s why,” Penelope points at her. “I knew she’d like you for you, she’s a baker and you love everything I buy from her bakery and she’s so kind and you need someone to love you the way I know you love people back. This is perfect.” 

She wraps her arm around his waist and leans into his space, “thank you penny, we’re going to go now.” 

“Thank you,” Spencer agrees, following her out of the kitchen and towards the door. 

Once they’re in the hallway, he asks, “Did you really mean that?” 

She nods, “of course?” 

He lunges for her, kissing her with her back pressed up against her apartment door. She reaches for the doorknob, twisting it open so that she can bring them inside and push him up against the closed door instead this time. He moans into her mouth at the feeling of his back colliding with the door and her hands are immediately roaming his shirt.

He’s such a good kisser, he is gentle and soft, and he isn’t overly eager and controlling. He lets her explore and slow it down as she presses in closer to him and his hands wander to her hips. 

“Couch?” She pants against his lips, wanting to lay down with him. 

“Show me?” He agrees, following her into her apartment and to the living space. 

She pushes him down against the couch and climbs on top of him. He wraps his arms around her, cradling her body like she’s the most delicate thing in the world. He kisses her just as soft and she moves her kiss to his cheek and his jaw up towards his ear, “you’re so handsome,” she whispers. 

“Thank you,” he gasps. “You’re absolutely stunning, I don’t know how I got so lucky.” 

She smirks against him, kissing down his neck, “You deserve good things, Spence.” 

“You’re too good to me,” he teases, hand slipping down to her ass. “How far are we taking this?” 

She hums, “I’m good just talking and kissing all night?” 

“All night?” 

She nods as she pulls back to look at him. “I kinda don’t want to let you go. I’m afraid you’re too good to be real.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures. “I’m yours as long as you want me.” 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

[stevieschrodinger]

TW for Eddie getting hurt (but he's okay). And Human Trafficking.

Link to part Two

Steve leans against Carol's desk, "here are your messages, I fobbed off the Times interview - they're going to email you their questions instead." He's listening to Carol, but he's watching, frowning.

There's a man in his office.

"Lunch call with the Singapore office is on. Your suite for the gala is back from the dry cleaners, it's in your bathroom."

"Right, the gala," Steve answers absently. It's a corner office, lots of glass, so it's impossible to miss the man in his office. The man who is calmly, right now, looking at the framed photo Steve has of his parents. It's basically a prop, Steve never got on with them, but that is not the point. Some random guy is touching Steve's shit.

"And my nine thirty?"

"Had to move it, don't worry, they were fine about it."

"Right," Carol's leaning over the desk now, watching the man right along with Steve, "I assume that's why you had to cancel my nine thirty."

"Uh hu," she's tapping her nails on the top of the desk, and she's so fucking infuriating, if she wasn't so fucking good at her job Steve would have booted her years ago.

"You're going to make me ask aren't you??

Carol gives him a massive shit eating grin, "ask what, sir?"

"Jesus fucking christ," Steve sighs, "who is that in my office."

"Not sure," Carol shrugs, grinning because she's pleased she's being such a dick, "security brought him up," she leans over the desk, whispering like she's imparting a secret, "pretty sure they said something that sounded like FBI."

And then she sits down, tapping at her computer and painting her nails or doing whatever it is she does all day. Harassing mail boys, probably. God she's like a fucking shark, but that what Steve gets, he wanted a competent secretary, what he got was a fucking guard dog.

Steve's not complaining. He'd been weary of hiring a female Alpha and then shoving her behind a desk, but it turns out Carol is terrifyingly efficient and fucking fearless, so it's kind of a win win.

Steve stares at the man in his office for a second longer, trying to figure out what the fuck he's done. he wonders if he's somehow accidentally committed major tax fraud, or something. He's pretty sure he hasn't, but the panic spiral is sitting there, looking inviting, anyway.

Steve goes into his office, and the man turns. He's tall, well built, kind of portly with age, maybe, but Steve still wouldn't fuck with the guy. He's not wearing blockers of any sort, so Steve's office now smells of strange, uninvited, Alpha. Great.

"Jim Hopper," he says, extending his hand, "FBI."

"Steve Harrington," Steve replies, even though he's certain it's pointless, this guy knows exactly who he is.

The guy is already producing paperwork as Steve takes his seat on the other side of his desk, "standard non disclosure, Mr. Harrington."

Steve gives it a once over, he's signed enough of these, and been involved with the legal team enough, that he feels confident enough. He signs it, knowing he won't get any answers until he does.

"I'll get right to it, time is tight. I've been working to dismantle an Omega trade ring for nearly eighteen months now. We're almost ready to move, teams are in place, inks drying on the warrants, cells are all picked out."

Steve nods, okay. He knew Omega trade was a thing, a barbaric, highly illegal thing. Human trafficking of the worst form, he gestures for Hopper to continue.

"If we go in now, we will likely get a few of the higher ups, we'll rescue approximately two dozen Omega, it'll be a success." Steve goes to speak, wondering what the fuck this has to do with him, Hopper waves him down, "we've been here before; I've made this mistake once before. If we don't get the people at the top, this thing will grow back in a years time. I want them all."

Steve gets that. His head is spinning a little. He knows things like this go on, you see about it on the news, but it does sound a bit...like a spy movie.

Hopper puts a photograph on Steve's desk, "you know this man?"

And Steve does. They're not what Steve would call friends; more of a good tempered rivalry. And yeah, Steve had Daddy's money, but Tommy had his Daddy's company. They came up at the same time, went after the same deals. Move in the same circles, Steve's known him for years. Steve's disliked him for years, "you're not suggesting Tommy Hagan is...the head of some sort of, human slavery outfit?" Knowing how ruthless Tommy can be, how questionable his methods are...Steve's still struggling to see him as...this.

"I'm not suggesting it. I'm telling you as fact. You've known him a long time, and we have to move fast. The charity gala tonight, you'll both be there."

"Right, sure, but I don't exactly see what I can do about this."

"Hagan moves the...high end product. Very exclusive, very expensive. They keep them at a ranch, just out of state," and that's kind of uncomfortable, because Steve's been to the ranch for a business lunch, so he knows exactly the place Hopper is talking about. And, jesus, Steve had thought at the time Tommy had a lot of Omega staff. A lot of really well behaved Omega staff - at the time, Steve thought Tommy was just being his usual dick self. Just showing off wealth. Fuck, if some of those Omega were actually, like, prisoners- "drop a hint to Hagan, tonight. Tell him you're getting itchy, fancy yourself an Omega. A traditional one, timid. Say whatever you need to say, get yourself an invite out there."

Steve takes a deep breath, nodding. He can do that. He can play that; he might have to wear blockers, his opinion of Tommy is in the gutter on a good day, never-mind this.

"That's all you need?"

Hopper shifts forward in his chair, "look, you're ideal. On the periphery, you've known each other a long time, but not well. He knows exactly the kind of clout you have, your bank balance, you're the perfect person to do this."

It's not hard to find information on Steve Harrington, he's thirty first on the Forbes 100 list, but clearly Hopper, at the very least, has taken notice.

"How do you know I'm not already involved?"

Hopper snorts, "kid. We know. Also, you just asked me that question, and your balls ain't that brassy."

