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daydreamingqueen1 · 6 months

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Sweets thief

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

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

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

Word count: 1.2k

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

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

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

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

Stealing was always an option though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With all of that said, the conclusion was obvious.

Spencer has the best snacks.

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

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

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

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

You shook your head, “No...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Many more times.

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

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

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

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

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

Then, yesterday, there was an incident.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer's eyes light up.

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

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

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

You lean forward and peck his lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

♡, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

hope ya liked it, byebye

My masterlist

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olomaya · 4 months

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More Vending Machine Foods! 🥪🍪🥤

Tired of candy and soda being your only options? Here's some more diversity for your vending machines.

@its-time-o-clock asked if I could share these and they kind of go with my exercise mat since I made them at the same time for my gym. I figured it would be useful to add sandwiches and chips to put in my hospital/clinic as well so Sims have more convenient food options.

There are 10 items to buy:

Drinks: Water, Juice, Sports Drink

Bars: Granola, Protein (you DON'T need my Quick Snacks mod for this)

Sandwiches: BLT, Egg Salad

Snacks: Chips, Trail Mix, Oreos

Some of the foods have effects, for example:

Juice and Oreos give you a sugar rush buff

Sports Drinks and Protein Bars give you an adrenaline buff.

Sports Drinks and Water help with fatigue after a workout

Sandwiches have a chance of giving nausea. Vegetarians will get nausea if they eat the BLT

Eating too many chips or Oreos or drinking too much juice will make your Sim gain weight.

Environmentally Conscious Sims will get a negative buff if they buy a bottled drink

Like normal vending machines, there's a chance that food will get stuck (5%). I reduced the chance of dying by the vending machine falling on you to 1% because what are the odds, but it's 5% if you slam it because that's rude!

I added my script to theATS3 vending machines. The Snowy Escape one has drinks and bars, the custom ATS one has sandwiches and snacks. I created two other scripts if you want all the items in one machine or just drinks:

Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.olomaya.VendingMachineFoods.VendingMachineAll

Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.olomaya.VendingMachineFoods.VendingMachineDrinks

You need to add the script before you create the vending machine so that it loads the correct foods/drinks.

Needs UNI for the vending machine functions.

Credits/Thanks: The vending machines and most of the food objects (the bottles, chip bags, and Oreos) are from @aroundthesims and the amazing Sandy so thanks as always to her for her massive and versatile library of quality objects! The sports drink is converted from Somik&Severinka (I wish I played TS4, their foods look so amazing!), the cashew piece is from icemunmun's Baker Basket (my fave food mod!). Rest is from EA.

DOWNLOAD HERE | Alt: Simblr

#download #s3cc download #s3cc #sims 3 cc #vendingfoods

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mangoisms · 10 months

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circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter one: on my way to circle k

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.3k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

The Slurpee machine is broken again.

It isn’t that big of an issue, not particularly world-ending, no, especially since you get regularly held at gunpoint (or knifepoint) and occasionally used as a hostage.

But for you, working the night shift from eleven PM to seven AM, you kind of need the sugar boost. The Slurpees are easier on your stomach than the coffee is. Even if they do stain your mouth.

You sigh, continuing to stare at the machine; it whirs and sputters strangely and you set aside the cup to shut it off. You’ll also need to file the paperwork for it to be fixed. That seriously blows.

You get it unplugged just as the gust of wind hits.

You stumble. Shelves groan in protest. Several rows of granola bars and trail mix are sent flying.

Oh, great, who is it now—

You hear your name in a question, from a very familiar voice.

You spit out a mouthful of your hair. “Flash?”

Sure enough, in the flesh, the Flash grins at you, blue lightning fading from his body. He spreads his arms as he exclaims your name again.

In a blink, he is there, arms wrapping around you, lifting you off the ground as he squeezes the life out of you. Another blink and you’re on the ground, looking at him, his hand on your shoulder.

“Look at you, kid. It’s good to see you. I can’t believe you’re still working here.”

A stupid grin forms on your lips. “It’s not the same here without you eating up our inventory.”

He laughs. “I bet!”

You shake your head, fixing your hair and your shirt. Flash notices the state of the granola bars and trail mix, sends you an apologetic smile, and in the next blink, they are back on the shelves, neatly arranged.

“So, what brings you here? If you can answer that.”

He waves a hand, flitting around, emptying the sausage grill and making himself several hot dogs.

“One of the rogues got a little, shall we say, ambitious and wanted to try his luck here. Just trying to snatch him up before Batman finds out.”

“Let me guess—Trickster?”

He points a hot dog loaded with mustard and ketchup at you. “Bingo.”

“It’s dripping.”

“Aw, shit.” He shoves the rest of the hot dog in his mouth, grabs a napkin, and starts dabbing at the spot of mustard on his suit.

You watch him, amused, but also morbidly fascinated as usual at seeing him eat so much. When he finishes the hot dogs, he goes for the pizza. It makes sense when you think about it, that a guy who can run faster than the speed of light should need to eat so much, but it’s been a while since you’ve had the pleasure of watching him refuel. Six months, actually, since you returned from Keystone City.

You scratch your head. “I’m not sure why Trickster would want to come here. Batman, I think, is a worse punishment than you—”

“Agree, even if that’s also a little insulting to me.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. You’re avoiding him, aren’t you?”

Flash nods. “This is true. Carry on.”

“Well… Gotham already has a joke-themed guy. I don’t think Joker is going to take too kindly to someone encroaching on that. Unless he’s back in Arkham. Though he might’ve escaped again…”

“Y’see, that’s what I thought. It’s gonna sound bad, too, but I’m kinda hoping those two take care of each other, then I can get Trickster back to Iron Heights without any issues. But—”

You crack a smile, guessing his next words immediately. “When is it ever that easy?”

You had once believed the Flash to be just about infallible. After all, he is the Flash. This is the guy who, like you said, can run faster than the speed of light. He can canvas a city in under a minute. That’s how he takes care of Central City and Keystone City. (Well, the addition of the other Flash and Kid Flash probably help, too, but you know.)

But it’s not that easy. It’s why, you think, Metropolis has issues, even when they have Superman.

No rest for the wicked and all.

“Well, it’s still good to see you,” you say, a tad more hesitantly this time. Unsure if you can say that.

Flash looks back at you, sending you a warm smile. “It’s good to see you, too. How’s school?”

“No classes now. Financial aid doesn’t cover the summer, so.”

He frowns. “You’re still on track to graduate next year, though, right?”

You pause, surprised he remembered you saying that. “Yeah, yeah, I am.”

Flash nods, worries assuaged, then his gaze strays to the Slurpee machine, its lights turned off. “Aw, it’s not working?”

“Not today, sorry.”

He purses his lips, head tilting as he looks at the counter where the machine and your abandoned cup are.

“Wait a second,” he says, then the food that was in his hands is on the counter and he’s gone with arcs of blue lightning following him, a tingly feeling spreading through your fingertips and toes, like when you used to be a kid and dragged your hands across those old TV screens, feeling the static.

True to his word, in the next second, he is in front of you, two Slurpees in hand. One blue raspberry and another cherry.

You grin as he proudly presents the blue raspberry Slurpee to you.

“Thanks.”

He winks. “My pleasure.”

He collects his food again then gestures to the front with his head. Sipping at the ice-cold Slurpee, you follow him, sliding behind the counter.

“Time to head off?” you guess, ringing up the food he already ate, then the rest of the stuff.

He slips out a few bills from a hidden pocket at his hip. “Yeah, I need to go before—”

“Flash!” The door opens roughly. You balk as you see who it is. “Seriously? You can’t just run off. You’re just as bad as Impulse sometimes, I swear.”

Red Robin stands there, hands on his hips, scowling, doing a good impression of a teacher scolding a student, which is really weird for you, since you’ve always held a good dose of fear and respect for the Bats and this doesn’t really… go on par with that. And also, you’re pretty sure Flash is older than him.

Flash frowns. “Now that’s seriously uncalled for. I’m much better than he is. We were done talking, weren’t we? You’d call me if you found anything and it’s not like it would take me time to get there, would it?”

Red Robin doesn’t respond to that, mostly because he’s looking at you now. You’ve never seen him up close — any of them up close. Black fair falls sharply over his forehead, a black domino mask hiding his eyes. Not like a normal one; this one allows for more coverage under his eyes, going down to his nose, the end of which curves in a way reminiscent of a bird. But under the bright fluorescents of Circle K, everything else is easy to make out. Pale skin, a sharp jaw, a soft-looking mouth.

Great. He’s hot. And something else… something that niggles at you. Familiar in a way that bothers you because you’ve never seen him in person. Not like this.

You swallow nervously, giving him a half-hearted wave. The action jars him and he looks away from you quickly.

“Hey, don’t be mean to her,” Flash chides. “Seriously. Look at her. You’ve made her nervous.”

“Flash.”

He shoots you a troublesome grin. “Nah, don’t worry about him, kid. He’s harmless.”

“Flash,” Red Robin hisses out, his voice sounding stranger than before, modulated, in a way.

You compose yourself, giving Flash a look. “You know better than that. Perception means everything.”

“That is true,” he says. “But believe me. If fear worked as well as they’d like it to, Gotham would be the safest city in the country.”

A long-suffering sigh. Red Robin is turned away now and by the movement of his arm, pinching the bridge of his nose, exasperated.

“Hey, I’m not wrong,” he says to him, even despite you silently waving for him to drop it. “Look, fear is fine and all. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with nurturing relationships with the people you protect. That’s what I did with you, isn’t it, kid?”

“Yeah, but I’m also not, you know, from there…”

He collects his change. “Which is why it’s even more embarrassing that these guys make you nervous and I don’t.”

Red Robin huffs.

Flash shrugs, smirking. “Just food for thought. I’ll see you around, yeah, kiddo? Gotta get going before this guy gets annoyed enough to just tell Batman about me and then I’ll really have problems.”

Then he’s gone, blue lightning arcing in his wake. Red Robin sighs again and leaves without a word or backward glance.

You stand there for a minute, unsure if that really happened. But the signature Slurpee cup of blue raspberry, already sweating because the June heat in Gotham is unbearable and the AC is not up to task, assures you very much that that did just happen.

A little unsteady, you take a seat on the stool, shaking your head and dragging the cup to you.

At least you got to see Flash again.

You don’t see him again, which is what you expected.

What you don’t expect is the appearance of Red Robin the next night.

You’ve grown up in Gotham City. Like anyone else, you have a healthy dose of fear and respect for the vigilantes that prowl the shadows. You also, unlike Vicki Vale or any journalist or obsessive conspiracy theorist, have absolutely zero interest in interacting with them.

Usually, interacting with them means you are in grave danger.

(You had to unlearn some of that during your brief tenure in Keystone City; the Flash was a little bit different from them. Maybe more than a little bit…)

So, when Red Robin shows up at Circle K at half past one in the morning, you are… a tad wary.

It doesn’t help that he seems awkwardly frozen, too, as your voice catches in the middle of your perfunctory Hi, welcome in as you realize who it is.

For a minute, it is painfully, painfully quiet.

“Is there something—”

“Do you have any—”

You both stop. You purse your lips. Red Robin is… blushing a little bit? Holy shit.

“Go ahead,” he says, clearing his throat after. His voice still sounds off like yesterday—modulated.

You grimace. “Sorry, I was just asking if there was something going on? Should I lock down the shop or hide or something?”

He looks briefly confused. “No? I mean, no… Everything is fine. I was just wondering if you guys had any, uh—” he seems to falter, scrambling a little bit “—hot… chocolate?”

Hot chocolate in June? What a weirdo.

