#x competent reader

[spnexploration]

Escort

Synopsis: Dean needs an escort to help him with his cover on a case (more of a case fic with flirting, no smut)

Pairing: I see it as Dean Winchester x reader but could be read as Dean Winchester x OC (no physical descriptions are given and she goes by what is clearly a fake name the whole time)

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Words: 3k

This fulfils the Escort square of my 2023 SPN AU Bingo @spnaubingo

A/N: It's nice to write a really competent, confident female character!

Supernatural writing masterlist

“Dean,” Sam implored, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Sammy, I swear to God, you keep whining about the plans and I’m gonna stop telling you the plans.”

“She’s a distraction at best, and a liability at worst!”

Dean rounded on him, “Is your complaint because she sells her services?”

“What? No.”

“Really? Because you’ve sure made a lot of jokes over the years about women in her line of business.”

“Dean, stop it. I’m worried about her getting hurt, or getting you hurt.”

“It will be fine. For all she knows, I just needed a girl to make me look good to the other suits. She won’t even know I’m casing the joint while we mingle. Nothing will happen, you and I will go back later without the girl. Girl will just earn some easy cash looking pretty.”

Sam sighed. Dean took that as a win. He gave his brother one last look before grabbing his keys off the motel room table. “I’ll go find a girl.”

---

Dean rolled down the window as he pulled up to a girl standing on the street corner. He was already in a tux. “Hey sweetheart,” he said as he rolled down the window. “You wanna have a Pretty Woman moment tonight?”

She looked like she was struggling to control the urge to roll her eyes. He liked her already.

“Hey handsome,” she said, leaning through the open car window. “What did you have in mind?”

“I need an escort for a big fancy party my work is throwing.”

“And you didn’t want to call a real escort service?”

“The others probably know all of them.” She laughed. “So I thought I’d branch out.” In reality, he didn’t want the arrangement written down anywhere.

“And let me guess, you want some services that aren’t available on their menu, too?”

“Nah, strictly escort tonight. Possibly the easiest money you’ll make, except for the need to smile your way through painful small talk about the best way to fold napkins.”

“And what would you have me wear?” she asked in a sultry voice.

“I got ya a dress. It’s in the back, we’ll go to the service station and you can get changed in the bathroom.”

“How long’s the party?”

“Few hours.”

“I charge $120/hr.”

“Fine.”

She opened the car door and slid inside. “Nice car,” she remarked as she ran her hands over the seat.

“My Baby’s the best,” Dean replied with a smirk, before speeding off.

---

Dean pulled up to the line of cars waiting to go into the party. He turned to the woman beside him, now resplendent in a beautiful dress he’d gotten at the op shop earlier that afternoon.

“Uh, I uh, I forgot to ask. What should I call you?” he said, suddenly awkward.

She laughed. “You can call me… Hazel.”

“Alright, Hazel it is. Where’d we meet?”

“The street corner.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I had a flat and you helped me with it.”

“Ok. Recently?” He enjoyed letting her lead.

“Just the other day.”

“Sounds good.”

“So, what do I call you, handsome?”

“Drake,” Dean said, his hand on the car door handle as a valet came up to greet them. He headed around the car and opened her door, holding his hand out to help her out. He reached his arm around her waist and held her to him. “I’m new at the company,” he whispered, “So not many people know me.”

She shot him a quick, concerned glance before schooling her features back into a smile. Dean led her up the steps and into the party, flashing two tickets on his way past.

---

The party was going well. No one seemed to mind that they’d never seen him before in their lives, and Hazel fit in better than he could have imagined. He hadn’t expected that the girl he’d gotten off a street corner would be able to pull off the escort idea, but he’d been hoping she would take the attention away from him. That wasn’t happening now that she was actually good at it, but instead they seemed to be blending in. He’d take it.

He put his hand on the small of her back and leaned down to her ear, “I gotta go to the bathroom, I’ll be back.” She smiled at him and he walked off. He glanced around the room, but he couldn’t see the artefact he was looking for.

He headed into another room, still surreptitiously checking out the walls and display cases. He headed for an empty corridor and pulled his phone out, quickly dialling Sam. “Yo, you got any idea where this thing might be? It’s not in the main hall.”

“Dean, you are the one who said that was exactly where it would be and we didn’t need any further investigation!”

“Yeah, well, I might be wrong. Zero amulets.”

“I dunno, keep scoping out the place. What’d you do with the girl?”

“Told her I was going to the bathroom, so I can’t take too long.”

“Yet another reason it was a bad idea to take her.”

“Shut it, bitch.” Dean hung up the phone, Sam was no use.

He quickly scoped out the room closest to him before deciding he needed to head back to his date.

---

She smiled as he approached. “You took a while,” she said.

“Couldn’t find it, and then there was a line of women. They take forever.”

“You try peeing in one of these dresses.”

“Nah, I’m good,” he said with a grin. She really was perfect, he’d like to have taken her out for real some time.

He glanced around, seeing the drinks table. “You want another-” he started to ask, before fading out. He saw it, the amulet. It was around the neck of the bloody hostess of the party. Not. Good.

“Yes?” Hazel asked, drawing his attention back to her.

“I- uh- sorry.”

“You see something you like?” she said with a smirk, following his line of sight to the beautiful woman with the amulet.

“Oh, no, just, you know, lost my train of thought.”

“Uh huh,” she replied, deadpan.

He looked back at her properly, “Tonight’s all about you, sweetheart.” He flashed her a smile, that usually worked.

“Let’s go talk to her, if you’re so enamoured,” she said, starting to walk towards the lady.

“No! No, wait!” he said, reaching for her hand to prevent her getting near the woman. He had a sneaking suspicion that being near the amulet would’ve been very bad for the hostess, given the descriptions he’d read about its powers. It hadn’t been entirely clear, but he had a feeling she might be being possessed by a powerful being. He didn’t want Hazel anywhere near her.

Hazel rolled her eyes and tugged her hand of his grip, heading towards the woman. “No, Hazel!” Dean said, which brought the attention of the hostess on him.

“HUNTERS!” she yelled, suddenly holding a fireball in her hand. Fuck, a witch. Hazel had paused in shock, so Dean grabbed her waist and pulled her behind him. Others were screaming and running. The witch threw the fireball, Dean dived out of the way and pulled Hazel along with him. He raced to hide behind the bar as she threw another one. The room was rapidly emptying of party-goers, running for their lives.

He reached into his pants and pulled out his gun. “Stay down,” he hissed at Hazel, who had just peeked over the bar. To his dismay, he saw her reach up under her dress and similarly pull out a gun. He groaned.

“NYPD, we can discuss your activities later,” she whispered to him.

“Of all the women on all the street corners, I got the secret cop.” She started looking like she was going to peek over the bar again and he pulled sharply on her arm to keep her down. “If those aren’t witch-killing bullets, you’ve got no chance.”

“Of all the thieves on all the street corners, I had to get the deranged one who thinks witches are real.”

“You see that fireball she threw at us? That ain’t normal, sweetheart.”

Speaking of fireballs, one took that moment to crash into the glass mirror above them, raining small pieces of glass all over them. Dean sheltered Hazel’s body with his own, then pulled out his phone.

“She’s a freaking witch, Sam!” he hissed into the phone after Sam had picked up. “We’re under attack.”

“Who is?”

“The woman who owns the amulet, she’s wearing it!”

