#but a good partner always makes it better

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

I asked a few of my favorite hazbin writers this and only one answered and it was ok but I felt like it could have been expanded on so here's my take

Vox, Val, Alastor, and Lucifer react to your love language being baking/cooking

Vox

(Starting with him because he's the one thaf inspired this).

Vox came from the 50s and even though I firmly believe he is past all the ingrained gender roles and homophobia I think he still has some internalized misogyny. He wants to be viewed as the man in the relationship, the breadwinner, the provider. He can cook for himself but it's pretty basic food (except steak. Like every other man since the invention of the grill how to bbq has been hardwired into his brain. If his partner also grills ya'll fight over whose turn to cook out it is)

(Unrelated but as a lesbian who loves to grill, and is the designated grill bro, butch lesbians or cookout lesbians are some of Vox's favorite type of gays to chill with)

I firmly believe that's why even though he's a sub, it's so hard and would take time and trust to get him to let you top and enjoy it. He's so worried people will find out and judge him, that you'll judge him. His ego can be very fragile.

Especially if we go with the Vox used to be a cult leader theory. His power, image, and success are linked to his ability to appear in control. To appear to have all the answers and take responsibility. It's going to take a lot of time and patience to unravel all that and help him seperate his personal and professional image.

That being said, a partner who uses acts of service as a love language is perfect for him. He's a busy man, so he tends to be a gift giver type. The gifts are always well thought out and expensive. He wants it to be something you need, want, can get a lot of enjoyment from, and be worth the money spent, so he puts time and effort into them. Unless he's just showing off by giving you his card and telling you to go nuts.

So you taking time to make his coffee for him the way he likes, ordering lunch from his favorite places and having it sent to his office so he remembers to eat, or just texting him reminders to drink water or eat/take breaks throughout the day makes him giddy.

If you're his assistant or something, (and I believe Vox absolutely would have his partner working for him/with him), then it's even better when you take on extra work to try and help him. Organizing his schedule, sorting emails/mail, and proofreading things. Any small act you do for him, because you want to and care about him, makes his heart rate pick up.

It'll really make him overheat, glitching slightly, literal heart eyes, if he comes home after a shitty day and you're cooking for him.

His internal monologue is absolutely raving about what a good housewife you are for him, a hard working husband.

Bonus points if you cleaned too! Either way, he adores you even more now, letting you fret and coo at him, removing his jacket and tie, pouring him a drink and telling him dinner will be ready soon and you made his favorite. He's so tempted to bend you over the counter right now, but that would ruin dinner. After you guys eat though, he's having you for dessert. Man's gonna make sure you know how much he appreciates this by turning your knees to jello, good luck walking tomorrow, doll.

If you bake treats and bring them to VoxTek he's gonna brag so much. Literally the embodiment of John Mulaney's, "That's my wife!" If you bring them just for him, he's defending his treats like they're the last ones in Hell. He has literally hit Val with a fly swatter for even asking if he could have one.

(Unrelated but like, chubby vox maybe? You're cooking is too good)

Valentino

Val wishes he could cook better. He's some kind of latino, so I feel like the fact he can't cook very well is a sore spot culturally. He can make the salsa and chips and like, help with stuff, he knows how to wrap tortillas and tomales (I picture him as like Mexican or Puerto Rican but that's just cuz the town I grew up had a large Puerto Rican group).

It doesn't help that his eyesight is even more shit in Hell. He can't see what he's doing hald the time. It ruins his art hobby too. He's overall just more easily frustrated with his bad eyesight.

I don't imagine you guys dating per se. Maybe you're his sugar baby, maybe you're someone he hired to help him do stuff like clean and organize and you just sorta start doing other things to help him. (Again I'm not saying it excuses jackshit, but as someone who worked with bipolar people and people with mood disorder I kinda see the fan theory in him, either way I think all the Vees could be sort of trained to be better people, but especially Val. We already saw Vox do it.)

After all, he's usually in a much better mood if you do and that means less outbursts. The first few times you cook him something he teases you about being his housewife, tries to make it sexual. It's not really something he clocks as being an act of love because I don't think you'd realize it yourself at first. I think the more you got to see him when he wasn't stressed, lashing out, being abusive, you'd start catching feelings. ("I can fix him", delulu asses)

He loves to be in the kitchen when you cook once it starts becoming a regular thing. He can't see clearly what you're doing but the way you move around the kitchen and get what you need, even if you're an ADHD mess and do steps out of order or at random, he can tell you know what you're doing. He likes to smell the food too while it's cooking.

He will ask you to try and make some spicier/more traditional foods he grew up with, but he doesn’t remember all of the ingredients, and it just gets him more frustrated he can't tell you. If you look them up and surprise him with it it'll probably be the most genuine, human response you get from him.

He's shocked, silent, standing frozen in the penthouse as familiar smells waft around him. You present him a plate nervously, practically shaking hoping it's good enough. The first bite nearly puts him in tears. No one's done anything this nice for him? Why would you? Lowkey thinks you want something from him. It's gonna make him paranoid for a while so don't expect a verbal compliment but he eats it all.

Eventually though, one day when you're in the kitchen cooking, humming softly and swaying your hips, one set of his arms will wrap around your waist, the other reaching around you help with the salsa, or wrap a tamale, and he'll prop his chin on your head and mumble out thanks. Some praise, maybe. Would definitely tell you stories about eating these foods growing up.

It's the first step towards having an actual relationship with him.

Alastor

This man almost always insists on cooking. He isn't much of a sweet tooth either. You tell him one night you want to try cooking for him. Tell him you understand it's an activity he enjoys and relaxes too, (especially if you know it's something that reminds him of his mother), but you want to do something for him and this is one way you show you care.

It's gonna remind him of his Mama so much that if you didn't know why he loved cooking so much before you do now. He compromises. You pick the meal and gather the ingredients and do most of the cooking and he helps prep and does dishes.

He playfully critiques you the entire time about adding some spice too it or a little southern flair. Just smack him with the wooden spoon, gently. It's gonna make him laugh because his Mama used to do that when he wouldn't keep out of the sweets, or tried to add stuff to her cooking.

Once you start it becomes habit to help each other in the kitchen every night, trading off who cooks and who preps and does dishes.

If you do find baked goods he likes that aren't too sweet and send them to him as snacks, especially to Overlord meetings, he's so fucking obnoxious about his sweet little doe (doesn't matter if you are one or not) and how they spoil him. Especially rubs it in Vox's face (not him whining to his partner so they send him with treats too so he can also brag).

Only shares with Charlie, Rosie, Niffty, and sometimes Zestiel. If he's feeling generous, Husk can have a bite.

Low-key also has a thing for his partner behaving domestically even if he isn't exactly invested in traditional marriage.

Favorite activity though is dancing with you in the kitchen to jazz while dinner cooks, holding you close, in his room usually, so he can hear the sounds of the bayou. If he closes his eyes he can pretend this is how his life went and that his Mama is in the corner or sitting in her chair, watching him, happy to see him find someone.

He will literally kiss Vox willingly before admitting that last part though.

Lucifer

It's not that he can't cook, it's just....it's easier to just snap his fingers and make food appear. He's been in a depressed slump for decades man, he's lived off of the 'want food, no cook, only eat' mindset.

When you come into his life it's a complete overhaul. Despite what issues you have yourself you can recognize someone in worse state than you and immediately categorize and prioritize. First thing first, get this man's duck collection/obsession organized, thinned out, and under control.

Second, help him work through his issues with Lillith and Charlie. Encourage therapy, be a mediator between him and Charlie (and trust me she appreciates it. She knows her dad struggles, didn't know how bad, and still feels awkward). Help him socialize more, rebuild his connection with the other sins.

Get this man a work schedule!

Then it's on to personal habits. You help him get out of bed, you're both probably a little helpless in the sleeping on time category though. Help him get a routine again to keep out of his funk. Then you start cooking for him. It just happens naturally. You enjoy cooking, you enjoy showing people you love how much you care by providing good meals.

At first he's gonna resist and tell you he can handle that, you already do so much for him. He can cook or better yet he can just make it appear and you laugh and tell him it tastes better when it's made with love. He brushes it off as a joke too, you're both just being silly and obviously you said that to get him to quit fussing. Except, unholy hell does it actually taste so much better.

Lucifer hadn’t realized how bland and unsatisfying just materializing the food was. Maybe that's because he was so depressed and uninterested in what he ate, maybe not. Either way, your cooking is so much fucking better. He actually looks forward to eating now. If he gets caught up in work or has a bad day, you make sure to always bring him something, leaving it as an offering of sorts. It almost always works and entices him to eat at least once.

You cook, he does dishes, and he will not budge on that rule. He wants to be a fair man. He occasionally boots you out to do dessert, though. Apple pie is his bitch and you've never tasted one as good as his. He also makes good pancakes and some absolutely orgasmic angel's food cake.

Ironicall, devil's food cake is one of your go to recipes. Sometimes you both make a cake and take it to events just to watch people get confused as fuck when it's revealed the literal Devil did not make the devil's food cake.

Everyime you're in the kitchen together it's a disaster, you're both to silly and chaotic. You were making noodles one time and he threw flour at you so you smacked him with the noodle you were holding, leaving a line of flour and a speck of dough against his cheek. From there it escalates. It happens every time. Making cakes together, you're smashing frosting on each other. Making cookies, you're fighting each other to stop eating cookie dough.

Once, after you get fed up with him stealing her spatula to lick the chocolate off of, hovering above you with his wings, you pout and bat your eyes, asking him sweetly to please give it back. He swoops down in front of you, booping your nose to smear chocolate on it and leaning in to kiss you, letting you have a taste of the chocolate batter you were mixing for brownies. While his tongue is in your mouth, drunk off the taste of you and chocolate you smash an egg over his head and let out a triumphant cheer, snatching back your spatula.

He's so stunned his wings disappear and he drops the last few inches to the ground while you cackle. His heart is pounding, his ears are ringing, and his chest feels like it's gonna explode. His eyes are literal sparkles. He hasn't felt this much joy, wonder, and love since Charlie was born. It feels like witnessing creation all over again, of the breathlessness he felt when he first saw Lillith.

You're laughter stops when you realize he's just staring at you awestruck and you smile, asking if he's ok.

"For once...yeah..Yes. I'm ok." He responds, genuinely. You kiss his cheek and resume baking. He watches you from the counter now, dreamily, thinking about how he's gonna marry you someday.

#hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #vox x reader #valentino x reader #lucifer x reader #alastor x reader

[undercoverpena]

1. tie the knot

javier peña x f!reader* | chapter one of let us pretend

summary: peña has been back in Texas for all of five minutes, thinking he wants a simple life. but, when steve offers him the chance to gather information on a potential new player, he jumps at the chance. the only problem is, to do so, he'll need to go undercover with a female agent—and pretend to be her husband.

wordcount: 4.6k chapter themes: fake dating/relationship/marriage, forced proximity / sharing one bed, colleagues to lovers, no use of Y/N, *female agent has a nickname (sunny) for use undercover. an: this week i am full of surprises. welcome to the world of let us pretend. this chapter might not feel different from htcu, but it is.

All he has to do is pretend. Put on an act.

It’s simple on paper. Easy. A thing he’s already a master in, something he has never found particularly difficult or hard: pretending.

Javi, after all, had had always been pretty good at concealing, at masking—

“Y’need to pretend to be married.”

Faking being a husband was a new one.

Having lived with far too many emotions for so long, it’s not hard for him to fake nonchalance.

Colombia had been his school. The place where he collected his degree—days of pretending he was okay. Hiding the fact he couldn’t sleep the horrors away, that he wasn’t falling apart at the seams. That stress wasn’t making him chain smoke and the pressure wasn’t making him sink his cock into women he couldn’t save.

He picked up his doctorate when he returned home. When ranch life had felt so fucking dull it made him want to pick the smoking habit back up, just for something to do. When he saw boats that made his insides twist, but found he had to wear a smile. Hiding, as expertly as he could, so he didn’t bristle each time someone called him a hero—when all he wanted was a drink, a fuck or a newspaper.

Mostly, Javi had become a master in squirrelling away the fact he saw every minute of the hours at night, feeling nothing short of relief when his alarm chimed so he could get out of his homemade prison.

Bluffing had always been a skill of his. But, this, this was new to him. His bluffing had never required him to wear something shiny on his left hand and—

“And, Jav. Try not to fuck her.”

He’s not surprised that Steve heads up a department in Miami—or that he’s happy and content.

From the moment the two of them reunited, he took in the glow on his old partner’s skin (the one he strongly suspects isn’t just from the sun) and listened as he heard short (in Murphy’s opinion) stories about his daughter growing older.

Javi couldn’t relate—not that he’ll admit it. Just another thing he disguises. Smothers his face in what he assumes is what happiness looks like, wears it like an accessory, something akin to wearing a jacket, rather than actually feeling it.

Picking up a ring, rotating it between his thumb and finger, he snorts. “Wouldn’t be very husband-like of me, if I didn’t, would it?”

He’s nudged. An intentional elbow to the side sparks a grin as he places the ring back into its velvety spot.

Because none of them look right. None seem right—even for a fake thing.

“Fake husband. And don’t fuck this up.”

“I’m hearing a lot of don’ts and not a lot of do’s, Murphy. What the fuck is it you want me to do?”

He’s already been told, informed. Briefed.

Tricked in fact. Requested down here for an opinion, but when his worn-in soles landed in the office of his former colleague, it unravelled into something so much more.

Handed a file—one he knows everyone expects he won’t read—and given a rundown of what the operation is supposed to look like. But Javi knows better. Had known it too. Even suspects, Murphy does too.

One thing Colombia has taught him is that plans don’t mean shit, not when you’re up against an ever-evolving problem.

You don't just want me here for a consult, do you, Murph? Was hopin’ you were bored in Texas.

He suspects that’s why his Pop had given him an arched brow, an expression that was accompanied by pinched lips when he’d first mentioned it. Even his assurance that it’ll be a few days—just helping Steve out was met with a look Javi hadn’t banked on. Realising as he stood admiring wedding rings that his Pop had figured it out long before him.

At least now he understands why he got the Chucho-treatment—not quite quiet, but not quite the same treatment from him that he did the day before.

Instead, that kind of treatment that pierced itself into him, attempted to bury itself inside of him and made guilt flood through him like a poison.

Even if once before he would struggle with it, found himself desperate to apologise—make it up to his Pops—he didn’t this time. Because Javi already struggled. Already grown tired of itching for something.

So, he said nothing. Because he knows Murphy wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t need him.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Murphy closes his eyes. The same noticeable twitch in his fingers and chewing inside his cheek that Javier can relate to: the sign of a recent quitter, and one attempting to use gum as a replacement.

Needing too.

“Where is she, anyway?” he asks, shifting the conversation, suppressing a yawn.

Before he’d even got on the plane out here, he’d been tired. Already beginning to fray at the edges, sleep had already become an even more distant friend.

All of it had been made worse by the worried look on Pop’s face when he dropped him at departures. It thickened, slathered itself on his shoulders even more so when he calls him from Murphy’s office to tell him it’ll be three months.

“You managed longer than I thought, Javi.” “Pop…”

Even though he had known it wouldn't matter, he had still tried to explain it all over again. From the top. All softly, with patience—the phone receiver leaving an indent on his cheek as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Reminding his Pop that this time he was doing his friend a favour, that it was a one-time thing—a few months, at most.

It didn’t shift the tone—didn’t stop Javi from imagining the disappointed lines bleeding into worried ones, mixing with the ones caused by age. It didn't lessen the tightness over the phone, simmering in the miles of air, because they were both at a standstill in the centre of a formerly (albeit temporary) happy situation.

Sighing, Murphy drops his hand, pulling him back from his thoughts. “She’ll be here, alright.”

Javi snorts, swallowing.

Glancing back over another table, seeing other things, other accessories. Things that’ll help him blend, help the two of you blend. You and him, him and you—a person he knows the name of and nothing else.

Steve had shared that you were good, brilliant, the only one he’d trust. That you knew the work so far better than anyone.

He’d been about to begin unpicking those earlier statements when the door opened, blouse and black tailored trousers walking towards him.

It isn’t anything cliché.

Time doesn’t stop, the room doesn't silence, but something happens. Something shifts, changes—alters. Because instantly, Javi realises you’re pretty. A thought which confuses him, especially when it dawns on him that usually, it’s a woman's figure he notices and admires first, but he finds that it's your eyes that he lingers on.

And fuck do they cut into him.

Practically reach inside of him, before they go through him, digging into flesh and fucking bone.

Then, all at once, ceasefire. A chance to strengthen his façade as you turn to greet Murphy, a handshake, a sea of pleasantries. Enough chance to shove it down, whatever attempted to rise in him.

But, he swears he can still see them behind his lids. Something which makes his jaw tighten, teeth grind—

“You must be my husband,” you say, smirk sliding up into your cheek.

Your body suddenly turns to him, hand sticking out towards him, adding your name to the statement as though stamping it into the air and his body goes clammy, grows warm and makes him suddenly desperate for water, coffee or even whiskey.

Slipping his hand into yours, he’s not surprised to find that it’s soft, the right kind of warm. He’d suspected about as much from just appearances alone.

“Agent Murphy has told me a lot about you, Mr Peña.”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he eyes you. “Think my wife should call me, Javi.”

Javi learns, rather quickly, that you have a nice voice.

It doesn’t grate, doesn’t annoy him—it’s informative, but there’s something else there, a playful edge, a little thing within you that hasn’t been crushed.

He remembers when he’d been as sprightly.

Rubs his forehead with the heel of his palm as he does, fingers desperate to clutch a pen, his jaw tightening as he thinks about how he could roll it in his fingers, hold it like he used to hold a smoke.

Fuck, he wishes he could chew his gum.

A thing which is slowly making him more tense.

Not that you seem to notice, too focused on getting him up to speed on the actual investigation. He’d read much of your notes before today, it was the next part he was more on edge by.

Because, whatever his earlier opinion of you was, he was getting the distinct impression you’d rather set your skin on fire than be fake married. A thing you stop trying to hide, your face displaying your disgust at it each time it is casually mentioned.

It was mandatory—Murphy’s words—for the two of you to get to know one another. A crash course, a 101 in the other. It’s told to you, that the two of you are going to be stationed in your new home for the next few weeks, starting from today. But, because they’re merciful—

“Wanted to make sure you had time to get to know one another. So, take the day—work can begin another day.”

“How nice of you, Murph,” he responds, words dipped in sarcasm. Briefly catching sight of you smirking as you study something on the table.

Javi had already imagined that—since it was recon, and more surveillance than anything else—for the most part, everything could remain the same. He learnt he was right moments later when it was confirmed his name would remain very much his own, and you were handed his surname like a gift you’d rather burn than accept.

It was you who had to surrender more.

“Y’need a new first name.”

If you were surprised, you didn’t show it. A sea of reasons given, the main one being if anyone asked around with a photo and your name, it would be easier to put two and two together. You lived here, for one.

You keep your eyes down, glancing over the table of possessions you’re allowed to borrow, to play dress up with. Fingers brushing over a watch (silver, a white face)—something haunting in your eye you’re quick to blink away when you meet Murphy’s stare.

Folding his arms, Steve sighs. “Jus’ something you’ll answer to. That can be used in public.”

Javi watches you smirk, something secretive, a hidden joke simmering between the two of you—leaving him very much out in the cold of it.

After a beat, you lick your lips.

“Sunny,” you reply, lifting your eyes, digging each syllable of the name you’re going to use into him.

“Let me guess you’re someone’s ray of sunshine?”

He doesn’t mean for it to fall out laced in bitterness, but it does all the same. His mouth tilted into a smirk, your eyes hardening as you placed down a pair of earrings you’d picked up.

“Think it’s more because of my sunny disposition.” He snorts, watching you move around the table. “It’s a family nickname—I’ve… I’ve always been called it, so, I’ll answer to it.”