You keep your face straight, though.

Flash might’ve let you off the hook when it came to formalities but you’d be an idiot to think you could get away with that with these guys.

He exhales the briefest laugh at something, then—you, you realize, your expression, which should be perfectly polite, what the hell. He turns his head away as a smile curls his lips. That niggling feeling—which began as soon as you realized he was here—strengthens. You push it away for a second.

“I know. Late night. Don’t like coffee, so it’s a good alternative.”

How did he—?

Must be the detective thing.

You apologize anyway.

“Sorry. My, uh, friend’s like that, in a way,” you say, your tongue again moving faster than your brain can grapple with. He won’t care about the fact that your friend, Tim, is like that, too. Well, Tim likes the occasional energy drink if he’s staying up late because he doesn’t like coffee. Not this hot chocolate business. But maybe? Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually. Probably better than Red Bull, even if he doesn’t drink it often, maybe once or twice a month. And, anyway, it’s not the point. This guy doesn’t care. He probably couldn’t care less. You’re just trying to show him—oh, it doesn’t matter. This entire thing has gone straight to shit. All because he managed to read your judgment.

“Oh?” It’s a question but it’s a bit strangled. See? He doesn’t care. Poor guy. Probably trying to think of a way to get out of this. Well, you’ll do him one better.

“Uh, yeah… he’s—well. Doesn’t matter. Yeah, the machine is working. It’s over there.”

“Thanks.”

You nod and glance away, leaving him to cross to the other side of the store. You can’t help but watch him go, watching the way the heavy black cape swishes with his movements, boots soundless on the shitty tiled floors. He disappears behind the shelf, but his head is visible. A head of dark, dark hair that seems… familiar to you.

Ugh. What is with you?

It’s Red freakin’ Robin. You’ve glimpsed him and the others briefly. Shadows in the night, swinging from buildings, jumping from rooftops. Anybody who lives in Gotham long enough has seen the same. Doesn’t mean you know him enough to be this way, to be so bothered by something that won’t even come to mind.

You shake your head briefly.

You should think more on why he’s even here.

Though, it seems obvious, given what happened yesterday night.

Flash has a way of getting beneath your skin and inciting the most childish tendencies. You imagine his little comment about trust between vigilante and citizen bothered Red Robin.

Well, rest assured, you understand the position they are in. You enjoyed the way Flash visited you but they can’t afford that. Perception is gold. It is true, in some ways, that if it were as effective as they wanted it to be, Gotham would be less crime-ridden than it currently is.

(But that was also a conundrum with the corrupt government. So long as the systems were in place, crime would always happen, and it would take more than the Bats to fix that.)

Either way, they cannot afford for that mask to slip—metaphorically and literally.

There is a level of trust, you think, between the Bats and the people but… it’s not the same kind Flash fosters with his own.

You feel obligated to let Red Robin know that, with that, he has no obligation to do anything out of the ordinary.

So, that’s what you do when he comes back over to the counter, two small cups of hot chocolate in hand.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

He turns forward with a five dollar bill in hand. “I can’t just not pay—”

“I’m not talking about that.”

He is paying. You are moderately appreciative of what they do but not that appreciative.

“So, what else is it that I don’t have to do?”

You gesture between you two. “This. Come here to try and prove the Flash wrong.”

“I’m not—”

You try to level with him.

“It’s cool, man. He can be annoying. Annoying enough that he could make anyone want to prove him wrong. I get it. But he’s also a little bit of a doof when it comes to matters of the public. Though I’m betting he was trying to aggravate you more than anything. Either way, I get it. You have an image to keep up. Do what you have to do.”

“So, you don’t want me to come back?” Not an accusation. A genuine question.

You blink. “That’s not what I said. I don’t mind. I’m just… letting you know.”

“What do you know about it, anyway? Upholding an image? You seem very confident on the do’s and don’ts, despite being a civilian.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You guys actually refer to us non-vigilantes as civilians? Like, unironically?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you with the emotionless white lids of the domino mask, lips pressed in a line.

You smile and roll your eyes, finally taking his five and opening the register. “I’m majoring in communication with a concentration in PR. Did an internship at Quickstart Enterprises last semester working with their PR department. You can say I know a thing or two about it.”

“What year?”

“Just finished my third. Starting my final in the fall. Look, I’m not saying you have to take my advice, I just wanted you to know. That’s all. I’m not holding it against you.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

You slide his change to him. “That’s all I ask.”

He picks up the cups, says, “Keep the change,” and then, he’s gone, dark cape fluttering, his figure swallowed up by the darkness of the night.

The only traces of his presence is the door slowly closing and the change still sitting on the counter.

These hero-types and their dramatic exits. Honestly.

You meet the Flash in your second week of work at Circle K.

The stipend from QE covered your housing and groceries but didn’t allow for much options regarding the latter. At least not the fresh produce kind.

So, you picked up a job at Circle K. Part-time only, which worked well with the schedule you had at QE. You typically worked evenings—not the graveyard shift you do now, which you took only because it paid better during the night—so from seven to eleven.

The Flash was different from the Bats in that regard. While Signal worked during the day, the rest of them worked during the night.

Flash told you he liked sleep, so he would take care of things during a reasonable hour in the evening to accommodate that, which meant you were beheld to his presence.

Frequently.

And the first time…

You have no idea what to make of the superhero currently raiding the sausage grill.

A larger part of you is suspicious, hoping that the Flash isn’t about to come up to you and say something arrogant about not being required to pay. A lot of the cops you get say something to that effect. It takes so much willpower in you to not roll your eyes.

But another part of you right now, the Tim part of your brain, is fascinated. Wants to ask some geeky questions about his power. Presumably, the fact that he is the fastest man alive means he has to eat a lot to sustain it, right?

Well. That one is a bit self-explanatory. At least if the way he’s stuffing his face tells you anything.

Suspicion wins out, though.

Keystone City is a nice enough city. Central City, across the river, is the same. They aren’t Gotham, that’s for sure, and sometimes you don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.

It’s mostly that Keystone City is situated in Kansas and across the Mississippi, in Mississippi, is Central City. These regions of the country, historically conservative, make you a bit tetchy. Not at all helped by the fact that for a very long time, Keystone City was suspended in the fifties. Or rather, what they thought were the fifties. Time passed normally outside of it until the Flash fixed everything.

It gives Keystone an aesthetic old-timey vibe to it but with all the modern luxuries of the late 2010s, like phones and, you know, civil rights.

But things have been okay, for the most part. The people you encounter here at Circle K are amiable enough. (Well, except for the cops you get. You could go without dealing with those idiots.)

Though, admittedly, between work for QE and here and trying to keep yourself fed and (mostly) rested, you haven’t gotten out much.

The Flash, though… you haven’t directly encountered him. Not in your few weeks here. Sometimes when walking to the subway, you feel the sharp gust of wind, commonly associated with him as he makes his way through the city faster than a speeding bullet, glass windows and cars rattling dangerously in the aftermath of his path. On the news, when he takes down whichever rogue woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and in the newspaper. But nothing beyond that.

People speak fondly of him, for the most part. Rumors are solid sources of information but you just can’t help but be a little bit suspicious. There is such a thing as too good to be true, after all…

You reach for your half-empty cup of blue raspberry Slurpee. Though it’s the beginning of September, summer takes longer to leave the midwest, you’ve learned, and the summers here are loads worse than ones you’ve experienced in Gotham.

Before you can even get your mouth around the red straw, a breeze hits and you blink, finding the Flash in front of you, depositing mostly empty cartons of hot dogs onto the counter, with a few of them still full. On their way to being empty, though, as he crams more into his mouth. A cup of cherry Slurpee finishes it off.

The Flash points a half-eaten hot dog at you. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“No, no, not like that. You’ve just got this suspicion to you. This… paranoia. A paranoia that can only belong to someone from Gotham,” he says, nodding to himself.

Well, that’s—

Hm.

A bit embarrassed to be caught out like that—because it isn’t the first time—you attempt to make up for it.

“I’m from Metropolis, actually.”

Best to stay on the east coast. Even you couldn’t pass as someone from the west coast, like Star City or Coast City or something.

Flash grins at you. “Liar.”

You aren’t used to this kind of playful banter. Certainly not from a literal superhero, from someone who regularly saves the world with the likes of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman and more. You don’t think you expected the cold brutality the city gets from the Bats back home but… you didn’t expect this, either.

To get a much-needed sense of normalcy, you scan one of the hot dog cartons, adding them up on the screen.

“Was it that obvious? I wasn’t trying to be… I mean, I was, but, you know, I didn’t, um…”

You stop, cringing. Very eloquent and more than a little annoying, given your career choice. Can’t be like that when you get put on the spot. Even if it’s by a superhero. Especially if it’s by a superhero. Journalists are even worse, anyway…

“Relax, kid,” he laughs. “To tell you the truth, it was hard to miss but I’m sort of geared for that kind of thing, what with my choice in career.”

“Right.” You scan the Slurpee and take a drink of yours while he fiddles with some zipper in his suit. A deep red, with a purple tinge, a silver Flash symbol on his chest, and a cowl, but with the top free, showing off a shock of red hair, and his eyes still exposed. Pretty green.

“But I do have an unfair advantage,” he goes on. “I see a similar look every time I have a League meeting.”

You blink. “The League…?”

“You should know. Your caped crusader, Batman. Of course, that’s also because he doesn’t like me—and the feeling is mutual, trust me—but, you know. Schematics. He sits right across from me and that’s all I get, this classic brand of Gothamite suspicion on top of the usual wordless Batman disapproval.”

“Should you be telling me that?”

He hands you a twenty. You pop open the register to break it. Another breeze hits and the empty cartons of hot dogs are shoved into the trash, with him eating the last one and on his way to finishing the large cup of cherry-flavored Slurpee.

“I mean, what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” you say lightly, calculating his change. “I could go to the press. Breaking News: Strife within the League. Tenuous relations between Batman and the Flash.”

“Oh, really?”

“That’s the press. A common dislike will absolutely turn into that in their headlines. They would take it and run.”

“That is true. You a journalist?”

“Oh, no. Communications, with a concentration in public relations.”

Flash thinks on it for a second, finishing his hot dog, then the Slurpee. You partially expect him to get angry. It would be a justified reaction. He doesn’t know you and you don’t know him. You can admit that some of what you just said is a bit… imperious. Who are you to lecture him, right?

“You aren’t wrong,” he finally says, repeating his earlier words as the last hot dog carton and Slurpee cup disappear from the counter—thrown in the trash.

“But,” he presses, accepting the change from you—a few dollars—then dropping it into your tip jar. “I know you aren’t going to take that to the press.”

“How’s that?”

He points at you. “Because I don’t think you’re the kind of person to do that.”

“You’re appealing to my morals?”

“Yes. Is it working?”

“Not much work to be had,” you admit. “I was never going to. I was just…”

“Being nice and telling me I should watch what I say,” he finishes, grinning. “Which is true. All true. I just couldn’t help myself. What’s your name, kid?”

You tell him. He extends a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Keystone City. Hope you enjoy your stay.”

A bit bemused, you nod politely and say, “Thanks.”

Before he can say anything else, he visibly tenses, lifting a hand to the Hermes-like wings at his ears, then, in the next blink, he is gone, off to stop someone or something, leaving you with a sharp gust of wind that rattles the windows and knocks the candy from the shelves under the counter onto the ground.

Well, then.