There was a loud crack as the bar they were hiding behind took a frontal hit. It wasn’t going to last much longer.

“I’m on my way,” Sam said in the phone.

“That might be too late,” Dean replied, looking for an exit strategy. He couldn’t see one.

“There!” Hazel hissed, pointing at a door in the panelling of the back wall of the bar area. She crawled over to it, wrenching it open. “It’s a dumbwaiter.”

“Get in it,” Dean replied, “I’ll send you down.”

“No, we can both get in it. You’re not going to survive by yourself here.” To emphasise her point, more of the mirror exploded above her head. He was pretty sure the witch was just playing with them now.

He stood up, trying to get a good shot at the witch. She was surrounded by henchmen and impossible to fire at, but she threw another fireball at him.

“Ok,” he said, crossing quickly to her.

“You get in first,” Hazel ordered.

“No.”

“We’ll only fit if I’m on top of you, get in.”

He saw the determination on her face and surrendered. He awkwardly climbed in to the cramped space, then held out his hands to take her. She squished herself in on top of him, hitting a button on the side before closing the door. The cart began to drop.

Dean held his gun up, pointed at the door, as Hazel unlatched it. They were in the wine cellar, with no one around. The staff had probably run off at the sound of the gun fight upstairs. It was even harder to get out then it had been to get in, but they managed it.

Dean took a look around, looking for a door that might lead to the outside. “There,” Hazel whispered, pointing at a door to the left of them. He nodded and followed her, pulling his phone back out of his pocket.

“Sam?”

“Thank God,” Sam replied. He could hear the sound of a car, Sam must’ve jacked one. “What’s going on?”

“We’re in the cellar.”

“Ok, you’re going to need to get out and meet me so we can go back in and gank the witch.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work, Sam. They’re going to be looking for us.”

“What’s your plan?”

“I go back in, gank the witch. Sam, you get Hazel out.”

“Uh huh,” Hazel said, spinning back to him, “And how exactly are you going to do that alone?”

“Sweetheart, this ain’t my first rodeo.”

“As I might have mentioned earlier, mine either.”

“Can someone explain what is going on?” Sam yelled from the phone.

“Hazel’s a cop,” Dean replied, moving very close to her. “But no witch-killing bullets and this ain’t your normal perp, so you’re not coming with me.”

“You try to stop me going in there and it’s a crime,” she glared at him. “Obstruction of justice.”

“The justice you were looking for tonight was men who want to pick up sex workers, not witches who want to kill.”

“I’m multi-tasking.”

“The hell you are.”

“OI!” Sam yelled again. “Can you two stop squaring off for one minute to come up with a plan so you don’t both die?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Right,” Sam continued. “How many witch-killing bullets you got left, Dean?”

“4.”

“Give me 2,” Hazel replied.

“That will halve our chances, sweetheart.”

“You keep being that arrogant and I’ll cuff you to the dumbwaiter.”

“Jesus Christ, can you both stop it?!” Sam complained.

“Ok. I give you two bullets, and then what?”

“I go in as bait,” Hazel responded, “and you hide. If the moment presents itself, you shoot.”

“You are not going in there as bait. I did not drag an innocent into this to get killed. I’ll be bait, you hide.”

She glared at him, but eventually nodded.

“And you’re taking 3 of the bullets.”

“That’s suicide.”

“It increases our chances of you ganking the witch.”

“I’m not a bad shot.”

“Me either.”

“Ok, I’m nearly there,” Sam said from the phone, seemingly forgotten in the standoff between Dean and Hazel. “I’ll try and get in and bring extra munition. I’m tall and I have long hair, please don’t shoot me.”

“Alright, see you soon Sammy.” Dean hung up the phone. He opened his gun and started to take out bullets, handing them to her.

“So,” Hazel said with a smirk, “Dean, is it? That’s what the guy on the phone called you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure Hazel isn’t your real name either. I’ll give you 5 minutes to get in a good position before I start the distraction.”

She nodded and started to jog away to the right. He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

---

Dean took a deep breath. He’d pulled out his other gun, filled with silver bullets that were going to be useless against a witch. But they might be good on henchmen, any bullet’s a good bullet if you’re human. And they’d make a distraction.

He put the normal gun in his left hand, saving his one shot with the witch-killing bullet for his dominant hand. He didn’t think he’d get a good shot, but he’d make it count if he did.

He estimated it had been about 5 minutes since Hazel had gone. Show time.

He crept up the stairs at the opposite end to where she’d gone. He could see henchmen scouring the other rooms, probably looking for him and Hazel. He took a moment to steel himself, then headed around the corner, back into the main room.

He started firing with his left-hand gun as soon as he entered the room, taking down random henchmen. Fairly quickly he was having to dive to the side, another fireball headed his way. He didn’t know where Hazel was, which he realised was a bit of a flaw in his plan. He didn’t know where to lead the witch.

Not that he was really in control of the situation. He was barely surviving as it was. He fired over his shoulder and ran for cover.

He was diving for new cover when he spotted Sam out the corner of his eye. He diverted the other direction, hoping he was still creating enough of a diversion.

Suddenly, the room exploded behind him. He span around, ducking his head under his arms to shield himself from debris.

“Witch is dead,” he head Sam yell, “Let’s go.”

“Gotta find the girl,” Dean yelled back, searching around. He could see Sam doing the same thing on the other side of the room, intermingled with the two of them firing at the few henchmen who hadn’t fled or died already. The explosion had been dramatic, Dean had no idea how Sam had caused it.

Dean finally found Hazel, trying to extricate herself from under some debris. He lifted the remnants of a table off her, holding his hand out to her to pull her up. She limped out so he wrapped his arm around her waist, helping her move faster. They quickly made it to Sam and got out of the building.

---

“I don’t know what the hell I just witnessed tonight but I have no idea how I’m going to explain this to my supervisors,” Hazel said when they were back at the Impala.

“If I were you, I’d leave out the witch throwing fireballs. Doesn’t go down well,” Dean replied.

“I suppose you want me to leave out that the serial killers Sam and Dean Winchester were here too.”

Dean shot her a glare. “We’re not serial killers, we hunt the supernatural.”

“And sometimes the supernatural like to impersonate us and give us a bad name,” Sam added. “We didn’t shoot those people in that footage from the bank vault, monsters with our faces did.”

“Any other day and I wouldn’t have believed you, but tonight I’m a little more inclined. One question though – you always pick up random women to bring into harm's way?”

“Uh, not normally, no,” Dean said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I genuinely thought we were just going to be looking for the amulet tonight, and I just wanted someone to try and take some of the attention off me. Sorry.”

She laughed, “Wow, you don’t seem like a man who apologises easily.”

Sam, behind Dean, was laughing and shaking his head.

“So, what are you going to do?” Dean asked her.

“I have to call this in.”

Dean nodded, grimacing slightly.

“But that doesn’t mean I have to mention you,” she continued.

Dean smiled. Sam said, “Thank you.”

“When did you know?” Dean asked. “Who we were, I mean.”

“You looked a little familiar to me when I got in the car, but I thought you’d just been in the photo list of known sex worker users I’d looked at. Wasn’t until I learnt your names were Sam and Dean and you were handing me special bullets that I remembered.”

Dean nodded.

“Alright, you two better hit the road before anyone gets here. They probably already noticed the explosion.”

“Do I get to know your real name?” Dean said with one of his charming smiles. She gave a smirk and pulled a folded business card from out of a hidden compartment in her gun. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

She reached over and kissed his cheek, “Thanks for saving my life.”