Steve can't deny it, he shrugs, "so, what else?"

"Get an invite. Go there wearing a wire. Meet Tommy, pick an Omega. You'll be trusted; we will fit a listening device. Hagan's wriggled out of this sort of thing before; evidence like that, there'll be no court in the country that won't convict him."

Steve feels awkward. He knows there's a device on him somewhere; Hopper had taken his phone for ten minutes, and brought it back with a different suit jacket for him to wear.

That had been at half five this morning, standing on Steve's back porch. And as he pulls into the ranch, he has the air con on full blast because fucking hell, he's sweaty when he's nervous.

Hopper had made this sound easy; the ranch is pretty safe. Only a couple of armed guards. Plus, he's Steve Harrington; you can't just disappear a guy like Steve.

Hopper had sounded so certain, the cherry of his cigarette bright in the pre dawn mist. He'd even slapped Steve's shoulder, told him he was saving lives. Steve had felt like a fucking super hero for about twenty minutes, until reality and fucking nerves had swamped him.

But here he is, walking up the front steps to the ranch house, Tommy Hagan grinning big, "hope you brought the black card," Tommy jokes as they bro hug.

Because that's not creepy.

Tommy had given Steve a smirk at the Gala last night, was confident he had exactly what Steve was looking for. Knew, for the right price, exactly what would scratch Steve's itch. Not like he was talking about real fucking human beings or anything.

Steve's real glad he went thick on the blockers; he's certain Tommy would be choking on the scent of his disgust by now.

They bring them in during lunch. Steve sitting, eating fucking cornbread and home made slaw and he just can't. He nibbles, feeling sick with nerves. Tommy doesn't even seem to notice. Steve can't help but stare at him, someone he's known most of his life and now...he's been revealed as something vile and subhuman. Steve has to work hard to keep the disgust off his face.

Something that gets even more difficult when the Omega are brought it and lined up, all wearing the same diaphanous nightdresses regardless of gender. Every single one of them could be a contender for the most beautiful thing Steve's ever seen. Every single one of them could be a model, or something.

They're lined up in height order; the last one in, the tallest, a male Omega. He's limping.

He's leaving bloody footprints on the fancy parquet flooring.

Tommy must catch Steve's face, "the unruly ones need to be disciplined, and that one is more...difficult than most. Refuses to learn. And we don't want to damage the product anywhere that'll be visible, obviously."

Steve has to breathe through his nose so he doesn't throw up. All the Omega are wearing blockers; probably because the scent of Omega distress would be so off putting.

Tommy waves a hand, "get him out of here, he's bleeding on the rug," and the Omega winces, as he turns. he's got lots of shiny dark curls. Everything about all the Omega is pristine, perfectly maintained hair, nails, flawless skin. The smear of blood on his ankle is even more stark for it, and Steve can't help but stare as the Omega gamely takes what looks like a very painful, shuffling step away again.

"Him," Steve says before he can stop himself, "I want him."

The Omega turns back, looking at Steve with huge, beautiful brown eyes. He's hopeful and fearful all at once, and it tears Steve up inside. He wants to buy all of them, get all of them out of here, but knows he can't. If he does anything to raise suspicion he could fuck the whole thing.

At least he has Hopper's word that the rest of them will be out of here by the end of today.

Tommy scoffs, "Steve, come on, have a proper look. Don't pick that one. Get a pretty one."

Steve wants to swear at Tommy because they're all fucking pretty, ridiculously so, "no, he'll do."

"Oh," Tommy laughs, "I get it, just gonna' wreck him anyway, right? That's fair, can always get another," and he's laughing again and suddenly Steve is dragged into a very detailed conversation about how to move funds - from where and to where, which Steve does. It's an amount of money that under any other circumstances would make Steve's eyes water - but in the face of a human being in pain, Steve doesn't even blink.

It doesn't feel like Steve takes a breath until he's on the interstate, the Omega curled up on the seat next to him. No possessions, no clothes, no bag.

Nothing.

And that had gutted Steve as much as anything else.

"Look, uh, hey, you have a name?"

"Eddie," the Omega answers quietly.

"Right. Eddie. So. This is...well it's going to sound a bit wild but...I'm kind of here for the FBI. I mean. I don't work for them, or anything, but...I was...asked, I guess, to get evidence. So don't worry about everyone else, they're getting rescued later so. That's. A thing, I guess?"

Eddie's just blinking at him.

"Yea. Yeah, I guess that's a lot to take in. But we can talk about it...later? Do you have family? Like, shit, do you have somewhere to go? I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to actually like...buy, a person. Couldn't leave you there though."

"I've...I've got an uncle. Haven't seen him for years. I don't...know."

"Right, right okay. We can talk to Hopper about it," Steve spots a drive through, "you hungry?"

Eddie turns and sees the McDonald's, "oh fuck me yes," he breathes with such vehemence that Steve laughs, "I haven't left the ranch for two years, and they never let us eat anything like that, it's bad for our skin. Plus, we have to stay thin and pretty."

That kills Steve's laughter stone dead.

Hopper rubs at his forehead, "you were not supposed to buy a human being."

"I know but-" Steve turns, Eddie standing behind him, which on it's own makes Steve wince. Eddie's barefoot on the asphalt, half hidden behind Steve, still wearing nothing but that scrap of white fabric. It's now a little smeared with the fry grease Eddie had shamelessly wiped off his fingers. Steve hands over his phone and the suite jacket.

Hopper waves him off, "you did good."

Hopper does something to the back of Steve's phone, peeling something away from it, before giving it back, "somewhere I can take you kid? Any family?"

"I only have an uncle, but I don't...it's been years, I haven't seen him since I was little."

Hopper rubs is hand over his face, the rasp of stubble loud, before he lights another cigarette, "I'll have to find you a motel somewhere while we figure this out."

"He can stay with me." Steve's volunteering before he can really think it though, "I've got...a lot of space," he trails off. He did just rescue this Omega after all, he's not just going to abandon him to be alone somewhere. Somewhere that might not even be safe for a lone Omega.

Hopper raises an eyebrow at Eddie, Eddie shrugs, "not like I've had any better offers lately."

Hopper snorts, but he hands over a business card, "this is highly unorthodox, but...I don't care. I've got bigger things to worry about. Text me any details the kid can give you on the uncle. I'll be in touch."

And then Hopper just...drives away. It's maybe an hour and a half drive back from here, since Steve had to go out of his way for this clandestine meeting in an abandoned car lot.

"So is there anything you...want? Need?"

Eddie seems to think about it for a second, plucking at his nightshirt, "I mean, I don't have any cash, obviously, and I heard how much money you shelled out- I mean, do you think you can comp me from the FBI? Man, you didn't even get a receipt for me."

Steve starts laughing first, then Eddie joins in.

At Eddie's request they get milkshakes on the way home.

[peachsukii]

— the knife in you brings out the life in me

college life has been a breeze and you've got everything you've ever wanted — a hot boyfriend, decent grades and a circle of friends you wouldn't trade for the world. that perfect daydream is shattered when a student ends up murdered in their apartment off campus, and somehow, it all leads back to you.