Talk about a first impression.

reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers

[if you'd like to be added to the taglist (or removed), let me know here or in my inbox! ^_^]

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #dc comics x reader #tim drake x you #red robin x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x y/n #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfam x y/n

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laracrofted · 1 year

Note

[ BREASTS ] * your muse massages my muses’ breats. - with bradley perhaps, please?🥹

much like reader, i work a corporate desk job, have bad posture, and need bradley to break my spine with his bare hands. enjoy, my love 🫶🏻

warnings: minors and ageless accounts dni, swearing, explicit sexual content, boyfriend bradley is very large and boyfriend, not proofread. bradley x fem!reader.

Work runs late – very, very late.

And when you get home, stomach grumbling from the half-granola bar lunch you'd snuck in between meetings, Bradley is in the kitchen, patiently waiting for you with enough pasta and garlic bread to come back for seconds and still leave you with enough to bring your lunch tomorrow.

No more vending machine lunches for you. You could sob.

Later, Bradley stretches out with you on the couch, dressed in a loose cut-off shirt and athletic shorts that ride up on his strong thighs, nestling you between his spread knees, and asks you about your day in a low, warm voice.

Floodgates? Opened.

"And I have a new client who needs 'extra attention' is just corporate speak for never listens and needs everything explained to them ad nauseam. Like I must've answered the same damn question four times in 20 minutes. It's so... argh."

You groan in frustration and press your palms to your forehead, remembering all of the work that waits for you tomorrow. It never fucking ends. You need a vacation.

Somewhere with a beach, where Bradley can wear little swim trucks and no shirt for a week straight. It's important for your health, actually.

Ever attentive, Bradley hums against the side of your neck, sympathetic, and strokes along your pulse point, sponges a soft kiss on your neck, then another.

"Sorry, sweet girl. It'll be better tomorrow."

You lull to the side, wanting to give him better access, and cringe at the sharp pain that ricochets across your shoulders and down your spine. A hiss of pain escapes from your mouth, and Bradley immediately freezes.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

You want to shake your head but don't want that to hurt even more. You remain perfectly still and rub a reassuring hand up and down the part of his leg nearest your hand.

"No, I've got a crick in my neck. I barely left my computer all afternoon, was in back-to-back meetings."

You have the worst computer posture, sitting at your desk with your legs crossed and your spine curved at an angle that would make chiropractors everywhere keel over dead.

"Need a massage?" Bradley asks, running his palms over your shoulders. He might actually be an angel in human form.

You nod, and Bradley kneads at your shoulders, working the knots and tight muscles with those large hands, pushing and pulling at you like dough. You are doll-like in his hands, moving in any direction that Bradley guides you.

Most of the pain is gone in minutes, and sensing the languid relaxation in your bones, relaxing back against him, Bradley pulls the blouse over your head and unclasps your bra, leaving you bare from the waist up.

He guides you down on the couch, face down in the cushions with your eyes closed. And goes back to work.

He works down the length of your spine, rubbing at the aching spots in your back, near the bottom of your spine. You are boneless beneath him, humming.

When Bradley is sure you're feeling relaxed – and not in any more pain – Bradley sneaks a hand underneath your weight, skimming the side of your ribcage and up.

He cups your breast. You stifle a laugh.

"Is that part of the massage?"

He adopts an oh-so-serious tone. You can't see him, but you'd bet absolutely anything that your boyfriend is grinning from ear to ear right now.

"Oh, yes. It's a very generous package."

His weight presses against your back. You can feel him against your ass, already half-hard.

You raise your hips from the couch and grind back against him with a cheeky grin, buried in the velvet throw pillow. "Oh, I bet. It feels like a generous package."

"Behave," Bradley remarks, shaking with laughter that contradicts the instruction. A hand gently taps against your ass in reprimand, then squeezes that too. A breathy moan escapes from your mouth.

He massages your chest, squeezing the skin with warm hands, pinching your nipples to make you arch back into him. He kisses the side of your neck, tongue darting out to lap at your skin, and god, you want his mouth on your breasts, not just his hands.

You moan for more, whispering his name, and at the desperate need in your voice, Bradley rolls you onto your back and leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth, blowing a cool breath on the pebbled skin, reveling in your shiver.

He does it again to the other breast, kneading the other breast with his palm until you're wet and aching beneath him.

He looks down at you with warm eyes. "Better, sweet girl?"

You nod.

"Much better. Tell me..." You reach for him, easing the waistband of the athletic shorts down until Bradley springs free. Take him in your hand, running a finger across the leaking tip of his cock. "How does breaking my spine in half factor into this generous package? Is that extra?"

He grows even harder in your palm, and Bradley reaches down, underneath the pencil skirt that adorns your legs, and cups you with one hand. You are soaking through your panties, and Bradley grinds the heel of his palm down to catch your clit.

A sharp breath blows across your nipples. You gasp.

"We can work something out."

#birthday 🤠 drabbles #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw x you #laracrofted writes #fic: bradley bradshaw

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sweetkpopmusings · 5 months

Text

bang chan coworker headcanons <3

a/n: i'm once again sorry it has been so long !! life is chaotic, so my writing time had been reduced dramatically :-( regardless i hope this (and the other posts i'm forcing myself to finish soon) will bring you joy ! i really really wish chan was my coworker :,-) pics not mine <3

content: fluff, nonidol!au | wc: 0.9k | warnings: none! | pairing: coworker!name x gn!reader | requests: open

you met chan while staying late to finish up a huge report before the quarter was over

you stayed so late that the lights in the office automatically turned off, so, phone in hand as a flashlight, you walked through the dark office and hoped you could get this sorted before you completely lost all will to finish your work

unfortunately, your phone flashlight did not have a wide enough range to capture everything around you, which meant you were completely unaware of chan walking toward the same spot

you were made aware of his presence when you two bumped into each other and screamed

while you caught your breath, chan asked if you were okay

you replied, still unable to see much in the dark office, “who are you?” which made him laugh

“i’m chan, usually the only one who has to bump into things in order to find the override switch”

you laughed, and, once the lights came on, you realized you recognized chan from his frequent trips to the coffee machine

he recognized you by the fact you usually had headphones on at work, visibly enjoying whatever you were listening to that day

as you walked back to your respective desks, you made introductory small talk, feeling much calmer now that there was a very small chance of another jump scare

by the time you wrapped up, it was far too close to being the next day for your liking

chan, being as caring and responsible as he is, didn’t leave until he knew you were safely headed your way home

as a thank you, you decide to bring him a coffee the next morning

he was so focused on his work that you gave him a good jump scare when you said “hi,” which immediately sent both of you into a giggling fit

that solidified the chemistry between you two, and the rest was history

chan’s coffee habit benefited you, as he would buy a coffee for you on the mornings he stopped by a cafe

you always told him he didn’t need to, and he always said it would hurt his feelings if you didn’t have as much of a morning boost as he did every morning he saw you

his cheesiness aside, you were moved by the sweetness of the gesture

he’s also very much the "iced coffee is a meal" and "this is a latte so it counts as breakfast" kind of coworker i may or may not be that coworker so you bring put fruit or granola bars on his desk in the mornings

chan beams with joy every time he sees it, but he never lets go of believing coffee counts as breakfast

chan also makes several playlists for different moods at work

he sends them to you whenever he has finished a new one, buzzing with excitement while he waits for your review

he'll send you an old one too if he knows you need to be uplifted, get in the zone, etc.

when you make him a playlist, he practically melts into a puddle on the floor

all of his friends have that playlist memorized because he plays it all. the. time.

and yes, all of his friends know just about everything about you because you are chan’s favorite part of the workday

chan invites you to little dinners or hangouts with his friends pretty regularly since they’re all dying to meet you

you are surprised by how much chan has told them, and fairly flustered by how much chan remembers about you from quick conversations

he teases you for blushing, but his ears are bright red which seungmin points out immediately

one of his other favorite things is when you can hang out after work just the two of you

sometimes, if you can get off early, he’ll insist on “going on an adventure” because you’ve been gifted with rare free time

the adventure often ends up being a trip to target or something casual, but you both have the time of your lives

your coworkers always know when you two are hanging out by the sound of laughter echoing through the office

chan’s dad jokes have gotten so much stronger since he met you because he finally has someone he can pester with them all day long

if you two can’t chat during the day because you’re swamped, or because your supervisors told you you needed to stop messing around so much, chan will message you a dad joke every hour and peek over his desk to watch you open the message

you two have to hold your hands over your mouths to keep from bursting into laughter

at this point, it’s so normal that your coworkers don’t get concerned when they see tears in your eyes

your coworkers also know when one of you is out sick or on vacation because you two are so different without the other in the office

lowkey they miss you two being together like you’re entertainment for the whole office

sometimes you end up staying late at the office together, but, instead of scaring each other while looking for the light switch, you listen to music while you work in peace

or you have deep conversations because you can’t handle looking at a document for another second

you’re both enchanted by each other’s minds, and it’s so easy to have life-changing revelations whenever you open up to each other

so, while working overtime isn’t ideal, you can’t complain because you get to do it together

chan would never tell you, but on the night you met, he had finished his work before you and decided to stay so you didn’t have to be alone <33

what he will tell you, over and over again, is that night was the best overtime he had ever worked because it brought you into his life <33333

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nyoomfruits · 5 months

Note

where you lead (i will follow) for the wip title game!

its the gilmore girls au!!!!!!!! lando is a single dad of a 16 year old daughter and oscar runs the diner and they're so incredibly domestic everyone essentially thinks they're married.

Lando swings open the door the dinner, practically tripping over his own feet as he makes his way inside, delighted to be out of the crisp fall morning air. He takes off his scarf as he makes his way over to the bar, and gives his biggest, most beaming smile to Oscar, who has been watching Lando’s entry with a wary yet fond look on his face from his place behind the counter. “Oscar, you look beautiful today. Practically glowing. New skin care routine?”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Five minutes,” he says, turning his back to Lando. “Coffee’s not done brewing yet. Are you having breakfast?”

“Five minutes,” Lando laments dramatically, flopping his head down on the bar. “Might as well be five years. Why do you hate me.”

Oscar turns back to him, looking entirely unimpressed. “The machine was broken. You’ll live. Just be glad I managed to fix it.”

Lando, who had been making garbling dying noises into the warm wood of the bar, perks up. “Oscar, you are a savior to mankind and I don’t know what I would do without you. You impeccable handyman, you. You shining example of everything that’s good in the world. They should reward you citizen of the month. Nay, citizen of the-“

“Lando,” Oscar interrupts him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want breakfast or not?”

Lando thinks about the stale granola bar he hastily shoved into his mouth this morning before he had to make a quick stop at the supermarket to accept the bread delivery. “Depends. What’s your special this morning?”

“Depends,” Oscar says, with a shrug, starts wiping the counter with a tea towel. “Is Nugget coming?”

As if summoned, the door to the diner swings open and Lottie Norris makes her grand entrance, nearly tripping over her own feet before barreling into a barstool, looking up at Oscar with big pleading eyes. “Coffee,” she says, and then after a second. “Please?”

Oscar rolls his eyes, throws the tea towel over his shoulder as he turns towards the coffee maker. “You truly are the spitting image of your father” he says, sounding very far from annoyed and very close to fond. “Five minutes. Machine was broken.” With that he disappears into the little back kitchen.

“And he fixed it,” Lando says, leaning over to give Lottie a quick hug.

“Our hero,” Lottie says with a gasp.

“Do you want breakfast, Nugget?” Oscar yells from the back.

“Yes, please!” Lottie yells back.

“In that case the special is pancakes,” Oscar says, popping his head through the kitchen door before disappearing again.

“Pushover!” Lando yells, and then, “I’ll have some please!”

“Cannot believe we have to wait for coffee,” Lottie laments, letting her head fall down on the bar with a soft thunk. “I’m going to die.”