Swallowing, Javi lets his eyes wander to the wall of the room.

“Alright, you two. You need to sell it, y’hear me?”

“Then we need money.” It’s short, stern, the way you deliver it, head tilted and face unreadable. “We’ll be sniffed out immediately without it. These people deal in money, not handsome faces.”

"So, you think I'm handsome?"

The roll of your eyes doesn't dispute it, not as you direct your attention back to Murphy.

Who, until now, Javi hadn't realised (with his hands on his hips) how big boss Murphy looked as he whispered fine, or how much it rather annoyed him. How it would be quite easy to give him a shove. More so when he’s handed a new phone, a set of documents, credit cards and given more instructions he wishes he could shove down his throat.

He almost gets close enough to do both when briefing ends and he’s handed the keys to the hotel suite they’d be living in—their story simple, easy:

“We have a fake house for you both being made ready as a cover story, but for now you’re both in the hotel. Prime location. Beach views, and very much in reach to the top places the targets visit.”

And, Murphy hadn’t been lying.

It did have good views, the suite was even nice—really nice.

Almost too nice for a little surveillance, a little fake marriage and a drug bust. But, he didn’t complain, barely said a thing in the ride over, or when you wheeled your own case. He even remained silent when you refused to look at him in the elevator or on the walk to the room, and even when the two of you entered.

In fact, the first words he said were: “You gotta try and look at me like you don’t wanna peel my skin off. You know, if you want this to work.”

He expects it; braces for it, the tongue lashing, an icy stare. Picturing you as the kind of woman who is already to sharpen your tools and pierce him with them when he blinks. But, you don’t.

If anything, Javi watches in slow motion as your shoulders sink, your cogs turning before your expression softens.

“You’re right—I’m… sorry.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he nods. “There’s one bed.”

“Well. We can sleep in the same bed, Peña. We’re adults. However, for your sake, I’m going to put a pillow between us.” Your eyes sweep over him, cold, drowning him in a chill. “Two actually.”

“You a cuddler, or something?”

Smiling, you sigh. “No. The pillow is so that if you roll over all sleepy and desperate for some affection, I won’t have to cut you. Because if you touch me, that is what will happen.”

“How are we meant to sell we’re in love if I can’t touch you?”

“Oh, out there, you can touch me. In here, no.”

His snort rumbles from his chest. Tugged up, wrenched from some cobweb-filled depth, as you smile. Nothing big, nothing life-changing, but a start—the beginning of a level-playing field.

“What kind of touching, cariño?”

Jaw tightening, you smirk—but it’s cold.

He suspects you’re used to charm. Easily able to disable it, switch it off, unfazed by his gaze or the edge of his words. If anything, you seem really fucking bored of it—something he’s not sure if he admires or despises.

“Nothing like you used to pay for, Peña.”

Before he’s even recovered, he learns that you take things seriously.

Your bag opens, pulling out a notebook—upside down cursive etched over a page, your eyes scanning over it, before you ask if he’s ready. He’s barely able to ask for what, when you begin firing things at him.

Favourite food. Comfort film. Where did we meet? What song do you sing in the car when I’m not around? Are you allergic to anything?

The list goes on, and on. The more things continue to run out of your mouth, the more he begins to admire you—to settle into some comfort that you want to do this properly. That you’re going to take it seriously too, something he wants.

Needing it to matter.

Needing to have something work out easily, not have it all end for nothing.

The only time you pause is for a dinner—room service, his treat and his choice. A way of providing proof that he’d been listening, paying attention—somehow wanting to prove something to you, even if he’d known you for only half a day.

“So, how did Murphy get you on this?”

He studies the way you cross your leg over the other, the base of your heel tapping against the carpet—all very much guarded, on edge.

“You can tell it’s my first, can’t you?”

Javi smiles, making it softer purposefully. “A little.”

“He said you were good,” you sigh, placing your napkin down. “I assume I was chosen because it was easy. Y’know, than someone with… higher priorities. Plus, I already know the case. Guess it just made sense to send me.”

Nodding, he watches as you avoid his sight, focusing instead on the swirls in the carpet. Something ticking in your pretty little head, it forcing your nostrils to flare, for your jaw to tighten—and he’s watching it happen, practically feeling the air around you begin to vibrate from it all.

“M’not gonna let anything happen to you, Sunny. You know that right?”

That does it. Further digs in the hatred you’re feeling tenfold because the use of your new name makes you flinch. And he knows, like he had suspected earlier that it means more than just a name. Especially from the look on your face.

At first, your expression is soft, almost mask-less—no walls, no defence. Then, like magic, it shifts. It drapes down, rebuilds, and suddenly there within seconds, the same expression he’s been working with since introduction.

“I have heard how you take care of the women who work with you.”

Picking up your drink, and stirring the straw, you let your eyes meet his. The small wooden table suddenly even smaller—the large suite, suddenly constricting in a way he hadn’t expected so far.

“S’not what I meant.”

“I know.” It’s curt, your reply. Clearing your throat, you snort, “You are handsome. I can see why you did so well. And, I might not need to say this, but I need you to know I like my job, and I don’t require that kind of care.”

Rubbing his jaw, he sighs. “That so?”

“I have something that can help with that. It doesn’t talk. It doesn’t need to remind it that it’s ‘so big’, and it doesn’t need me to call it baby. It just hums—politely—and makes my thighs shake. I just need you to be with me in this.”

He snorts, draining the rest of his glass. The ice clangs just before he places it back down on the table. “You bring it with you, your something?”

Licking your lips, your mouth slides into your cheek. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Steve had told you his credentials—how he worked, how smart he was. How easily he was able to decipher a read on someone.

He did also mention much of Peña’s backstory—including his rich history with the opposite sex. A thing you hadn’t wanted to let escape out coated in catty and wrapped in bitchy. And yet, it had all the same.

You did want to get on with him, you admired him after all. Hearing the truths from Steve made the things that swirled like gossip even more impressive.

But, in all of the briefings you’ve had before agreeing to this, your boss had failed to mention that it wasn’t just the man’s tongue that got women to confess all their secrets, but his ridiculously handsome face too.

The one that keeps turning towards you—eyes concentrated in on you as though you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever had the chance to listen to.

But, it wasn’t just that. It’s that he’s quick-witted, observant, and it most definitely doesn’t help that he’s all broad shoulders and brown eyed. That, in part, you thought you could handle.

Then, he’d flirted.

On any other day, in any other place, you’re sure you’d have melted. Likely leant forward, elbow on your knee, tracing your bottom lip with your finger just to make his eyes drop to your mouth.

But, this isn’t any other day—it’s work, a job, one that requires him (in part) to be a flirt.

Clearing your throat, you smear on a smile. “You not tried to date since you’ve been home?”

His face hardens, just slightly.

It pinching, eyes more so than anywhere else—his smile falling, descending to a thin line as he traces his teeth with his tongue. Then, his eyes shift into an entirely different brown, an explosion of shades swirling—flecks of gold and sadness-infused umber.

“No.”

Nodding, you pick at some salad on the side of your plate. “Probably a good job—don’t need any angry people coming for me when I’m curled up on your arm.”

He snorts, but it doesn’t flutter over his face. His hand remains balled up, resting on the arm of the chair—something more there, prodding, needling him. He may be so easily able to read you, but you’re sure he’s about as clear as a warm day himself.

Landing his gaze back on you, you feel it linger, hover—before it begins to slip down from your eyes, landing somewhere at your neck, before the buttons off your shirt. Something warming inside of you, flooding out, spreading across your skin as you try your damnest to level your breathing.

“Got any more questions?”

“Plenty,” you reply, almost catching the y on your teeth before placing a light smirk out over your lips, letting it move across your face.

Gesturing, Peña licks his lips and so you begin with more. Not needing the book now, just working your way through the things which populate, which appear like bubbles he bursts with his answers.

He’s open about some things more than others. The two of you covering family quickly, childhoods even quicker. You both discreetly avoid too many details of Colombia, about the things you’d already heard in chunks from your superior.

Your 101 beginner class in your new husband proving to be easier to understand than your field handbook—although, you supposed the intermediate and expert levels to him would be far harder to crack.

He’s unmarried, not dating—there’s his dad, a sea of distant family and a town full of people whom his father would class as family. You suspect some guilt there, it layered between the conversation on his dad, and the one which followed when you’d asked if the ranch would be okay without him.

“—My Pops has had help for a long time. One of them has been promoted. He… He works there full time now.”

Even if he had tried to say it simply, it was laced in bitterness—not from jealousy, you suspect from the sadness that had poisoned over time. A well stuffed with things which had rotted and gone mouldy over time.

Upon sight of him this morning, you had known you’d need to be clever, smart—find ways to compartmentalise it all. Because, when he traces his nose with his finger, when his eyes widen a little more than normal—coffee-brown all but drowning you—you had known it would be hard otherwise.

Something there, niggling, piercing through.

“Any lovers I need to be aware of?”

Smiling, you slide your feet from your heels, pulling your legs up more, swallowing. “No, you’re good.”

“Any potential risks I need to be aware of—anyone who’ll call into question your new name?”

Your stomach knots, uncomfortably so. A thing balling inside of you, that same fear you’d been plucking at for days—ever since Steve had suggested your name, thrown it out on the conference table with a bunch of greedy eyes seated around it.

“No, I… you have nothing to worry about.”

He looks at you, lets it hover, hold. Something there, trying to disguise itself in the way he narrows his eyes a fraction, in the way his lips pinch together—the way his brain seems to whir like a fan that can be heard even across the table.

When you yawn, he makes a move to tidy up the plates for the tray—batting your hand away. “I’ve got it, cariño.”

“Cariño?”

Your cheeks are warm, more so under his stare. Easily able to smother it the first time, but found it difficult the second. It’s all wide, blooming—it tracing your eyes before it sweeps back to the tray.

“Gotta call my wife something original, special.”

“I’m hardly special, Peña.”

“If I’ve married you, you’re special.”

Clamping your mouth shut, you say nothing.

Something churning, a horribleness that you know stems from the fact this isn’t real. None of it. The niceness, the ring on your finger—the one your finger slides up your palm to brush over, to trace.

The one which didn’t have a home there this morning, but now sits like it’s always supposed to. Your stare on his back as he goes to the door, pushing the metal tray, the jingling of plates and glass sounding out as your heartbeat pounds in your ears, your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

It continues to hammer when your back flattened against the bathroom door—safe amongst marble, mirrors and an array of complimentary products which covered most of the sink.

Only as you begin to undress and change for bed, does it lessen, does your composure return back to you. The mask which you so delicately applied, the one which had taken more words of encouragement in your bathroom mirror this morning than you’d thought.

Because, it isn’t that you thought you couldn’t do this—but rather why would you?

This isn’t your expertise. Not your usual field of knowledge. The last time you’d even been on a date had been at least over a year ago, and the last time you’d lived with a man had been so long ago you were worried you’d wake tomorrow and learn you have habits you weren’t aware of.

Did you kick in your sleep?

Did you grind your teeth?

“Cariño?” Peña calls out, knuckles tapping on the door. “You good in there?”

No, you want to reply. Hands gripping the sink basin, staring at your makeup-less face and the nightie he was about to see you in.

“Yeah,” you call out, washing your hands, and flushing the toilet before unlocking the door, and emerging.

He’s polite enough to not drink you in, even if you're sure he’s craning his neck not to do so.

“Look. Before you crack your neck from not doing so.”

Smirking, he traces his fingers across his chin, before slowly dropping his eyes.

And you feel them.

Warm. Hot. Sliding over your neck, collarbone, down the silk which covers your chest, abdomen and most of your thighs, before he’s running his vision back up.

“Better?”

“Nice legs.”

Narrowing your eyes, you straighten your spine. “Try not to dream about them, and Peña?”

He hums.

“Try to remember you’re not actually married, don’t want you falling for the fantasy we’re putting on. Hate to break your heart.”

Leaning against the doorframe, staring at you, you somehow manage to level your breath. “If it’s you breaking my heart, Sunny. I might just let you.”

Your mouth almost falls open. Almost.

Something you think he's aware of from the way he smiles, from the way he drinks you in before he whispers about getting passed.

Then, you're alone.

Filling your lungs with a breath, staring around the room not sure how you're going to make it a week not cracking, never mind more.

CHAPTER TWO ->

AN: tag list won't be around from chapter two, thank you for letting me tell the story how i always envisioned. your kindness is appreciated.

taglist: @thetriumphantpanda @texassmiller @wordywarriorwrites @iknowisoundcrazy @thundermartini

@secretelephanttattoo @belliezz @picketniffler @thelightsandtheroses @sawymredfox

@toomanytookas @auteurdelabre @grumpygrumperton @noisynightmarepoetry @missladym1981

@maried01 @livswayout @casa-boiardi @msjarvis @perotovar @inept-the-magnificent

@copperhalfcent @morallyinept @inside-the-mind-of-a-wallflower @nabiiturner

@venturawriter @blablablasssss @half-moon16 @nerdieforpedro

#javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña narcos #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #narcos fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña smut #javi peña smut #javier peña x reader smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier peña fanfiction #jo: let us pretend #jo: htcu #narcos fanfic #narcos fanficion #pedro pascal x reader

[its44intheehouse]

Matt Rempe - NSFW ALPHABET

Note: If you’re confused as to why this isn’t F1 related, I also watch hockey. Been watching this man for some time now and I can’t believe there isn’t more content on here for him. Guy’s a catch. But do not worry, I am here to solve that problem. Anyway, enjoy. As always this is VERY juicy 🍒😉

A - Aftercare. (what he’s like after sex)

Matt is a big aftercare guy but now in the way you would think. I think he would be the one to receive it mostly. Yeah, he’s very considerate and caring and will always make sure that you are alright after sex, but this big guy is the one who will act like a little baby in need for affection and love. All he wants to do after sex is cuddle and put his head on your chest so you can play with his hair as you praise him for how good he was and how amazing he made you feel. Don’t be fooled by the fact that he’s a 6’7” aggressive guy on the ice because outside of it he is just adorable.

B - Bodypart. (favorite body part of his and his partner’s)

Definitely his hands and back. He takes good care of his body because his role on the ice is more on the physical side, so he has to stay fit. His hands help him at throwing the punches that everyone loves to see at the games. But they’re also one of the things that makes you horny the most, so that’s another reason for why he loves them. They’re just so big and strong that he could lift you up like you weight nothing. He knows you got a thing for them, especially when his fists are bruised and bloody from a fight. You care deeply about his well being and you’re always worried for him when he gets himself in fights, but you just can’t help but imagine his fingers in your mouth, tightening around your throat or deep inside your pussy. And he’s more than okay with that. He’ll tease you about it just to make you nervous a bit, but he’s 100% into it himself. And his back? It’s huge. He loves it when you come up behind him and press your face into it, or when he’s fucking you so good you just can’t help but scratch it with your nails, almost making it bleed. It just makes him fuck you harder, and he enjoys the sting and the pain that comes with it.

On you, he gets feral about your lips and your tits. He’s always looking at your lips when you talk and will almost always be the one going in for a smooch. He can’t resist them, especially when you use your favorite flavored lip glosses on them. He’ll pull you in for a kiss without a care in the world that now his own lips are coated in your pink strawberry gloss. To him, there’s nothing better in this world than having you all for himself. But when he has you on your knees, with wide teary eyes looking up at him, struggling to take all of him in your throat, while his base is covered in your pink lipgloss? Yeah, that’s gotta be one of the best things he ever experienced in his life. And your tits? This man worships them. Of course, he loves all of you, but there’s just something about your breasts that drives him INSANE. He can’t keep his eyes away from you when you’re wearing tight clothes that just makes them pop out of your chest, and you always have to remind him not to be so obvious, especially when you’re in public and everyone can see him just shamelessly staring and almost drooling at the sight of them. He never listens though, and he has half a mind not to just grab them and play with them in front of everyone to see. He also loves it when you let him cum on them and his seed is slowly dripping down towards your stomach. He is nasty like that. The way they’re just bouncing up and down when he’s fucking you stupid is also a big turn on for him. He’ll slap your tits, squeeze them, suck on them, bite them and leave marks, anything. He is obsessed and he has no shame about it.

C - Cum. (anything to do with cum)

He likes it messy 100%.

He makes the decision of where he’s going to cum in the heat of the moment. If you give him permission to cum wherever he wants, he turns into a maniac. When you’re blowing him, although he loves it when you swallow, he thinks it’s HOT AS FUCK when some of his cum gets on your face. It gets him hard again in a matter of seconds. And then he’ll want to take your pussy for a spin and come inside. He gets so pumped knowing that he gets to leave a part of him inside of you, it’s almost possessive. He has so much cum to give you, and he loves that you’ll take it anytime and everywhere he wants. He’ll squeeze orgasm after orgasm from you just to see both your releases dripping out of your tight pussy, making a mess everywhere. If he’s taking you doggy style, he’ll cum both inside AND outside of your cunt, sometimes taking some of it on his fingers and spreading it on your ass or making you suck on them so you can taste how good he got you.

D - Dirty secret.

Matt wants to fuck you in your sleep. Now let’s not get it twisted, he would never do such thing without your consent. He kind of felt ashamed for wanting something like that, since it’s not a fantasy that everyone has, he thinks. But he can’t help thinking about it anytime he comes home at night after a game and he finds you asleep in his bed, with just one of his shirts to cover you, leaving your soft legs bare, slightly spread and so inviting. You look so peaceful, like an angel. Your hair is tousled all over the pillow, your lips are parted just a bit and your skin is beautiful and glowy in the pale moonlight creeping through his window. He’s so tired, but all he could think about since the game was over was you. Coming home to you, kissing you, having you in his arms. He knows you have your own busy schedule and you can’t always stay up just to wait for him to come back, and he never gets mad when he finds you already fast asleep. But sometimes it gets overwhelming for him. All he wants to do then is run his hands softly on your body so he won’t wake you up, get down and spread your legs wider so he can see your pretty pussy, already wet just from his light touches. He swears he’s never gonna get enough of how sensitive and responsive you are to him, even when you’re unconscious. He’d get feral over your scent and won’t resist tasting you. He’d keep his movements slow and steady while he’d look up at you, observing every whine you let out in your sleep, every time your brows would furrow, how your breathing would pick up. And even though he would love to have you cumming on his tongue, his dick is just too hard it’s almost painful for him. He’s humping the bed as he is eating you out, desperate to feel some relief. His selfish side would convince him that you love him anyway and you wouldn’t mind if he’d just slip it in.

E - Experience. (how experienced he is)

He is still in his early 20’s so I assume he’s not had a crazy amount of experiences. That, but also because he barely even had the time to get girlfriends anyway. To him, hockey was always one of his top priorities, and he chose to dedicate himself to it, because he knew that’s how you get to the top. Sure, he did have a few girlfriends in the past, but the sex was always kind of vanilla and bland. Probably because he never felt true love before you. When you two started being intimate he wasn’t too bad, he was still able to make you cum, unlike most men before him, but you could feel that something just wasn’t right with him. So you spent more time in building up his trust and making him feel more comfortable, assuring him that you would never judge him. He told you about how he wanted to experience more but he didn’t get the chance yet, and was more than excited to hear the same thing coming from you. You two spent a lot of time after that trying new things, testing your limits, and needless to say, he gained up a lot of experience just from doing things with you.

F - Favorite position.

Doggy or cowgirl. Normally, he fucks you in any position he can, and he’s not shy in changing them frequently just to make things more exciting and pleasurable for you. This man will have you everywhere and in any way you’ll let him.