✮ summary. it's a typical friday night as kendo preps for your annual movie marathon, impatiently waiting for you to come home when she gets a mysterious phone call from an unknown number. ✮ content. 18+ MDNI. part of the wyfscm collab: scream!au + bakugo x fem!reader. college setting (characters are 21/22). descriptions of stalking/kidnapping. major character death(s). sexual scenes (soft predator/prey & knife play, heavy makeouts, oral & vanilla-ish sex). violence (blood/gore). lots of meta humor. angst w/ a "happy" ending. ✮ word count. 3.2k — Act One ⨯ Act Two ⨯ Act Three 『 wyfsm collab ⨯ k.bakugo masterlist ⨯ crossposted to ao3 』

✮ act one: silver screams & movie scenes

Apartment 104 | 8:30PM

A crisp night on campus, the windows in the apartment open to let in the chill as Kendo stood in front of the oven, impatiently tapping her nails against the frozen pizza box on the counter. She glances at her phone for the tenth time, sighing when the little 'Read' notification finally appears under her last message to you.

Kendo (8:35PM): Y/N, are you coming home soon? I got the movies lined up and pizza's in the oven. Read 8:44PM

"Bitch," she playfully curses to herself. She leans against the laminate, fingers furiously tapping against the screen.

Kendo (8:46PM): That dick better be worth ditching movie night. >:( I'll save you a slice of pizza, but only one. You (8:47PM): Thanks Kennie! Be home soon. <3

Kendo slides her phone into her back pocket before unwrapping the pizza, shoving it onto the oven rack and slamming the door shut. She wasn't actually pissed, she just didn't want to watch a set of scary movies by herself. They freaked her out, but you always want to watch the classics around Halloween, something you two drunkenly pinky promised over way back in your freshmen year. That tradition has held strong for almost two years now — some things never change. She strolls into the living room, skimming one of the backs of the DVDs on the table when her phone vibrates repeatedly, catching her attention after the second round of buzzing. No one ever calls her, not even her boyfriend or family, let alone some random person. The screen reads 'Caller: Unknown.' She chuckles to herself before clicking the "Ignore" button.

"Real original," she laughs aloud. "I'm not an idiot if she thinks she can play tricks on me."

The phone begins ringing again in her hand, 'Caller: Unknown' popping up on the Caller ID another time. Now she's getting annoyed, answering with a huff. "I'm not stupid, Y/N. I know this is you and Katsuki prank calling me."

There's a faint rustling sound in the background before the voice comes through the line. "Hello, Itsuka."

Her heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the use of her name. "Uhh…Who's this?"

"I'm in one of your study groups for chemistry. I was wondering if you had Y/N's number."

Kendo pauses — who the hell would call on a Friday night about a dumb study group? It's prime party hours, especially in your off-campus neighborhood.

"How'd you get my number?"

There's a hollow laugh followed by some sort of static that she can't quite place. Her stomach sinks, a pang of fear aching in her guts. Why did it suddenly feel like someone was watching her?

"Sorry! I thought you'd recognize my voice. I got it from Professor Yamada," he stammers, the tonality in his voice shifting into something artificially sweet. "Is Y/N home?"

"No…" Kendo stalls, walking to the balcony doors to look outside before closing the curtain. If he got her number from the professor, why couldn't he have gotten yours, too? "I can give you her e-mail address and you can ask for whatever you need."

"Sure, that would be great," he says. "Are you busy right now?"

Technically, no, but there's no harm in lying to this guy. What he doesn't actually know won't hurt him.

"Yeah, I'm in the middle of dinner and a movie. Looking for a hot date or something?" she jokes, trying to lighten the panic lingering in her chest.

He tuts. "Pizza doesn't seem like a healthy dinner, now does it?"

Kendo barely registers his words before she hangs up, tossing her phone onto the carpet as if it was on fire. The screen illuminates with 'Caller: Unknown' splayed across the screen, taunting her repeatedly as he calls over and over again. It's not until it rings a fourth time that she finally answers, carefully bringing the phone to her ear without saying a word.

"That was rude," the voice scolds, tongue clicking against his teeth. "You shouldn't leave your windows open when you're home alone. Haven't you watched horror movies? That's an open invitation for someone to sneak inside and do god knows what to you."

"And you shouldn't be staring through people's windows, creep," she retaliates. Crawling along the floor, Kendo scurries over to the open kitchen window, shutting it hastily.

"Who says I'm staring through the window?" A distant click of a lock fills her ears, crudely reminding her that the front door was left open. Why the fuck didn't she lock the door?!

"Are you in my house?!" She questions, wanting to sound threatening but cannot hide in her voice that she's scared shitless.

No response.

"Answer me, you freak!"

The line disconnects. Kendo drops her phone onto the kitchen counter and skips to the entryway of the apartment to see the door wide open, but no one in sight. There's not many places to hide in this tiny place — maybe it was a stupid prank after all? You and Katsuki are fucking with her, that's gotta be it. Who else would know she's home alone?

Kendo hurries down the hall in an attempt to shut the door when a shadow moves out of the corner of her eye, a mysterious figure lurching out to grab her. Her body slams against the wall, desperate to recollect the breath that was swiftly stolen from her lungs. A white Halloween mask and black cloak…is this guy serious? A Ghostface costume?

"Very funny, Katsuki," she coughs out, a hand coming to grip the person's forearm. "Come on, jokes over."

"I didn't want to do this, Itsuka." The figure pulls out a knife with the opposite hand, moving to trace the pointed edge along her jawline. Their voice sounds deeper, almost computerized, an extreme difference from the phone calls moments earlier. "Too bad you hate horror movies, you'd have a better chance at winning the game we're gonna play."

Fuck, this is real.

Kendo swallows harshly before questioning further. "Wh-what game?"

“Now now, don't rush me, sweetheart," he cautions, the tip poking roughly into the side of her throat, a tiny pinprick beginning to weep blood onto the blade. "You’ll be in the news for weeks, I’ll make sure of that." He drops the knife and takes a step back, signaling to the open door. "All you gotta do is run.”

Without a second thought, Kendo bolts for the door and out into the night, running for her life through the apartment complex courtyard in her slippers, not knowing where the hell to go. She runs past a few open windows, loud music pouring out of multiple house parties of her fellow colleagues. Her eyes are darting back and forth between them, ping ponging her options in a rush.

She stops at one, attempting to shout over the speakers at the group of people closest to her. "There's someone with a knife out here, call the damn cops!"

No one bats an eye as she's banging her fists on the glass, desperate to grab someone's attention. She tries to open it further and it won't budge — of fucking course it won't. Is this what her night has come to, running from some psycho killer? If it turns out to be you and Katsuki playing a stupid ass prank, she's going to kill you herself for scaring the ever-loving shit out of her.

No matter the case, she can't waste another second, every single one precious to keep herself alive if this is legit. Kendo spins on her heel, proceeding to trip over her own feet as she rounds one of the complex buildings, hugging the wall to stay out of sight. It's too bad it happens to be the moment she didn't look where she was going, colliding with the masked assailant in the dark.

One of the most important rules of horror movies; never blindly hide in the dark from a killer, especially alone.