“There, there little grasshopper,” Lando says, patting her back consolingly, wondering if Child Services might come after him for giving his 15 year old a coffee addiction. “We will survive these horrors. We are Norrises, after all. We are strong, and brave, and-“

“Dying,” Lottie interjects, face still firmly planted into the bar.

“You two are so unnecessarily dramatic about the whole coffee thing,” Oscar comments, as he appears from the back, makes his way over to the coffee maker. “I have tea, you know.”

Lando hisses, as Lottie chants “Cursed beverage, cursed beverage” Oscar rolls his eyes. “Fine. But you’re going to have to do without your usual mugs, I’m short,” Oscar says, as he pours coffee into mugs that are decidedly smaller than the ones he usually has.

“This day just keeps getting worse,” Lando pouts, as Oscar puts the mug in front of him, completely unimpressed.

“What happened to the big ones?” Lottie asks, wrapping her hands around her own mug.

Oscar pulls a face. “New guy,” he says. “His name is Logan. Hired him so he can pick up some of the weekend shifts, but he’s rather… new to the whole carrying trays thing. So he keeps dropping them. He’s broken fifteen mugs this week alone.” Oscar gestures at his empty shelf that usually holds a colorful array of big coffee mugs. “Haven’t gotten around to replacing them yet.”

“Bummer,” Lando says. “But coffee is coffee so we shan’t complain.”

Lottie, who was sporting a rather pensive look at Oscar’s mug story, snorts. “Shan’t? Dad, oh my god, you aren’t that old.”

“I mean he is turning 36 soon,” Oscar says, as he makes his way around the counter to serve other customers their long awaited coffee as well. “Practically ancient.”

“You are only one year younger than me!” Lando yells after Oscar’s retreating back, and frowns at the shake of Oscar’s shoulders indicating his laughter. “You two are so mean to me,” Lando sulks, finally grabbing his mug to take a sip of his coffee. He swallows a bunch of very inappropriate noises as the first few drops of the precious liquid hit his tongue. “God, do you think Oscar would be willing to marry me so he can just make me coffee this good all the time?”

“Yes,” Lottie says without hesitation, taking her own sip. “Hey, Emma saw a recipe on TikTok for these like, s’mores cookies, where you like, make a smores but then you cover it in cookie dough? And I showed them to Oscar and he gave me his cookie dough recipe, so now we want to see if we can make those, is it cool if we use our kitchen after school?”

“Yeah, sure Nugget, no problem,” Lando says. After all, their kitchen really only gets used to heat up frozen pizzas and make Kraft Mac and Cheese, so.

“Awesome,” Lottie says, grinning as she grabs her phone, presumably to text Emma. “Can I come into work with you to pick up some groceries before I go to school? Then we can go home straight after.”

“Of course,” Lando says, downing the last of his coffee.

Oscar chooses that exact moment to reappear at the counter again, refilling Lando’s now empty mug without asking, before disappearing in the back and reappearing with two towering stacks of pancakes. One has whipped cream and strawberries on it, which he places in front of Lottie. The other, with maple syrup and chocolates chips, ends up in front of Lando.

“I love you,” Lando tells the pancakes. When he looks up, Oscar is already looking at him, soft expression on his face. His cheeks have that signature flush they always kind of have, although it appears a little darker, probably from all the running around Oscar’s been doing. His hair is falling in the usual little swoop it does, though there’s a stubborn strand sticking to his forehead. In an insane moment, Lando considers reaching over to push it back into place but then-

“Oscar, are you going-“ Lottie starts, around a mouth full of pancake.

“Lottie, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Lando scolds. Lottie rolls her eyes and very obnoxiously swallows her bite.

“Are you going to the Fall Festival?” She finishes.

“The Fall Festival?” Oscar asks, frown on his face as he glances at the town square, just visible through the big windows of the diner.

“Yeah, it’s this Friday,” Lando says, chasing a chocolate chip around his place with his fork. “There’s a Pumpkin carving competition, a hayride, I think they’re setting up a little stage for music as well. Bunch of booths selling fall stuff, food.”

“S’mores pit,” Lottie adds, lovesick look on her face.

“You and your s’mores,” Lando says, fondly. “But yes. S’mores pit. All the good stuff.” He turns to Oscar expectantly. “So? Are you coming?”

Oscar pulls a face. “I don’t know,” he says, “It’s not really my thing I think…” He trails off.

“Aw, Oscar, please?” Lottie says, pleading look on her face.

Lando, as a frequent recipient of that particular look, sends a small thought of sympathy Oscar’s way before jutting his own bottom lip out, trying to make his eyes look a little bigger. “Yeah, Oscar, please?” He asks. “It’ll be no fun without you.”

“No fun at all,” Lottie agrees. “Just the worst.”

“Crying all evening. Do you want to ruin our evening?”

“Tears, Oscar. There will be tears.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Oscar relents, throwing his tea towel at Lando, who catches it with a squawk. “You two are the worst, you know that? Fine. I will go check it out.” Lando and Lottie cheer, high fiving while Oscar rolls his eyes in the background. “Now go eat your pancakes, I have other customers to serve.”

Oscar disappears from behind the counter then, and Lando doesn’t really see him again as he spends the rest of his breakfast talking to Lottie and eating his pancakes. When they finally leave, after Lottie checks the time and nearly flails off her barstool when she realizes how late they are, he only just manages to throw a quick goodbye to Oscar over his shoulder, before rushing out the door.

The wind is still cold, nipping at Lando’s cheeks. But when he glances back, sees Oscar waving at them through one of the big windows with a soft little smile on his face, he barely feels it at all.

#landoscar #mctwinks #twinklaren #snippet

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atomicladytimetravel · 10 months

Text

Hot for Teacher

I saw a request by @whichwitchwanda and I had a good idea. It got a little longer than I expected it to but I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: After a stressful morning of teaching, your fiancé Joel stops by to help blow off some steam. You get a Zoom call from your boss, but that doesn’t stop him from making you feel good. Things only get better once the two of you are home.

No outbreak AU. There’s an unspecified age gap (however reader is young enough to be able to get pregnant) so you can use your imagination. Smut with little plot. 18+ MINORS DNI. Public oral and breeding kink. No use of (y/n).

3,824 Words.

“I think I might actually hate my job.”

You said it out loud to an empty classroom. You were staring at the mess of papers, empty water bottles and food trash your students had left on the floor. You ignored the school’s no food in class policy as long as the students picked up after themselves. It hadn’t been an issue in the previous years, but the group of students you had that semester were rough.

You took your phone out and snapped a picture of the mess. You walked through the rows of desks and sighed heavily upon seeing one with dicks of various sizes drawn in what you could only assume was permanent marker. You grabbed a disinfectant wipe and confirmed your suspicions when the ink didn’t budge. You took a picture of that as well.

You went back to your desk and opened your laptop. You were supposed to be having a Zoom meeting with your superintendent and principal in half an hour to discuss this exact issue. You transferred the two pictures over and attached them to an email.

Good morning,

Due to the destruction of my classroom (see attached photos), I am requesting we reschedule our Zoom meeting. I have to clean this up during my free period. I will be available when my students leave for lunch between 12:00pm-12:45pm.

You signed the email and sent it, hoping for a quick response. While you waited, you shot off a text to your fiancé Joel.

[9:04 AM] You: I am so done with these fucking teenagers.

He didn’t respond immediately, but you expected that. He was either elbow deep in paperwork or at a job site helping his guys put up walls. You did get a response from your two bosses confirming their ability to reschedule, however. After thanking them, you closed your laptop and got to work cleaning. Your phone vibrated a few minutes later and you paused to check your messages.

[9:31 AM] Joel: Uh oh. Bad morning?

[9:32 AM] You: [Image Attached] They destroyed my classroom. There’s trash everywhere and someone drew dicks all over one of the desks. In PERMANENT MARKER.

[9:32 AM] You: Now I have to grade papers AND have my Zoom meeting during lunch since I’m stuck cleaning this up during my free period.

You continued cleaning, going between the rows and picking up the trash. You came to the dick desk and wondered how you were going to get that cleaned up. You googled “how to remove permanent marker from a school desk” and scrolled through the results. Your eyes flicked to the top of the screen when another text from Joel came through.

[9:51 AM] Joel: Fuck, that looks pretty bad. I’m sorry babe. Some people’s kids 🙄

[9:52 AM] You: Tell me about it. Better finish cleaning before my next class. Love you 😘

[9:52AM] Joel: Love you more ❤️

One of the google results said a dry eraser marker should remove the permanent marker from the desk. You were pleasantly surprised to find out it worked. At least you didn’t have to hear the immature comments from the next kid to sit there.

You finished cleaning right before the bell rang. Your next class went alright; your classroom wasn’t in shambles at least. When the bell rang for lunch, you scarfed down the granola bar you’d gotten from the vending machine in the teachers lounge and started grading papers. There was a soft knock on your door a few minutes later. You saw Joel through the thin window and smiled, motioning him in.

“Hey baby, what are you doing here?”

“Since you had a rough morning, I thought I would come see you and bring you this,” he said, placing a venti cup of your favorite Starbucks on your desk.

“Oh god, this is exactly what I needed.” You grabbed the drink and took a big gulp of it. “I knew I loved you for a reason.”

He chuckled and stood behind you, massaging your shoulders as you continued grading. His strong hands worked at your tense muscles; you almost moaned because it felt so good.

“Damn darlin’, you really are stressed. Your shoulders are rock hard,” he observed.

“You have no idea,” you sighed. “These kids are killin’ me.”

“You know you can leave if you want to. I can support both of us comfortably, you don’t have to put yourself through this,” he reminded you. He’d been trying to get you to quit all year. His contractor business had taken off and he made more than enough to take care of you. You had been mulling over his offer more and more. Between the students and poor decision making from the school board, you went home crying more often than not.

“I know. I’ve actually been giving it a lot of thought,” you replied. “This has been my worst year teaching.”

“I know baby.” He moved your hair to the side and peppered kisses to your neck.

“Joel, what are you doing?” you giggled softly.

“Let me make it better,” he muttered into your skin.

“Baby, I’m at work,” you pointed out.

“So? No one is in here. I locked the door when I came in. I haven’t had lunch yet so why don’t you let me eat that little pussy real quick?” His lips were next to your ear now and his bedroom voice sent shivers down your spine. You knew you definitely shouldn’t, but an orgasm would help relieve stress. You were thankful for the maxi dress you chose to wear that morning.

“Mmm, how can I say no?” you hummed.

“Thaaaat’s a good girl,” he whispered right into your ear. You spun your chair around to face him.

“Good girls don’t let their fiancé eat their pussy while they’re at their teaching job.”

“Good girls do what they’re told.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. “Now turn back around.”

You obeyed and he got to his knees in front of you. He backed up under your desk, smirking the whole time. The man loved being dirty. He settled himself under your dress and pulled your panties off. He spread your thighs with his hands and placed soft kisses to the flesh between your legs. You tried your best to keep your face neutral as he started kitten licking at your clit. You gasped when he sucked gently. You were so lost in the pleasure that you almost missed the invitation for your Zoom meeting come across your laptop.

“Shit…Joel, my Zoom meeting,” you said, sitting up straighter in your chair. He didn’t stop.

“Joel, it’s the superintendent of the school district,” you hissed.

“Better be on your best behavior then.” You couldn’t see his face but you could practically hear the shit eating grin plastered on it. You clicked the link to join the meeting and composed yourself as best as you could. The faces of the superintendent and the principal appeared on the screen.