But to him, there’s just something special about you in all fours, in such a degrading position. He loves you with all his heart, but he’ll fuck you like he hates you when you’re in doggy. He goes crazy over the desperate sounds you make, the way you grip the sheets or the headboard like your life depends on it as he is fucking you hard and fast. The way your ass jiggles when he’s thrusting his hips into you. He’ll spank you multiple times just to see your ass cheeks go red with his handprints, he’ll squeeze it, pull out of you for a brief moment just to bite it. This position doesn’t give him the best view of your face though, which he hates at some point, but not to worry about that! Matt will immediately grab you by the neck and yank you towards him so your back is glued to his chest as he squeezes your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. Now he can see all of you. How pretty you look with tears of overstimulation in your eyes, your makeup smudged all over your face and your fucked out expression. His pace would never cease, only increase while he busies himself by gripping your tits or flicking at your puffy, too sensitive clit, eager to make you fall apart again. He’ll groan in your ear and tease you, praise you and degrade you, because he knows you love it when he tells you you’re a good girl and a desperate cockslut both at the same time.

And cowgirl? His go-to when he’s feeling a bit too needy and submissive. As I said, he might be a huge guard dog most of the time, but deep down he adores it when he’s being taken care of and controlled, in a loving maner. Especially when he’s tired and can barely move, but still wants you. He’ll whine and push his face into your boobs and be extra touchy, hoping you’ll get the hint. After some time in the relationship you start to pick up on this habit of his and you happily indulge. You’ll have this man whimpering, squirming and grabbing at everything he can while you ride him. You never really looked forward to being on top before Matt, but with him things changed. You feel like a goddess when you’re riding him and keeping control of the pace while he is right there in front of you, with his head buried in your tits or slightly leaned back, looking at you like you’re going to be the death of him. Like he wants to possess you.

G - Goofy.

I would say he is goofy in bed, yeah. He’ll poke your sides or your butt, will randomly bite you and laugh when you yelp and jokingly push him away. But when things get serious, he’s rather more focused.

H - Hair.

Not shaved entirely but he keeps it neat and clean, trimmed short. Anything more than that is just too messy for him.

I - Intimacy. (how is he during the moment)

BIG on intimacy. Usually the mood is set by whatever the situation might be in the moment, but he’s always romantic. Not over the top type of romantic, but you can feel it. He pours his love into every touch, every word and every gesture. And even when he fucks you rough, he’ll always do something small to remind you that he loves you, like pressing a kiss to your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, looking you deep in the eyes.

J - Jack off. (masturbation)

Matt’s the horniest bitch you’ve ever seen. It’s so easy for him to get hard if he’s thinking of you, seeing or touching you. You’re tying your hair? He’s bricked up. You’re cutting some vegetables for your dinner? He’s throbbing in his boxers. Most of the time you offer to help him, but when he’s away from you for games he’s losing his mind. Thankfully, you’re lovely enough to always send him some special material when he’s away, and now he just has a whole ass private album on his phone with pictures and videos of you that he can masturbate to. He prefers to facetime you though, so you can do it together. But if you’re not available at that moment, the videos will do.

Will 100% send you a video to show you how desperate he is for you and how much he misses you.

K - Kink. (what kink/s does he have?)

I think he would be into light BDSM. Not the hardcore shit, just a bit of restraining and discipline for the most part. He’d love to have your wrists tied up and boss you around a bit more, if you’re into that. As much as he likes when you have your moments of taking control, he loves to take it from you and have you arching off the bed and rolling your eyes to the back of your head while he’s overstimulating your pussy.

Another one would be size kink. I don’t need to explain it too much. You’re so much smaller than him, he fears he might break you in half sometimes, even when you tell him that you can take it. But it also excites him knowing how much power he has over your tiny body. He’s manhandling you in any position he desires with ease.

I don’t know if it’s a kink, but he definitely has a thing for squirting. He’s so big, in all ways. You can barely take all of him and when he’s fucking you nice and good you feel like he’s abusing every inch of your cunt, in the best way possible. The first time you squirted you were left in shock and embarrassment, because, obviously you’ve never done that before him and you thought he might not like it. But oh boy, how wrong you were. He groaned and slowed down a bit but couldn’t take his eyes off the mess you made on both of you. It was the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“Fuck. Look at that, my baby made a mess.” he smirked, tilting his head to the side and biting his lip. His eyes caught your wide ones and then he leaned closer to you, squeezing your cheeks and placing a messy kiss to your lips. “Again. I want you to do that again for me, yeah?” he said, and you didn’t get the chance to respond before he started thrusting into you again, picking up his aggressive pace.

L - Location. (favorite places to have sex)

For the most part, he prefers having you in privacy, on his bed or yours. Of course, sex with Matt will never be boring. He’ll fuck you in every surface of the apartment. But he isn’t a big fan of public sex. Mostly because he doesn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position or ruin his reputation. After all, he’s playing in the NHL and people like to talk. The last thing he wants is to have people spread word of him fucking his girlfriend for all to see. It could end bad.

Car sex also isn’t a problem, as long as you’re well hidden.

M - Motivation. (what gets him going)

Like I said, you could do any random thing and this man will get bricked up, and that’s because he’s just obsessed with you. But what gets him going the most is seeing you get all dolled up for him and admitting that the effort is all for him, while you’re touching him teasingly with your hands and batting your eyelashes innocently at him. Or when you’re attending his games and he can spot you for a brief moment in the crowd, cheering and wearing his jersey, his number and name on your back. You wear it with such pride that it’s making him burst. He fucked you a few times while you were wearing it, by the way. ;) . And he came hard.

N - No. (turn offs/things he wouldn’t do)

Nothing disgusting or that can hurt you in an unpleasant way. He would never.

O - Oral. (how good is he at it? preference on giving/receiving)

Man’s a munch. You can’t tell me otherwise. Y’all seen the videos of him sticking his tongue out after punching the shit out of the other players? Yeah.

And when this man eats pussy, he eats pussy. He won’t back out of it even when you’re pushing his head away because you’re too sensitive from all the orgasms he already pulled out of you. He loves to overstimulate you because he knows that it’s only going to make you cum harder. He’ll suck on your clit, he’ll push his tongue deep inside your cunt, he’ll spit on it, he’ll add fingers, anything to have you shaking and screaming in pleasure. He gets off on making you feel good.

When he’s receiving head, he gets animalistic. He won’t force you to take all of him in your mouth because he knows it’s too much for you and it won’t fit without a struggle, but if you’re freaky like that and tell him that it’s okay if he wants to fuck your throat, he will. He’ll still be careful though. He’ll push his hips into your face or wrap your hair in his fist and make you take him deep, fucking your mouth hard and fast, until you’re left gagging and crying. Happy tears of course.

P - Pace.

Going with the flow is his motto when it comes to sex. If the atmosphere is more romantic, he’ll make sure to give it to you slow and seductive. He’ll make love to you.

If you’re being a brat though, he’ll treat you like one. Disobedience needs punishment. And he’ll edge you for hours, deny you orgasms, just to teach you how to behave next time. It boosts his ego so much when you’re begging him to let you cum. He loves it.

When he’s mad and needs a way to relieve some stress or anger, he’ll also go for a more aggressive sex session.

Q - Quickie.

Not a big fan. Will not refuse it, but he prefers to take his time. Taking his time in making you feel good is one of his ways of showing his love to you.

R - Risk. (how risky is he?)

Living on the edge is what pumps him. He’s convinced that life is made to experience things. So if something pops into his mind and it excites him, he’ll want to give it a go. With that being said, he’s game for taking risks.

S - Stamina.

Matt has a lot of stamina. His workouts and his hockey career are always pushing him to do better, to endure more. And when it comes to sex, as long as he has the time, he could fuck you all day.

T - Toys.

He’s interested in them. He’s thinking of buying you a vibrator so you can use it when he’s away or if he wants to make things a bit more spicy when you’re having sex.

U - Unfair.

The thing about Matt is, he likes to tease you. He loves playing with you because he loves the look on your face and how whiny you get when you’re frustrated. He thinks it’s cute.

V - Volume. (how loud is he in bed)

He’s not making as much noise as you’d like. He’ll moan, groan, even whimper sometimes, but nothing more than that. It’s not because he doesn’t enjoy the sex though, he just gets too focused on his job. All this man wants is to make you feel good.

W - Wild card (random headcanon)

Wants to try cockwarming. There’s nothing better for him than being buried in your tight, wet pussy. He knows he’s probably not going to resist for too long before he’ll start fucking you. But if he could, he’d have you staying on his cock all the time.

X - X-ray. (what’s under)

No one can tell me he doesn’t have a huge cock. He’s easily above average, with a juicy mushroom tip. Girthy. Will have you struggling to sit down or walk for several days.

Y - Yearning (sex drive)

His sex drive is through the roof. In general, he enjoys sex. He’s not crazy about it, he will still live if he doesn’t get it But if he loves the person he’s with, he wants it all the time.

Z - Zzz

Dead asleep as soon as he pulls out and crashes beside you. He always gives it his all, but when he gets tired he is knocked up. He’ll put his hand on your tits and sleep like that.

#matt rempe x reader #matt rempe #matt rempe smut #new york rangers #nhl hockey #nhl #nhl x reader #nhl x y/n #nhl players #nhl fic #matt rempe fluff #nhl imagine

[shanastoryteller]

Merry bday! A continuation of Enola Holmes marrying the viscount of Basilweather would be really cool 😀

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

She wrinkles her nose when Tewksbury passes over her cup of tea with two sugars, unstirred, and she knows.

She puts down the cup too quickly, blood pounding in her ears, and Tewksbury frowns, reaching for her hand. "Enola?"

"Got to go," she says, pushing herself to standing, almost just leaves him sitting there, hand outstretched, but he's her husband and she loves him, so she darts over to smack a kiss on his lips before she's running for the door.

"Enola!" he calls out again, but now he sounds less worried and more exasperated, which is better, which is good. There's nothing for him to worry about.

She wants her mother, who's banned from London and is causing political unrest in Southern France currently, or Edith, who's doing something clever and illegal in Scotland. She'd take Victoria, but Mycroft will be there, and he's the last person she wants to see right now. Sherlock, while beloved, is useless, but his boy is a doctor.

She drops in at 221B Baker Street, picking the lock like always, and is relieved that Sherlock is still asleep and decides not to have any opinions on the various bones scattered about the kitchen table. She assumes there's a reasonable explanation for them.

"Oh, Enola!" John grins and shoves some femurs to the side to make space at the table. "Here, join me, would you like some oatmeal? Are you looking for your brother? I can wake him-"

"I'm pregnant," she blurts out, then bites her bottom lip.

John blinks once, then twice, then says with a gentleness that had made her like him in the first place - because Sherlock wanted to be gentle, but was quite bad at it, so someone had to teach him - "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Wanted seems like not the correct word, although of course it is, because she and Tewksbury had been, not trying, but not-not trying, which probably amounted to the same thing, considering how often they - well.

"I can fix it," he says, voice low and serious, "if it's something that needs to be fixed."

Enola lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "No. No, it doesn't need to be fixed."

She loves that he offered. She loves John, more her brother than Mycroft will ever be, sometimes even more her brother than Sherlock is. If nothing else, her brothers had picked their partners well. Victoria and John are a delight.

John is the functional one between them, explosions and skeletons notwithstanding. John is the one that coaxed her brother into a proper relationship and John is the one that knew they were like parents to all the Irregulars and John isn't normal but he grew up normal.

"Are you worried something's wrong?" he asks. "I can look you over."

"No," she says, although, "I mean, yes, that'd be nice because Tewksbury will go spare, but no, I'm not worried anything's wrong."

He leans back in his chair, looking her over, and after almost ten years of dealing with her and Sherlock and even occasionally Mycroft he can read them almost as well as they can read everyone else.

"It's alright to be scared," he says finally. "Lots of women are when they find out, even when it's wanted, even when the baby's healthy."

"I'm not scared," she says, but for the first time her words feel like a lie. "I shouldn't be scared. What do I have to be scared of?"

She wishes her mother was here.

Will her children miss her like this too?

Sometimes she misses her mother even when she's right in front of her, and if nothing else, she's her mother's daughter.

John gets to his feet, stand in front of her, and opens his arms. She looks away even as she steps forward, like if she doesn't look at him when she does it then it doesn't count as weakness.

His arms close around her. He smells like chai and antiseptic and it's only years of association that make the combination comforting. "I can't wait to be an uncle."

He'll be an uncle. Sherlock will be an uncle. Even Mycroft, and Victoria will be delighted to be an aunt, and to raise her children with Enola's. Of course there's her mother-in-law, and Tewksbury's uncle, who have been angling for her to have a child from the day they married.

There's Tewksbury, who loves her, who isn't going to die on her or leave her if either of them have anything to say about it, who isn't going to leave her to raise their children the way her mother raised her.

Alone.

She's been saying she wasn't going to do this alone from the beginning, but standing here in Sherlock's kitchen, with John holding her steady, she really believes it.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #enola holmes #if we get a third movie my characterization of john will be wrecked #but know in my heart he is a lovable mad scientist with poor impulse control

[ma1dita]

do we have any sick!trouble and luke taking care of everything for her??(including her hehe🤭) if not then i’d like to think she would probably try to push herself through the day making sure camp doesn’t get set on fire bc older sister core! + dionysus probably dgaf 🤷🏻‍♀️ and maybe only luke noticing that she’s breaking out in a cold sweat and her movements a little more sluggish than usual but shes stubborn af so she refuses to rest

🐥

also ur works are crushing me jo they’re soo good😭💗

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x dionysus!reader

a/n: no trouble tags fuck it we ball! no edits either lmfao fluff :) can be a standalone just know reader is camp mom and Luke calls her trouble/slight cabin 12 mentions but not important (partners in crime series if you wanna check it out)

wc: 860

Luke doesn’t think he’s ever seen you be quiet.

Your voice is synonymous with the harmony of Camp Half-Blood in all of its forms: early morning announcements over the loudspeaker that serve as a wake-up call for campers to be ready for cabin inspections, hollow outcries to keep certain deviants in line (the Stolls and your brothers are a deadly force to be reckoned with), comforting words like kisses for scraped knees for the little ones, down to the gentle blanket of your singing at lights out. Luke also just knows by now that you love to have the last word—gods forbid someone else beat you at something you’re good at. Words always come easy when it comes to you (abilities of sons of Hermes aside) he finds out—but he can’t think of what can convince you to go back to bed today, especially with a temperature of 100.7 F.

He’s been circling you like a hawk this whole morning, not chastising (because clogged sinuses and all you’d probably fight him to your last breath), but rather helping out where he can. He swiftly double-checks counselor assignments once your puffy eyes leave the page, steers you away from walking straight into the fires of the forge instead of the exit at the armory, and waves off any bystanders who dare to get caught in the crosshairs of your bullheadedness.

In times like these, Luke’s almost grateful to be his father’s son (still a hard no, but you get the point). Doing these tasks undetected and mostly through a sleight of hand is better than worrying you even if he’s already at his wit's end; you’re quick in your own right too, body and brain separated today yet working on autopilot through a foggy sick-riddled mind. He hates leaving you like this even for a moment despite your protests of being able to handle yourself, but the two of you are spread thin today with all the work to do.

Luke finds you later after his workshop with your head against the cool stone of the climbing wall. You sniff into your sleeve, a wet sound stifled by the worn-down orange uniform you all wear, though yours looks as exhausted as you are, eyes closed and motionless even with lava slowly trickling from the top.

“Trouble? Are you okay babe? Grover fell off the wall already, you should… restart the mechanism,” he mutters, a big hand clasping at the nape of your neck like someone grabbing a kitten by its scruff.

“He’ll be fine, he’s a big boy,” you mumble with your face still attached to the rocks. “I’ve seen him climb over the Ares table for the last donut at lunchtime, molten lava and boulders should be a piece of cake.”

“At least cake is less painful and more delicious,” the satyr groans, hairs singed down to his hooves. Luke sighs, helping Grover back onto his feet for a well-deserved break.

“Babe…If you don’t move, sooner or later the lava’s gonna smother you.”

He shakes your arm since the controls are wedged between your body and the wall but it’s as if your body is bolted to the floor. A dissonant noise crawls out of your throat, “Dunno, kinda sounds nice. Maybe it’ll clear my sinuses.”

“Maybe it’s time to admit you’re sick.”

Even if he can’t see your face he knows there’s a scowl carved across it, “M’not sick. Just some allergies. I don’t get sick, Lu. Being sick is for the weak!” Lava continues to slide down the wall like molasses, inching you closer to a fate of fire— and your boyfriend watches you try to welcome it with weary arms.

“If you’re not sick, then I’m the best singer at Camp Half-Blood,” Luke drones as he crosses his arms. He can hear Percy laugh from the sidelines at that, silenced quickly by a glare.

“Now that would really clear her sinuses—even better if he dresses up for Theatrics again,” the son of Poseidon sniggers until a stray boulder comes barrelling towards where he and Grover are sitting. Everything’s suddenly less funny.

“It was one time, Jackson, and I wasn’t…” Luke sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Trouble was just mending a costume.”

“It’s okay Luke, not everyone can pull off a corset.”

“Grover, another word out of you man and I’ll make sure your legs are permanently hairless,” Luke grits, finally tired of the chit-chat and more focused on getting you to rest. In one quick movement, he sweeps you off your feet and over his shoulder while his other hand slams on the button to reset the gears of the climbing wall. A delayed reaction falters from your throat, something of a yelp and an exhale.

“Luke! Put me down!”

But he’s already off in the direction of Cabin 12 to get you settled under the covers for at least the rest of the day until you’re up and kicking again. Your protests are scratchy but loud as he takes you away from the two kids and it's as if everything is right in the world again.

“Remind me not to get a girlfriend that stubborn one day,” Percy mumbles, bumping shoulders with his best friend.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩ #trouble!verse #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan fluff #made by ma1dita ♥︎

[snowy-vee]

TUG: Hennessy pourin’ and shit getting fluid

taglist; @littlegingerperson5 @lil-elliesgf @bready101 @lmaoo-spiderman @elliescoolerwife @girlrotterr @les4elliewilliams @ellseasp @elsgirll @mikellie @radioheadfan699 @boobdrug @backedbeansh @a-little-bit-of-everybody

n/a: 1.3K words, no proof read. Go with the flow because it might be corny, I blame it on Heartbreak High😭😭 Love you all and I hope everybody is on the taglist.

INDEX

Believe it or no, Ellie and you can behave as friends. Good Friends.

“Fuck!”

Friends that go to shop together in need of best friend advice, Friends that casually hang out at the Ice Cream Shop and maybe share the same spoon and try not to make it dirty, Friends that would paint each other nails, etc.

“Keep it down”

¿Green or Red Dress? Skirt. ¿Skirt? Yeah, friends give advice on clothes all the time, they want you to shine and look your best but be comfortable for any situation, like if you go to a Party, you will move a lot, you need something easy to let you do that, something easy to slide…

“Ellie…”

Now, in case of going to a party, you have to pre-game! Take out that strawberry vodka bottle out of the closet and pour the shots ¿What are you waiting for? 1, 2, 3… okay, okay, you might want to slow down, that’s half the bottle, you have to walk to the frat party, of course you have a good friend like Ellie that will put her arm around your waist to help you, yep it tingles. BUTTERFLIES OF FRIENDSHIP.

“You see? The skirt was the best option”

“I-It wa- god, yes yes yessss”

You’re a little bit more sober, enough to walk to the centre and dance. Dina is much better choice for a dancing partner, she will hype you even more than alcohol can, also she knows all the popular songs, she will scream them together with you and will jump of euphoria when they put that one song ¡Oh yeah! She has to grab Jesse to dance to this one, you get it.

“Who’s in the bathroom?! There’s a line waiting!”

“¡Almost done, dude, wait! … ¿Almost done, baby?”

“mmmhm s’close”

Cat’s not here

YET. She will, she has to be around her girlfriend always but she’s not now, so she won’t tell Ellie to chill if you grab her to dance this one song, put her hands on your waist, she might be shy at first as if it was the first time you two danced like this, so close to each other, your ass grinding on her pelvis. Yes, you can’t see her but you know that she’s biting her lower lip by the way her grip lowers to your hips, pressing you two even more together.