A large hand grasps her shoulder, pinning Kendo in place as the other comes swinging forward, weapon in hand. She can't even shout before the blade pierces through her cashmere sweater and directly into her chest, blood spurting around the knife and staining the fabric in gushing waves of crimson. The killer twists the weapon, torturing her as Kendo screams in agony, burgundy droplets spewing from her mouth. They pull out the knife with a sickening schlep, only to prick the rest of her body like a pin cushion to the melody of her wails for help.

One, two, three… she loses count of the number of stab wounds, too focused on the pain building in intensity with each slice of her flesh. Was this some form of sick karmic justice? What the fuck did she do to deserve this?!

"Please," she chokes out in a high pitched squeal. "S-stop!"

Kendo attempts to grasp at the killer's mask, but the material slips from between her bloody fingers, leaving messy bloodstains in their wake. In the distance, a group of college kids are excitedly strolling down the sidewalk, chatting loudly about the hottest party on the block. She tries to scream, to produce any sort of noise for them to hear — she can't. Her hands come up to clutch around her throat, a pitiful attempt to stop the blood rising like bile before it spills over her lips like a waterfall and all over her bunny slippers.

"Oh, Itsuka," the voice laments while letting her body go limp and fall into the grass. "Someone needed to be the message, and it happened to be you." Kendo's vision clouds, the killer kneeling over her twitching body, finger jamming into her chest wound. She lets out a breathless scream, the pain too much to bear any longer. "What a perfect opening for our movie. See you in hell, angel."

Is this how it feels to die? Her last glimpse of reality is that goddamn mask, the bloody finger prints splayed on the white plastic like some pretentious abstract art taunting her as the world fades to black.

Her final thought?

'I fucking hate horror movies.'

Bakugo's Apartment | 9:25PM

"Katsuki! Noooo!" you giggle, running down the hallway of his apartment and swinging into his bedroom, slamming the door shut. It doesn't have time to latch before Bakugo's shoulder rams against it. He taps his knuckles on the wood as a warning, even though he could burst in on his own.

"C'mon, baby," he sings, sickly sweet. "Let me in." He doesn't hesitate to deliver a hearty kick to the door, the doorknob slipping out of your grasp and causing you to stumble backwards.

"Gotcha," Bakugo teases, squeezing your hips and shoving you up against the wall. Your heart races, a flush creeping up your neck and flaring to the tips of your ears. The pout spread across your glossed lips almost has him crumbling, a brief moment of weakness to let you run free. But not tonight, any night but tonight. The thought quickly leaves when he remembers the power he holds over you, one of his hands finding your throat in one swift motion, pinning you in place under his firm grasp. "A pretty thing like you shouldn't be left alone, especially with those frat fuckfaces wanderin' around campus."

Heart-eyes blossomed under your half-lidded gaze, laced with a deadly mixture of fear and infatuation. You looked delicious in this state, a fawn batting her lashes at the wolf to guide her home. Bakugo growls at the thought of how you'll look when he's got you pressed beneath him, begging to be fucked to hell and back just the way he likes. He leans down next to your ear, hot breath fanning over your skin and nudging his nose against your cheek. His grip releases from your hip, fingers trailing to the edge of your skirt. "This short ass skirt could get ya into trouble with the wrong guy."

The clash of terror and arousal actively going to war inside you, adrenaline spiking as Bakugo's palm skims over your inner thigh, fingers dancing along the hem of your underwear. He snaps the fabric against your skin, a moan flooding out of you and echoing through the room. Thankfully, his roommates weren't home, but honestly? It might be hot to let them listen in on you two in the future.

"M'not dangerous, baby. Nothin' to be scared of," He pauses to nip at your earlobe, relishing in the way it makes you squirm beneath him. "None'a those creepy jackasses could fuck you like I can, make ya beg an' scream until your throat is raw."

Your hands shoot up to clutch onto his shirt. "Please, make me scream until I pass out, 'Suki!"

Bakugo's ready to devour you, rough hands finding your waist to lift you from the wall and shove you toward his bed. "With pleasure, little mouse."

He pounces on you hungrily, grabbing your face to twist toward his and ravish your lips. It's messy, all teeth and tongue while he fishes something out of his back pocket. It isn't until you hear a click that you open your eyes, a black and red switchblade on full display. Suddenly, you're on the tallest rollercoaster imaginable, your stomach churning with dread as you approach the first big drop and look out into the horizon, realizing how high up you truly are.

"Like what ya see?" Bakugo jokes while trailing his lips down your neck, canines grazing your delicate skin. "Borrowed it from one of the guys." He drags the dull side of the blade along your bare thigh, the sensation sending a chill up your spine. It disappears under your skirt and snags the fabric of your panties laying against your hip, the tip of the knife slipping through the material with ease. You have to fight against the urge to run, panic coursing through your veins as the steel kisses your skin.

You can trust him, you have to, he loves you and would never hurt you. Not in a million years.

Bakugo roughly yanks on the knife, accidentally pricking your hip and causing you to yelp in pain with an accompanied "Fuck!"

"Shit!" He drops it and lets the weapon clatter to the hardwood floor. "Lemme take a look."

You wince when his fingers brush against your skin to investigate the damage, curiously grinning when he sees your underwear is still in one piece, albeit hanging by a thread, blood seeping into the band strained over the cut. He rockets off the bed to retreat to the bathroom down the hall, returning in a flash with a wet washcloth and a few band aids.

"Stay still," he grumbles under his breath. "I got'cha."

Without thinking, he rips the loose threads of your panties, letting them give way and fall away from your skin to access your wound. The warm cloth stings at first when he presses it to your hip, but is soothed shortly after with a few gentle puffs of air as Bakugo blows on the area. "Sorry sweetheart, didn't mean'ta cut you open."

"S'okay Kats, it was an accident."

You throw your head back against his pillow, chest still heaving from the excitement of it all. Of course this is what you get for asking your boyfriend to pretend stalk you and playing around with a damn weapon, and no safe word. Neither of you have every wielded a knife before, your imaginations running too wild to stop and think of any consequences. Blame exam season, the two of you locked away to study with little time to actually fuck, especially with roommates. While you're ruminating in your own head, Bakugo's eyes fall to your discarded panties, a prominent wet spot soaked through the cotton and barely covering your center. He bends down and starts leaving wet kisses along your inner thigh, all while holding the cloth to your hip to soak up any remaining blood.

"K-ahh-tsuki!" You whine, squirming under his touch. Your eyes begin to fall closed until the sound of your phone vibrating against his nightstand incessantly catches your attention.

"Ignore it," Bakugo snarls before diving between your legs, hot tongue slipping between your folds with ease and collecting all of your pent up juices in one swipe. And you obey him, turning your head away from the screen to focus on the pleasure building in your belly. It's not long until your phone is ringing for a second, third, and forth time in a row, distracting you from your boyfriend's attempt to apologize for his fuck up. Your eyes squint at the name on the caller ID - 'Ochako Uraraka.'

That's odd, Uraraka's normally at Midoriya's on Friday nights. What could she want?

"Babe, it's gotta be important. Ochako's called me four times in a row." You don't wait for Bakugo's response before answering, out of breath. "H-hey, what's—"

"Ohmigawd you're alive!" Uraraka screeches through the speaker, her voice unusually distressed. "Where are you?!"