“Good afternoon Mrs. French, Mr. Simms,” you addressed them. “Thank you for taking the time to have this meeting.”

You struggled to remain professional as Joel’s tongue circled your clit. He was an expert with his tongue. You could feel yourself getting wetter with every swipe. You wanted to fuck his face so bad, but you knew your top half would give you away.

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry to see the photos you sent to us,” Mrs. French (the superintendent) said. She really looked like she could not have cared less.

“Yes, that’s disheartening to see,” Mr. Simms added. “What’s with all the food wrappers? There’s a no food in class policy.”

You toyed with your bottom lip and thought carefully about your answer. You knew they would ask about that. Joel sucked on your clit again and the jolt of pleasure made you slap your hand on the desk.

“Is everything alright?” Mrs. French asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yes, just killing a pesky gnat,” you lied. “I told my students at the beginning of the semester that I didn’t mind if they ate in my class as long as they clean up after themselves.”

You did your best to concentrate on your principal’s response as Joel’s tongue prodded at your hole before licking back up to your clit. You bucked your hips ever so slightly; thankfully it looked like you were just adjusting your position.

“We have a no food policy in place for a reason. You can’t rely on rely on teenagers to clean up after themselves,” Mr. Simms said. You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Then you had to stop yourself from crying out as Joel began furiously eating your pussy. Your hands white knuckled the arms of your chair. You cleared your throat, hoping your voice would come out steady.

“To be frank, I’ve been telling my students this since I began teaching here three years ago. This is the first time it’s ever been an issue. My students this semester have been disrespectful and rude,” you told them. “I have several more pictures to prove it.”

Your breath hitched when you felt two of Joel’s thick fingers slide into you. You wished you could see him, nose buried in your cunt and knuckle deep inside you. You loved it when he looked up at you when his face was between your legs. You were trying so hard not to make any noise; Joel’s fingers were ramming into your g-spot repeatedly and it felt so fucking good. You wanted to feel him everywhere. You wanted his hands to pull the neckline of your dress down and roll your nipples between his fingers. You wanted him to fuck you from behind, your dress bunched up to your waist and tits spilling out the front. You realized you had zoned out while your superintendent was speaking and you rejoined the conversation mentally.

“-so you really can’t blame the students for leaving food wrappers everywhere.”

You didn’t need to know the rest of what she had said. She was blaming you for the mess the students had made.

“With all due respect, I do blame the students. They’re all old enough and should know how to walk to a trash can to dispose of their trash. Water bottles and paper are allowed in class and that also littered my floor this morning. Should I stop allowing water and paper?” You were getting angry, but that didn’t stop Joel. If anything, it made him go harder. Your cheeky side turned him on. Your legs were shaking with pleasure on his shoulders.

“There’s no need for sarcasm,” Mrs. French chastised. “What do you want us to do about it?”

“Literally anything besides nothing,” you responded angrily. You were tired of not being taken seriously. “I’ve been dealing with this all semester and I’ve gotten no help from either one of you. I’m tired of going home mentally exhausted and crying.”

You made up your mind then. You could have a much better, more stress free life as Joel’s housewife.

“As a matter of fact, today is my last day teaching.”

Joel stopped then, shocked that you actually just quit.

“Let’s not be hasty now,” Mrs. French started, but you cut her off.

“Listen, my fiancé makes more than enough to support me and I don’t need to keep taking shit from this fucked up school district. I’d leave right now if I thought you could find a sub on such short notice.”

They both stared at you in stunned silence; you had always been very mellow and neither of them ever thought you had it in you to speak to them that way.

“I’ll leave my room key at the front office at the end of the day. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”

You left the Zoom meeting without another word.

“Keep eating my pussy,” you demanded. “Need to fucking cum.” Joel wasted no time obliging. The tip of his tongue worked furiously at your clit and you sighed with relief. He pumped his fingers inside you again, curling them and making your hips rise involuntarily. A quiet moan slipped past your lips and you pursed them together tightly. He flattened his tongue against your clit and you bucked your hips, fucking his face until you were teetering on the edge.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whispered. You slapped your hand over your mouth and squeezed your eyes shut as the orgasm washed over you. You squeezed his head with your thighs and he knew you were cumming hard. When your body relaxed, you pushed your chair back and Joel stood up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned widely at you.

“You quit.”

“I did. I’m all yours from now on,” you smiled. The thought of not coming back tomorrow filled your entire body with joy.

“Baby girl, you better be ready when I get home tonight,” he smirked. He pulled you to his chest and kissed you softly. His hard on poked your thigh through his jeans. “Wish I could fuck you on this desk right now. I’m so fucking hard.”

You reached down and gave his dick a quick squeeze.

“Mmm, you are aren’t you? I’ll take care of that for you later,” you promised. He smiled.

“I’ll see you at home baby. Love you,” he said, kissing you once more.

“Love you more.”

———————————

When you got home from work, you freshened up and put on Joel’s favorite black lace teddy. You dabbed a little perfume behind your ears and on your chest. You heard him come through the front door and you checked your appearance in the full length mirror before settling on the bed.

“Baby?” he called from downstairs.

“Up here, in the bedroom!” you called back. You heard his heavy boots thudding up the stairs.

“Look at my baby,” he grinned when he opened the door. “God damn, you look like heaven.”

“You told me to be ready for you. I’m ready,” you told him. He stood at the end of the bed and you crawled over to him. You stood on your knees and draped your arms around his neck. You put your lips to his ear. “Been ready all day.”

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I’m so fucking proud of you baby. Gonna reward you so good.”

He crashed his lips against yours for a hot, open mouthed kiss. His fingers tangled in your hair as your tongues swirled together. His other hand pawed at your ass cheek, squeezing briefly before giving it a smack.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day. I’ve been half hard since I left the school. I can’t wait to bury myself in your tight little pussy.” His mouth was on your neck then, nibbling and sucking at the skin. You knew there would be a mark there later, but you didn’t care now. He pushed the thin straps of your teddy down and pulled the neckline so that your breasts were exposed to him.

“So fucking pretty,” he muttered as he squeezed them in his hands. His thumbs swiped over your nipples and they hardened under his touch. He used his tongue on one of the sensitive buds as if he were using it on your clit. The sensation sent arousal straight to your core.

“Hmmm, that feels good,” you hummed. You cried out when he sucked then gently nibbled on your nipple. You were already soaking the lace in between your legs. As if reading your mind, he reached down and grazed his fingers over your pussy lips.

“Fuck baby, you’re soaking for me,” he marveled. He pushed the teddy the rest of the way down your body and helped you out of it.

“As much as I love that thing, I love seeing all of you even more,” he said. He shed his own clothing and instructed you to lie back on the bed. He crawled over you and nudged your legs apart with his knee. He reached down and lightly pressed two fingers to your throbbing clit. He began rubbing in tantalizingly slow circles. He looked down at you with lust filled eyes. You spread your legs wider to give him better access.

“There ya go, that’s my good girl,” he praised. He moved his fingers faster and you moaned, squeezing his bicep.

“God Joel, fuck me please,” you whimpered.

“Mmm, soon but not yet baby. I love touching your little pussy. Love feeling how it responds to me.” He dipped one finger inside you before dragging it back up to your clit and you moaned again. His words turned you on even more and you bucked your hips into his hand. He pushed them down and pinned you to the bed.

“Patience, love. You’ll get what you need,” he soothed. He pushed two fingers inside you and continued rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“Fuck, baby that feels good,” you whined.

“You deserve to feel good, sweet girl. Gonna make you forget all that stress.” He fingered you expertly and peppered kisses to any part of you his mouth could reach. “I’m gonna take such good care of my baby.”

“Oh god,” you moaned. The way he was talking to you drove you wild.

“Cum on my fingers so I can give you this cock,” he commanded. “I’m gonna fuck you so good baby. Can you cum for me baby girl?”

“Fuck, yes I’m so close,” you gasped. You pulled his face to yours so you could kiss him hard.

“I’m gonna cum,” you panted against his lips.

“Yeah, give me that cum baby,” he growled. You came around his fingers, your head tipping back and mouth hanging open as he continued to fuck you with his fingers. He slowly pulled his fingers out of you once you’d come down and he sucked them clean.

“God I love the way you taste,” he said before kissing you again. You could taste the remnants of your orgasm on his tongue. He didn’t waste any more time; he dragged his rock hard cock through your pussy lips and you jolted when the tip hit your sensitive clit.

“Put it in Joel, please,” you begged.

“Aw, my needy little thing,” he cooed. He slid just the tip of his cock inside you before pulling it back out slowly.

“N-no teasing baby, please give me your cock,” you pouted.

“Since you asked so nicely…”

He slid into you fully, bottoming out before sliding out and repeating the motion.

“F-fuck Joel…so big. Feels so good,” you moaned.

“Yeah? This what you needed baby? To be full of my cock?” His hips snapped forward and you wrapped your legs around his waist, gripping the sheets beneath you.

“Yes baby, wanted to be full of you so bad. Love how you feel inside me.”

“Shit baby girl,” he groaned. “Gonna fuck my baby like she deserves.”

He thrust harder, faster and rubbed your clit with his thumb until you were screaming his name over and over.

“God Joel, keep fucking me just like that. You’re gonna make me cum.” Your words came out breathlessly and desperate.

“Cum on my cock baby. Let go for me.” He rubbed your clit faster and you came around him, your cunt squeezing his cock. Your nails scratched down his back and your hips rose off the bed as you orgasmed hard.

“Oh my god,” you panted. “Fuck baby, that felt so good.”

“Can you do it again darlin’? God I could watch you cum for the rest of my life.” His voice was gruff and sexy.

“Mmm yeah baby, give me another one,” you purred.

“God damn I love you,” he grinned down at you.

“I love you,” you replied, matching his grin. He brought your legs up so that the back of your thighs were pressed to his chest. He held your ankles together with one hand as he resumed thrusting.

“I love being in this tight fucking pussy,” he groaned through gritted teeth. You did a kegel around him and his movements stuttered.

“Oh god do that again,” he moaned. You did it once more and reveled at the reaction you got from him. He wrapped his arm around your thighs and thrust into you hard.

“Cum for me again baby. I’m not gonna last much longer with you doin’ all that,” he panted. You giggled a little; he was very much the dominant one but you loved what you could do to him with the tightening of one muscle. He started fucking into you with intensity, his balls slapping against you obscenely with every thrust; you tensed around him again.

“If you don’t quit doin’ that, I’m gonna cum before you do,” he warned.

“Give it to me,” you whimpered. “Cum inside my pussy.”

“Are you sure?” he asked; you’d talked about children but your job always came first.

“Yes baby, I wanna be so full of your cum.”

“Yeah? You want me to give you a baby?” You weren’t aware either of you had a breeding kink until then.

“Oh god, fuck, yes put a baby in me,” you cried.

“Oh yeah baby girl. Gonna look so good being my pregnant little housewife.” His thrusts were relentless. You could tell he was getting close. He dropped your legs and leaned down to kiss you, swallowing the moans coming from your mouth. You wrapped your legs around him again and he reached between you to rub your clit.

“Joel, I’m gonna cum baby. Gonna cum so f-fucking hard.”

Your back arched off the bed as you came for him again. You muffled your screams into a pillow so the neighbors wouldn’t think you were being murdered.

“God damn, squeezin’ my cock so good. I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up and fuck a baby right in this little pussy.”

“That’s right baby, fill my pussy up. Give me all your fucking cum,” you encouraged. You squeezed around him as he thrust one last time and you felt warm cum filling you up. His hips stilled and he held onto your thighs for dear life as he drained his balls deep in your cunt. When he was finished, he pulled his sensitive cock out and watched as his cum dripped from your hole.