“Ellie, I barely feel my legs”

This is the most friendly friend thing to do ¡Oh! Actually, it’s not. Going to the bathroom together IS the most friendly friend thing to do as good/best friends to gossip, to check makeup, to hold the hair of the other if there’s vomit involved, to eat your friend out if she made you so fucking horny that you could literally kiss you in front of everyone despise you both being in a relationship with others.

You adjust the skirt and look at yourself in the mirror, the dim light not letting you see if you looked one hundred percent decent, the knocking in the door intensifies, someone must be urgent to get in. A moment ago, you were on the toilet seat with your legs spread out in mid-air, and Ellie’s face was in between them.

“How do I look?”

“As if you’ve seen heaven”

“Cocky much? Let’s get out before-”

When you were opening the door, it got pushed almost making you fall if it wasn’t for Ellie behind you. It was a dude that entered the bathroom quickly pulling down his pants and peeing in the bathtub, oh that was gross, Ellie had to poke you to stop looking and keep walking as you both started laughing.

“What the fuck was that?” Ellie asked putting her arms around your shoulders to keep you close, there was more people in the house than before and the music was even louder. You shrugged looking around to see where Dina and Jesse where, maybe they were outside close by the pool but your eyes spotted someone else, a girl with short black hair dressed in all black with red and white accessories, seated in one of the couches, looking straight at you.

“Ellie!” Cat got up waving at her girlfriend. Quickly she dropped her arm on you and went to hug and kiss her, of course you were following behind her just to plop down in the corner of the couch, looking somewhere else that wasn’t them. “Where were you? I’ve been looking for you! I asked Dina and she had no idea”

“My fault, Cat, the tequila shots sent me straight to the bathroom, Ellie was helping me”

Ellie sat too with her Cat on her lap now and her hand around her waist moving up and down, but why do you care? Good Friends don’t put that face, change that annoyed face! They are the couple, she’s THE girlfriend.

“You two are always together…” She said in a cold tone, almost sending shivers trough your spine and sure Ellie felt the same because she shifted in a better position and cleared her throat “I see the way you look at us sometimes, as if you hate us being together”

“What?”

“Yeah, at first I thought you were homophobic or something like that, but Dina told me that you weren’t and I believed her, maybe I just saw you in a bad mood, but I started to see that your face was always like that when you saw me and Ellie together, so my question is ¿Do you like Ellie? Is that why you act like that, I’ve seen how you look at her sometimes too and maybe she’s too oblivious to see it but I’m not”

She had obviously been drinking a lot before you two met her here but the way she was talking… She had all this thoughts bottled inside of her waiting for the right moment and you for sure knew that it was mostly the alcohol talking because Cat was someone who would address this type of situation in private and maybe watching how close Ellie and you were triggered her.

“Let’s talk when you are sober, Cat, but just so you know, I don’t like Ellie in that way, only as friends and roommates-”

“Oh, for fuck sakes! You are a whore and everybody knows that, you don’t respect your relationship with Daniel and you think because of that you can meddle in between other’s relationships!” She screamed getting up from Ellie’s lap, catching the attention of the people around, you were just looking at her, unbothered of her words, even if they were true. “If you think that your basic slut tricks are going to break up me and Ellie, you are wrong, she would never cheat on my with a skank like you.”

The people started gathering close to you, Dina and Jesse also came outside the moment someone shouted about ‘Ain’t that Daniel’s girl?!’ knowing that it must be you. “You don’t have nothing to say? You’re not going to defend yourself? So it’s fucking true”

“Cat, stop, you’re drunk and overreacting” Ellie said grabbing Cat by the waist and trying to walk away but she shook her head, taking her hand off of her. You could only chuckled, that triggered her more ¿You were laughing at her? No way “Let’s go, please, everybody is looking at us, you will regret this tomorrow”

“I don’t fucking care, Ellie, I know she’s your friend and you care about her but she don’t see you as that, she wants you! Let me cool her down”

The gasp that left your mouth as the cold beer splashed on your face was the same as everyone there, Dina practically ran to grab your arms because she knew how bad that night could end.

“She’s just drunk, forgive her, no need to fight her, please” she started saying dragging you back to the house and get you cleaned up but you stop her. If Cat wanted an answer, you were going to give it to her, since she wanted to act like that.

“Cat…”

Ellie knew that look in your eyes and she knew you two were fucked. That smirk you had in your lips could only mean that you were ready to spill some venom.

“How does my pussy taste?”

Oh, that's not a very good friend thing to do.

#ellie x fem reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie fanfic #ellie fic #ellie fluff #ellie smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fandom #ellie tlou smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #tlou ellie #tlou #tlou2

[babyastrowitch]

PLANETS IN THE 8TH HOUSE

~

The 8th house represents s€x, taboos, death, resurrection, and other people's possessions.

~

Sun in the 8th

creative, able to see the bigger picture, will focus on what others posses and how to administer their resources, may think fate sends them hidden messages, always wanting to make changes to become better.

Moon in the 8th

cannot find their peace romantically, always searching for other partners in bed, emotionally unstable, loves cuddles, may have a strong need to connect with others but difficulty doing so.

Mercury in the 8th

Naturally drawn to deep, intense, and sometimes mysterious topics. Interests in psychology, secrets, or taboo subjects. Understands what's going on beneath the surface, good at uncovering hidden truths. Your conversations often touch on deeper emotions and complex issues.

Venus in the 8th

Deep emotional connections and bonds, finds beauty in the mysteries of life, sharing secrets with partners, transformative love life.

Mars in the 8th

Intensity, transformation, power dynamics, exploring inner depths, facing fears, profound changes. Strong drive for intimacy, desire to conquer changes head on.

Jupiter in the 8th

Growth, expansion, and optimism in areas related to 8th house. Blessings and opportunities through inheritances, investments, or partnerships. Deep interest in philosophy, spirituality, or psychology.

Saturn in the 8th

Serious and disciplined approach to areas like shared resources, intimacy, and transformation. May indicate challenges related to these areas, but can bring wisdom and maturity through facing and overcoming them.

Uranus in the 8th

Unexpected changes/surprises, and a need for freedom in 8th house themes. May indicate unconventional approaches to these areas and a desire for independence especially in finance and deep connections with people.

Neptune in the 8th

Strong imagination, intuition, and sensitivity in 8th house themes. Desire for spiritual connection, idealistic, a need to be aware of potential deception or illusions in matters of joint finance, inheritance, or deep emotional connections.

Pluto in the 8th

Undergoing significant personal growth and transformation through relationships, particularly in intimacy. Strong need for control.

🔮

#astrology #astro placements #astroblr #astro notes #astrology observations #witchblr #witches of tumblr #astrology ask #astrology notes #baby witch

[auteurdelabre]

SO MUCH TO LOSE part 10 - dark!Joel x f!reader

rating: 18+

words: 7.5k

TW: HEAVY EMOTIONAL CHAPTER. MENTIONS OF TRAUMA. Allusions to oral sex, m receiving, allusions to f/m penetrative sex.

a/n: I told y'all this chapter's a doozy. Well it is, but maybe not for the reasons you think. . . To me its one of the most important chapters of this whole story.

series masterlist

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, ENGAGEMENT ARE WHAT KEEP US FIC WRITERS GOING. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT IF YOU ENJOYED THIS.

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

SO MUCH TO LOSE CHAPTER 10

You visit Maria the following week with a plate of cookies in hand. She’s the one to answer the door and you are relieved when you see that she is showered and dressed. Things must be improving. She brings you into a tentative hug when you arrive, urging you inside out of the fresh dusting of snow.

“Tommy has Douglas out for a little walk. I’ll make you a coffee.”

“I’m fine,” you insist. “Just came to drop off some baking. I’m heading to Ellie’s later this week and needed to get some practice in. I haven’t done much baking lately and wanted to make sure I wasn’t rusty.”

You join her on the couch, watching as she wraps her hands tightly around her coffee mug. She takes tentative sips between munches of cookie. At the first bite she literally moans.

“This is so good.”

“Thanks. They were Charlotte’s favorite.”

Maria licks the crumbs from her lips before leaning back on the sofa. She’s always been slender and she looks almost as she did back before she gave birth, except for the small pouch at her lower belly. You think she looks better with it.

“Was Charlotte your daughter?”

“Oh no. I never had kids.”

“We’re you ever married?”

“Me?” you almost laugh. “No.”

“Oh,” Maria blinks and her mouth tugs to the side. “I thought you might be. You have a nurturing quality about you.”

 “I think you give me too much credit.”

Maria grins, taking another bite of cookie. The two of you chat amiably a bit about the changing weather, of the way the inhabitants of Jackson City get along so well. Of how she feels the pressure of being Jacksons’ ‘First Lady’. Of how the bandits that fuck with the dam that supports the city stresses her daily.

“It’s a fucking nightmare some days,” she cites with a grumble. “Thank goodness for Tommy.”

“He’s a good man,” you tell her.

“He is,” she smiles indulgently before shooting you a lingering look. “What do you think about Joel?”

“How do you mean?”

“You do patrols with him, right?” 

“Can’t say I was always his biggest fan,” she says, taking another sip from her mug. “But he’s grown on me.”

“Yeah.”

You hold in the scoff that’s already begun in your throat.

“My friend Jennifer seems to think he’s pretty wonderful,” you offer instead. “She was delighted to help him repair the window last week.”

“She the blonde one? Used to do textiles?” Maria knows everyone thanks to her position.

“Yeah.”

“Not his type,” Maria insists with a shy grin. “She’d eat him alive.”

Jennifer doesn’t seem like she would eat anyone alive.

“Joel is all harsh edges,” she explains when she sees your confusion. “He needs someone soft to balance him out. That Jennifer girl is hard.”

You don’t think that you would consider Jennifer hard and you don’t fight Maria on it because the conversation quickly turns to Jackson’s continued increase of population, the place swelling with new life.

“Plenty of single men,” Maria says with a quirked brow in your direction. You give a soft laugh.

“Not really interested.”

“Single women too.”

“No no,” you laugh again, cheeks pinking. “I like men, I just . . . I don’t think I’m the partnering type.”

You think of Luke and his sweet features and his muscled forearms. For him you could perhaps be the partnering type. Perhaps. The thought of romance appeals to you; it just doesn’t seem realistic at times. A crush feels fun and safe.

“You must have had your share of dates,” Maria insists. You can see her relaxing and you think she must be enjoying what she views as girl time. You think she must not have had much of it lately.

“Normal crushes and stuff,” you shrug. “But I was a late bloomer and then the outbreak started when I was a teenager so I didn’t have a chance for a lot of firsts back then.”

“Sex,” Maria nods.

“Uh yeah… that…” you say, trying to appear nonchalant. “And uh, kissing, dating, all that stuff.”

“But you did eventually,” Maria cites smiling.

“Sex? Oh yes,” you nod. You weren’t a monk or anything in your time before Jackson City.

“What was your first time like?” Maria settles back against a cushion, nibbling at her cookie looking at you eagerly. “I remember mine was all fumbling in the backseat of his truck before curfew.”

You laugh and think Maria must be starved for company to be intrigued by your limited romantic experience.

“Uh… fast,” you say with a laugh before allowing yourself to be transported back to that time. “He worked at one of the bakeries that I assisted in. I remember he had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a man. They were so blond you could only see them if he turned at a certain angle. He made me laugh. One night he invited me back to his apartment and… that was that.”

“How old were you?”

“Uh, twenty two, twenty three?”

“And you didn’t date after?”

“Nah, my family left that QZ kinda in a hurry.”

You aren’t expecting your voice to hitch on that last sentence, but it does.  Maria grows somber, her dark eyes expressive.

“Can I ask why you left?”

You blink back the sheen of tears starting and gaze around the room, trying to land on something that will steel you. You find it in the small carving of a horse on the bookshelf nearby. You tell your story to that delicately made creature instead.

“We moved east through the QZ’s for about ten or eleven years. Stayed in a few of them before we’d pick up and keep moving to the next one. Hard to make connections and date with all that. I didn’t trust that I’d have the time.”

Maria looks like she wants to ask more when the door is opened and Tommy’s cheerful voice rings out announcing he and Douglas are home and ready for lunch.

“We have company!” Maria says cheerfully.

Tommy turns the corner to see you and he greets you. He wears Douglas strapped to him with fabric, snuggled under his large jacket. Jackson is sleeping soundly and barely notices when Tommy unwraps and hands him off to his mother.

Douglas squirms, his tiny head burrowing into Maria’s neck. She smiles and for the first time you’ve known her it looks sincere. There is a lightness in the house you realize, something that had been missing before.

“He enjoyed being out in the fresh air,” Tommy announces. “Everyone who saw him wanted to kiss him.”

“Tommy!” Maria looks horrified.

“But I didn’t let ‘em,” Tommy finishes, pressing a gentle kiss to his wife’s worried brow. “I’m gonna make some soup. You two want a bowl?”

“I’m alright,” you say. “I just brought by dessert. I’m actually heading over to Ellie’s to do some baking.”

“Joel’s letting you use his place to bake?”

You still, brows raised. “Uh… yeah. Is that… should I not be?”

“No, I’m just surprised,” Tommy admits after a pause. “I don’t think he’s ever let anyone in that house aside from me and Maria. Think the only reason he and Ellie don’t kill each other is ‘cuz she’s in the garage.”

“Oh.”

You don’t know what else to offer besides that.

Tommy nods and for a moment you see something in his expression, a pinched look when Maria looks away from him.  You realize that Tommy looks harried, running a hand through his glossy curls.

“What’s up?”

“Nothin’,” Tommy replies too quickly.

You see the panic in his eyes as his gaze darts from his wife back to you. You understand immediately. Maria is doing well, if there’s something stressful in Jackson City he doesn’t want to bother her with it.

“Thanks for the tea Maria, but I better head out,” you inform them both.

Maria wraps you into a side hug, one arm around your shoulders, the other holding her son. You run your knuckles down his spine gently.

“Come back soon,” she whispers.

“I promise.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Tommy says, feigning manners. The two of you walk to the front door around the corner. As you toe on your boots you look up at him expectantly.

“Well?”

Tommy looks over his shoulder anxiously before dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper only you can hear.

“Rumor is Raiders were spotted by A Patrol this week,” Tommy says with a sigh. “Up by the traps.”

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Really?”

“Not positive. A Patrol isn’t always the most reliable. They spook easy and are overly cautious. But I’d rather that than the alternative.”

“Of course.”

“Just make sure you and Joel are extra cautious,” Tommy says. “I know you’re both responsible but, you know…. Just be extra responsible.”

You nod, feeling your heart thrumming in your chest as you make your way to Rancher Street.

///

You didn't really want to go to Joel's house today. But Ellie had found you last night heading home from The Tipsy Bison and had guilted you into it when she told you that Joel had brought back all the supplies needed. 

You'd tried to sway her into baking at your place but only the burners on your oven work. You'd never really considered getting the main oven fixed, since you take most of your meals in the dining hall.

But in moments like this, you heavily regret that choice. 

You feel like even your footsteps sound timid as they make their way up the wood steps. 

Ellie is at the door, pulling it open before you can even knock. She must have been looking for you at the window, counting down the seconds until your arrival. The thought warms you. She gives you a broad smile that lights up her face.

"I got everything set up!"

She takes off down into the kitchen and you venture into the Miller home tentatively, still anxious about what happened last time.  

A sound to your right draws your attention and you take in the tall form of Joel coming into the room. He's dressed in jeans and a sweater, obviously feeling the chill despite the cheery fire that roars behind him. 

"Mornin'," he greets. 

"Morning." You lick your lips nervously. "Thanks for letting me bake with Ellie."

"'Course. She's been looking forward to it for weeks. Can't stop talkin' about it.'

Joel gives you a whisper of a smile but the thing that really throws you about this interaction is that he looks almost nervous. You've never seen Joel look nervous. 

He'd been so stiff after last patrol, not even saying goodbye to the group after you'd all disembarked off the horses. 

It had been embarrassing. Him storming off like you'd all done something wrong. Only Jennifer seemed to still be under Joel's spell citing that watching him hammer the window would fuel her fantasies for months to come.

You're still really irritated with him but it's lessened slightly because his greeting isn’t hostile. You could almost relax if it weren’t for the intense way he’s staring at you.  

You hear your name being called by Ellie in the next room so you toe off your shoes and head into the kitchen. She's got an apron on, borrowed from the kitchen or Joel because it's far too big for her small frame. 

"Alright," you give her a warm smile as you enter. "You got everything?"

"Yep."

You place the bag you brought on the counter. You remove your own apron, baby blue with ruffles on the end. A recent gift from Jennifer who told you “since you’re a real chef you need your own apron”. You tie it as you speak to Ellie.  

"So what I like to do is set up all my supplies on the counter just to double check I have everything. Nothing worse than being halfway through a recipe and finding out you you’re missing ingredients."

The sentence isn't even out of your mouth before Ellie’s opened up her cupboards and ice box and begun to take everything out. Flour, eggs, bowls, milk and more, all the items you gave Joel on the list. She places them on the counter before looking at you like a proud student. 

"You'll need measuring spoons."

The two of you turn at the same time to see Joel standing by the entrance to the kitchen, lingering. His hands are in his jean pockets, standing like a chastised student outside the classroom.

"I brought some," you inform him, trying to hold in your irritation. You pull them from your bag, putting them next to the eggs. 

You feel Joel's eyes on your back and you're sure he's silently judging you, eager to point out what you're doing wrong. You stiffen under the perceived scrutiny. Ellie must sense the change in the room because she whips around to shoot him a jeering look. 

"Joel you don't need to supervise," Ellie says rolling her eyes. "We won't break the damn stove." 

Joel looks at his feet mumbling something about needing to do stuff upstairs anyway before he's making his way out of the kitchen. 

You go back to your lesson with Ellie who turns out to be a very focused student. 

She asks smart questions, measures everything perfectly and takes her time. It's only when you put her in charge of cracking three eggs into the bowl that she gets frustrated. 

"Fuck, it cracked wrong. Shell got in."

Her fingers pinch into the egg bowl, trying to grasp the fallen eggshell. Of course the viscous nature of the raw egg makes it impossible and it’s not long before she pushes at the bowl angrily, her face is set into a deep frown.

“S’fucking bullshit.”

"Happens all the time," you tell her kindly. "Don't stress about it. I’ll show you a secret my mom taught me and my sister to get ‘em out."

Ellie watches as you take the empty shell half still in her hand. Her brows knit in confusion as you lower it into the bowl, using it as a scoop. Unlike with her fingers, the egg shell piece floats easily into the makeshift scoop. You pull the shell from the bowl, tossing the mess into the garbage.

“Holy shit that actually worked.” Ellie smiles at this and it transforms her pale pinched features into that of a warm, approachable teenager. 

You smile, feeling strangely proud. You’ve never baked with anyone else before, aside from the kitchen. But that was following the same boring recipes given by the head chef. You were usually boiling rice, cutting onions or apples. Baking is a different beast, a calmer, more relaxing one.  

After that hiccup Ellie is more patient with herself. She's keen to learn about baking but she's very eager to talk to you about you. When you pop the formed pastries into the oven and set the timer she decides that now is the time to chat. 

"What kind of music did you used to listen to before?"

Memories of Joel’s warning float in your mind. The reminder not to tell her too much. To make her long for a life that he can’t give her.

"Enough about me,” you deflect. “I want to know about you."

At this Ellie balks slightly, the smile wavering just a fraction before the mask is replaced and she nods. Her mixing increases but now her eyes are on the batter.

"Whadda you wanna know?"

"What was your life like before Jackson?"

"I was in the QZ back in Boston,” she says slowly, as if she's trying to make sure she doesn't give too much away. "Hated it."