You thread a hand through Bakugo's hair to still his movements, tapping the top of his head to get him to stop as you sit up and pull away from his mouth. He grumbles in annoyance, but it quickly fizzles out when he sees the look of concern on your face.

"Uhh…I'm at Katsuki's place. Why?"

"Oh thank GOD. Okay, okay…umm, I don't know how to tell you this," she starts, pausing to take a deep breath. "Something happened at your apartment."

Bakugo's brow furrows when he feels his own phone begin to ring in his jeans, tugging it from his pocket to see Kirishima's name on the screen and three previous missed calls. What the hell is going on?

"Itsuka was…," Uraraka lets out an audible sob. "She was killed!"

Your first instinct is to laugh, to chalk it up to her acting and pulling a prank on you. "Quit bullshitting, Ochako! You're scaring me."

"I'm not!" She argues, another stifled cry as she begins to mutter through broken words. "Her body was found…h-hanging -hic- from a tree by her throat with…and…and -hic- stabbed a-almost 20 times."

Everything falls silent, the words ringing in your head. Without warning, you hang up on Uraraka, unable to find anything to say in return to the news lingering in the air.

Kendo was stabbed? Your Kennie?

She's…dead?

Bakugo's sudden grip on your shoulder startles you, his eyes dilated with shock as he speaks, but you can't hear a thing. You try to read his lips until his voice eventually reaches your ears. "…was found dead."

You shake your head in disbelief. "Sorry, what?"

"Monoma. Found him dead in the quad, there's a whole crime scene on campus." He turns away from you to continue talking with Kirishima on the other line, nodding hesitantly to whatever Kirishima was info dumping to him.

"Itsuka…too," you mumble, afraid to speak the truth out loud and face the reality of the situation. Bakugo's eyes shift to yours, a rare glimpse of dread on full display as you continue. "Someone broke into our apartment."

So much for getting laid tonight.

a huge thanks to @lumiambrose @ambiguouslady42 & @hayatoseyepatch for beta'ing this for me! :)) act two & three should be done before halloween. <3 happy spooky season!

✮ network. @pixelcafe-network

✮ tags. @slayfics @maddietries @starieqq

@liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3 @simp-plague

@napbatata @Yoyolovesdaiki @kirishimaeijiromyman

@strwbrrykthv @awkwardchick87 @stunies @suokura

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Hate Mail, part two (Human Alastor x reader)

CW: Rough sex, Dub con Rated: Adult Part 2 of 2 (Part 1 here) Summary: Alastor has been on the receiving end of some nasty letters at the station. With the help of some rather unique penmanship and a stroke of luck, the culprit finds herself in his crosshairs. What sort of lesson will Alastor teach his little hate fan and how will that change when he uncovers the reason why she is sending him the letters?

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

Alastor reached down, carefully taking your hand in his. Your legs shook as you tried to get your feet under you as he helped you up. The clicking of your simple heels against the wooden floor of his office seemed too loud at the moment. 

He looked at you tenderly. The soft, caring look in his eyes felt so very much like a lie, and yet you wanted to believe it. The sounds of your sniffling and harsh breathing filled your ears, along with the ticktock of the clock on the wall.

You wanted to believe he hadn’t intended to hurt you, that he lost control. 

You wanted to believe it, but he had said he would make you pay for what you had written. He had said you would suffer, and you had. 

“Oh, do stop sniffling.” Alastor cooed. “It’s not ladylike. I’ll make this up to you, come, come.” 

His hand rested on your back, guiding you back toward his desk. The last thing you wanted was to step deeper into the office again. Giving up what little distance you had made toward the door terrified you. There wasn’t much choice but to obey, though. 

Alastor’s hand on your back told you who still had control. 

You had heard tells from other women how situations like this went. Men pulled out a few dollars, and they thought it would erase their transgressions. That was what you expected, as he forced you to step behind his desk once again. 

The only thing you couldn’t understand was why he had yet to put himself away and fasten his pants. 

Alastor stepped close behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he did, pulling your back flush against his chest. His chest expanded as be took a deep breath, nose resting against the crown of your head. Worse, you could feel his cock pressing against your lower back, still exposed and now twitching as it grew harder with each heartbeat that coursed through it. 

“What are you-?” your question caught in your throat as his lips caressed your shoulder, leaving a trail of soft kisses that tempted you to tilt your head to the side. 

“I told you,” Alastor whispered as his other hand planted on the edge of the desk in front of you, “I’m going to make it up to you.” 

“Please, sir.” your voice was high, vocal cords stretched tight as you tried to think of a way out of this. “I don’t need anything. It’s fine. We can- we can pretend this didn’t happen.” 

“You sent those letters because you wanted my attention,” Alastor whispered, fingers working at the buttons of your blouse as you stood, trembling in his arms. “I got angry and took it out on you, but that wasn’t right. I know women don’t have a lot of ways to get a man’s attention.” 

“Please, let me go.” Your heart beat faster as his hand reached into your shirt, slight calluses on his hands scratching at the delicate skin of your abdomen. 

“I will,” Alastor hummed in your ear, hand caressing higher until he was pushing the lacey band of your bra up, freeing your breasts from the tight confines. 

“What are you doing?” You couldn’t help the way your breath caught in your lungs as his fingertips ghosted over the bud of your nipple. 

“Cher,” Alastor spoke as he palmed the swell of your breast, “I find the current fashion trend to bind the breasts down to be so distasteful. There’s something so alluring to the curves of a woman.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, though you did not know what you were apologizing for. You did not dress in the morning with seeing Alastor in mind. That was simply the fashion of the time. 

“This is much better, isn’t it?” Alastor chuckled against your neck, pushing his chest into you as he bent at the waist, forcing you to lean forward. Gravity guided your breast to rest in his hand, filling his palm as you reached out to brace yourself on his desk with one hand. You gripped his wrist with the other, failing to pull his hand from you. 

“Let me go.” You whimpered, “Please, you don’t have to do this.” 

“It’s only fair.” Alastor took his hand from his desk, resting it on your hip. 

Long fingers wrapped around the front of your hip, caressing down your inner thigh as he ran his palm down the front of your hip. Each time his hand pushed its way up your leg, back to your hip, the hem of your skirt rose higher and higher. 

Before you could make sense of what was happening, you felt the rough weave of his slacks against bare skin. While he distracted you with the feeling of his fingers rolling your nipple between them, he had your skirt pushed up around your waist. 

He pushed his leg forward, bullying your thighs apart with his knee as he pushed against your torso. There wasn’t much you could do to resist the push of him, bending you over his desk, leaving your lower half on display. Your knickers were all you had to provide any coverage. 

“Stay just like that,” Alastor ordered as he pulled away, “Be a good girl for me.” 

Your fingers twitched against the papers on his desk. Fear coursed through you as he stepped away, looking at you as you supported yourself on your elbows. The soft fabric of your undergarments was sticky with slick, clinging to your skin.

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw exactly what you feared you would. Alastor was looking at you with a deep hunger. You could feel how your undergarments were stuck to the slick of your core. They were surely near transparent from how it felt. 