“That is so hot,” he panted. “I like seeing my cum drip out of you.”

“I think we just discovered a new kink,” you giggled.

“I think so,” he winked. He kissed you tenderly.

“I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself today,” he said. “I promise, I’ll take care of you for the rest of our lives. You and anyone else that comes along.”

“I’m the luckiest girl in the world,” you smiled softly.

“I’m the lucky one.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I love you.”

“I love you, too Joel.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlou hbo #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut

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mykneeshurt · 1 year

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Hi! I love your writing sm omg <3 was wondering if I could request Ghost x reader - where the reader is a rookie and very eager to please him constantly, which potentially then leads to a bit of smut? Like some degrading and praise hehe - and I am 18 <3 Thank You!!

Thank you so much ❤️ female reader ahead. I too love praise and degradation lmfao so I enjoyed this haha why can’t this be me? It’s not proof read as I’m sick at the moment and nursing a rather large headache. Enjoy!

Your alarm sounded, making you jump, rolling over the dull green light read 05:00. Sitting up you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and swung your legs out of bed. You were not a morning person, by any stretch of the imagination. After a quick wash you slicked your hair back and pulled on your hoodie.

Making your way to the mess hall the clinical white lights of the hallway burnt your eyes. On entering there were small groups of recruits already having breakfast. You grabbed two teas and granola bars, perching on the bench you kept your eyes peeled.

Ah! There he was! ‘Lieutenant!’ Your eyes lit up as the 6’2 hulking stature of a man walked in. You waved him over signalling you’d got him a tea. He made his way over, begrudgingly he sat opposite you. ‘Thanks Mouse.’ Mouse being your call sign as you had excellent stealth skills. He lifted his mask taking a sip of the golden liquid. ‘How is it? Made it now you like’ you beamed.

Catching a glimpse of his jaw and lips was a prize within itself, but you needed to know you’d done well. ‘Yeah, it’s good.’ It went silent after that, he was intimidating and you were slightly awkward. He finished his tea, thanking you once more before he left.

This went on for weeks, doing little things here and there to show him how eager you were. How excited you were to be working with him, to learn from him. Cups of tea here. Cleanings his knives there. A sprinkle of compliments to stroke his ego amongst other things. None of this went unnoticed by the team. ‘Fuckin eager beaver ain she’ Soap commented one day. Ghost pinched the bridge of his nose ‘you’re fuckin tellin me. She’s everywhere. Like a bad smell.’

Soap chuckled and patted him on the back ‘don’t be so harsh on her. Me thinks she might have a wee crush on her Lieutenant.’

If Soap could see his face he’d see it twisted in disbelief. ‘Fuck off Johnny. No she does not. A keen rookie is all.’ Soap raised his eyebrow ‘fine. A wager then. If she fucks you, you do my laundry. If she doesn’t I’ll do yours.’ Now Ghost wouldn’t normally take up such a gross offer, however it would make sense as to why you followed him round like a puppy. Worst you’d do is say no and he’d be stuck cleaning Soaps awful smelling socks. Best case, he gets laid.

‘Fine Johnny you’re on.’

—

That evening Ghost went to the gym as per his routine. He noticed you on the treadmill, sweat dripping down your back, your thighs rippling as your feet hit the hard ground. He suddenly began to see you in a new light. Walking past he gave you a nod of acknowledgement, earning a toothy smile from you.

He sets up on the smith machine and began his bench presses. You tried so hard to concentrate, but you were distracted by his bulging biceps and pants as he lifted the weights. Nearly tripping over yourself you decided that you best get off the treadmill before you went head over tit.

You couldn’t help but watch him in the corner of your eye. Jesus Christ he looked good. Skin tight long sleeved gym top, thing grey joggers and his black mask. He was an Adonis. Walking past him you offered to get him some water from the vending machine, as you noticed he didn’t have any.

He returned the bar to its original position and sat upright on the bench. Sighing he stood, now dwarfing you with the height difference. He looked menacing. ‘Come with me’ he commended grabbing your wrist. Confused but intrigued you followed him blindly. You’d follow your Lieutenant anywhere.

Rounding the corner you approached the changing rooms of the gym, little lockable stalls. Pulling you into one he slammed your back against the door. As he reached to lock the door he whispered in your ear ‘god you’re so fuckin needy. It’s pathetic.’ His low raspy voice ricocheted through you at high speed. Why the did this turn you on? ‘I’m … I’m sorry’ you stuttered, still unsure of what was going on.

‘Show me. Get on your fuckin knees, and show me.’ Was this really happening? You felt yourself clench as his demand. Slowly kneeling your kept your gaze on him, your heartbeat thudding in your ear. You looked perfect beneath him. Your eyes still full of eagerness and desperation. He guided your hand to his erect cock, ‘see what you did? Now be a good little girl and choke on my cock.’

Fuck. It was happening.

He pulled his joggers down just enough to free his cock before he tapped your lips with the engorged head. ‘Open your fuckin mouth.’ Doing as you were told you opened your mouth, all too ready to take him. He slid his cock along your tongue, length wise he was perfect. Girth however was a different story. You placed your hands on his thighs to steady yourself as he began to thrust. Gripping your hair to keep you in place he pushed further in. ‘Fuck. Such a good little whore. So Fuckin good for me.’ The praise was driving you wild. You hummed against him. The vibrations shooting through him.

Saliva drooled from the corners of your mouth as he assaulted your throat. ‘So. Perfect’ he drawled as he gripped the root of your hair. The salty taste of pre cum lined your tongue as he continued to thrust. Feeling himself edge closer to his orgasm he pulled out leaving you gasping for breath. He sat down on the bench in the stall. Spreading his legs he gestured for you to stand in between them. Doing as you were told you manoeuvred in the little space you had.

‘Take em off’ he ordered looking at your shorts. Wiggling out of them he quickly pulled you onto his lap, your own legs now spread wide. Running a finger along your slit he chuckled ‘so wet already? You really are a filthy little bitch ain you?’ He placed his finger in his mouth as he sucked your arousal off his skin. Grabbing your chin he pulled you close, ‘you’re gonna take my cock and you’re not gonna make a fuckin sound.’

Nodding eagerly you lined him up against your cunt and sank down, oh so slowly. His pupils bloomed until there was only a black void staring back at you. Your mouth fell open, whisper-less screams choked from your throat. The stretch burnt, you tip toed the line between pain and pleasure so thinly. He filled you, completely. He gripped the back of your neck and tugged you close to him. ‘Fuckin ride me.’

You started rolling your hips, back and forth, grinding onto him. Feeling his girth spread you further. You scraped your nails along his chest, his neck, his mask. Anything. ‘So fukin good for me.’ He mumbled into your neck, keeping it grasped in his death like grip. Your movement became desperate as you chased your high. ‘Look at you, needy and desperate. Knew you were pathetic the moment I saw you.’

The mixture of praise and degradation sent your mind into a spiral. You began to raise yourself up before falling on his cock. The change in speed and rhythm sent his eyes rolling back. ‘Yes, fuck, just like that. Such a good little bitch.’ Gripping at your face you bit your lip, stifling a moan. Hearing a squeak of a moan fall from your lips he slammed his hand over your mouth. ‘Shhhh little one. Can’t have the other hear you being a whore for your Lieutenant. Can we?’

‘No, sir. No, fuck … ahhh’ you breathed into his ear. ‘Show me how you make yourself cum’ he demanded. You trailed your hand down to your aching clit, applying pressure felt like nothing else. Your movements became sloppy as you muffled your moans into his chest. ‘Look at me when you cum, I wanna see your needy little face.’ Pulling your head back you locked eyes with him.

You tightened around him, your cunt pulsating over his girth. You dug your nails into his shoulders ‘fuck, good girl. Just like that.’ Desperate breaths escaped you, whimpering, panting on top of him. ‘Get on your knees.’

Sliding off him you knelt before him, doe like eyes staring up at him. ‘Open that dirty mouth of yours.’ Doing as you you told you opened it slowly, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. He pumped his cock, slamming a hand on the stall wall to steady himself. He gritted his teeth as he chased his release. You slowly stuck your tongue out, eager to taste him. ‘God, you are a whore aren’t you.’ Your eyes glinted at the statement.

He choked on his own sob of pleasure as he released his cum onto your tongue. Panting he watched you swallow, never straying your eyes away from his. Tucking himself back in he helped you to your feet, ‘you’re fuckin naughty’ he whimpered.

‘Mmm only for you sir.’

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod mw22 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #fan fic smut #smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you

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oohnotvery · 2 months

Text

Edges of the Night (Chapter 2)

Mulder told her to drive and gave her a mysterious address in Colorado, but apart from that, he has left her completely in the dark. Scully knows better than anyone that her former partner is notoriously bad about information-sharing, but this time, she’s really working on a wing and prayer. To his credit, Mulder seems physically incapable of providing more details. She had to pull over to the side of the highway just to shake him awake for her first of many hourly concussion check-ins. He grumbled something about not stopping and she forced him to recite her name, his address, and the President’s name before getting back on the road. He was asleep before she even crossed over into traffic.

At the second check-in, she pulls into a gas station in the middle-of-nowhere central California. When Mulder raises his head and starts to protest, she bites.

“I’m exhausted, Mulder, and if you really expect me to drive fifteen hours through the night to a place I’ve never even heard of, with no explanation as to why I’m making this drive, you’re going to let me drink a coffee and you’re going to let me take a bathroom break.” He shoots her an irritated look and she fantasizes about turning the gas pump on him.

While she waits for her coffee to drip, she considers trotting over to the nearby pay phone and calling Alan. Far too many times, she’s been on the receiving end of Mulder’s inability to call her and tell her that he’s okay, safe, and alive. She intimately knows the horrible, sickening way it feels to wait and wonder. She remembers the many vivid scenarios the brain tends to conjure in these situations. Alan deserves a call.

God, her boss probably deserves a call. Her stomach clenches when she considers what it will look like when she doesn’t show up to work tomorrow, or the next day, or maybe even the day after that. How long does Mulder intend to keep her wrapped up in this strange, mysterious escapade of his? And how long will she play along?

With a sinking stomach, she realizes how quickly she fell back into his orbit. How easily she succumbed to his absurd, unexplained demands and requests. For a moment, her cheeks blaze hotly. He pushed you out, she reminds herself, and you’re still letting him control your life.

The coffee machine sputters one last hot drip of coffee into the paper cup and she glances over at her car. Mulder has managed to stay awake this time and his eyes are trained on her. She meets his gaze through the window and wonders what he’s thinking. Although she knows—knew—him well, his mind is an enigmatic place. He could be thinking about the car accident; the drive; the diamond on her finger. Hell, he could be thinking about the Knicks. It’s a complete toss-up. The one thing she’s certain of is that he sure as hell isn’t thinking about how he hurt her, or how this little adventure is affecting her life.

She pays for her coffee and decides not to make any calls.

At the third check-in, she doesn’t bother pulling over. The coffee has done its job and she feels sufficiently awake. She pokes Mulder in the side until he wakes up and answers all her probing questions. Then she turns her attention back to the road, fully expecting him to return to sleep. After a minute though, she can still feel his eyes on her. She glances over.

In the eerie darkness of the deserted highway, she can only see flickers of his expression: an earnest look in his eyes; a defeated pout on his lips.

“Thank you,” he says after a minute, “for driving.”

She holds his gaze for just a second, then nods tightly.