"Parents?"

"Never met 'em."

"What brought you to Jackson City?"

"Joel."

She doesn't offer you more or less than that. You understand it, you don't push it.

"How'd you end up here?" She asks, mixing the dry ingredients.  

You realize the stupidity of you asking her those questions. How easily you opened them to be doubled back on yourself. 

"You asked me what kind of music I listened to before?" You smile, hoping that this will distract her. "I remember I saw Chicago about a billion times," you laugh. "I was obsessed. I listened to the soundtrack over and over."

"Chicago," Ellie says slowly as if trying to recall before a light seems to go on. "Oh, I've heard of Chicago. Joel likes ‘em."

Them?

It takes you a minute to understand what she's talking about. You finally answer giggling. 

"Chicago the musical, not the band. The musical had great songs. And dancing." 

"Do you dance?"

"Not very well." 

Your dual laughter combines and you can't help but enjoy the sound. Ellie really does make you laugh. She reminds you of how life was before. When everything seemed new. 

You can tell Ellie wants to know everything about your life before the outbreak. And you want to indulge her but Joel's words rub their imprint on your the inside of your skull.

"Hey I promised your D- Joel that I wouldn't keep talking about this stuff with you," you explain quietly. "He's worried it makes you want stuff you can't have."

"Jesus," Ellie says rolling her eyes. “Overprotective much?” 

"No he's right," you insist truthfully. "I mean, I get where he's coming from. He doesn't wanna keep disappointing you."

"Joel could never disappoint me."

The timer goes off and you peer into the oven. The pastries are a golden brown. You smile before taking them out with the oven mitt. Ellie closes her eyes, inhaling.

"They smell so good."

"Just wait until you put icing on them," you encourage with a grin. "Delicious." 

The two of you get to work making the icing while the pastries cool. 

"It's gonna snow," Ellie comments out of nowhere as she peers out the window, mixing idly. 

"Hate to break it to you, El, it's already snowing."

Ellie gives you a smirk along with her side eye. You don't know if it's from your sarcastic comment or the fact that you called her El. 

"I mean I think it’s gonna snow a lot." She explains. "I heard some of the other kids talking about it at school."

"Huh," you offer noncommittal as you look at the consistency of the icing. "Wonder how they can tell."

"They said they could smell it," Ellie says with a grin, pushing up the sleeve of her shirt so that it doesn't drip into the icing bowl. "They said tha-"

You can't hear anything she's saying after that. All you can focus on is her now bared arm and the ugly bite mark. Blood rushes in your ears and you cry out before giving a blood curdling shriek. 

“No!”

Ellie jumps, startled at your sudden screams. She throws herself back against the wall, eyes wide and glancing around as if she expects hordes of infected to come streaming in. 

"What? What is it?"

You know she's never seen you be loud, never seen you scream and the sight must terrify her. 

But all you can focus on is the clear outline of bite marks on her forearm visible after she rolled up her sleeves. The clear sign of an infected’s mark. She’s going to turn into a clicker before your eyes. She’s going to become soulless and inhuman and you need to go. You need to get somewhere safe.

Joel. He’ll be so devastated.

You can hear the heavy footsteps of Joel approaching the kitchen but all you can think of is escaping and getting yourself safe. You have to warn the town. You run towards the front door, your socks slipping over the smooth floor. 

You're still screaming incoherently, your voice cracking as you lunge for the doorknob, tears in your eyes. Your hand closes around the brass knob just as two muscled arms go around your waist, pulling you back harshly. A hand covers your mouth and a deep voice is at your ear. 

"Quit," he repeats, shaking you slightly in his arms. "Stop screamin'."

There's an increasingly paranoid thought that believes this was all a trap. A way for Joel to get his daughter fed. You feel it, Joel's arms wrapped around your entire body, pinning your arms to your sides. His body is warm and solid behind you, terrifying in its strength. It takes you to a time you've tried to forget. 

"Get the fuck off of me!" You shriek against his palm, trying to wriggle out of his grip but he holds firm. You're screaming expletives, trying to kick out. You shake his hand off your mouth. "She's bit, Joel! I saw it!"

Ellie hasn't moved from where she stands cowering in the corner of the kitchen. But you can only imagine how soon it will be before she turns. You can't be here for that. You can’t watch that sweet girl turn into one of them.

"I know," Joel rumbles against your temple, hands still gripping you tightly. 

"You know," you repeat and now a dread begins in your feet and floods the rest of you. 

Joel knows she is bit. Joel welcomed you into his home knowing she was bit. 

You are going to die. 

"Let me go!"

High on fearful adrenaline you give a frantic kick backwards, elbowing into Joel's abdomen at the same time you thrust the ball of your foot onto his socked toes. Joel gives a strangled grunt and his arms loosen in pain momentarily allowing you a chance to break free from him. 

You tug open the door and speed out without your boots. You feel the snow on the porch under your feet, freezing your toes immediately. You throw yourself down the porch stairs, feet slapping the wood as you hold back sobs. The street is deserted; the houses all empty as they usually are on bright Saturday afternoons. You go to cry out for someone, anyone, when Joel's arm bands around your waist.

You give a devastated howl of defeat before Joel is dragging your struggling frame back into the house, telling you to calm down. 

Ellie is by the sink, her eyes on the ground. 

But you still struggle, trying to get away from this house. Joel gives a frustrated growl before he pushes you up against the wall, pinning you there with his hips. His hands hold your wrists on either side of your head, pressing them into the wall. 

"Stop fuckin' strugglin'," Joel seethes when you jerk against him, his chest pressing you so tightly to the wall you can't breathe. 

"Please let me go," you beg brokenly as you continue to struggle in his arms. "Please I just-“

"She's immune," he rasps in your ear. "She's fucking immune! Stop!"

Immune. Immune. 

"What?" You stop your screaming just long enough to twist your head to face him. "Immune? That's not possible." 

But you’ve stopped struggling as hard.

You take a closer look at Ellie’s arm from where you stand, noticing that it doesn’t look particularly fresh. In fact it looks scarred. And yet something in you is still terrified. So terrified that you yelp when you feel Joel's wide hands go to either side of your face, forcing your face up and eyes to his. 

"Everything is okay," Joel tells you in a husky rasp. "You're safe, I promise. I've got you. You're safe." 

His eyes are locked with yours as he says this and you don't know how those words work their way into your body, but they do. The same way they wind around you as you allow yourself to get lost on patrols with your mouth on him. That sense that someone else is in charge, someone else is protecting you.

You're safe.

Your entire frame goes boneless in his arms and when he finally releases your face your head drops to your chest. He continues to press you gently against the wall with one heavy hand holding you there.

"What if it's slow acting or -" you whisper quietly, "or what if you can still pass it on with saliva or-"

"The dogs don't detect it," Joel tells you, his hold on you not lessening. "Ellie and I've shared drinks plenty a' times. She's immune."

You stare at the girl at the table, her entire countenance shifted. You can see the devastation, the fear and anger floods out of you immediately, like a deep sigh. You sag in Joel's arms, feeling as he slowly loosens you. 

"She's had it for months," Joel tells you, no longer pinning you to the wall. 

"Months?" 

You're still stunned by the developments but it doesn't stop your eyes from traveling over to Ellie. You see now that tears are slipping off the end of her nose as she silently cries. She’s pulled her sleeve back down, covering the scar.

Your heart immediately breaks because it's you who did this to her. This girl who trusts so few. You treated her like she was a monster. 

"Ellie I'm sorry, I just..." You trail off, your heart still beating wildly. 

But Ellie has tears in her eyes, her neck blotchy. She's raced to the garage, slamming the door after her. You flinch at the sound of it. 

Then it’s just you and Joel in the quiet kitchen.

"How long have you known?"

"Since I met her," Joel explains quietly. "Was bringing her to the fireflies with a friend in exchange for a battery. Rumor was there was a cure."

"Guess not if you're both here," you say absently, missing the pain in his dark eyes when you say it. 

"Not a lot of people know about it. We'd like to keep it that way."

You nod, your mind whirring. You realize you've never seen Ellie in anything but long sleeves. Never seen her wearing bracelets or anything that would draw her attention to her arms. She’s been hiding in plain sight. You think of the friendships she hasn’t made, the way she keeps to herself, the hostile way she is with most and it all clicks into place.

"We were thinking of gettin' her a tattoo to cover it up,” Joel continues. “Haven't found anyone to do it yet." 

You nod again, eyes falling on the pastries now lying squashed on the floor, the warm berries oozing out onto the wood.

“I’ll take care of this stuff,” Joel mutters, dropping to his knees and starting to pick up the supplies you brought. You think of how excited Ellie had been to recreate the pop tarts, how devastated she’ll be when she realizes they’re all ruined.

"I- I think I should go talk to Ellie."

"She doesn't wanna talk. Trust me."

"Just lemme try."

Joel looks as if he's about to protest but you're already walking quickly until you've reached the door to the garage. You knock gently.

"Ellie? It's me. Please don't be upset ... I was just startled."

There's a pause, then a sniffle that makes your heart lurch. 

"Can we talk? Please, Ellie?" 

You hear shuffling and then finally the door to the garage is opened a crack and you see Ellie peering through. Her eyes are swollen and red, the end of her nose pink. She glares at you through the small slit in the door. 

"Fuck off."

"I just want to explain. Just let me explain and then I promise I'll leave."

She doesn't move, doesn't attempt to close or open the door. She just stands there like some sentry. 

“Five minutes. That’s all I need.”

"You think I'm a freak."

"I don't," you insist, palm on the door as if you could transfer your emotions by osmosis to her. "Ellie I was having fun right before all this. I really was. Can we talk? Please? I want to explain properly." 

Ellie’s glossy eyes scan your body and with a labored sigh she steps back, opening the door and allowing you entrance. 

"Come in."

You follow her into the warm space, watching as she drops onto her made bed. Ellie hugs her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as you look at her. Ellie's eyes drag from the floor up to your face and you see her chin trembling as she holds in tears. 

“Can I sit?” you ask motioning to beside her on the bed. She nods, shuffling to give you room to perch there.

“I know you’re not gonna come back after this,” Ellie says, eyes wide with a quiet pleading as you look over at her.

“Of course I am.”

“No you’re not,” Ellie says shaking her head and rubbing angrily at her eyes. “You’ve seen my arm. You think I’m a fucking freak.”

"Ellie I swear I don't think you're a freak," you emphasize as you shuffle on the edge of her bed. "I was just... That bite took me back to a really scary time."

"Yeah," Ellie says with her chin balanced on her kneecap. "No one wants to think about... All that stuff." 

You see the desolation there in her eyes. She's hurt and even though you didn't mean to do it you did. You feel responsible for her sadness. Your eyes go to her closed door, wanting to make sure you have privacy before you turn back to her.

"Ellie, can I share some stuff with you?"

"Yeah.”

"It's not happy stuff," you tell her. 

"Figured." Ellie shrugs again like it doesn't matter. Like she's seen it all. Maybe she has, but you doubt it. She doesn’t make eye contact with you.

“It’s just. . . I’ve never told anyone this stuff before. Ever.”

Ellie’s eyes go to your face now. She can see how serious you are and she straightens slightly. She goes from being hunched and holding her legs to sitting cross legged across from you on the bed.

"Okay..." You take a sharp inhale. “So, I was about your age when Outbreak Day happened. I was with my Dad and my sister. My mom was visiting my Aunt in Wyoming-“

“How come?”

“Ellie you gotta let me get this all out quick okay?” you say gently. “No interruptions.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you breathe deeply again. “She was visiting my aunt because my aunt was getting a divorce and my mom wanted to support her. Anyway, about ten years ago my dad and my little sister and I were travelling between QZ’s. We were looking for my Mom because my Dad was convinced she was still alive and she’d be out in this direction.”

You swallow; hating talking about this but knowing that Ellie deserves this truth. So far she looks intrigued, her eyes wide.

“So one night we were exhausted. We’d been travelling for days and we were low on food and water. We see this old cabin and it looks like it’s abandoned. We figure it’s a good spot to hunker down and get some energy before we keep going.” You exhale a shuddering breath.

“Except it wasn’t abandoned. It was a trap set up by this group of Raiders. I called them The Group. They killed my dad and they were gonna kill me and my sister when one of the guys had the bright idea that they could use us as bait.”

"Bait?"

 Ellie seems to remember she’s not supposed to say anything because she ducks her head slightly.

"Yeah. they made us go into new places first," you explain detached, as if you’re talking about another woman in another life. "So if there was anything dangerous it would get us in enough time to give The Group a chance to escape.”

Ellie is staring at you wide-eyed, all her teenage ambivalence lost as you detail the most terrifying years of your life. You omit lots of the more gruesome details and you definitely don’t tell her about Rock River.  

"Once they hung me from a tree," you tell her, trying not to sound emotional. It's not hard. Years of hiding how that part of your life affects you makes you good at it. "They tied me to a rope and hung me on a branch to attract clickers."

"Jesus."

"Yeah," you nod. "It worked really well. There was a big group and they piled underneath me, trying to grab at me, their mouths all black and their teeth gnashing and...” you stop yourself when you see Ellie’s eyes widening. “Anyway, The Group got ‘em all and managed to get some good supplies in the town because of it. I just... It just left me kind of..."

You wince when you realize you’ve trailed off, your focus blurred.

"The point is that when I saw your arm it just all came flooding back and I reacted out of instinct. Not because I think you're a freak. I could never think that about you.”

Ellie is quiet, digesting all that you've told her. You think you hear a creaking outside her door, but you're not sure. Your attention is drawn back to the girl who’s eyes hold such a myriad of emotions; pain, empathy, fear, anger.

"How did you end up here?" 

You think about not telling her. But it feels so good to be getting some of this information out, like you’re coughing up a thick black piece of flesh that’s been festering in your lungs for years, making it so you can now finally breathe.

"One guy, Chiyo, he joined up with our group a few years after I was taken. He owned a shooting range before everything.... You know…. Well, he'd broken his ankle in a recent raid and couldn’t really move much. If we hadn't come upon him when we did he probably would have been killed by another group of raiders. But as it was he had this giant stash of weapons and The Groups ranks were thinning so..."

You trail off, thinking of how you'd come upon him first when you and The Group got to town. How the leader you thought of as Red due to his hair (you never learned their real names), shoved you brutally by the shoulder.

Always the bait.

But after what had happened only the week before you didn’t care anymore. Red pushed you and you entered willingly, your feet not even dragging as you walked. It was either be shot by one of The Group attempting to escape, or see what resided inside the shop with the boarded up windows.

Chiyo’s gun was trained on you the second you walked in. The way you held your hands at your eye level when he told you he was going to shoot.

“I’m gonna blow your head clean off if you take another step.”

And suddenly you’d decided that you were done. You were so tired. And at least this way it would be quick and it would be away from The Group. And so you’d taken another step towards Chiyo, hands still raised.

You can still recall the furrowing of his thick brows and the lowering of his weapon as he stared at you.

"You want to die?"

You hadn't answered him but that had been answer enough for Chiyo. He'd hobbled over to you, dragging his lame leg, dark eyes fixed on your face. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you."

And when he'd said it, you'd believed him.

You remember the way you'd convinced the rest of The Group they needed someone like him. A crack shot, you told them. You'd had no idea of knowing if it was true. But there had been warmth in Chiyo's eyes that was missing from the rest of The Groups. Something that you clinged to in the coming months.

"Thankfully he was a really good shot,” you explain. “He joined up and we stripped his shop of his guns and eventually his ankle healed thanks to the medic in The Group and he was suddenly part of the team.”

“Was he nice to you?”

“Yeah. He was really kind. Whenever they used me as bait he insisted on going with. He said it was so we could save me for really bad missions, but I knew it was to protect me. They let him get away with it because he was such a good shot, I think.  Everyone liked him. When the rest of The Group was asleep we'd talk by the fire. Chiyo was afraid of horses," you tell Ellie with a small smile. “Was about the only thing he was afraid of.”

You don't tell her everything. You don't tell of the tender way he fucked you in the wee hours of the morning before The Group rose most mornings. How he whispered that he missed his dead wife and would never dishonor her memory by kissing you. But you hadn’t minded, you understood and you’d both been gentle with each other.

You’d enjoyed getting lost in the sensation of him. Of his cock in your mouth, of your cunt stuffed full of him. The rhythmic sensation of sex that took you out of your body and away from your every day horrors.

You remember how he would hold you, tears sliding onto your collar as he spilled himself onto your belly whimpering his dead wife’s name. How he would thank you over and over with your hand at the base of his skull, mouth against his shoulder while you quietly sobbed your own gratitude.

"After a few months he told me he was escaping. He'd heard about Jackson City and that's where he was headed. He wanted to bring me to see if we could find my Mom."

"Holy shit,” Ellie breathes. “Where is he now?"

"He didn't make it," you tell her tightly.

And now the shield is back in your voice and eyes and she must sense it. Ellie doesn’t press this, seems to understand that there is more there. With a teenagers’ sensibilities and a teenager’s romanticism she asks you her next question.

"Were you in love with him?"

Chiyo is a faint memory, a watercolor blur if you think about him in too much detail. When you try to recall things like the scar over his left eyebrow or the dragon tattoo on his inner thigh. But these are just pieces of him. They aren't him. 

When you think of Chiyo there is a warmth. But it's the warmth that comes from having a benevolent savior. One who never told you that you were in his debt. Yes, you cared for him. Of course you did. He was gentle and he was kind and his heart was soft.

"No," you say firmly. "He was nice though and I cared about him. Probably as close to love as I'll ever get." 

You and Ellie are quiet for a long time.

“I tried saving a bit boy once,” she finally offers. “His name was Sam. Tried rubbing my blood on him. Thought it would save him. It didn’t. He turned and his brother had to kill him before he killed himself.”

You don’t allow yourself to cry. You know that isn’t what Ellie needs right now.

“I’m the reason so many people are dead,” Ellie explains when you say nothing in return. “My Mom died having me. Riley… Tess… Sam…Henry... Ellie’s voice is doing that same detached thing yours does. “Sometimes I honestly think it would be better if I was never born.”

You can’t help the way your arms leap out in front of you to gather the girl into your arms. She tries to fight you on it, flinching from the contact before your unrelenting arms pull her into a tight squeeze, tugging her into your lap. Angry tears slip down her red cheeks, her cries breaking free as you wrestle her into a bear hug.

“I’m so glad you exist, Ellie.”

And then all the fight is gone from her body and she’s sobbing quietly into your shoulder, her tiny frame shaking. You hold her against you, wanting your adoration and affection to move through your body into hers so she knows how much she’s wanted.

“The world would be so much worse without you in it,” you assure her honestly. “You’re special, Ellie. And not because you’re immune. Because you’re smart and brave and funny and you make people like me feel like we’re worth something.”

Her arms wrap around your neck, face in your shoulder and she allows you to continue holding her, rocking her gently in your lap as if she were your own teenage daughter.

“And yes you’re stubborn and you can be annoying,” you add, trying to lighten the mood. “But there’s no one I like talking to as much as I like talking to you. You made me look forward to breakfasts in the dining hall because it meant I got to speak to you.”

“You’re just saying that,” she sniffles, arms loosely circling your neck.

“You don’t like liars, right?” You remind her. “Well I’m not lying. Plus, I know Joel loves you and he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that loves many people so you must be pretty great.”

Ellie gives a shallow huff of amusement in your shoulder.

“And I know Maria and Tommy adore you just as much if not more than I do. And if you opened up a little more with the kids around here I know they’d love you just as much as we do because you’re a wonderful person. The world would be so much worse without your light, Ellie. You bring light to the darkness.”

You continue rocking her for several moments, waiting until her sobs turn into hiccups and then gentle swallows. Finally she pulls back from you, almost embarrassed at the emotional display. She shuffles back onto the bed, picking at the loose string hanging from her pillow.