Wherever he was directing his attention, it was clear he was enjoying what he was seeing. His cock stood tall and proud out in front of his open fly. His shirt was pulled loose, partially unbuttoned at the bottom and the top. At some point, he had pulled his bowtie from his neck, letting it hang around his shoulders. 

Slowly, he stepped forward, reaching out for you. Strong hands caressed your hip before thumbs hooked under the band. There was a slight resistance as the fabric clung to your slick coated core and then they were falling, leaving a cooling trail down your thigh. 

“You are a pretty little thing,” Alastor murmured to himself. 

A startled yelp fell from your lips as he reached out, running his fingers over your slit, smearing slick around. They moved easily through your folds before his long finger slipped deep inside your core. You fluttered around him, not expecting the intrusion. Pulling back, he added a second before withdrawing both.

“You keep trying to protect your reputation, your decency,” Alastor laughed as he wrapped his hand around his cock, lazily stroked his cock, letting the slick on his fingers smear over his shaft. “But don’t you worry. I won’t tell anyone how badly you want this. I won’t tell them how you tried so hard to get my attention. This’ll stay just between us.” 

You gasped as the soft head of his cock slotted through your folds, caressing over your clit. He thrusted slowly forward a few times, coating himself in your fluids before he adjusted his angle. You had no chance to prepare yourself for the intrusion or beg for mercy. 

He pushed forward, slowly but steadily, sinking deeper into you. Your walls spread, struggling to accommodate the considerable size of him. Burning stretching had you gasping for air. There was no hesitation, no giving you a chance to adjust to his size. 

He pushed and pushed, sinking deeper into you than you thought possible. When pain stabbed at you and you were sure there was no more room, he pushed forward still, forcing your body to make room for him. 

Tears ran down your face as you gripped anything you could find. Hair hung down in your face as your head hung limply from your neck. You could feel the papers crumped under your hand and see how your tears smeared the ink on them.

Sweet relief had you sagging at your shoulders as he pulled back, coated now with slick. The reprieve was short-lived as he snapped his hips forward, setting a harsh pace that quickly had your arms giving out. Pain and pleasure mixed as he hit every part inside you. 

Your begging cries of “Please,” morphed from cries of mercy to please for more. As the pain in your core died out, becoming pure pleasure in the face of your building orgasm, your breasts swayed, nipples grazing crumpled papers.

“Close,” you panted, hardly registering the sting of paper biting into sensitive flesh again and again, tiny cuts gathering along the underside of your breasts. “So close.” Your breath caught as your nipple stung, blood smearing on papers and against your skin. 

Alastor’s hand planted between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest against the desk as he fucked into you. The sound of his groans, the slapping of his balls against your puffy cunt, and your whining moans filled the room. At the moment, you couldn’t care less if someone walking in the hall heard the way he was fucking you. 

Your orgasm hit suddenly, washing over you in a violent wave. Alastor fucked you through it, each thrust a battle as your walls clung to him, trying to suck him deeper and milk him of his seed. He wouldn’t give it to you yet. 

The pace remained bruising. Each thrust was sure to leave a bruise on your ass. Only when your cries lowered into tearful gasps did he slow, pulling from your sopping cunt. His cock was soaked with your slick, glistening in the dim light. 

He grabbed you harshly, pulling you up off his desk. There was no chance that your legs would hold your weight, but they didn’t have a chance to fail you. As soon as you were facing Alastor, he had you pushed back onto the desk, papers sliding under your back. He wrapped your legs around him and thrust in, not caring for being slow or soft. 

The head of his cock pressed up against your stomach, bulging it slightly as he bottomed out. Each sharp thrust left you feeling fuller than ever. You struggled to breathe as his cock punched up into you. 

Hungry eyes watched as your breasts bounced. You were sure that his grip was going to leave ghosts of the encounter on your skin that would linger for days. Becoming aware of the racket you were making, you pressed your forearm against your lips to muffle the sound. 

Alastor grabbed your wrist, pulling your arm away without missing a beat. Any chance of muffling your moans was lost as he pinned your wrists on either side of your head. The change in position seemed to result in an even deeper thrust as he folded over you. Hot breath washed over your breasts as his eyes roamed your skin. 

Zeroing in on the blood bubbling up from the small cuts on your breasts, he leaned down and ran his tongue over each, cleaning away the blood. You moaned, back arching as he took the bleeding nipple between his lips, suckling hard as he encouraged it to bleed more. He moaned deeply at the coppery taste of your blood mixing with the scent of sex and the way your cunt clung to his cock. 

“I can’t,” you moaned, head thrashing back and forth as your core tightened, orgasm dangerously close again. “Please, I can’t.” 

“You will,” Alastor promised, grinding his pubic bone into your clit with each painfully deep thrust, pushing your orgasm closer and closer. “This is what you wanted.” 

“Please,” you cried out as the pleasure grew painfully, “Please, please, please!” 

You came with a scream, voice bouncing off the walls of the small room as your walls clamped down on his cock. Alastor’s pace grew sloppy, though no less harsh, as he chased his own completion. Each breath coming in a deep groan and whispered curse as he fucked you through your orgasm. As your body shuddered around his cock, he his pace stuttered as he painted your walls with his seed. 

He fucked into you, each lazy thrust not offering you any softness as he pulled your hips tightly to him. Eventually he stilled, hot breath washing over your breasts as he looked down at you, eyes dazed as his cock twitched in your sore and overly sensitive hole. 

“I hope the tone of your fan mail changes, going forward,” he said, as he pulled his softening cock from you. “Clean yourself up. I’ve got to get on air in fifteen minutes.” 

“Yes, sir.” It was a struggle to make words form through the fog in your mind. 

“See yourself out.” Alastor said, as he straightened his clothes, making his way toward his office door. Pausing, he looked over his shoulder at where you still laid upon his desk, chest heaving and bare-breasted, cunt leaking his seed onto whatever unlucky paper happened to be under you. “And I expect you to hand deliver any future letters. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Alastor,” he said. “My name is Alastor. Use it.” 

[bi-writes]

Simon would never argue with MOB, that’s a given. And defending her honor??? Maybe it’s leaked that Mrs. Riley is in fact a Mail Order Bride for who knows where doing who knows what and let’s just say someone spreads that rumor around base and it gets back to one Lieutenant👀👀

mail-order bride

cw: graphic depictions of violence, a little smidge of dark!simon, misogynistic language (18+)

"here to see your husband, mrs. riley?"

you smile, shuffling in the chair. the woman who greets you is always here with a happy disposition, even when she's drowning in paperwork and the telephone on her desk won't stop ringing. she looks a little stressed today, but she gives you a smile anyways.

"yeah," you smooth your hands down your jeans, looking around. "told me his day would be slow, so i thought i'd bring him--"

you're interrupted by the sound of intense laughter and loud voices. the front doors open, banging against the wall practically, and a group of soldiers move past you. you fiddle with your purse, smoothing your thumb over the leather, but when you hear the subtle laughter and whispers still around you, you look up.

you make eye contact with several privates. they're whispering in each other's ears, but once they notice you're staring, they laugh a little more and make continue into the building. some of them look over their shoulder at you, and you look down to see if something is wrong with your outfit. when you check to make sure no tags are sticking out and that you haven't worn two different shoes, you just try to shrug it off, tucking your hair behind your ears and tapping your foot anxiously against the linoleum floor.