The fourth check-in includes another bathroom break and a second coffee, along with a granola bar for her and a packet of sunflower seeds for him. She isn’t sure if he’s eaten anything, so she adds on a water bottle, a muffin, and a bag of pretzels. The rural gas station pickings are slim. Mulder declines the food but downs the water, which she appreciates.

They have almost reached the California-Nevada border and so far, she has been following signs for Las Vegas, knowing that it will be the first—and only—major city they will encounter along the way. After that, she’s going to need to rely on the atlas in the backseat.

After Mulder drains his water bottle, he falls back into another round of sleep. Scully is partially glad for his unconsciousness; it means they don’t have to address anything serious, at least not yet. Every so often, she glances over at him to check for the telltale rise and fall of his chest. The sight of him dozing beside her pricks at her memories. She has been in this position many times before, driving a sleeping Mulder to and from another rural town with another set of monsters. He’s done the same for her, especially during her cancer when she often fell asleep the moment the car started moving.

But tonight is a much longer journey than those road trips ever were, and it evokes a deeper memory for her. Her tired eyes burn as she recalls the last time she drove an unconscious Mulder across the country, many years ago when their relationship was still forming—when she drove him to New Mexico to meet Albert Hosteen. She cringes realizing that they were on better terms back then than they are now, despite the fact that she had just shot him in the shoulder.

She banishes the memories as they come. Some things are too painful to bear right now. Her mind needs to be completely focused on the drive. Ruminating on the fact that they’ll never get back to that place of mutual respect and devotion is something she simply can’t consider.

It is almost midnight by the time they reach the outskirts of Las Vegas, and her caffeine has worn off. She keeps pinching herself to stay awake, but the outlines of the highway are getting fuzzy and the headlights from passing cars blur her vision. She needs to take a break.

She catches sight of a roadside motel just outside the city and makes a quick decision. She flips on her blinker and takes the exit for the motel. When she pulls to a stop in the parking lot, Mulder blinks awake. He glances around at his surroundings, takes in the retro neon motel sign, and then looks at her sharply.

“No,” he says immediately.

Her shoulders sag. “Mulder, please,” she begs. “I’m so tired. I just need a few hours of sleep.”

He shakes his head defiantly. “Scully, we have to keep going. It’s not safe yet. They could be following us.”

“Who? What’s not safe?” she demands. “You haven’t told me anything except to drive. Are you in danger?”

He rubs at his face restlessly. “I know, I know,” he admits, then glances around nervously. “Please, get back on the road.” He meets her eyes, silently begging her to trust him. “Please.”

She stares at him. His face has an anxious, desperate quality to it. It is unusual to see Mulder this way; he walks through the world with a frustrating amount of confidence. Back in the day, even when faced with critical danger, he often peppered their conversations with bad jokes or stupid puns. But tonight, he is on edge, an animal being hunted. Tonight, he is genuinely afraid.

And so, with an exasperated sigh, she does as she’s told.

As she re-enters the highway, they ride in silence for a few minutes. In the Before Times, silence between them was an easy affair. Hundreds of hours together in rental cars meant they never had any expectations of the other to fill the space with useless noise. But tonight, the silence feels uncomfortable. It highlights the distance between them; it underscores the time they have lost.

He clears his throat, bringing her back to the present. “So, uh, you need to ask me any more concussion questions? What’s the name of my favorite burger joint? How often does Frohike hack into the DoD’s files?”

She grimaces at his poor attempt at humor. It’s been a while since she’s thought about the Gunmen. She wonders if they ever think about her. She shrugs. “You seem fine, Mulder. I’ll withhold my questions for now.” She pauses, licking her lips. “But if I have trouble waking you up next time, I’ll be sure to inquire after Frohike’s hacking habits.”

She feels him smile across the car, but he doesn’t reply. The banter between them feels forced and stilted. Although it was easy enough to fall back into place at first—doctor mode, FBI mode—now that the immediate danger seems to have passed, she doesn’t know how to speak to him.

“So you, uh, you probably do have some more pressing questions for me,” he says quietly, breaking into her thoughts. “About what’s going on here.”

She nods slowly. “I do.”

“Ask away.”

She glances over at him, biting her lip. “What the hell is going on? What is so pressing that I can’t even get four hours of sleep in a bed before driving another nine hours through unfamiliar territory?”

He rubs his eye with a finger, then sighs heavily. “Fair enough. Two days ago, Skinner alerted me to a very credible threat to your safety.”

She almost slams on the brakes. This is just not fair. Isn’t this the entire reason he pushed her out in the first place? So shit like this would stop happening to her? So she wouldn’t ever be in danger again? So he could rest easy knowing he would never again be the cause of her suffering? “To my safety?” she sputters. “How? I haven’t been involved in the X-Files for months.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, and she can hear the defeat in his voice, the failure, the guilt. Always the guilt. “I had . . . the same reaction.” She imagines it now: Skinner’s gruff, no-nonsense voice sharing details of yet another way Scully might die. Mulder leaping from his desk, panic consuming his face.

“As you know,” Mulder continues, “the Bureau has designated a number of safe houses around the country to protect its agents. Skinner immediately made arrangements for you to be transported to one of them.”

“In Colorado.”

“In Colorado, yes,” he confirms. Ah, so that’s where they’re headed.

She shoots him a look. “Are you going to make me guess?”

He frowns.

“How you ended up in San Diego, in a car driven by a man who seemed intent on killing me, no less?”

He huffs a laugh. “That part should be mostly obvious, Agent Scully.”

“Tell me anyways.”

He pauses. When he speaks, his voice has turned very quiet. “The moment I heard you were in danger, I was on the first flight out.”

She nods even as her cheeks darken. That part, she does already know. Although he’s ornery and quarrelsome and mysterious, he’s never going to pass up the opportunity to make sure she’s safe. “And how did you end up in the car? Who was that man?”

She hears him swallow. “I got waylaid at the airport. They found me before I could find you. That man was just some crony, I think. I never got his name. I think he intended to use me as bait if his original plan didn’t work.”

“His original plan, which was running me off the road?”

Mulder shrugs and they fall into silence again.

“Do you really not know?”

He pauses. “I’ve told you almost everything I know.”

“Almost?”

Another pause. “I don’t think that man wanted to kill you. I think he wanted to stop you, maybe scare you.” He sighs. “The tip indicated that they intended to abduct you again. For . . . experiments.”

“Experiments?” Her foot taps the brakes and the car jumps.

“I know, Scully.” His palm grazes her hand. “We were warned you’d be taken one day after work, and that they planned to transport you to a facility in Mexico City. And from there, run tests and experiments.”

She is quiet for a very long time. Her ears ring and she feels lightheaded. Experiments. Tests. Abduction. Again. When she finally speaks, her throat is thick with emotion. “So I was never going to be safe, was I, Mulder? No matter how far or how hard you pushed me away, that was never a guarantee of my safety.”

He doesn’t reply.

For half an hour, silence once again engulfs the vehicle. Scully keeps glancing over to see if Mulder has fallen asleep again, but his eyes stay wide open.

“Mulder,” she finally says, and he startles, “how long do you think we’ll need to remain hidden?”

He catches her eye over the car. “I don’t know, Scully. Hopefully not long. Skinner has a team of people working to get to the bottom of this, but he made me no promises.”

She swallows hard, subconsciously twisting the diamond on her finger. “I have things—a life—to get back to. I—I have people who will be worried about me.” She catches him glancing at the ring.

“I know.”

“Is there any way we can communicate that I’m safe?”

She knows the answer before he gives it. “No.”

Her mind begins to wander. Once they reach this safe house, how long will she and Mulder be stuck there? Days? Weeks? She bites her lip until she draws blood. She can’t imagine what they will do to each other when they’re forced into such close quarters. At one point in their partnership, she knows that such an environment would have aroused that all-too-familiar temptation in her, the one that told her to just kiss him already. Just fuck him already. But now, strained as they are, they’re more likely to kill each other. She wonders if Mulder is dreading it as badly as she is.

They cross into Arizona very briefly before veering north into Utah, and Mulder falls back to sleep. She’s been to Utah before, both in her work travels and on family vacations in the past. She knows it is a gorgeous state, home to vast canyonlands and red stone arches and soaring white mountains. But in the middle of the night, it is so desolate and so isolated that she catches herself drifting off.

“Mulder,” she says roughly, her voice hoarse with exhaustion, “Mulder.”

He rouses quickly, his body going stiff as his eyes dart around the landscape. Seeing no imminent threats, he relaxes slightly.

“Mulder, I’ve got to stop,” she admits. “Just for a few hours. I’ve never driven through eastern Utah or Colorado and I know those mountains will be hard to navigate. I can’t do it without sleep.”

She expects him to protest like he’s been doing this whole time; she expects a rallying cry or an encouraging speech, maybe even a stern lecture. But instead, she feels his hand land lightly on her wrist. She looks over at him.

“If you see somewhere to pull off, I can keep watch while you sleep in the backseat.”

She opens her mouth in surprise. “That’s a change of heart,” she notes.

She senses him shrugging. “This part of Utah is remote. It’s clear no one is following us. I think we can get away with a quick pit stop.”

She sends up a prayer of thanks, and in ten minutes, she is pulling into a deserted campground on the side of the road. She shuts off the car and clambers out to get in the backseat, and is immediately shocked by the cold air. After months in sunny San Diego, it is strange to feel the chill of the desert after dark.

She shifts into the backseat and lies down, resting her head on folded hands. Mulder glances into the backseat and she feels uneasy as he watches her shift around and settle. He’s still staring at her when she closes her eyes. In no time, she is asleep.

#dana scully #mulder x scully #the x files #msr #msr fanfic #x files #txf #x files fanfic #fox mulder #xfiles fanfic

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try-set-me-on-fire · 9 months

Text

Tagged by a buncha folks for fuck it Friday! Thanks @devirnis @butchdiaz @anxieteandbiscuits @alyxmastershipper @rewritetheending! I’ll post scraps form a few things…

Their first actual interaction in nurse Eddie au

In bed eight there are blue eyes and a birthmark and Eddie says “Buck,” out loud, because he’s an idiot.

“Do I… know you?” Buckley (Eddie seeks safety in the formality of a last name) tilts his head a little, eyes searching Eddie’s face for familiarity.

Saying something like You’re usually unconscious when we meet would be creepy, probably. Sometimes I feel like you're my dead wife doesn't even make sense, Eddie can't even explain it to himself. Shannon died and you didn't sounds too accusatory, and he's not sure if he wants to mean it that way or not. You saved my son's life except Eddie still isn't thinking about that, is still actively trying to forget. So Eddie says “I’ve seen you in here before,” like that explains a nickname he has no right to know.

Some sap from take you in and make you mine chapter two

Bed head, all sticking over everywhere. Buck will touch his hair, later, Eddie will let him touch his hair. Loose gray LAFD shirt, possibly Buck’s, one of the ones without a name printed over it. Buck spends a few minutes fascinated by the way the fabric folds around warm skin that maybe Eddie will let him touch later, too. Boxers, sweatpants shed for being too warm. Buck should check for fever, maybe, make sure he’s recovering okay, but his arm and hand and ankle don’t feel overly hot. He doesn’t have any blanket on him, either, it mostly migrated onto Buck in the night, and then mostly left him behind as well to rest half on the floor. He’s breathing steady, back rising and falling slowly with it. Buck glances at the bedside table. It’s early, not even 6 yet, though the room is already halfway sunny here at the height of summer. There’s one granola bar wrapper and a mostly drained water bottle from when he’d woken up starving and parched in the middle of the night, but the others remain untouched. At least that means Eddie slept through the night, probably. Rest is good, important for recovery. There’s a little twitch of pressure on his hand and Buck turns back over to watch Eddie come awake.