“Anytime,” Dean replied, opening the driver’s door and jumping in. Sam jumped in the other side and they sped off, into the night.

“So how’d you make an explosion? Or did she just explode when you shot her?” Dean asked Sam.

“Witch-killing grenade, been working on it as a prototype. Same idea as the bullets.”

“Niiiiiiice.”

Dean twirled the business card in his fingers. Would've liked to get to know that girl some more.

.

.

.

Dean Winchester tag list:

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@lyarr24

@waynes-multiverse

@deans-spinster-witch

@zepskies

Everything Supernatural tag list:

@leigh70

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@ssonia13

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x OC #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester flirting #spn case fic #x competent reader #x confident reader #dean winchester x escort!reader #spnaubingo #protective!dean winchester #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction

[wandasfifthwife]

your jealousy is showing (on me)✩‧₊˚

—> hockey player/coach!wanda x afab!reader

tw || SMUT MDNI, top wanda x bottom reader, dom/sub dynamics, established relationship, jealous wanda, exhibition (janitor closet), marking/impact play (hickeys, bruises, thigh spanking), fingering (r receiving), r gets hit on but is oblivious, tyler mention!, reader is said to be wearing a dress, person who hits on r sees the two of them, not proofread!

a/n || in such a slut for this woman. so sorry if my writing is nastier than coconut, idk how I feel about it haha but I hope you enjoy bc this made me hot and bothered tbh

series m.list ✩ ══╡˚2.3k words˚╞══ ✩ wanda m.list

Practice has been going well, better even. There’s been an increase in number since people started to find out that wanda has experience on the ice as a player on a professional team. The stands have become packed, families and friends taking up every corner, a completely contrast from before. You remember the days when you first came with your nephew, sitting and having a seven feet distance from another person. Tyler’s since graduated from wanda’s class, now attending another with a different coach.

It was a sad day for him, hugging your girlfriend tight and exclaiming how he wishes to have her as a coach for every class. She had laughed, resting a hand on his back and reassured him that she’ll attend his other classes. She even went as far as to mention private classes, saying they can spend time together on the ice. A smile had come upon your face as you watched the two interact, thankful your nephew is able to have such a wonderful relation with his coach, your girlfriend.

Since then you’ve been attending his classes with Wanda. You can’t help yourself, curling a hand through her arm to hold her close. You complain that it’s the cold, but you both know it’s a shit excuse. Regardless, she’s never going to turn you down, if anything she’s pulling you tighter and pressing a kiss to your head.

“He’s improved a lot. Lately he’s been practicing outside his house with some friends on the street.”

“That’s probably the only reason why he’s able to skate in a straight row now. Do you think he’ll continue to play?”

“I think so. It’s all he talks about, but of course we can’t say definitive terms. He could fall out of love with it in a year and choose like baseball.”

“If he were to choose another sport it’d be football, not baseball. His favorite part of hockey is running into others, he forgets there’s an actual game going on.”

You stifle a laugh, “he’s trying.”

He proved Wanda’s words to be correct because the next second he’s slamming into one of the team members, pummeling the two into the wall. The coach had come to talk to you after, seeking you where you stood by the concession stand. You had a hand on Wanda’s arm, informing her of where you’ll be.

You were paying for the snack, thanking the person behind the counter. He had stood behind you just out of your line of sight, so just enough that you ran into him when turning around. His shirt smelled of sweat and his cologne, a lot of his cologne, so much so it overwhelmed you.

“Hey, you’re tyler’s mom, right?”

“No, just his aunt.”

“My bad. Sorry that was terribly rude of me, I was going to say you look good for your age.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Of course,” he flashes a smile, leaning onto one of the tables beside him, “I’ve notice how often you come, it’s great that you’re supporting him like this. Most kid’s don’t have such a supportive aunt.”

“I try. My brother and his wife are busy, so I take over. He’s means well but he’s still a young teen.”

“Yes. He’s nothing new. A lot of teens enjoy the physical aspect to the game, it’s normal for them to be competitive even with each other.”

A few minutes have gone by, enough time for concern to begin swirling through Wanda’s mind. She’s relieved to see you’ve not gone missing and that you’re all in one piece, standing only a few feet from her.

“That’s my coach,” Tyler starts, seeing how Wanda’s attention was directed at the tow of you.

“I know,” she deadpans, turning her attention back on your nephew, “finish untying your shoes.”

“I know,” he mimics, tone lowering to frustrate her further.

You’re walking back over with a grin plastered on your face. Tyler’s already grabbing at the drink you got, pulling it from your hands to open it already.

“Just talked with your new coach, Tyler. It seems you have a track record with finding amazing coaches.”

Already Wanda didn’t like him. She kept quiet about her disdain, knowing how important it was to you that Tyler doesn’t come to contact with a terrible one as you had.

It grew difficult. Each practice he always seemed to find you, drawing out a long conversation with you. Usually it’s fine, as a coach herself she understands the important of keeping up with the families, but this was excessive. The constant parade of compliments directed at you were unnecessary. He wouldn’t really care to talk to Tyler, and as far as she knew, Wanda didn’t exist around him. He’s either dumb, or he’s choosing to be ignorant towards the intimacy between you two.

What brought her to the edge was when he began to touch you, a hand on your shoulder or the back of your waist. It was in moments where it could’ve been excused; done to either move you out of the way or make sure you don’t trip.

You were sweet, engaging in a conversation he had started yet again down at the end of the bleachers. Wanda had her attention set on Tyler skating around before practice, eyes flickering to where the two of you stood every minute.

“I have a conference this weekend and we’re allowed to bring a plus one. Would you be interested in joining me?”

“Oh. I already have someone that I’m going with. So I won’t be going with you, but I will see you there.”

He looks disappointed, eyes shooting to meet Wanda’s, “I’ll see you there then.”

Wanda doesn’t like that man.

You walk up the stairs all sweet-like, sitting beside her and placing a kiss to her cheek, “when’s that coach award event again?”

“Saturday, 7PM.”

You hum, leaning your head on her shoulder, “you better win an award.”

“If not, I have you.”

An elbow shoves into her side, “you’re such a sap.”

“No, I just love you,” she murmurs, pressing her lips against yours, feeling like she’s won when she catches the coach looking. She had hoped the soft public display of affection would be enough of a sign to back off, but it wasn’t.

The weekend came soon enough. Wanda standing by the door with her keys in hand as she waits for you to join her.

“Beautiful,” she says when you step down, opening the door for you.

“I hope you win one award, that would be amazing.”

“It would look great for my public imagine,”she laughs at the look you give her, “you know I don’t care about that, love.”She gives your thigh a squeeze before backing the car out of her apartment complex.

She should’ve known he’d be stuck to you most of the night. Wanda tries to engage in the conversation, but he tunes her out, keeping his attention on you. Ever so sweet you try to include her, smiling back at her but this time it’s not enough to quell how she’s feeling.

“Hey Micheal, can you go grab her another drink?”

“Wanda, I can’t—“

She shuts you up by pinching at your waist, cutting your sentence off. He looks mildly annoyed, “sure.”Once he’s turned around, she’s guiding you out of the room.

“Wanda there’s only like sixteen minutes until the ceremony—“ your mouth goes numb when you realize where she’s walking you towards. There’s a closet at the end of the hall, tiny and small as its only purpose is to hold supplies for the janitors. Tonight it will be used for another matter.