"okay, he's ready to see you. you know where it is by now, right?"

you blink, nodding, and then you swing your purse over your shoulder to walk over.

there's a game playing in the rec room. they've got banners up for their teams hung on the walls and streamers in different colors, and there's lots of men cheering and whooping in the room. just as you pass by the door, you squeak as you bump right into two laughing men, stumbling a little as they try to right themselves.

"fuck, sorry--" one of them chuckles. you frown a little but try to smile, moving to shimmy past them.

"is that her?"

"who?"

"didn't ya hear? lieutenant bought her off some sort of fucked-up catalog. heard she's real expensive."

you whip around, your lip trembling, and your shoes squeak against the floor as you stare right at them. one of them is smiling from ear-to-ear, and the other is laughing to himself.

"where did you hear that?" you ask.

"everybody knows, love," he winks. "so how much is it for a night? maybe we can do a group rate."

"e-excuse me?" you whisper, and he leans his arm against the wall, trapping you there.

"we heard all about the...program. thought maybe if we asked real nice, maybe we'd even get a discount."

"i don't know what you're talking about," you spit at him. "whatever you think this is, you're wrong. now get out of my way--"

"how much? how much did he fucking pay?"

"oh, mate--mate, you have to stop--" his friend tries to warn him, smacking him on the shoulder, but he glares down at you still, in your face, accusatory.

his face goes from smug to absolutely terrified when he's grabbed from behind. the hand that cages you against the wall is gripped by a gloved hand, twisted at an unnatural angle, and you flinch a little at the sound of his wail when his arm follows it's motion and a sickening pop echoes in the hallway.

his screams are suddenly drowned out by the cheering from the football game. someone scored maybe, but the man underneath simon screams, too, terrified as your husband mounts him like a fucking horse and slams his face against the floor.

it's like watching an artist. he paints his surroundings in flecks of red, the occasional clatter of a tooth falling at their feet, and you tilt your head to the side as you watch simon fist that man's hair and makes him eat whatever that floor is made of. he's in agony--that much is clear, from the way he shakes to the terrified look in his eyes, the pleading he sends your way as he asks for mercy.

when simon lets him go, he collapses onto the ground in a fit of bloody coughs and groans. his arm hangs from his shoulder limply (surely it's been pulled out of its socket), and his face is unrecognizable. you think his eyes were blue, but you can't tell anymore. they're red now, pupils blown wide, and he keeps moaning between broken teeth, "didn't mean it...i'm sorry...i'm sorry..."

simon kneels, leaning over him, and he grips the front of his uniform and pulls him up to sit, making him cry out from the pain. he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, and he drops his voice low.

"dunno where ya heard all tha' shit," simon mutters. "ain't true."

"n-no, sir--"

"i didn't say you could fuckin' talk," simon continues. "and if ya do again, i'll make sure ya can't." when he says nothing, simon tsks. "maybe ya wish ya could even afford my wife, mate. but ya can't." he tugs him a little closer. "'m gonna make ya an example. 'm not done with you. you are going to eat a fuckin' bullet from me, mate, but it won't be today. it'll be someday." simon presses his masked mouth to his ear. "but if i hear anyone else repeat wot you said 'ere today, i'll do it sooner. and you should know better than t'run...because i will find ya. wherever ya go." simon jostles him, and you swallow as he cries, trying to pull away, "now say thank you t'my wife. say thank you, because if she wasn't 'ere, i'd put my fuckin' boot in yer mouth--say it!"

"thank you! thank you!"

you simply blink as simon lets him go finally, standing, and as he walks past you, he grabs your hand roughly in his and starts to walk. you look over your shoulder as he tugs you along, and when you look back, you intertwine your fingers with his.

when the door closes behind him, simon slumps in his chair. he grips his mask from the back of the neck and pulls it off, burying his face in his hands. you set your bag down and kneel in front of him, putting your hands over his.

"simon--"

"wot the fuck is wrong with me?"

"simon--"

"i-in...i...i fuckin' lost it--"

you pull his hands off his face gently, cupping his cheeks. the eye-black smears a little around his eyes. there are no tears, but his eyes are watery as he stares into yours. his hands are shaking, and he palms his thighs to keep them steady.

"it's okay, simon," you whisper.

"i didn't want you to see me tha' way," he shakes his head. "violent. aggressive. fuck, i must've terrified you--"

"i'm not scared," you say softly. you smooth your thumbs under his eyes. "no one...no one's ever done anything like that for me before." you meet his eyes, and he leans a little more into your hands, bending low to get closer to you. "maybe he deserved it."

"i would...i would never--"

"shhh," you quiet him gently, shaking your head. "i know. i'm not scared of you."

you lean up, putting your hands on his knees and getting up just enough to get into his lap. you close your eyes as you kiss him softly, hugging him close, soothing him with a soft hand on the back of his head.

"you didn't do anything wrong, simon..."

"it's okay, baby..."

"i love you."

you know it isn't true. you're lying, somewhat, but it doesn't feel like a lie because it feels good. sick of being smaller, sick of being stepped on, sick of letting other people not be held accountable for the things that they do.

just this once maybe, you can let someone bleed. for misunderstanding you. for judging you. for not realizing there is a thing attached to you that bites and tears apart.

the world is a terrible place. and maybe you are simply just owed.

[lou-struck]

A Demonic Plus One

Mammon x reader

~At long last, your mail arrives in the Devildom. Along with it, some exciting news from an old friend that brings you and a date to the human world.

W.C. 1.9k

You have just made yourself a cup of tea in the kitchen of the House of Lamination when a weak tapping on the front door catches your attention. 

A visitor?

You think that a house guest is unlikely since everyone is home, and no one mentioned any last-minute dinner guests in your group chat. Not to mention, Mammon is cooking dinner tonight, so it's not like random demons are beating down the door to taste the Avatar of Greeds cooking. 

You set your still steaming cup on the tabletop and approach the front door with caution; you are in the Devildom, after all.

You twist the massive door knob and pull to see an exhausted-looking Little D Number 2 hunched over on your porch. He leans against a large cloth bag that he must've hauled all the way up the large stone steps. Your eyes widen in shock as you feel impressed with the little dude; the bag is nearly double its size. 

When his bright, shadowy gaze meets yours, his pointed teeth take the form of a large smile. "Mc," it pants, struggling to catch its breath. "I have some mail for you from the human world," it says with a shadowy smile.

"Mail?" you ask, your brows shooting upward. Come to think of it, you rarely get mail. You thought that the postal system was limited to just the human world. "I still get that?"

"You sure do," it beams. Apparently, Papa was supposed to give you the code to your enchanted P.O. box but never got around to it. So it's been slowly filling up with mail for the last year or so without anyone realizing it."

"Oh dear," you murmur, wondering briefly if you paid off your last credit card bill before you were unexpectedly whisked away to the Devildom. 

"Yeah, Barbatos was really mad when he found out about it. Don't tell him I told you this, but he was sulking all morning, mumbling to himself about how  he should've never trusted Papa with such an important job."