“I think I’m cursed.”

“Hey now that’s not true,” you insist. “I’m here aren’t I? How is that a curse? If anything it’s a blessing.”

She gives you a weak smile that you return.

“C’mon, let’s go and finish the pop tarts.”

“We’ll have to start all over again,” Ellie almost whines.

“Then I guess I’ll be staying here a little longer.”

Ellie wipes at her blotchy face, running her hands down her cheeks before nodding and standing abruptly.  You two make it back into the kitchen, surprised to see Joel standing there. His broad shoulders ripple as he works on something in front of him, his back to you.

Ellie sails over to him, her eyes wide when she sees what he’s done. “Wait are those the pop tarts?”

“Yep.”

“I thought they were ruined.”

“Yours were,” Joel shrugs, spreading icing onto one of the homemade pop tarts. “Mine went okay.”

You feel as if you’ve been physically pushed.

Joel baked?

Ellie snags one of the still warm pastries from the plate as Joel starts running the cloth over the counter and wiping the crumbs into the sink. You look at the joy on Ellie’s face as she takes a bite.

“Holy shit, Joel, these are so fucking good.”

“Language,” Joel admonishes over his shoulder, though there’s nothing harsh in it. He turns around, hip resting against the counter.

“I’m gonna have you do all my baking,” Ellie continues as if she hasn’t heard him.  “I’ll just be your taste tester.”

You want to grin at this but all you can do is stare at Joel and the soft way he’s smiling down at Ellie. This open look of adoration you so rarely see. Like there’s this secret Joel inside the mean Joel shell that the privileged few witness.

Joel could never disappoint me.

Joel seems to feel your eyes on him because he blinks over at you, dark eyes darting around your face. His expression is unreadable, but there’s nothing cruel or cold in it. He’s just looking at you, almost as if he’s trying to figure you out as well.  

“Well looks like we’re all set here so I should go,” you start awkwardly, suddenly feeling strangely light headed. Joel steps towards you, brows rising.

“You could stay for a dr-“ Joel begins, but you’ve already made your way to the front door, pulling on your boots and jacket.

Your hands are trembling for some reason and you think it must be all this emotional turmoil you’ve shared with Ellie. It has you feeling vulnerable and exposed and you want to escape home to the safety of your bed, away from soulful brown eyes and soft smiles.

“Ellie you wanna grab breakfast before patrols?”  you ask, studiously ignoring Joel who stands next to her looking at you. You don’t want her to think you’re rushing off and forgetting about her.

“Sure,” Ellie says brightly before motioning to the plate of pastries. “You want any of these to go?”

“Nah, you enjoy them,” you insist with a flash of a smile. “You worked hard.”

You don’t look backwards as you rush out the door of their home and down the sidewalk of Rancher Street, convinced you can feel Joel’s dark gaze on you the entire way.

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

secondary a/n: The other parts I wanted to include in this chapter were gonna bloat this installment into over 10k and I wasn't even finished so I had to break it up!

CHAPTER 11 SPOILERS BELOW THE JOEL

in chapter eleven there be smut.

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[sanguineterrain]

Your writing is so damn good, you execute every request perfectly 😭

Could you maybe write something where Dick's insecure partner wants to break up with him because their self-image is getting worse cause they feel they can't catch up to the Golden Boy reputation, superheroes, billionaires and so on?

hi, thanks for the request! I hope I did it justice :) a brief interlude from jaytodd before we return to our regularly scheduled program lol

dick grayson x gn!reader. low self esteem, an almost breakup, reader feeling insecure, threatened, sad. happy ending! 2.1k words

****

You've been tugging at your outfit for ten minutes. At this rate, you'll have to concede that this is as good as it's going to get.

"My love, you almost ready?"

You sigh and watch your reflection fold its arms.

"Yeah," you say softly. "'M ready."

The door opens. Your heart swoops.

Dick is beautiful, as usual. Your boyfriend can do a lot, including fill a suit. Both your and his outfits were tailor-made because that's one of the perks of being the son of a billionaire.

Over and over, you'd insisted you could wear off-the-rack, and over and over, Dick had said that was silly, that Bruce wouldn't mind.

And it's true that what you're wearing flatters you better than anything from Macy's or Marshall's would've. But you know it won't help tonight. Not in a room full of Gotham's elite.

"Just as I suspected," Dick says, immediately draping his arms over your hips. "You're gonna steal the show tonight."

He's lying.

That voice in your head has gotten louder recently, and you don't know how to turn it off.

You kiss him instead of responding. Dick enthusiastically reciprocates, always delighted when you touch him. You used to think it would be enough.

But ever since you found out that not only are you dating a billionaire philanthropist with a face that makes angels weep, but that said guy is also arguably the most beloved hero in Gotham, maybe second only to the Batman (who's his freaking dad?!), you've begun to have doubts.

You pull back. Dick's tie perfectly sets off his eyes. They're bright as they look at you.

"Everything okay?" he asks, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

"Uh-huh," you say, trying to smile. "Just nervous."

“Hey, it's alright. I'll be by your side all night. I'll save you from any and all small talk, promise." He winks. "And we can duck out early, get hot chocolate from that place you like. They won't care."

Dick's always doing that. Always catering to you. You're just some nobody who happened to stumble into the best relationship you’ve ever had with a golden god.

Dick never reminds you of that. That he could do better. He doesn't have to—you know it all on your own.

You swallow. “Okay. If you're sure. I... I would like to leave early, Gray."

“‘Course, baby,” Dick says, attaching his cuff links. "Anything you want."

You turn back to the mirror, wondering if you can reinvent your personality before you go and remind everyone what a mistake Dick Grayson has made in choosing you. 

****

The party is tasteful, though a little stuffy. You're only here because Dick is going to give a speech, and he asked you to come support him. And while you know it's better for him to go without you so you won't dull his shine, it seems Dick hasn't quite figured that out.  

You hold onto Dick’s arm as he makes his usual rounds. Dick doesn't enjoy these events, you know that, but he's fluid in his interactions. There is no doubt he’s Bruce Wayne’s prodigy. With his suit, his hair, his easy posture, Dick is almost unrecognizable from when you woke up with him this morning. 

He's in his element. All you can do is peer in and watch. 

Dick leans in and slips a hand around your waist after the fourth interaction with a donor. A donor who, again, acted like Dick may as well have been dragging around a coat rack with how intently they ignored you. Not that you give a shit about what the one percent have to say about you, except sometimes they say a lot of mean things, things you're pretty sure they don't let Dick overhear, and sometimes you start wondering if Dick is the only person who can't see truth in what they say, and sometimes—

“Hey.” Dick leans in to talk in your ear. He's warm and solid. You wish that was a comfort. “You okay?”

You're exhausted. 

“Uh-hmm.”

He is going to wake up one of these days and realize he can have it so much better. 

Dick moves like he's about to say more, pull you closer and permeate your senses with his gold.

“Dickie!” 

Sweet, tinkling laughter echoes across the room. The crowd parts for this new woman, an obvious socialite, dressed to the nines and gorgeous. 

Her dress matches Dick's tie. You feel sick.

When she reaches you two, she wastes no time grabbing Dick and kissing his cheek. He extricates himself from her, like he's done a million times before with everyone else who thinks they're entitled to a piece of Dick Grayson. He shoots you an apologetic look. You look away.

“My God, it’s been what, ten years?” she says. Then she sees you. “Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Caroline Banesbury, Duchess of Middlesworth. I heard the Dickie Grayson was going to be here, and I had to come.”

“Been a while,” Dick says, smiling blandly. “How are you, Caroline?”

“Spectacular! Father just bought another castle. You should come and see it sometime.” She plucks a flute of champagne off of a passing tray and smiles behind the rim of the glass. 

“Dick and I go way back,” she says, gaze roving over him. “I hear you're transforming Blüdhaven. Taking a page out of Bruce's book, hm? You always had a big heart, Dickie.” 

She grabs his arm and links it with hers. You sigh and take a sip of your own drink. You half-wish Poison Ivy would come in and gas the room or something.

Dick clears his throat and maneuvers out of her grip once more, letting go of her with a light pat. He returns to you, snugly holding your shoulders.

"This is my partner," he says about you.

Caroline hums, looking over you. "I see. Pleasure."

You nod. She turns back to Dick.

“If I can be of any help to your project, you let me know,” she adds, glancing down at where her empty arm now hangs at her side. “Anything.” 

“That's generous of you, Carrie.” 

Dick and I go way back.

Oh. Right. You're stupid. They've dated. 

“We should have dinner,” she continues. “Catch up. I'm dying to know what Gotham's darling has been up to.”

“I feel sick,” you announce. 

Dick and Caroline turn to you. Caroline looks perplexed, like you've just said you like to chew concrete. 

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,” she says, hardly sparing you a glance. "Perhaps you ought to lie down."

You feel Dick's eyes on you. If you don't leave soon, he'll know you're lying. Possibly the worst part about dating Batman's protégé.

Suddenly, leaving this hall is the most important thing you've ever had to do. You feel like you'll die if you don't.

Your feet start moving.

"Baby—"

Anyway, this is Caroline's chance. She can swoop in with her trust fund and while you think Dick can do way better than her—he can always do better—anyone is better than you. For Dick Grayson, who has been a master acrobat since he was a child, son of Batman, leader of the Titans, indubitably intelligent, capable, beautiful, the best goddamn guy you'll ever know—

You've lost your way. You're out of the gala, away from duchesses and doom. And you meant to get your coat but this hall that Bruce rented is enormous. You've no idea where you are. But you're alone.

Bruce must've known too, how unfit you are for his son. And why wouldn't he tell Dick? Unless Dick ignored him, because Dick, for all his smarts, is stupidly in love with you, thinks you're where he should put his heart, is certain you won't fumble and drop it.

Warm, callused fingers catch your wrist and you remember, suddenly, Dick telling you once, after you'd nearly stumbled into the street, that he'd never let you fall.

You meet his eyes. Why does he look at you like that? Who gave him the right to look at you like-like you—as if you could ever deserve—

"Hey," he says, squeezes your hand. "Hey, hey. What's going on?"

Dick Grayson is not a trusting man but he trusts you and good God, you're about to break him.

"I need to break up with you," you blurt.

"What?" he breathes. "What—why would you say that?"

You wish he'd give you the slip he gave everyone in that room, gently separate your arm from his hand. You never learned how to evade Dick's touch.

"Because it's true. Dick, please understand—"

"No, I'm trying to understand. Because yesterday—no, tonight, you were fine—"

"No, Dick, I wasn't fine! I haven't been fine in months!"

You wrench your arm away. He looks like you slapped him.

"You know anybody I talk to in there means nothing, right? You know that, honey." He's pleading.

You curl your fist into your eye. "It's more than that, Gray."

"Then tell me what the problem is," he says desperately. "Tell me and we'll fix it. I promise we can fix it."

"You can't!" you say, voice cracking. "You can't fix me."

Dick shakes his head. "I don't—"

"Why can't you let me break up with you with a little bit of dignity?" you ask. "Do you have to be better at this too?"

"I don't want to break up," he says, tugging at a handful of his hair. "This doesn't make sense. We're happy. You're happy, aren't you? Don't I make you happy?"

"Of course," you choke out. "Of course you make me happy. But you don't see I'm bad for you. You're wonderful and perfect and golden, Dick. And I'm a stain. I need to be scrubbed away."

"Wh—that's not true!"

"Everywhere we go, people see me with you and are immediately confused. I'm not a superhero, I'm not royalty, I'm not a socialite, and yet somehow I've managed to snag Gotham's darling. This is a mistake. I'm trying to do you a favor and wake you up!"

Dick's face is hard with anger. How could you have thought this would be easy?

"I don't need to be woken up! What is it that makes you think I have no agency over the people I choose to spend time with? Everyone I meet thinks they're entitled to touch me, demand me. Everyone but you. You, the person I chose to love, who I love everyday. Do you think you pulled the wool over my eyes and you're snapping me out of it? Is that what you really think?"

And isn't this the most puzzling thing? That he's not sad or gently accepting; Dick is mad.

"I just—" He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't mean to yell, but really, I can't bear it if you see me as some god on a pedestal, unattainable and inhuman, like everyone else sees me. I love you on purpose."

"You're so accomplished, though," you say weakly. "You're..." You wave your hand over him. "You're fucking Nightwing, D. You were Robin, you have superheroes for friends, Batman for a parent, you're beloved by, like, all of Jersey—"

"My love, you know those are just parts of me. You see all of me. You know me. And that's not a one-way privilege, okay? I'm so damn lucky to know you, to love you, to be with you, to fight with you. To fight for you. Knowing you isn't something I take for granted."

"But I'm boring," you say, tears spilling over. "Jesus Christ, Dick, I'm plain and untalented, barely a dime to my name, so painfully ordinary that—"

"Listen to me," he says, taking your face in his hands. "Flying around or shooting lasers out of your eyes, sure, it's cool, and it's helpful for taking down an alien dictator. But I don't need you to do any of that, honey. I don't need nor want you to be anyone but you. I wasn't tricked or swindled into loving you. We caught each other halfway, just like we were meant to."

You let him pull you into his arms, let him press your tear stains to his silk pocket square, let his hair fall around you.

His embrace is solid, firm, but when he inhales, his shoulders shake.

"Do you—" He swallows, throat against yours. "Do you still want to break up?"

His heart beats against your cheek.

"I'm just afraid you'll get tired of me," you whisper. "Bored. Annoyed."

"I won't," he whispers. "You're the least boring person ever. It's never boring to be loved."

You squeeze your eyes shut. Dick's warmth encloses you.

"No, I don't want to break up. I'm sorry."

He holds you tighter, and you realize you never had to match Dick's tie. Not when you've got his heart.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #richard grayson x reader #Nightwing x reader #Nightwing x you #Nightwing fanfiction #dick Grayson fanfiction #dick Grayson imagine #Nightwing imagine #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

[mondaysoct]

fucked up.

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

—content warning: argue, he almost hurt himself (?) | jealous!simon

—word count: 2.8k

“My boss offered me a ride, so I...”

A frown marred his lips. Not a deep frown, but a small one. His jaw was set firmly, his frown indicating deep disapproval. He tilted his head and crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes.

You were stupid for not telling him where you were or that you were heading out. For accepting a ride from another man. For not remembering to call him.

Other men will inevitably show interest towards you. They will find you beautiful because you truly are, that is something he can’t get angry about, he knows you’re not that reckless. He sure you know what kind of men are out there for a girl like you. However, you should always reject their advances in any way and tell him about it.

“Hmm…” he mumbled, his eyes still on you. He paused, processing what you had just said. His arms released you, dropping to his side but his gaze never faltered. “Couldn’t you have called me before accepting his offer?” He spoke softly, yet there was something in his voice that was telling you to take him seriously.

“I-I forgot.” You stuttered, looked away sheepishly.

“Forgetting to tell me you’re going out with another man…” a cold hint of jealousy seeped into his voice, causing Simon’s lips to curl up in a thin line. There was a moment of deadly silence as you felt the tension surrounding the two of you, almost cutting the air like a knife. “You know that’s not a good thing to do, is it dear?”

“Yes, I shouldn’t let him drove me home.”

He finds that hard to believe. No self-respecting woman would willingly get into a car with other man at midnight. Unless she wanted to cheat on her partner.

You know your boss is single and you always get into these kinds of situations and then it's not the first time you forgot to tell him you're going out with another man.

He told you a million times not to accept rides from random men, didn’t he?

His eyes slowly raked up and down your body, taking in your damp towel, your disheveled hair, your hands were clammy, your slightly reddened cheeks, and lowered to your lips.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

He had to admit that he was still pissed with your decision, but at the same time seeing you like this was doing something to him.

He didn't respond at first, instead, he reached up towards your wet hair and began to run his fingers through them and rose to the side of your face, grazing and stroking the side of your jaw with his thumb.

The lack of verbal communication was almost deafening and yet he felt a strange sense of calm wash over, knowing you were in his clutches. The silence was broken when he spoke again.

“I wonder if you really forgot or secretly you wanted this to happen,” he whispered in a low, soft voice as his free hand slowly moved your hair aside and pressed it against your neck.

“What? N-no, of course no.” You are quite speechless.

Your eyes shifted away from his, trying to save yourself from his anger. Your heart beating pretty fast like someone who feels bad over something they’ve done.

He could tell that you were now struggling to form words. Your nervous fidgeting made him want to push you even more.

A small smile formed on his lips, noticing that you failed to make eye contact with him. He was convinced that you were lying. Your body betray you so easily.

“Are you sure?”

He should’ve believed that you weren’t cheating on him, but his gut instincts were screaming at him to doubt.

He sighed, taking in every word that you’d just said so he could convince his mind to calm the fuck down.

He was content with this display of submissiveness, and he knew how to read you even better. A simple glance from his cold and steely gaze was enough to make you tremble in terror.

He stared at you intently, taking in every detail from your parted lips to the faint blush across your cheeks. He didn’t dare to lean in any closer, wanting to make you sweat first.

The smell of aftershave radiating from his proximity was starting to mix in with the scent of your recent shower, your breath, smell the sweet, perfume fragrance that came from you, and he enjoyed it, causing him to take a deep intake of breath.

He lifted your chin up gradually until you were forced to peer into his intense and smoldering gaze.

He didn’t say anything, knowing that your silence would be louder than any words he can say.

Simon held your gaze for several moments longer before finally he took a step back from you and turned away, walking towards the bathroom mirror.

He stared back at you through the mirror, crossing his arms, he studied you intently again. He wondered whether you were really telling the truth or not and something told him that you aren’t.

He could imagine how easily a woman like you could easily get attention from the opposite sex and it made him even more suspicious that you weren’t telling the whole truth.

He wanted to believe what you had said was the truth but for some reason, he couldn’t. He couldn’t shake away what his gut instinct told him which was the opposite of what you had told him.

His grip on the countertop tightened and he gritted his teeth as he muttered under his breath, “Damn it…”

A lot of things went through Simon’s head right now and he tried to stop himself from letting his rage control him.

He knew you were probably telling the truth but that jealous side of him was refusing to listen to the rational part of his head. His mind continued to try and convince him that maybe you’d been cheating on him behind his back when he was out doing his mission.

He couldn’t believe what his mind was telling him, and he hated it.

He still wasn’t fully convinced but he realized he had no right to be jealous and he needed to trust you if this relationship was going to work.

He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. Simon couldn’t believe he was doing this again.

The sight of you in his peripheral vision, your wet hair clinging to your face and your lips which were parted slightly made him so hot and bothered. It took every ounce of self-control for him to not just sweep you into his strong arms and claim your mouth with his as he’d always done.

He looked away, let out a tense breath of relief and rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand, a bit frustrated at himself for overreacting, wondering how he ended up acting like this again, treating you like this again.

This wasn’t the first time he had done this, and he hated himself for it. Simon thought he was getting better; that he could trust you and not let jealous and possessiveness get the best of him, but he failed.

His hands balled into fists as he grumbled and slammed his fist repeatedly against bathroom cabinet, his temper bubbling up. He hated that it had to go this far again, and he was the reason for all of this.

He felt rage bubbling up yet again inside of him and he hated himself for losing control again. He could feel his jaw clenched shut as he continued to stare across the mirror with an angry expression.

He gripped the cabinet handle tightly, his fist turning white and knuckles red, trembling from the pressure of gripping it so tightly. He wasn’t mad at you. He was mad at himself for letting his emotions get the best of him again.

You stare at him with concern on your face, your guilty growing even more seeing him acting like this. “Simon, please stop hurting yourself.” You spoke.

He realized you were almost at the verge of tears. He had never heard that much vulnerability in your voice in years.

Hearing your quiet voice somehow soothed him. He slowly loosened his grip against the cabinet handle, the trembling finally stopping as he released the grip, opening the palm of his hand and revealing red marks along his hand.