“That’s enough time,” she says lowly, shutting the door behind her, enclosing the two of you in darkness.

She’s lifting you with her hands under your thighs, dropping you down onto the extra school desk stored away in the room. Her body’s leans into you, hands on either side of your body as she kisses you passionately. They turn messy, trailing from the corner of your lips to end up on the bottom side of your neck. You gasp when she bites down, a hand reaching to push at her chest.

“Wan—wait.”

She doesn’t listen, too focused on making your neck show an array of purple marks. You whine, squirming in her hold as she leaves one after the other, stopping only on areas that you’re sensitive to. She’s severely quiet, attentive to every heavy breath and sound coming from you. You’re weak, arms wrapped around her neck, head pressed into the wall behind you. You’ve completely given up control, neck tilted back to give her more room.

“Oh—” you shiver when she moves towards the spot behind your neck. Your reaction gave her another reason to press her lips against it, nipping at the skin there.

Her ministrations leave you wet, your hips grind down onto the desk below you to try to seek relief. Wanda coos, cold fingers sliding under your dress, finding the wetness between your thighs. You cry out when she thrusts two in, pushing through your tight walls. It’s intoxicating, the wet sounds filling the room, turning you on even more.

“Ah! Wands—you—“

She’s shushing you, lips on yours to keep you quiet. Her fingers are splitting you open, angling perfectly towards the spot that makes your back arch. Her thumb catches onto your clit with each thrust, brushing perfectly to make you see white. You weave your fingers into her hair, moaning into her mouth when she bites at your bottom lip.

You’ve completely forgotten about the event, and most importantly, Michael. You’re clenching onto her finger, arousal covering her hand and dripping onto the wood below you. You choke on a moan when she’s guiding you to lift your left foot onto the desk, the position spreading you open to allow her fingers to push deeper. The bottom of your dress slips up, clothing pooling around your waist. You feel your orgasm build, a series of whimpers spilling from you.

“Fucking say my name when you come,” she demands, holding back moan when she hears your strangled whine after she brought her hand down onto your thigh. The way your cunt squeezes around her fingers then makes her weak.

“Like that?”

She’s cocky, hand coming down harder on that same spot.

“ah! wands please—“

Your body jerks after her fifth slap, mouth dropping open in a silent scream. She nuzzles against your head resting on her shoulder. You relaxed into her hole, breathing heavily as you come down from your high.

It was fine until wanda carried you into the bathrooms to clean off and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, easily spotting the splotches painting your neck.

You leaned over the sink to get a better view, eyes snapping between the marks; the one by your ear, another under the strap of your dress, one more at the base of your neck. You weren’t aware of the severity of her actions in the moment, your mind was too busy trying to deal with the fuzziness spreading throughout your body.

“Was that okay,” she asks from where she stands by the entrance.

“Very,” you mumble, looking back to her with a smile.

“Hey, I want to apologize. I knew something was wrong,” you say, grabbing a paper towel from the machine, “he was a jerk to you. Like just earlier he wasn’t letting you get a word in, but I really just thought he was being nice at first.”

“You’re fine, love.”

You wet the towel, rubbing warm water over the cloth to get it wet, “you say that but I still feel bad.”

She crosses the room to grab at your wrist after seeing what you were doing, “why’re you trying to rub the marks off?”

“Because?”

She raises an eyebrow, “because? What?”

“This is your event, I don’t want you to loose your job over me.”

“I won’t,” she tosses the towel away, “I knew what I was doing when I gave you those.”

“But the staff—“

“There’s enough of them screwing around.”

“Oh.”

She huffs, hooking a finger under the hem of your dress, drawing it up your thigh until the red, swollen marks on your thighs from where she was aiming her hand earlier begin to show. You hate how affected you get by the sight of them, thighs squeezing together.

You were only meant to be gone for ten minutes. That was the original goal, but she began to fold with how you were looking at her. Your eyes were dark, locking onto hers from within the mirror. She had you pinned to the counter in seconds, forcing you to watch how easily you melt under her touch.

Footsteps echoed throughout the hallway, getting closer to where the two of you stood. You had begun to push back, mumbles on how she needs to stop so they don’t get caught, but it’s like she knew. You caught on later, realizing it was Micheal by the sound of his voice calling out to you.

“Wanda, he—“

She’s slapping a hand over your mouth, pulling you back against her chest. You look over your shoulder, finding Micheal freeze after entering into the room. Wanda had you in a position only he could dream of. He was like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing as he processed what he was looking at. The marks on your body, eyes glossy and faraway even as you look in his direction. The muscles in Wanda’s arm flex as she presses her hand tighter against your mouth. You’re absolutely dripping, excitement pooling from the behavior this man was bringing out of her.

“I was worried… but I see you’re.. okay.”

“I see you’ve met my girlfriend, Micheal?”

series m.list ✩ ══╡˚2.3k words˚╞══ ✩ wanida m.list

#competing series #hockey!au #hockey player!wanda #hockey coach!wanda #coach!wanda #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x you #dom wanda #top wanda #wanda x afab!reader #wanda maximoff x afab!reader #wanda maximoff x you #marvel wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel wanda #wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader smut #wanda mcu #wanda marvel #marvel fanfic #wanda fic #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff marvel

[harmonysanreads]

Recipe - Yandere!Sunday

Ingredients: A Fresh Sunday, Childhood Trauma, Crippling Anxiety, Bone-Crushing Loneliness, Political Power, Unpredictability, Intelligence, Empathy, Blessing of Xipe, A Darling, Salt

INSTRUCTIONS

First make sure that your Sunday is dry of any past romantic experiences. The moisture from romantic experience interferes with the frying process but, if you don't mind getting a few extra burns, feel free to keep it. Now, take a large bowl and start by putting a dash of Childhood Trauma. Close your eyes and pour as much Bone-Crushing Loneliness as you desire, add a good chunk of Unpredictability and Intelligence into the mix. Don't worry about the measurements, just use your feelings.

Now, put Political Power into the amalgam ; you can empty out the entire packet if you really like the feeling of powerlessness. Add the Blessing of Xipe for a twinge of spice and a healthy portion of Empathy so whenever your Sunday thinks of how wrong his actions are, he kills himself a little inside. Last but not least, a pinch of salt because no dish is complete without it. Mix everything evenly and regret not getting a bigger bowl.

So this time, get a sufficiently large pot and fill it to about halfway with Crippling Anxiety. Turn on the heat and bring it close to the boiling point. Take your Sunday and marinate him with the mixture, make sure there's no empty spot on his person. Now, gently throw him in the boiling pot of Crippling Anxiety and wait for about 10 minutes.

You might be questioning why we need to fry him in Crippling Anxiety out of everything? That is because hot Crippling Anxiety will convert Bone-Crushing Loneliness into Possessiveness. Which will then branch out to Jealousy upon meeting the necessary conditions, but trying to identify this Jealousy will be near-impossible due to Sunday's immaculate ability to act (this talent is a byproduct of adding too much Childhood Trauma and Bone-Crushing Loneliness, as such, you don't have to worry about getting it from the store). So, don't waste your time there. By now, some parts of Sunday's Childhood Trauma have probably transformed into Relationship linked Insecurities. Wait for five more minutes and your Yandere!Sunday is crisp and ready.

Feel free to serve him with A Darling anytime — yes, they're the sauce.