He does it in stages. First he holds Buck’s hand tighter (Buck hides his face in the pillow for a moment, burying his smile), then makes a grunt so annoyed and dad-like that Buck has to bite his tongue not to laugh. Then his head starts to move, looking around at the room before finally dragging his face across the pillow to blink at Buck. He looks tired, and ruffled, and beautiful.

And here’s Shannon and Eddie coming out to each other from quilt shop au

Christopher wanders towards the yarn shelves and Shannon turns to him, scratching a nail along the outer seam of her jeans the way she always has when she’s nervous. “I know I usually have him Saturdays but I was wondering if you’d be willing to- watch him, or swap days, or- or I could drop him off in the afternoon, maybe?”

“Uh-“ Buck is coming in on Saturday, Eddie was going to show him how the long arm works so he doesn’t have to keep rolling up whatever secretive larger project he’s been working on to fit in his little domestic machine. But Shannon is not generally a worried person, these days, and Eddie doesn’t like the way she can’t quite make eye contact. “He’ll have to hang out here for a while, but yeah, of course. What’s up?”

“I…” She glances at him, glances away again. Eddie keeps folding the pile of fabric on the cutting table, keeping his movements steady and calm, and she watches the slide of the colors and patterns for a minute before she takes a deep breath. “I have a date.”

Eddie makes a sound something like Oh, but without really forming the word. It’s been awhile. Shannon had tried dating much quicker and much more frequently than Eddie had after they’d split. Jealousy only lasted so long- Shannon is still one of the loves of his life, even if that love isn’t what he thought it was when he was 18 and she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Eddie had sunk into the role of supportive best friend with a kind of relief he thinks nobody looked at too closely, and he’d been the shoulder she cried on when things didn’t work out, and the last few times things hadn’t worked out so spectacularly that as far as he’s known she’d been single for going on a year. “Who’s the new guy?”

Shannon makes determined eye contact, and her voice shakes only a little. “New girl, actually.”

Eddie absolutely cannot help the startled laugh that knocks out of him. It’s not funny, fuck it’s not funny, and her face is pinching up in embarrassed anger that he feels terrible about, but- it’s just kind of funny, is all.

“Jesus- Fuck you, Eddie-“

“No! No, no,” he catches her hand and waist as she spins away, like how they used to dance, like how they still dance, sometimes, when they find a bar with a hoedown night or when they’re lonely in this city that can feel so far away from where they grew up. “Shannon, no, it’s not-“ He remembers the last time she’d had her heart broken, how he’d held her on his abuela’s couch as she’d asked What’s wrong with me? and Why do I never feel right? and he hadn’t had any answers for her because they were questions he tried not to ask about himself. He laughs again, helplessly, and she looks more confused than angry and Eddie wants to spin her around and around because finally, maybe they both finally- “There’s a boy,” he says, and her eyes get wider. “And he’s tall, and he’s got blue eyes, and- and I love you so much but, baby, I don’t think we were ever going to work out.”

And then she laughs too, throwing her head back with it like Christopher does. “You’re- you’re fucking with me.”

“I’m really not,” he says, face aching with the smile splitting it in half.

@shortsighted-owl @bigfootsmom @rogerzsteven @kitkatpancakestack @burins @ anyone else who has stuff to share!

#fuck it friday #tag games #er nurse eddie au #quilt shop au

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cookiesuga55 · 3 months

Text

Full of Life (Minimoni)

TW: eating disorder.

You know what I adore. Healthy fat. Round soft jiggle laid over muscle, proving that someone is loved. Gaining weight as a form of healing. Comfort and safety and trust.

Jimin gets "healthy fat." His previously malnourished and over-exercised body is finally getting more than the bare minimum number of calories to function. This all begins when he starts dating Nutritionist Namjoon, and his boyfriend purses his lips at just how little Jimin consumes in a day. Jimin is so exhausted all of the time. He complains of headaches, and Namjoon knows exactly why.

"Six cups of coffee and one granola bar is not enough fuel to last all day, little chick."

Despite Jimin waving him off with excuses about being too busy in the dance studio to eat, Namjoon hauls his own meaty, bulked-up ass to the kitchen at 1 am and cooks balanced meals for Jimin to snatch from his fridge on the way out each morning. He knows just what kinds of calories Jimin's deprived body needs. Moderately portioned rice and grains mixed with peppers, tomatoes, and a sprinkle of olive oil. A slab of seared salmon or some other healthy protein for Jimin's body to actually have enough energy to last the day. Sauteed vegetables, sliced cheese, and a healthy portion of fruit. A little bar of dark chocolate that he knows Jimin adores. A protein smoothie full of nutrients and calories for Jimin to sip in the morning instead of overdosing on caffeine. He adds an apple and draws on a sticky note. A little wobbly smiley face with a speech bubble. "Eat me!"

Namjoon presses another sticky note on the coffee machine for Jimin to see when he wakes up. A "breakfast and yummy lunch in the fridge for you. <3 Joonie."

Jimin is so pouty with affection when he wakes up and sees the notes and the food made with love from his hyung. He tosses it in his bag on the way out, chaotic and haphazard as always, almost late as he shucks on his trainers and snatches the delicious-looking smoothie instead of the stale coffee that he forgot to empty out the night before.

Namjoon keeps up caring for his boyfriend, and it isn't long before Jimin's frail and exhausted body begins filling in. Namjoon kisses his baby chick's pudgy cheek before heading to the early shift at the clinic, and murmurs as always, "love you-" before leaving.

Jimin having actual food and a well-balanced diet helps his body so much. He starts coming home from work with more energy, smiling and glowing at Namjoon with fuller cheeks, asking if he wants to go for a bike ride together along the river. Namjoon practically beams as he can see the life pouring back into his boyfriend now that his body is approaching a healthy weight. Jimin has a soft waist, and Namjoon can't help but adore it. Rubbing in his hands as he hugs him from behind in the kitchen, feeling the sweet, warm curves of his body and leaning down to kiss his neck. Jimin melts into him like usual, and Namjoon feels so much pride in the way Jimin's tummy gently pushes out into his hands. Jimin is so healthy. He's full of life and love, and Namjoon makes sure to worship the ever-living hell out of him, so Jimin doesn't slip into any of the negative thoughts that he confessed to him one night over a bottle of shared wine about why he started dancing- to lose weight.

Jimin is just so happy these days, and he knows that Namjoon is a major contributing factor. He finally has enough energy to start going to the gym with Namjoon whenever his cute, huge koala asks him with hopeful eyes. Jimin follows the exercise plan that Namjoon's personal-trainer friend at work whipped up for him.

"Nothing for weight loss," Namjoon had told Jungkook privately during their lunch break, "I just want him confident and healthy again. He was so frail, Jungkookie. I was scared he was going to break."

Jimin jogs on the elliptical and watches Namjoon squat with a bar of weight hiked over his shoulders. Tiddies and ass to die for. Namjoon is so fucking thick and yummy. Jimin licks his teeth after taking another drink of the protein shake that his boyfriend gives him every morning. They chase their weekly gym-runs with shower sex at home, and then Namjoon cooks them up a hearty breakfast to offset all of those burned calories.

His hyung is a little obsessed with clean-eating, but Jimin doesn't mind. It's cute how Namjoon always goes to the organic section of the store and bikes to the farmers market. Jimin practically has a personal chef with how good Namjoon's cooking is. There's always a delicious meal on the table for him, with seconds ready to be dished onto his plate.

Jimin finishes filling in, and starts filling out. He lays in the morning sunshine glimmering across their bed, thoroughly fucked. Both of them softly pant and bask in afterglow. Namjoon's warm, ringed hand is resting on Jimin's tummy and gently rubs circles.

"Have you noticed..." Namjoon's voice is fucked from moaning. Jimin turns to him and can't help but glow. It's his favorite sound. Namjoon's morning voice, deepened and scratchy from pleasure. "That sex has gotten so much better since you started eating more? You have more energy, baby."

Warmth floods Jimin's cheeks, but he nods, a little bit shy. Namjoon's hand caresses the curve of his waist, fingers sinking into the supple weight. "I love this, by the way," Namjoon whispers and gives Jimin's love handle a little squeeze. He squishes in his hyung's hand. "I prefer you healthy and soft over sharp and exhausted," Namjoon nuzzles into his neck, and Jimin wraps around Namjoon's warmth.

The truth spills out of Jimin before he can think twice, "me too..."

"You haven't had a headache in months too, lovely. You're full of life." Namjoon cuddles him back, pulling him into his thick chest. Jimin burrows into it, breathing him in. Jimin isn't dumb. He's noticed the way that his body has been rounding out, filling up with muscle and a healthy layer of supple padding, making him curvy and plump. His hips even have stretch marks over them, complete with bruised kisses painted over them by Namjoon. His hyung has done such a good job of making him feel comfortable and loved in his new body.

"I know," Jimin whispers into the safety of Namjoon's chest, knowing that it's all because of his boyfriend's care. "Thank you, Joonie. I'm so happy like this."

That's all that Namjoon needs to hear to practically rumble in his chest, and kiss the top of Jimin's head. He pushes Jimin onto his back, laying his hearty weight on top of him and sliding his big hands down to Jimin's waist. One of Namjoon's dimples presses into his cheek as his lips curve up into a smirk. "Now that I don't have to be so careful with you..." He squeezes Jimin's plump sides, "You're fucking sexy with some weight on you, baby."

Jimin's cheeks heat up, and a whimper bubbles out of his throat. Embarrassing. That's embarrassing that he just whined from Namjoon squeezing his tummy. "I- I am?" He looks up at his hyung's hungry face. Namjoon pets his palms over him, squeezing everywhere that's warm with fat. His lidded eyes darken.

"I told you that I love this- Healthy. Curvy. Soft. You're perfect for squeezing and biting." He licks his lips as he drinks Jimin in. The look that Namjoon is keeping him pinned with has Jimin wanting to mewl and arch up into him. To hook his stretch-marked thighs around Namjoon's waist and beg.

All Jimin can do is whine and tug on his boyfriend's thick biceps.

Namjoon purrs as he worships him. "A healthy mix of muscle and enough pudge for people to know that I'm taking good care of you. That you're finally being kept well-fed." He shoves his hands underneath Jimin's back and slides down, getting a thick handful of his ass cheeks. Jimin feels like he's going to catch on fire with how much pleasure is thrumming through his body, settling in the core of his belly. Namjoon sinks down and hums against his fluffy belly, like he knows where the heat blooms inside of Jimin. "Softened tummy and tits for me to worship, and a plump peach for me to bruise-"

Namjoon's teeth scrape against Jimin's padded hip bones. Jimin whines uncontrollably, dissolving into melted desire at the body worship. He desperately clutches at Namjoon's hair, tugging hard just how his hyung likes it. His back arches, making the sweet curve of his belly push up into Namjoon's face. He can feel his boyfriend's lips stretch into a smile against his skin.

"I'm taking advantage of all of that extra energy you have for my own pleasure. That makes me a bad hyung," Namjoon drags his lips up Jimin's stomach. God that feels so fucking good.

"Take advantage- Please-" he gasps and frees his pillowy thighs to hook them around Namjoon and lock him in place. He wants him to keep kissing his tummy. "Gods, Namjoon, please fucking take advantage- I'm all yours-"

Namjoon laughs in delight against Jimin's softened stomach and begins pressing firm, needy kisses down his belly and across his waist. His voice is teasing and thick with desire.

"If you insist, baby..."

Jimin is cut off by a moan. "I fucking insist..."

#minimoni #bt5 feedism #namjoon's tiddies #soft #comfort

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