"He puts far too much pressure on himself," you say softly; guilty thoughts begin to plague your mind as you imagine Barbatos, the perfectionist, burdening himself with the weight of this minor inconvenience. "Thank you for bringing me this; please tell Barbatos not to worry so much."

"Will do; I'm sure that if it's coming from you, he will listen," he says, shucking the cloth bag off his little shoulder. 

"Would you like to come inside for some tea before you go?" you ask gently, thinking of your own cup alone in the other room.

"Thank you for the offer, but I have to get back to the palace." he declines your offer hesitantly and scampers away, his little golden horns glittering under the light of the street lamps until he disappears into the darkness, leaving you with so much freaking mail. 

You sling the bag over your shoulder and head off to your room, passing Mammon in the kitchen, who is on cooking duty. He eyes your bag with curiosity and turns away from the vegetables he had been cutting. 

"What ya got there, Mc?" he asks. 

"Lots of mail," you laugh, shooting him a teasing grin. "I guess someone forgot to tell me about a P.O. box or something when I first moved here."

He pales and casts his eyes to the ground. "I dunno who would do that to' ya, but whoever did it probably forgot and didn't mean anythin by it."

"Well then, I guess all is forgiven." you laugh, walking across the threshold of your bedroom doorway and over to your bed, where you dump the contents of your bag onto the comforter. Paper hits fabric with a thwack and you dig through the pile as Mammon curiously peeks just beyond your doorframe. Apparently, junk mail can still find its way to hell. So can the magazine subscriptions you forgot about. The pile, although initially intimidating, turns out to be fairly easy to sort through.

Nearing the end of the pile, a bright purple envelope catches your eye. There are no other envelopes that size or color, so you find yourself drawn to it. You tear it open and see that it is a wedding invitation for one of your closest friends in the human world.

Back when you last saw her, she was head over heels for her new boyfriend, who seemed to absolutely adore her. 

Apparently their relationship has only gotten stronger than that day because now it looks like they are getting married. 

Your heart drops to your stomach as you scan the invite for the wedding date.

Did you miss it?

Finally, you will find it in tiny golden font on the back of the invite. The wedding is in a few months, and there is still plenty of time for you to send in an RSVP.  Additionally, you have the opportunity to bring a date with you as a plus one.

"That letter is different lookin'," Mammon says, peeking over your shoulder. You have no idea how long he has been standing there. 

"It's an invitation. One of my friends is getting married." You smile, showing him the invitation with a smile. "And it looks like I will be able to make it.

"And what's that thing right there?" His tan fingers touch the golden font of the box you can fill out for your plus one.

"That just means I can bring a guest as a date," you explain, watching in fascination as the Demon's eyes brighten at the mention of you needing a date.

"Well, since ya seem to need one, how about ya take The Great Mammon to the weddin. After all, I am yer first. I should be the first to go with you." 

"That is some logic you have there Mammon," you smile. "I guess you should clear your calendar for three months from now."

"R-really?" he asks, his cheeks turning bright pink. "Y-ya mean it?"

You nod, "I would love it if you came with me."

He laughs. "Well then, if ya want me to go so badly, I guess I'll go with ya." his tsundere mannerisms bring a smile to your face until a thin wisp of smoke wafts under your nose. 

Someone forgot about the dinner they were cooking.

-

After months of anticipation, today is the day. Your stomach still feels uneasy from the portal Diavolo conjured up for you, but you made it to the wedding venue. Looking around, you see at least one hundred guests, and you know exactly zero of them. 

This is actually kinda nice because if you kept running into people you knew, you would have to awkwardly explain the details about your mysterious disappearance. 

Mammon, looking rather snazzy in his suit, is very interested in the large table of presents for the Bride and Groom. 

"Mc, check out all those gifts," he smiles, taking a sip of one of the signature cocktails from the open bar, "maybe we should get married. We'd make a killin'."

"Is that a proposal?" you humm, gently placing your hand on his arm and toying playfully with the golden rings that adorn his fingers. 

He shudders under your tender touch, and you see his cheeks turn a deep crimson. "I was just sayin' that I wouldn't be the worst idea I ever had."

The soft chime of a bell prevents you from teasing your Demon anymore. You look up and see a very stressed man holding a clipboard like it's his lifeline. He must be the coordinator. 

"All guests are now invited to take their seats; the ceremony will begin shortly," he says before scurrying away. 

"I guess we should find our seats," you say to the Demon, pulling him away from the gifts before he gets a bit too curious about their contents and tries to dig around.

You walk through the venue's vibrant grounds to the pristine rows of white chairs. A few people are already sitting and talking amongst themselves as classical piano music sails through the air. 

"Dang, is there gonna be a sacrifice or something up there?" Mammon asks, gesturing over to the elegant wooden archway at the end of the aisle. As you take your seats just behind the rows reserved for family. As the rest of the guests follow behind you.

"No Mammon," you say in a hushed whisper, worried that his strange questions with garner some unwanted attention from the other wedding guests. "that's where the wedding ceremony will be taking place."

"Ohh, that makes sense," he nods just as the music begins to play. 

An elderly officiant hobbles down the aisle, escorted by someone who looks vaguely familiar. You recognize him from the wedding invite as the groom. The poor guy looks absolutely nervous but there is an eagerness in his disposition that makes you smile.

Although you have been a bit preoccupied this last year or so, you still care greatly for your friends and want them to live a life full of happiness. You can tell just by looking at him that your friend has found their person. 

"Mc, are they getting married?" Mammon whispers, leaning in close to you. "The lady looks like his granny."

"Because she is his Grandmother, Mammon." you whisper back. "She is just conducting the ceremony."

"Ohhh, I see," he says, although you reckon he doesn't really know what's going on at all, but he is having a good time all the same. 

"Oi, mc?" he whispers as a little boy who looks to be no older than three years old walks up the aisle with little legs. "How old is that kid? Are ya sure he is old enough to be getting married?"

His question makes you dangerously close to bursting out laughing in the middle of the ceremony. And you have to cover your mouth to contain the outburst. "No Mammon, that's the ring bearer." you explain softly, "their job is to carry the rings down the aisle and give them to the groom for the ceremony."

He sighs in relief, "Good, I thought I was gonna have ta step in there for a second."

You shush him quietly as the music changes and the bride, your childhood friend, takes her first step down the aisle. 

You never thought you would be that person who cries at weddings, but when you see your friend looking absolutely stunning in her wedding dress, it brings a tear to your eye.

~

Mammon doesn't really get why everyone is making such a big deal about the girl in white walking down the aisle, but he assumes that she must be the bride everyone is talking about.

She just seems like a normal human. 

All of a sudden, he hears the faint sound of a sniffle coming from your seat. 

Are you upset about something?

His eyes widen in concern, and his head snaps to look at you worriedly and see that your eyes are brimming with tears. He has no idea why you are crying, but he is overcome by an almost primal urge to comfort you. He reaches across your lap to grab your hand. You take his hand almost immediately and give it a squeeze. 

He knows that you're okay, but he refuses to let go of your hand. 

How can he when there is so much love in the air?

Tagging: @sleepyyshroom, @i-need-to-go-like-mangogo, @starbby, @sarah22447, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf ,  @ourfinalisation, @anjodedesgostoeerros, @isaacdaknight @qardasngan