CAUTIONS

Be careful when you release Sunday into the boiling pot of Crippling Anxiety, you wouldn't want to splash yourself in that.

Don't be greedy and eat some of the Political Power when you're pouring it in the bowl, it tastes very, very bitter.

The Blessing of Xipe is a crucial ingredient because it'll give your Sunday that unsettling aura. Don't let the shadiness deter you and just buy it.

Don't be too generous with the Childhood Trauma, we don't want our Sunday to be way too dysfunctional.

#wouldn't you like to know that the blueprint for this was an actual chicken wing recipe #now if only i was this competent in a real kitchen my mom would be proud of me u—u #sunday brainrot #yandere sunday #yandere sunday x reader #sunday x reader #yandere concepts #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere imagines

[mizusnose]

WNBA Mizu x Reader HCs

actually feeling a little insane after realizing how much masc lesbian mizu fits in the WNBA. like !!!! some basketball terms used, not tons though. this is just catering to my competency kink but make it sports ver lol

She wears her hair up all the time. doesn’t really let it down unless it’s with you or while she sleeps/showers etc. Keeps her curled bang out though bc she likes when you press your hand to it, leans into your touch.

Plays post and despite being more lean than the others, she moves quickly and with precision. Has the record for highest rebounds this season, the season before, and the season before that.

Can actually dribble. It’s what makes her such a threat both offensively and defensively.

Will actively shit talk the opponents throughout the game. Especially after blocking someone.

Complains about an uncalled foul not with screams but with a pouty expression and bared teeth.

Her scowl and furrowed brows always make their way onto fan’s accounts. It’s a meme mostly, but the lesbians online have started going feral about it.

You usually attend her games when you can, and when you do, she kisses her fingers in your direction before each game. The fans go crazy, so do you.

Her post-game interviews go viral online after she shows up in just her sports bra and a damp towel on national television. You definitely don’t get jealous about it, and mizu definitely doesn’t use it to rile you up in the bedroom.

Ass slaps, thats it.

Sweats tons, but somehow manages to make it very sexy. It’s actually not allowed.

Her number is 20 and when asked the meaning, she said it’s what was given to her.

Once during a game, she got elbowed in the face and got a bloody nose. The lesbians online trended the hashtag: one chance mizu!!! bc she didn’t sit the rest of the game out—wiping the blood away as she took her free throws.

Became the face of the team despite not being a forward or shooting guard. Is cocky about it.

Speaking of being cocky: she is. Like, so much so that it’s a thing. She brings it to life in the bedroom.

alright, that’s all i’ve got. lmk what we think about mizu and sports. i think there’s potential for some sports rivals.. happy new years btw!

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #wnba mizu #competency kink #headcanons #i just think it would be neat to see mizu’s tall ass on the court ok

[katiexpunk]

To Protect & Serve, Part 1 | Pairing officer!Joel Miller X fem!Reader

Series Summary: You're a small-town reporter, living a life dedicated solely to your work and the relentless pursuit of truth. It's all pretty routine, almost too easy, albeit exhausting. Little did you know that the one thing you could never have predicted was the arrival of Officer Joel Miller. Suddenly, your story takes an unexpected turn, writing itself in ways you could have only dreamt of as he shows you what it really means to protect and serve. Part 1 Summary: You spent all day in the newsroom again, only to wake up at midnight. Your drive home is anything but smooth. You end up on the side of the road, freezing and wet from the relentless rain, struggling to change your tire. You're about to give up hope, that is until Officer Joel Miller shows up to assist. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~5.1K Part 1 Warnings: Sexual tension, sexual tension, sexual tension. Honestly, you should just expect that from me at this point (Katie Core Slow Burn™). Set in 1994 because I said so. Reader has no major physical descriptions. Joel is literally a cop in this -- so typical cop references (guns, badges, uniforms, bulletproof vests, radios, a Crown Vic cruiser, etc.). Reader has a Nokia brick phone. Reader is a reporter, so heavy on the news and reporter references (her story and what she is investigating will come in future parts). Sarah is alive and well in this and is into art. Reader has a bad day. Blown tire. Rain. Bad luck. Competency kink. Uniform kink. Bad dad jokes. Flirting. Joel and reader share a piece of cherry pie. Officer Joel Miller is a gentleman. Authors Note: Happy 2024! My first fic of the year. Minimally edited, sorry if there are typos. This series will eventually be VERY heavy on the smut, and on back story, and will slowly build up the world they both live in. You're in this one for the long haul with me, babes. Buckle up -- it's the law. ;)

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

January 1994 

You blink your eyes open and groan, the aroma of stale coffee and the faint hint of ink lingers in your nostrils. 

Your desk is strewn with stacks of notes, crumpled papers, and empty takeout cartons that bare the remnants of hurried meals consumed during your relentless pursuit of the truth. 

Crime surely doesn’t stop for a proper lunch break, so why should you? It was your resolution this year to pack more healthy lunches, but here you are – not even three weeks into the New Year and already knee-deep in Pad Thai. 

The soft glow from your desk lamp highlights the fatigue etched on your face as you rub your tired eyes. You check the strappy black watch on your wrist –  just past midnight. 

Another night of burning the midnight oil. 

You stare at the computer screen, and the blinking cursor patiently waiting for you to pick up where you left off. You consider staying another hour, but think twice of it; sure that the rhythmic pitter-patter of the rain on the windows in the newsroom would soothe you like a lullaby and you’d end up spending an all nighter in the newsroom. Again. 

With a sigh, you gather the papers that have collected on your desk in masses as of late and stuff them into your briefcase in no real order. You know they’ll just end up fanned out on your desk tomorrow morning, anyway. You turn off the computer, and an audible mechanic sound of it powering down gives the impression that it’s grateful for the much-needed break as you are. 

As you grab your coat and make your way to the exit, the newsroom seems to exhale, settling into a peaceful calm. The door behind you slams closed, and the distant echo of thunder snaps at the same time, causing you to jump a little at the sound. You really should lay off the caffeine. Navigating the dimly lit hallway, you reach the elevator, its soft chime signaling your descent to ground level. Each step feels heavy, your body pleading for rest. 

Once in the elevator it hits you that you don’t have an umbrella. 

Shit. 

++++ 

You sprint to your silver sedan as fast as you can in the loafers you chose for the day. Cute and comfy enough, but not exactly ideal to relive your glory days on the track team. By the time you get to your car, you’re out of breath and soaked, your makeshift umbrella with your coat barely sparing you from the rain. 

You slide into the worn driver's seat, and the familiar scent of aged leather and cigarette smoke surrounds you as you turn the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life. You blast the air, but turn it off once you realize how cold it is. You decide to wait until the car is warmed up, not wanting to turn into a popsicle in your wet blouse. 

You sit in the parking lot for what feels like an hour, holding your hands under your armpits for warmth, before deciding the engine is warm enough to turn the heat back on. You place one hand behind the passenger seat headrest and look over your shoulder as you pull out of the parking lot. 

The rain continues to cascade down, and your shitty windshield wipers struggle to keep up, giving a deafening squeak with each pass across the glass. Annoyed, you turn the radio dial up just enough to drown out the sound of the whirring blades with Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.

You try to focus on the poorly lit road ahead of you, the dashed white lines blurring behind the wall of water on your windshield as the downpour intensifies. Water congregates in small pools on the edges of the weathered road, occasionally splashing all the way up on the sides of the car, and under the tire wells. 