He was still facing the mirror, but his body tensed again when you stepped closer until he felt your hands on his arms. Simon stopped breathing for a moment, his heart rate racing as he felt your hands moving up and down against his arm from shoulder to wrist.

He is leaning against the bathroom counter as he finally broke the eye contact with the mirror and finally looked at you.

His eyes studied you as he looked into your eyes, staring intently at everything from your lips to your chin, your eyes to even your small nose which he thought was adorable and something that he wanted all to himself.

He raised his eyes to your forehead and then let his vision trail down the length of your petite body until you finally reached your feet, he looked at your toes and noticed that your nails were polished, a light shade of pink.

His vision then focused on your exposed neck as his eyes ran up and down the length of your pale skin before eventually it focused on your lips once more. Simon stared at your lips for a while.

Simon took in everything you were doing to him, every action, every single body language, and the effect of your touch made his body twitch and tighten in ways you had no idea about.

He couldn’t believe he was so sensitive. He was usually so tough, never flinching or reacting but now, the smallest touch of your fingers on his arm caused him to flinch a little as if he was a little kid who can’t even handle the smallest bit of touch.

He leaned in towards you close enough for breathed in deeply to feel your scent, taking in every essence of you that he craved for so long.

It's a nostalgic scent of some kind.

To him you smell like... Flowers... Like... Lily's... smell like freshly picked lilies, and a bit like the forest after it rained.

A moment of silence stretched out between the both of you as both of you just stared at each other for a while.

He didn’t know what made him react the way he did, but he immediately stepped back, staring at you as you were about to break down into tears.

He cleared his throat and looked away momentarily until he spoke. “Go.”

You understand that he didn't intend to come across as rude, but he simply needed some time to himself.

You quickly making your way out of the bathroom.

He sighed, feeling like the world’s biggest dickhead because of the way he had treated you.

All he wanted to do was to comfort you and hold you but his rage and jealously made it hard, he couldn’t help but feel like if he got close to you, his anger would only grow again.

He knew this would just cause an endless cycle of him being angry and you feeling guilty because of it. And he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t figure out a solution, he was constantly filled with this unbridled and unreasonable anger whenever you talked to other guys, even if it meant nothing.

He could hear you make your way upstairs and he knew you were heading to the guest bedroom, where you would most likely cry.

He turned around to face the mirror once more, wondering if he’s going too far, but his gut told him that you might need a bit of an authority figure to tell you what to do and put you back onto the right track.

He stood in front of the sink mirror, watching his reflection and he undressed himself before stepped into the shower. He closed the sliding door after himself and turned on the shower, the warm water beating down on him, splashing against his skin and hair.

The steam slowly rose from the shower floor as he relaxed, his back to the spray, he felt comfortable, relaxed, and warm. With eyes closed, he placed both hands against the wall.

His hand slid down his chest, running alongside his taut and muscular torso, making him shiver with anticipation of what was to come.

The hot water beating down on him had a soothing effect, helping him to relax and ease some of the tension off his shoulders. But the images of you and your male boss in the car, and your reluctance to tell him about the car ride, remained in his mind, replaying over and over again.

He could never understand why you drove him crazy even after all these years, and he would never understand why it bothered him so much whenever you talk to other guys.

The thought of some other man taking you out, driving you home, putting a hand on your thigh or arm.

Simon had to remind himself that you weren’t his property and that you were an independent woman who could make her own decisions and mistakes.

He wanting to control your every move and who you talked to. This was not healthy relationship, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t stand the thought of a man wanting to do things with you. He wanted you to stay all to himself.

He tried to calm himself down by taking deep breaths as he tried to think logically. He was acting irrational and he refused to believe that you would cheat on him or hide things from him. He had to trust you, to trust the woman he loved.

He was being ridiculous, and he knew it. The fact that his body reacted this way made everything even worse, the surge, and the heat that made his breath come short and fast.

"Idiot.” He sighed, muttered to himself.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

In another room you just lay on the bed. You were faced down with your face buried inside the pillow to muffle your occasional sob.

You want to convince him that was just a ride, nothing more, nothing special to you. Just normally how co-worker supposed to do, help each other, no mutual feeling. You wish he could understand and didn't take this seriously, because he were the only your boyfriend, there's no shit things behind you.

Simon had been acting this way ever since the two of you began dating. You were aware of how possessive and jealous he could get and you never understood why. Maybe it was because he was afraid that another man might snatch you away from him.

Maybe he was just protecting you from any harm. Or maybe he was just being a controlling jerk that couldn’t let go of you and couldn’t help but get annoyed at the thought of other people staring at you. Either way, it was driving you nuts.

The first time he had acted this way towards you was when he had overheard you talking to your friend on the phone. He had overheard you casually mentioning a new coworker that had joined your company.

Apparently, the mere thought of another man being in the same room as you set him off, his emotions escalating to an extreme with just a mention of another man.

The second time he had reacted like this was when he had seen you talking to one of the male waiters at a restaurant where the two of you had gone on a date.

Whenever those incidents had happened, you would always feel a wave of guilt and remorse wash over you. It made you feel like you had done something wrong for simply making small talk with another man.

But you know that’s absurd. You have not done anything remotely wrong by just having a civil conversation with someone.

But still, it made you feel a bit guilty.

You always felt like you were walking on eggshells around Simon, like one wrong step could trigger his jealousy and anger.

You never knew when he was going to fly off the handle, so you had to be extra careful whenever interacting with other men. You had to watch what you said, what you wore, and how you acted.

This is why his demeanor was such a big issue for you. It made life with him unpredictable and exhausting.

You hated it. The fact that every time an argument or disagreement came up, he'd just leave or push you away and you'd have to wait for him to come back and try to fix things. It was exhausting and you hated it.

Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated

Thanks for reading ♡

dividers

#ℳ—writes #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #writing #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you

[blitzwhore]

I really really hope we get to see how Blitz and Millie met.

She's always so lenient with him when he oversteps her and Moxxie's boundaries, always so chill around Blitz no matter how unhinged he gets. And the more I rewatch the show, the more I feel like the reason she's so chill might be she knows things about Blitz the others (and maybe even we the audience) don't.

It makes sense that the way they met affects how she sees him, too, because we already know how the way Moxxie and Loona met Blitz impacted their relationships. Moxxie was at his lowest point in life, with no friends, family or partner he could trust; a victim of abuse and a member of a mafia he knew nobody outside of. And in prison, on top of it all. And just when he was about to give into despair, Blitz showed him sympathy and took him under his wing. So now, even though they bicker and get on each other's nerves, Moxxie does show that he appreciates Blitz (for example, in Truth Seekers after their bad trips). The same is true for Loona, who everyone had given up on, but who Blitz took in as well. Even if she complains about his displays of affection, she constantly gives him small smiles and softens around him, and takes care of him, like after Bee's party.

From what we know, Millie had a pretty good family life before she joined IMP. Unlike the rest of the IMP crew, she doesn't seem to have a horribly traumatic past. So, while there could be more that we don't know, it doesn't seem likely that her appreciation toward Blitz comes from him taking her under his wing when she was at a low point, the way he did Loona and Moxxie.

So I can't help but wonder if the opposite could be true. If maybe she met Blitz at a low point in his life—low enough that he couldn't keep his facade around her. There are theories going around that Millie could've been Loona's babysitter (the one Blitz mentions when he meets Moxxie). I don't know if it'll turn out that way, but I do like the mental image of Millie meeting Blitz at the very beginning of his parenting journey, desperate to fight for the humanity and the well-being of this extremely violent and unhinged 18-year-old girl. Desperate enough to hire a babysitter for an 18-year-old. I wonder if, maybe, one of the first things Millie learned about Blitz was just how desperately he wanted to be the adult role model and caregiver that Loona needed. I wonder if she saw him taking Loona's violence over and over, and still not giving up on her; not just that, but giving Loona the only bedroom in his flat and sleeping on the sofa every night just so she could have her space to decompress and feel safe. I wonder if, at some point, Blitz broke down and told Millie how scared he was of being a bad dad, or of Loona deserving someone better than him.

I just love the idea of Millie being this completely chill and functional young adult, and Blitz being this struggling 30-year-old dude who clearly cares so deeply and feels so inadequate that his whole life is a massive trainwreck.

So now, whenever Millie witnesses Blitz being overbearing and obnoxious and over-the-top, she immediately recognises it as an act, and understands that it's his way of communicating appreciation and seeking connection, which he can't do in other ways because he doesn't think he deserves those things.

Idk man. I just hope we get to see more of Blitz and Millie. I just think their interactions are neat.

#helluva boss #helluva boss meta #helluva boss millie #millie helluva boss #blitz helluva boss #helluva boss blitz #loona helluva boss #helluva boss loona #moxxie helluva boss #helluva boss moxxie

[puckinghischier]

Prison For Life

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary: anon request for a luke fic based on olivia rodrigo’s “prison for life”

notes: not gonna lie, y’all, i’m not too happy with how this one turned out, but i got tired of trying to re-write it, so here it is. as usual, hope you enjoy.

[1.7k]

~

I’m a feminist, obviously

But I wouldn’t really mind him saving me

You had always been the type to handle your own problems. A guy that doesn’t know how to take no for an answer? You knew exactly how to bruise his ego enough to have him tuck his tail and run away. Someone getting too handsy while you’re out with your friends? A swift elbow to the gut will do it every time. Grown man yelling at yourself or your friend over virtually nothing? Ask him why he feels the need to yell at women to compensate for the fact his mother didn’t love him as a child. It was too easy, really.

You never hesitated to run to the defense of your friends anytime they needed, getting a rush out of watching men deflate at your comments.

That is, until you met Luke.

Your relationship with Luke caused you to discover you actually enjoyed having someone rush to your defense, for once.

The first time you felt the unmistakable burn in your stomach at the act of Luke rushing to defend your honor was when the Devils were playing against the Flyers in the stadium series. You were in awe of the sight before you, the Metlife stadium alive with the screams and cheers of nearly 83,000 hockey fans. You were down near the ice in a designated viewing area for friends and family of the players, ready to cheer on your boyfriend in one of the biggest games of his career so far.

You were walking over towards the Devil’s bench, wanting to wish Luke good luck before the team returned to the locker room after warm-ups, when you heard someone shout out to you.

“C’mon, sweetheart! You can do better than that! You’d look so much better in Orange!” a man standing near the Flyer’s benches grabs your attention, your head snapping in the direction of the noise.

“Excuse me?” You responded back, disgust showing in your tone and on your face.

“The jersey, sweetie! You know he’s got about a million other puck bunnies fawning over him, right?” He calls back, referencing the Hughes jersey you’re wearing for Luke. “Maybe you should come sit with us! We’ll show you what a real hockey team looks like. And if you’re still not convinced after the game, I can think of a few ways to persuade you!” The heckler continued, elbowing the man next to him in the ribs, winking dramatically at you.

Is this really happening? Is a grown ass man, one who looks old enough to be your father, harassing you right now? Over what team’s jersey you’re wearing? You had to bite back a laugh, the situation simply comical to you.

You had the words ready to go on your tongue, a split second from putting the man in his place, when you heard a different, much more recognizable shout from the ice behind you.

“What did you just say?” Luke shouts as he skates up next to you.

“Luke, I’m fine, really it’s okay-“

“I was just telling the lady here how much better she’d look in orange! Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about taking her home? Go pick one of the other hundreds of bitches here wearing your number! We picked this one!” the man cuts you off, earning a chuckle from his partner in crime.

You look over to Luke, noticing how his features were darkened and he was nearly shaking with rage. You were surprised with yourself when you found his reaction a turn on. Your face turned warm, your insides lighting on fire at the vein popping out of Luke’s forehead, watching the thoughts form behind his red face.

“Yeah…that’s what I thought you said,” Luke surprised you by speaking calmly. Too shocked by your own thoughts about how much you enjoyed Luke coming to your rescue, you hadn’t noticed that he removed his gloves and was making his way over the wall surrounding the ice until it was a moment too late.

“Hey, woah, slow down there, hot shot.” You grabbed his arm just as both skates hit the ground.

“Y/N, let go of me.”

“No. Look at me,” you requested sternly, tugging at his arm.

Luke looked down and met your eyes, his gaze immediately softening. You had an eyebrow cocked, the look on your face silently asking him what in the hell he was doing.

“Luke, first of all, you’re going to ruin your skates, you don’t even have your guards on. Second, what do you think you’re doing? You can’t go over there and engage with those guys, you could get hurt. You’re getting ready to play a game, you don’t need bruised knuckles or a black eye affecting your skating. Plus, you can’t exactly win a hockey game from jail with assault charges, now can you?” You ask him, hands on your hips, scolding him like a child.

“Y/N, they can’t just get away with saying those things to and about you. Or any woman around here for that matter. Someone needs to go over there and shut their mouths for them.” Luke’s fists clench, jaw so tense you’re worried he’ll break a tooth. “And if I end up in jail, so what? I can post my own bail. It’s worth it, for you,” Luke continued, throwing a glare in the direction of the Flyer’s fans every few seconds.

You stare at him in disbelief. On the one hand, you find it kind of hot he just said he would literally go to jail for you, if it came down to it. The anger radiating through his body a testament to how much he cares for you. On the other hand, you’re appalled at how stupid your boyfriend is. He’s about to play in one of the biggest games of his career, and he’s trying to throw it all away over a couple of sexist men?

“No, not so what. If you would’ve given me five seconds I would’ve handled it on my own, but instead you came over here and got me all hot and bothered because you decided I needed saving.” Luke’s eyebrows shot up at your confession. “Even if you think I’m worth it, they’re not. So you’re going to get your lanky ass back on that ice and beat the shit out of Philadelphia so they’ll shut the fuck up.”

“Hot and bothered, huh?” Luke smirks, ignoring everything else you just said. You rolled your eyes at him. Typical Luke behavior.

“Not the point here,” you chided him. “The point is, no one is going to jail tonight and Philadelphia is going to lose this hockey game. Plus, at the end of the night, I’m going home with you. Not some random ass-hat that’s old enough to be my dad. No matter how much he wants to waste his breath on how I’m a jersey chaser for the wrong team.”

“Damn right you are.” Luke agrees. “And now that I know you like it when I play the macho boyfriend role, I might have to do it more often. I don’t care if you can defend yourself, it’s my job as your boyfriend to run dickheads like that into the ground when they open their mouth at you,” Luke’s tone turns dark once again, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot up your spine.

“Alright, I think it’s best you get back on the ice, now, before you go missing from the starting line-up for another reason other than being in the back of a cop car,” you all but pant.

Even though Luke let’s out a chuckle at your response, you don’t miss the excitement that flashes across his eyes at your words.

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes you. “Hold on, something I gotta do first,” he mumbles, hand reaching out to wrap around the back of your neck, pulling your face towards his.

His lips meet yours in a searing kiss. Your mouth parts in shock only slightly, but enough for Luke to slip his tongue inside your mouth, meeting your own. For a split second you forget where you are, savoring the taste of him, but when you hear the whoops and hollers of his teammates behind him, you come back to your senses and pull back from the kiss, resting your forehead on his.

“Alright, easy there, tiger. You’re supposed to be working, you know?” You say, trying to catch your breath, dodging Luke’s lips as they chase yours.

“I don’t really care. Needed my good luck kiss,” he tells you, stealing a small peck from your lips, stepping back and over the short wall, putting himself back on the ice.

You look behind him, seeing Jack and Curtis making kissing faces in your direction, never missing an opportunity to poke fun at Luke.

“Yeah, with an audience, right?” You were referencing Jack and Curtis, nodding your head in the direction of the two man-children behind your boyfriend, but as you look up at his face, his gaze was set on the two instigators of the whole situation.

“Just wanted to show them you’re mine. Not some puck bunny they can harass.” Luke shrugs, looking down at you once again. Your cheeks heat at his words, a smile finding its way on your face as he skates away from the wall, still facing you.

You assume that’s the end of the conversation, turning to walk away, when you hear Luke’s voice shout once more.

“Quit harassing my girlfriend, jackass, or your team won’t be the only thing getting beat tonight!” Luke belts out, throwing up a middle finger behind him as he skates towards his teammates.

You watch the two Flyer’s fans laugh, clearly not very threatened by the rookie hockey player. One of them notices your attention on them, placing a hand in the shape of a phone at his ear, mouthing “call me, babe” at you. You roll your eyes at the both of them, mimicking your boyfriend and flipping them the bird as you walk back to join Luke’s parents before the game starts.

Later on in the evening, you watched the two men’s reactions to the game in front of them. The confidence in their stances lost after Nico scored less than a minute after the match-up started. You continued to watch their reactions throughout the game, the Devil’s absolutely crushing the Flyer’s.

The two men storm off halfway into the third period, slinging beer cans and throwing their hats on the ground in frustration. You laugh at their distress, wishing you could go back to two hours ago and throw the win in their faces.

And, when the whole ordeal of Luke running to your defense ends up plastered all over social media the next day? Well, let’s just say you and Luke didn’t make it to any celebratory get-togethers his teammates were hosting.

#luke hughes #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes oneshot #luke hughes x y/n #new jersey devils #luke hughes x you #hockey #nhl blurb #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl oneshot #hughes brothers

[i-am-church-the-cat]

I have a flower shop/tattoo parlor maxiel + loscar AU building from a tropical storm into a hurricane in my head so here are some thoughts

+ When Max hires him, this is what he says to Logan’s arrangement: “It is not the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I can make it better.” What he really meant was that Max could make Logan better, but he wouldn’t come to understand that until later.

+ There’s a phone that sits on the back wall of Max’s shop. The first time it rang while Logan was working, he’d mistakenly answered it. He’d watched Max’s face go bleach white from across the shop as Logan answered “Hello, this is Verstappen’s Floral, how can I help you?” The barrage of angry Dutch he’d gotten back in return had shocked Logan into silence, making it easier for Max to steal the receiver from his hand. Now, Logan knows to just let it ring.

+ Oscar is pretty sure Daniel only gave him an interview because their moms are in a book club together. The owner of Honey Badger Tattoos was always friendly and outgoing but he was notoriously possessive about his art. In the ten years the shop has been open, it’s had four employees. Daniel Ricciardo, the founder, Daniel Kvyat, Daniel’s partner who he bought out after the first year, Lando Norris who worked part-time at the front desk, and now Oscar.

“I’ve never had an apprentice before, I probably wouldn’t be very good at it,” Daniel says during his interview. He’d said he liked Oscar’s work and already showed an interest in teaching Oscar more of his signature American style. But the guy was still hesitant, fidgeting with excess nerves. “Just ask Lando.

Lando nods from his seat at the front desk which Oscar can see from the open door of Daniel’s office. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, I wouldn’t trust him to teach other people.”

Daniel does not look like that’s the support he was going for, wincing at the dry criticism but not arguing.

“That’s fine,” Oscar confirms with a shrug. He’s already done the majority of his apprenticeship under Mark Webber. But when the man decided he’d had enough of the South of France and was selling the shop and moving back to Australia, Oscar had to look for somewhere else to work. “I only have six months left before I can get my certification.”

Daniel doesn’t look very reassured. Oscar can take a hint so he decides to get out before he’s kicked out.

“Hey, it’s cool, mate, thanks for meeting with me anyway-”

“Can you start next week?” Daniel asks, leg bouncing up and down and rocking the desk he’s sitting behind. He sees Oscar’s confused expression and sighs. “I really need more help here.”

“Yeah,” Oscar decides, not looking a gift horse in the mouth. “I’ll text you my schedule.”

And that’s how he starts working for the Honey Badger.

+ “This is a tulip,” Max is saying in French, word draw out and pointing at the multi-colored bulbs. Logan has tried telling him that he’s lived in Europe for the majority of his life at this point and can do his job in English, French, and Spanish but Max doesn’t believe him. At least Logan’s starting to pick up more Dutch.