A knot tightens in your stomach as the road becomes a murky blur, adding a layer of stress you most definitely don’t need right now. It’s nights like tonight that you wish you had actually gotten new tires, like you have meant to for the past four – okay, six – months. Your bald tires are barely hanging on like a thread. It’s really only a matter of time before – 

Suddenly, a deafening pop echos through the car, startling you. The steering wheel transforms into a wild animal, one you struggle to wrangle back into submission. You grab the leather steering wheel with a death grip, and steer into the skid and pump your brakes, eventually managing to bring the car to a safe stop on the side of the road. 

Your eyes fall closed as soon as the car is totally still. You lean back into the leather headrest and try to recenter yourself, level out the adrenaline pulsing through your veins. You silently kick yourself. Oh, they’ll be fine. I just drive to work and back, you reasoned with yourself, the guys at the shop are probably trying to get you to buy new tires before you even need them. Some shit-grinning, mansplaining mechanic sounds good right about now. 

You reach into your briefcase for your Nokia, patting around the mix of papers for the device, but it’s nowhere to be found. 

As if this night couldn’t get any worse. 

Oh wait, it can. You’re at least three miles from anything. Most of the time you don’t mind living in a small town, but with the way tonight is going, you swear you’re gonna move East to some big city, live out your days with people on every corner, nary a cow or an empty road in sight. 

But for right now, you’re on your own. 

You’ve changed a tire before, sure. It was one of the first things your dad insisted you know how to do before getting your license. “If you’re gonna drive a vehicle, you gotta know how to take care of it, sweet pea,” he said. God, you hate it when he’s right. 

Already drenched, you decide to lean into it, this time fully zipping up your coat for warmth, knowing it’s not going to really do much, but it’s better than nothing. You brace for impact as you open the car door and assess the damage – the back passenger side tire is shredded, and the vehicle leans at an awkward slant from the missing support. 

You open the trunk and struggle to retrieve the spare tire, wiggling it out by the base. You roll it over to the blown tire and grab the rest of the necessary tools neatly packaged in a workbag. 

As you work in the pouring rain, a chill seeping deep into your bones, you struggle to loosen one of the lug nuts. Your frustration only grows from the wet wrench that keeps slipping out of your hands. “Oh comeeeee on, you bastard,” you yell at the bolt, hoping it might somehow understand and decide to loosen. You pause, your breaths a little short and your fingers sore from your bruising grip. You give it one more go, letting out a loud groan as you put all of your strength into twisting the bolt to loosen it, but it’s a futile effort. 

“Fuck!” you scream out, your hair tacked to your face, your knees and shins now muddy, your entire outfit drenched. You drop the wrench in your palms, and replace it with your forehead. You’re beginning to cry, when out of the peripheral of your vision, you see it – the flashing lights of a cop car rolling up behind your vehicle. 

The beam of the headlights slightly blinds you as you watch a tall, broad man step out of the vehicle. You can’t really see his face, only his silhouette, but you feel your body warm by an entire degree when his voice, low and smooth, calls out. 

“Having some car trouble here, ma’am?” he inquiries, a blend of professionalism and concern behind his tone. You blink up at him through wet lashes and watch as he strides closer to you. His heavy boots hit the pavement with a thud, and the raindrops bounce off the greased tops of them. 

You scan him from the ground up; his fitted uniform pants, a duty belt with several accessories pinned to it, most notably the firearm holstered on his right hip; a bulletproof vest affixed tightly to his frame, a little bit of belly poking out between his belt and the edge of the vest. He’s clad in a warm puffy coat that seems to repeal the water still barreling down on the pair of you. 

Your breath hitches in your throat when you scan past his badge, catching a glimpse of his nameplate that’s partially covered by his jacket. You continue up his firm neck, over the thin line of his lips, his aquiline nose, and pause once your gaze meets his. And whoa. 

Even in the dark and the rain, you can tell he is dangerously handsome, which is saying something given his profession. His beard is threaded with lines of silver, and neatly kept. His skin is a little sun-weathered, but it gives him a warm look to him, one that you’d love nothing more than to dive into like a pool right about now. He has bold, deep brown eyes, ones that convey a mix of softness and a no nonsense demeanor. He has a commanding presence but somehow feels safe. 

Still kneeling on the ground, you reflexively wrap your arms around your own body in an attempt to get warm. You’re positive you must look like a sad wet stray, all puppy dog eyes begging for help; helpless and alone. 

“My u–uh, my, my tire blew out,” you stammer, your teeth clacking against one another as your whole body shakes. At least when you were dueling with the lug nut, you didn’t have to think about how cold you actually are right now. “Forgot phone, umbrella – bolt not loosening,” you try to continue, but your words aren’t really making much sense,  too caught up in your body’s response to the frigid air. “Jesus, sweetheart. Gonna catch your death out here all wet like this. Come here, let me help you up,” he says as he offers you his large palm. You place yours into it and rise to stand, and even though his hands are just as exposed as yours, he radiates heat. 

You sigh in relief as he guides you to the passenger side of his cruiser. He opens the door and encourages you inside, “watch your head now,” he cautions, as you sink down into the vinyl seat. 

Water pools onto the floor beneath and you squeeze your own frame and try to ignore the sting of your cold appendages and your numb toes. He leans across you to turn the heat all the way up and he tilts the vents to face you. With him this close, you pick up the faint smell of coffee and spearmint gum. As he backs away, his eyes catch yours, and you don’t miss the way they flicker to your lips for a brief moment. 

“Stay here,” he commands, before he’s rounding around to his trunk to grab something. 

He returns with an oversized black sweater, a badge embroidered onto the breast of it. It’s a little damp from the short walk from the trunk back to your door, but certainly drier than any part of you. He also has a small towel in hand. 

“Here, this should help you warm up a bit,” he says, and you greedily accept them. “I’ll see what I can do about that tire of yours” he offers, “can I have your keys, please?” he asks, and you reach into your pocket and hand them over to him. Before you can get in a word of thanks, the corner his lip lifts in a small smile and he’s nods before he shuts the passenger door and walks over to your car. 

You hastily swap out your jacket and your damp blouse for the sweater and melt into the thick wool fibers of it, grateful for even the little bit of reprieve, even if the fabric is a little scratchy. You use the small towel to scrunch some of the water from your hair, dry your face, and clear the mud from your legs. Your bottom half is still drenched, but it’s considerably better than before. 

With the hot air of the heater blasting on high, your skin slowly starts to warm and the goosebumps that once littered your body begin to recede. Now able to focus, you take in your surroundings. 

There’s a thermos of what you can assume is coffee given the aroma in the car in the drivers side door. A blinking radio, mounted to the center of the dash, sits adjacent to the microphone next to it. To your back, the middle of the car is split with a cage, the back of the car looks cold and hard. There’s a series of switches next to the gear shift, the lights and sirens you assume. A lone chocolate Hostess cupcake sits in the center console cup holder, next to a pack of spearmint gum. Called it. 

You bring your attention back to the windshield, watching the officer engage in the same battle you did with the wrench. You haven’t seen his arms, but given the general size of him, you wager he’s probably pretty fit, and yet – he struggles.

You’re not trying to stare, not really, but there’s something endearing about watching a man at work, not at all bothered by the fuss or annoyance around him, and if he is, he doesn’t show it. As he’s working with it, there’s another crack of thunder that causes you to jump, and the night sky illuminates with the strong strike of lightening for a brief moment. 

You watch as he works at it for a few moments longer, before he himself eventually decides to give up. He makes quick work of putting everything back into the trunk of your car, and locks your doors before he does a little sprint back to the drivers side of his cruiser.

Once inside the car, he cards his fingers through his now soaking hair. He’s nearly as wet as you were, but he certainly wears it better than you, you think. You hand him the damp hand towel and he uses it to wipe off his hands. 

“Sorry Darlin’, the bolts are on there pretty good. Couldn’t even get it to budge. Think you’re gonna have to call for a tow,” he says, his voice thick like honey. 

“Ugh, I thought so. Thank you so much for trying, Officer –” you trail off, granting him the space to give you his name. 

“Miller,” he adds, “at your service, ma’am” he concludes with a smile. He extends his large palm to you for the second time tonight. You return his kindness by extending yours and offering him your name. He holds it for a beat second longer than etiquette would say to, only breaking the grip once his attention navigates to the sight of you in his sweater. 

He thinks about flirting with you, saying something along the lines of him having to cite you for looking too cute like this, but he thinks twice about it. He’s good at a lot of things, but his flirting is well out of practice. Instead, he says – 

“You hungry? There’s this little cafe not too far from here – Jo, JoJo somethin’ or other,” he asks. You look at him and can’t help the little smile that curls on your lips. 

“Joe’s Cafe,” you say, helping him out. He must be new here. 

“That’s the one,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Hear they have the best cherry pie in the whole state, I’ve been meaning to check it out since I moved here. Beats waiting here in the rain for the tow,” he adds, trying to play it cool, but he thinks you might notice the eagerness in his voice anyway.

“Officer Miller, you’re really kind, but I’m sure you have better things to do than sit in a diner and keep me company while I wait for a tow,” you add. Your words don’t reflect it, but deep down you secretly hope he pushes further. 

“Who said anything about me keeping you company? I gotta date with that pie, baby. Was on my way there when I ran into you. You’re just along for the ride,” he says with a confident wink. Okay, maybe he’s not totally out of practice. 

“Oh great, a third wheel to a slice of a pie. Talk about a cherry on top of my night,” you say, a teasing tone behind your voice, a little too proud of your terrible joke, a little flustered by the fact that he called you baby. 

He looks at you with a wide smile and shakes his head as he pulls out from behind your car, the wet gravel crunching under the tires as he does. You watch it disappear in the passenger side mirror. 

“Names Joel,” by the way, he says, shifting his eyes from the road to glance at you. 

“Joel,” you whisper, and the way his name rolls off your tongue is easy. 

A little too easy. Warm and sweet, like the last bite of a cinnamon roll. 

++++

On your way to the diner, you ask Joel to borrow his cell phone so you can call for a tow. The man on the other line sounds half awake when he answers, “Yeah? Ray’s Towing,” he says, a curt tone behind his voice. You tell him you need a tow, and Joel confidently tells you the mile marker your vehicle is parked closest to, and you relay it over the line to who you can only assume is Ray himself. 

“You’re clear across town, not gonna be able to make it out to you tonight. Can swing by to pick it up in the morning, though,” he says. You try to protest, but it’s a pointless fight, you can already tell he’s not going to budge. 

In the middle of your negotiation, Joel pulls up to the cafe and kills the engine as he waits for you to finish up. You notice the small crease in between his brows, now clearly visible under the illumination of the 24/7 red neon sign that hangs in the window. You don’t notice it right away, but the rain has eased up, now only coming down in a light mist. “Okay. Tomorrow then. Mile Marker 181, it’s a Silver Sedan – you can’t miss it. Tow it to Tess’ place, and I’ll meet you there,” you tell him. The man gives a gruff grunt of agreement, “8am,” he says, hanging up before you can get another word in. 

You drop the phone from your ear, staring at it, slightly in disbelief. You look back at Joel, and hand the heavy brick back to him. 

“He’s not gonna pick it up tonight, won’t come till tomorrow morning,” you say, and Joel senses the hint of concern behind your voice. “I don’t know how i’m gonna get to work tomorrow,” he says. 

“I can take you,” he offers, a sincerity behind his voice. 

“Joel, I can’t – that’s too much, no,” you respond, shaking your head side to side as you do. 

“No really, it’s not a problem. My shift starts at 9, I can take you there on my way to the station,” he offers casually, reassuring; like this isn’t the second time he’s saved your ass and you’ve only known him for less than an hour. 

You stare back at him, and you can tell from the way he looks at you, that he’s not going to take no for an answer. 

“If you’re sure, then,” you say, a questioning tone behind your voice. 

“‘M sure,” he responds confidently. “Now c’mon, don’t want my date to think I’m late,” he jokes and you let out a genuine laugh for what feels like the first time in a long time. 

“Can’t have that,” you retort. You go to pull the handle on your door, but Joel stops you. “I got it,” he says, opening his and quickly maneuvering around the front of the car to your door, pulling it open for you. 

“Such a gentleman,” you tell him. You attempt to compose yourself – trying not to think too hard about the fact that you must look like a hot mess right now – as you follow Joel to the entrance. He opens the door for you, because of course, he does.

 “After you, darlin’,” he says. 

++++

The soft hum of the cafe’s neon lights casts a warm glow on the worn checkered tablecloth as you sit in the booth across from one another. The waitress doesn’t even bother to ask, she can tell from one look that you’re both in desperate need of something warm to drink.

“Decaf or regular” she says, setting the mugs down on the table. “Decaf,” you and Joel both say at the same time. She fills filling them both with a long stream of hot black liquid from the carafe with the orange handle before she turns around to place the pot on the table behind her. 

“You ready to order,” she asks, pulling the pen from behind her ear, steadying it over pad. 

“Well I think we’re still waiting on one more,” you start to joke, your eyes locked on Joels as you lift the ceramic mug to your lips in an attempt to hide your smile. A warmth creeps up on your face as he gives you a stern look. 

“Don’t listen to her,” he tells the waitress, “we’ll take a piece of cherry pie, please.” 

“Mhmm,” the waitress nods, annoyed that she even took out her pen in the first place for such a small order. “That all?” 

“And a side of vanilla ice cream,” you pipe up. 

“Got it,” she says, before walking away, leaving you and Joel alone in the booth. Given the hour, you’re the only ones in the restaurant apart from the waitress and the chef in the back. 

“Ice cream?” he asks, one of his eyebrows raised. “You were just freezing like 20 minutes ago,” he says, confused. He fidgets with the spoon that rests on the white paper napkin as he waits for you to respond. You wonder if you make him nervous. 

“Yeah, vanilla ice cream. It’s a must with this pie,” you say, reaching across the table for the sugar. You rip it open and pour in the contents of the pink packet into the mug and stir, “especially for your first time…trust me,” you conclude, letting out a satisfied hum at the sweet black liquid that warms your insides. 

“I trust you,” he says with a smile, his eyes trained on your face. Finally seeing him under normal lighting conditions permits you to notice the flecks of amber around his irises, but that’s not the only thing you notice. A heat swirls in your belly, and not just from the coffee, once you see the single dimple on his right cheek. 

“So tell me, Joel, where are you from? Cuz you’re certainly not from around here,” you ask. 

“What makes you say that?” he asks, leaning into your playful tone, nursing his own coffee. 