Logan is rescued from his impromptu language lesson by the bell on the door ringing. He turns towards the sound, customer service smile already in place.

“Hi, welcome to Verstappen Floral, how can I-”

“Oh, it is you again.”

Logan stops and looks at Max who is frowning at the guy who just came in. The man is curly-haired and tanned, with tattoos scrawled over the majority of visible skin. His grin is big and toothy when he shoots it at Max.

“Hey, Maxy, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Logan blinks in shock at the nickname. Even their regular customers don’t get to act that familiar with Max. Logan doesn’t get to act that familiar with Max.

Max crosses his arms, lips pursing. “For the last time, I do not know what these flowers mean. I speak four languages and plant is not one of them.”

“Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Max?” The man asks, unphased by Max’s grouchy demeanor. He leans forward onto the glass counter, certainly leaving smudges behind, but Max surprisingly doesn’t yell at him about it. “Lando sent me to pick up his order.”

Lando is someone Logan knows. He comes in about every other week and talks to Max about streaming and video games that partly goes over Logan’s head. He always leaves with a red and white bouquet, though the flowers change each time.

“Why could he not come get them himself?” Max grumbles, heading in the direction of the cooler where they kept to-go orders. Daniel shrugs and wraps his knuckles against the glass.

"He was late for a meeting or something, you know I don’t ask about his other job,” Daniel supplies. He changes his focus to Logan and the blond is met with the full force of the man’s mega-watt smile. Logan blames his mom’s genes for how easily he blushes. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Logan opens his mouth to answer but Max is suddenly im between them, Lando’s bouquet in his hands.

“Yes, this is Logan, no, he does not want any of your garish tattoos.”

Daniel pouts at Logan’s boss. He wonders how it doesn’t look strange for a guy who’s at least 30 to be pouting.

“Don’t be mean, Maxy. I wasn’t even going to mention the tattoos.”

Logan racks his brain for tattoo shops nearby. They obviously have a close relationship outside of just Lando. And Lando did say he worked for an artist…

“Oh hey, are you the Honey Badger?” Logan asks, moving his head to be seen around Max’s wider frame. Daniel jerks his eyes away from Max’s, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I pass by there all the time. Not a lot of shops do American style out here.”

Daniel’s face lights up, looking between Logan and Max. “Max, you hired an American?”

Max sighs, more long-suffering than Logan thinks is necessary. “This is why I did not want you to speak with him. I knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird!” Daniel argues. “I’m just surprised!”

Max and Daniel have another weird silent staring contest. Logan clears his throat reluctantly and they both snap to him.

“Um, where’d you learn to do that style?”

Daniel looks ready to excitedly burst into the story of his tattooing style and his interest in America, but Max cuts him off by pushing the bouquet into his chest.

“We do not have time for that, these are going to wilt. Take these to Lando.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Daniel murmurs, picking up the bouquet gently. He doesn’t sound annoyed by Max’s demands. Rather amused, actually. He shoots Logan another grin over Max’s shoulder. “I don’t envy you, mate. But hey if you want to talk tattoos, come by the shop sometime.”

“Definitely!” Logan agrees before Max can say anything else on his behalf. Daniel shoots him a one-handed finger gun before turning back to Max. His smile becomes a lot less joking and more sincere.

“See you later, Maximus”

Max loses some of his prickliness, voice soft when he says, “Goodbye, Daniel.”

+ There’s a man talking to Lando at the front desk when Oscar comes in that day. It’s neither of the two Oscar is used to seeing who come talk to Lando pretty regularly. Oscar’s pretty sure one of them’s his boyfriend and the other is his business partner but he can never tell which is which.

“Did you leave Logan alone at the shop?” Lando is asking while Oscar sets his station up.

“Well, I had to do it at some point,” the guy says, his accent reminiscent of German or Dutch. “What is the point of hiring another employee if I cannot leave for a few minutes?"

“Daniel never leaves me alone here,” Lando points out, a tad resentful. Oscar snorts.

“That’s because he has control issues,” Oscar claims. Both of the men look at him, one in amusement and one in confusion.

“Who are you?” The mystery guy asks. Weird, Oscar was going to ask him the same thing. He looks to Lando who makes the introductions.

"Max, this is Oscar, Daniel's new apprentice. Oscar, this is Max, one of our neighbors."

Oscar frowns. "I thought Max was your..." he trails off, leaving space for Lando to fill in the blank. He waves his hand.

"Different Max. This is Max Verstappen, he run's Verstappen Floral."

The new Max is still looking at him strangely. "Daniel does not take apprentices. He says he is a bad teacher."

Oscar shrugs, not sure what to tell him. He doesn't know how he got the job either. Luckily, he's saved from having to respond by Daniel coming out of the back office.

"Oscar, good, you're here, I wanted to talk about-" Daniel stops abruptly when he sees Max standing in the lobby. His entire demeanor shifts when he says, "Max, hey! What are you doing here?"

Daniel is normally a friendly guy, sometimes too much in Oscar's opinion, but he's practically glowing as he bounds over to Max. While Max's expression doesn't shift, his body language opens up to Daniel like one of his blooming flowers.

"I am talking to Lando about our stream tonight," Max answers. "He has not been very forthcoming with the details."

Lando tries to protest but even Oscar can see that it's a lost cause. This new guy showed up and suddenly it's like nothing else exists to Daniel. His boss giggles at nothing and that's when Oscar decides to get back to work.

#my writing #wip #is it a wip? im not sure #i still have more in my head but im sleepy so here #loscar #maxiel #logan sargeant #oscar piastri #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #lando norris #formula 1 #f1 rpf #flower shop/tattoo parlor au #alternate universe

[i-trash-about-things]

Eddie's shitty sense of humor strikes again.

A random blurb that came to me after reading some headcannons about Eddie's childish sense of humor

777 words (nice). Suggestive but nothing happens. Reader has hair long enough to tug. GN!Reader and Ed are best friends. Swear word count: 4. English is not my first language! Sorry if something doesn't make sense and feel free to correct me! (Repost because Tumblr flunked the last time I tried posting this)

If you wanna be Eddie Munson’s friend, you’ve gotta learn a few rules. Handle his guitar with care, or else he’ll bash it in the side of your head. If W.A.S.P. is on, you do not skip a single song.

You know all of these, better than anyone with you being his best friend. His partner in crime, the one that always gets him out of trouble– or gets into trouble with him.

But there’s one rule you know better than all of the rest.

Eddie is nothing if not a damn clown.

Loud, potentially annoying, and will crack a joke like he can’t hold it back. Be it an awkward one liner at a funeral, a sarcastic remark in the middle of class or a genuine good joke in the middle of a campaign– His mouth is moving faster than his brain, and all that leaves his lips is absolute tomfoolery.

You know it, your friends know it, all of Hawkins knows it.

And an example of this behavior is that fact he can’t see any one of his friends bending down to fetch whatever fell without pretending to hump against their ass, groaning and moaning so exaggerated you never know if you wanna laugh or cringe.

Shameless.

It is kinda funny when Gareth gets all pissy afterwards, tho.

But, even though you and Eds have been friends for the good part of 4 years now– he never did this to you. Not because he didn’t want to or because it’d be weird, but because he just never had the chance.

You, differently from most people, doesn’t tend to bend down to reach something. You just crouch. Or kneel, when the moment calls for it.

It’s just something you’ve been doing since forever, so you’re more used to it. Mindless, instinct, really.

But the past few weeks, you think Eddie’s been trying to get you to bend down– like he wants to get a completion prize for humping everyone in the Hellfire Club (with the exception of the sheepies, duh). He drops his pick mid practice, asks for you to grab a figurine stacked on the box near the foot of his bed– anything, just to get you to bend over.

So far? No such luck.

But Eddie isn’t anything if not committed to the bit. So, one day, the opportunity shows itself for him and he takes it.

It wasn’t even on purpose, really. He was just getting ready to go out, both of you gathering your coats by the front door of his trailer so you wouldn’t freeze your butts off–

“Oh, hey– wait.” Your hand leaves the sleeve of your hoodie, instead reaching for him to stop moving. Your face is down, eyes on the floor, and he raises an eyebrow. “I think there’s something stuck to your shoe. Hol’ up.”

And before he has the chance to freak out in worry if it’s a spider– you’re kneeling between his feet, tugging on whatever it is stuck to his sneakers.

And, like a match dropped into gasoline, he sees his chance and goes for it.

You don’t have the chance to raise your face before you feel familiar fingers tangling into the front of your hairline, tugging your head up roughly– and Eddie let’s out an exaggerated, throaty groan, half-heartedly moving his hips that are eye level to you.

“Mmph! Oh, fuck yeah, sweetheart, just like that!” He cackles, biting his lip and tilting his head back for that extra effect… But pauses when he doesn’t hear you laughing or groaning in annoyance at his shenanigans.

So he looks back down… And something about the smirk on your face makes his heart skip a beat.

Despite the crude and sexual joke, you don’t look embarrassed in the slightest– much less uncomfortable, which was Eddie’s original fear. No… No, you look amused.

Smug.

There’s something about the way your eyes are halflided, full of mirth as you look up at him from your spot by the floor. The shit eating tilt to your smirk has a shiver running down his spine, and his grip on your hair instinctively loosens. Amused, confident even– even while literally kneeling by his feet.

Jesus H. Christ.

“You’re a dumb ass, Munson, you know that?” You say, the slight tilt to your words hinting at an affectionate tone that has him swallowing the dryness on the back of his throat. He almost doesn’t hear you over the sound of the blood rushing from his head down south.

“I live to entertain.” He hears himself say, and for once he thanks the fact his mouth moves faster than his brain.

#hopefully tumblr won't fuck this post up this fime around #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #YOU #YES YOU #suggestive #trash's writing tag o/

[multifandomlover01]

Not Some Innocent Kid

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Based on @reidswhore post about “innocent” Spencer vs. not so innocent Spencer and fic semi-requested by @reiderrambles

Warnings: 18+ MDNI fairly neutral dynamic but sub!reader and soft!dom Spencer if you wanted to label it, Derek talking about his “conquests”, teasing Spencer about being inexperienced, loss of virginity mention, mention of reader “not being a screamer”, orgasm denial mentioned, overstimulating mentioned, neck nibbling/kissing, orgasm denial depicted, reader screaming, condom mentioned, no birth control mentioned, affectionate sex, lots of terms of endearment used, slightly insecure Spencer, praise kink, slightly OOC Derek, slightly OOC Spencer

Summary: While Derek is talking about a woman he recently slept with, he makes a comment about her and then about Spencer (and his inexperience with women and pleasure), causing Spencer to get lost in a daydream that directly contradicted what Derek just said (Spencer is very capable of bringing a woman pleasure)

WC: ~1.2k

Disclaimer: not the most polished or finished it could be but…here we are lol screw dialogue tags…who needs them? (Me…I need them)

Gif not necessarily indicative of timeline placement…but it’s an estimate

Shut up. Shut up. Shut the fuck up, Derek.

Spencer thought this but couldn’t quite bring himself to say it. Derek was going on and on about how great he was in bed and took every opportunity to tease Spencer about how virginal he seemed. But Spencer was far from a virgin. Not long after he’d turned 24, he’d lost his virginity to his equally as quiet and reserved team member. No one would have suspected, least of all the two of them, that the dam would break that night for them and they’d be insatiable for each other.

They couldn’t stop. Every private moment was spent together mostly naked with their hands and lips all over each other.

“Yeah, I had her screaming my name. Bet you don’t know what that’s like, do you, kid? Well…your time will come.” Derek teased him.

Spencer suppressed a smirk as he thought of the most recent intimate encounter with his friend with benefits…or lover…or partner (he wasn’t quite sure what they were if he was being honest).

-

“You like that, baby? You like it when I don’t show you mercy? When I use you like a little toy?” Spencer husked into your ear as his hips snapped into you from behind as he had you on your hands and knees on the bed while he supported you with an arm around your middle and his hand on your hip. He had found sexual encounters with you to be rather liberating. You trusted him completely and he cared about you a lot. He’d never hurt you. But this dynamic really allowed him to exercise a degree of control over and with another person that he didn’t really have anywhere else in his life. The degree of control he had over his mother was not voluntary although he took that just as seriously as he took this.

“Y-yes.” You whimpered.

“Say my name, sweetheart. I wanna hear you say it.” The hand on your hip snaked around to rub at your already sensitive clit.

“S-Spencer.” You say breathily.

He gives your clit a little slap.

“Louder, hon. Let me get my first noise complaint from old Mrs. Davis across the hall. She’s always going on about how respectful and quiet I am. Just like Derek goes on about how much of a kid I still am. I’m sick of it. Aren’t I good enough, darling? Can’t I make you scream and cum for me?”

He rubs your clit faster as he snaps his hips faster.

“I dunno…I’m not-“

“A screamer. I know, angel. But maybe we can change that, huh? I’ve made you cum before. I’ll do it again. I’ll do it better. I’ll make you feel so good.” Despite him being slightly dominant right now, he was almost pleading with you to meet him half way.

“I-I’ll try.”

“I know you will, sweetie, I know you will. You’re so good for me.” He buries his face in your neck to press kisses to it, hoping to add to the sensations you were feeling.

He picks up the pace of his hips and his fingers, rubbing your clit in circles.

“I wanna try something, honey. Will you let me try something?” He murmurs against your ear, having kissed his way up to it..

“Y-yeah…what do you wanna try?”

“Can I deny you your orgasm? Can you be my good girl and cum when I tell you to? Not before? Maybe that’ll make it feel better. I know it’s different for every woman but I’ve read that it can make it feel better.” He says, again seeming a bit desperate now, willing to do anything to enhance this experience for himself and for his partner.

“I…I can try. You can try to overstimulate me if you’d like.” You offered, also trying to pitch ideas that could help the experience.

“One thing at a time, love. One thing at a time.”

“Ok…One thing…orgasm denial.”

“One thing…orgasm denial.” He agrees. “If that doesn’t work…then we can try overstimulation.”

“Ok…that sounds good.”

“Yeah? Good.”

Once you two were in agreement, effort was put back into achieving pleasure. Spencer continued to snap his hips against yours (for a skinny guy who didn’t work out, he sure had a good amount of stamina). His fingers continued to work at your clit. Your warm and soft walls suck his cock in like it’s afraid to let it leave the sanctuary.

“Remember, love, you’re not allowed to cum until I say you can. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” He rasps in your ear.

“Y-yeah…I can do that. I can try.”

“Good girl. Tell me when you’re close so I can delay it just a bit. It won’t be long, I promise.”

With the way his cock is hitting just the right spot inside you, the way his fingers are working your clit, and the way he’s nibbling your neck lightly all combine to help you get close to the edge.

“Spence…I-I’m close, baby.” You pant lightly.

“Hmm…yeah? Don’t cum yet, ok?” He murmurs in your ear.

“Ok…I won’t. I won’t until you tell me to.”

“That’s my good girl. It won’t be too torturous, I promise.” He increases the pace of his fingers on your clit and his thrusts are deep and calculated but not feral. They are a nice even pace that’s not too overwhelmingly fast.

Your whines and whimpers increase as your legs shake. “S-Spencer…I…I can’t…”

“You can. You will, love. You can do it. I believe in you. Just a little longer, ok? Not too much longer.” He lovingly rubs his nose against your neck as he picks up his thrust pace just a bit, going just as deep as he continues to rub your clit at an increased pace.

“Spence…please.” Your voice raises in pitch.

“Few more seconds, hon. Just a few more seconds.”

You could almost cry with how much pleasure you’re feeling.

“Sp-“ you go to say again, your voice slightly increasing in volume.

“Now.” He commands.

Your body obeys him without you having to do anything. It just…lets go.

“Oh my god, Spencer, fuck!” You shout, a lot louder than intended. You cling to him as you shake.

“That’s what I’m doing, sweetness.” You can’t see his smirk but you can feel it against your neck as he continues to work you through your orgasm. It doesn’t take long before he’s emptying his load into the condom. He pants against your neck as he peppers it with kisses.

“Do you know…what you…just did for me, darling?” He slowly pulls out of you.

“Screamed louder than I should’ve?” You chuckle softly.

“Besides that.”

“Besides that?”

“Mhm…besides that.”

“N-no…what?”

“Look at the condom, hon.”

“‘M too…tired.”

He chuckles. “It’s soaked, love. I think you squirted over it a bit.”

“Wha-? Really?”

“Mhm. You did such a great job for me, love.”

-

“Kid…hey, Reid!” Derek waves in front of Spencer’s face.

“You still with us? You looked a little spaced out.” JJ states, chuckling slightly.

“I’m fine. I just zoned out after Morgan related his fifth conquest in a week to us.”

“Do you have something you’d like to talk about, then?” Derek scoffs.

“No.” Spencer says simply, shaking his head.

“You will one day, kid. You will one day.”

“‘M not a kid.” Spencer mutters. You and he share a quick glance and a small smirk.

“Oh? You’re not? You got any spicy stories to tell?”

“Maybe one day…when I think you can handle it.”

“Ooh…ok, ok.”

#Spencer Reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x reader

[tommykinard6]

hi!! id love to hear more about sal knowing all along 👀

*slides dramatically into the camera frame* well, since you asked!

3 am thoughts with TK6!

So my idea is that Sal really knew about Tommy all along.

How? Couple of options. Maybe Sal’s gaydar is secretly amazing and he clocked it immediately. He might’ve looked at Tommy the moment he set step in the 118 and went “that man is gay af”.

All jokes aside (and really, that was only a half joke, his gaydar could actually be great) it could’ve been something like they went out for drinks and got smashed. Maybe Tommy referred to someone (like a celebrity crush or maybe a past hookup, I’m not of the opinion he had actual relationships before coming out) by the wrong pronouns. Maybe he outright said it. Something somewhere along those lines. And then the next day Tommy didn’t remember it but Sal did.

Or, and I find this even more likely, Sal actually had great observation skills. He watched how Tommy shied away from mentioning partners, how his girlfriends always “couldn’t make it”, how he would entertain flirtation from girls but never went home with them on nights out (or maybe didn’t flirt, but I feel like Tommy would’ve tried to blend in), and as his suspicion grew he watched Tommy and noticed that his eyes never strayed towards girls and how his eyes would drift towards men and snap away quickly-or maybe he fully avoided looking at the guys even Sal could admit were attractive.

So he decided to test it out. Next time there was a good chance to slip in a joke, he did. He teased Tommy about being gay. Tommy wasn’t prepared. He hadn’t been expecting it. So he froze, briefly. It wouldn’t have been something super obvious, or else it would’ve been too much. Tommy made it through the army; he’s been called gay before. But he was secure at the 118 and hadn’t prepared himself. And that’s when Sal knew, even more so when Tommy was tense for the next couple of shifts.

Tommy was probably waiting for him to make a big deal about it. But Sal didn’t. Why? Who knows. Maybe as long as Tommy was in the closet, Sal was fine ignoring it. Maybe they were friends enough that he wasn’t quite enough of an asshole as to out him. Or maybe it was more malicious. He wasn’t enough of an asshole as to out him, but he kept sliding in jokes, just to watch Tommy jolt. Even better when Gerrard started making jokes too.

Who knows? Maybe Gerrard figured it out or maybe he just caught on to one of the only things that actually rattled an otherwise steady firefighter? Whether he thought it was true or not.

Either way, Sal knew but for years, played his own game. Whether for his own entertainment or some twisted form of protection.

Depends on your interpretation of Sal, really.

And there we go! That’s my thoughts on Sal knowing. I’m always willing to answer questions about this headcanon and others.

Y’all aren’t even prepared for my super sad fic starring this theory. I haven’t even convinced myself to write it yet 🤣😭

Enjoy!

#911 abc #9-1-1 #911 show #tommy kinard #lou ferrigno jr #911 season 2 #sal deluca #911 speculation #tk6 muses #tk6 answers