“Well, for starters, you didn’t know the name of this place, and it’s like an institution in these parts. And to top it off, I’ve lived here my whole life. You can’t have been here long or I’m sure we would have met,” you say, a confident tone behind your voice, like it’s a matter of fact. 

“That so? Why’s that?” he asks, not denying any of your initial assessment. 

“I’m a reporter for the Tribune. It’s my job to know things, to know people, especially hot mystery cops who like to fix tires in the rain for random women on the side of the road,” you say. 

“You think I’m hot?” He asks, a blush to his cheeks. And shit. Freudian slip. 

“No, that’s no – that’s not, I mean, you are hot, but that’s not what I,” but before you can continue, you’re interrupted by the waitress placing a rather large piece of cherry pie in the middle of the table. 

“‘S alright, Darlin.’ You think I’m hot, you can admit it,” he says, grabbing the spoon, dipping it into the thick red mess of cherry and crust, the colors diluting to pink with the melt of the vanilla ice cream. 

He takes a big bite, and groans in delight, letting his eyes close as he savors the taste. “‘Sides, you’re not wrong. I haven’t been here for long. Just got here last month, moved here from Austin,” he says, already digging in for a second bite by the time you’re going for your first. 

You look at him intently, patiently, waiting for him to continue in between bites, “My daughter, Sarah, got accepted into a young artists program here. ‘S all she talks about. And well, I was able to make a lateral transfer to this station from Austin, so it was a no-brainer, really,” he says. 

“How old’s your daughter?” you ask, your spoon dancing with his for the sweet goodness for a second as you do. 

“14 going on 25,” he jokes, “keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure. Keep hoping she won’t start bringing boys around for another, oh I don’t know, 15 years or so, but I feel like that’s a battle ‘m set to lose,” he sighs, as he takes the second to last bite of pie, pushing the plate to you, his eyes telling you that the last bite is all yours. 

You can’t help but smile at the thought of Joel, a man who faces more frightening things daily, nervous for his teenage daughter to go on a date. You scoop up the final bite of pie and swallow it. You keep the spoon in your mouth, running the cool metal of it over your tongue, relishing in the way Joel can't seem to look at anything but the way it moves over your plush lips. 

“What about you then? Did you always want to be a reporter?” he asks, finishing off the rest of his coffee. 

“Since I was a little girl,” you admit. "I used to eavesdrop on conversations at family gatherings, sneakily flip through my parents' old photo albums, imagining the tales behind each photo" you continue, your eyes flickering with a spark of that same childlike curiosity you had then. "And I had this little notepad where I'd jot down my observations, like a tiny detective with a pen and paper."

Joel Chuckles, "Sounds like you were a reporter-in-training from the start."

You nod, a soft laughter escaping you. "I suppose you could say that. I loved the idea of bringing untold stories to light, giving voices to the unheard. It felt like a calling even before I fully understood what it meant,” you conclude, running the pad of your finger over your now empty coffee cup. Transfixed, Joel watches the simple movement. And once again, the waitress with her impeccably terrible timing, interrupts once again, stopping Joel before he can continue with his questions. You immediately dart your hand out to grab the bill, and he does the same, but you are faster. His heavy palm lands on top of yours, and your eyes lock in charged silence. "Officer Miller, you've been a real help. Seriously, let me cover this one. It's the least I can do after all you've done for me tonight," you insist, your gratitude evident in your voice.

"It's just Joel, darlin'," he replies, releasing your hand to allow you to grab the bill. "And thank you," he adds, a sincerity laced behind his words.

With a decisive motion, you throw a twenty on the table, checking the time. "Getting late -- I should probably head home," you say, and Joel nods in agreement. However, inexplicably, you both linger, anchored to your seats. It's as if the sensible part of your brain urges departure, yet your bodies resist the inevitable parting. The cafe's ambiance seems to cocoon you both in a lingering warmth, the afterglow of the moment refusing to dissipate. 

Joel stands up first, and you follow suit. His large hand finds the small of your back, and he guides you back to his cruiser. He opens the passenger for you again, but this time he doesn’t tell you to watch your head, you already know. You give him your address, and you both ride in comfortable silence. 

Joel pulls up into your driveway, the engine purrs softly before falling silent.  You both pause in silence. He turns to you, a smirk on his lips “We’re here,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of I don’t want to say goodbye yet behind it.

He walks you to your front door. The tension in the air is palpable as you both stand there, both of your bodies buzzing in arousal. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a simple white business card, and hands it to you. You look down and see the words Officer Joel Miller printed on it in dull black ink, his badge number and phone number under it. There's an emboss of a police badge to the right of the text, giving your thumbs something pleasant to glide over.

“You know, I’m not sure driving reporters around is part of the oath to protect and serve,” you say.

“Means a lot more than you might think, Darlin’,” he responds. 

You fiddle with the paper card in your hand, before offering him a kind smile. 

“See you tomorrow, then,” you say sweetly, before pressing the door open. 

“Tomorrow,” he nods before heading back down your porch. 

Closing the door behind you, you lean your back against it, feeling the solid support. A smile, blooms on your face, radiating a joy that mirrors the first buds of spring. It’s been so long since you’ve felt an excitement about something that wasn’t work. 

As Joel walks back to his cruiser, he too, can’t help the cheesy grin that washes across his face. 

He likes to think of himself as an intuitive man. It’s part of what makes him a good cop, and part of what he thinks will make him an excellent detective one day.

And if there’s one thing he can tell for certain right now is that you’re going to be trouble – lots and lots of trouble. 

And fuck, he hopes you are.

TO BE CONTINUED

Tags: @endlessthxxghts @sydneyinacoma @javipispunk @pedrostories @meabhogr @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81 @lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @brittmb115 @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @tobesolovelysstuff @notsosecretspy @alokaerza @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @morgaussy @missladym1981 @magpiepillsjunior @noneofmyshipsarereal

As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

#joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller series #officer!Joel Miller #joel miller #uniform kink #competency kink #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories

[nyxronomicon]

But Endeavor, whose only been a perfunctory fucker now eating pussy, your pussy, for the first time and he just does the messiest job of it. Just down there exploring every fold with his fat fingers- hearts in his eyes and juice in his chin

ANON... 🥴🥴🥴 please you are so right all he knows is breeding... (RIP don't look at me) he's gotta learn how to eat someone out sometime...

Endeavor x gn!reader (w vagina) cw: messy messy oral, fingering (thick fingers...), rough, overstim, reader squirts pet names: baby

.

"Higher- ah!" Your sharp moan told him that he found the right spot, his tongue flicking your clit. He was clumsy and awkward, like he didn't quite know how to move his mouth now that he'd found your sweet spot. Your fingers slid into his hair as his lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves.

You briefly looked at him, seeing his piercing blue eyes gazing back at you. There was a dusting of pink on his cheeks, uncertainty seeping onto his features. You wanted to tell him how adorable it was, how much you were in love with this version of Enji Todoroki. But you knew better, he wouldn't take that compliment well. He'd get hyper masculine, pin you down before getting rough and pounding his heavy cock into you.

He tried to pull away out of insecurity, but you tugged his hair with just enough force to keep him between your thighs. "Want you right here." You held him in place, seeing his eyes widen slightly and the flush of his cheeks become a deeper red.

The bashful expression lasted less than a moment, his eyes flickering closed as he sucked your clit. When he opened them again, they were full of determination. Enji suddenly pulled your hips closer to the edge of the bed to get a better angle. You felt his thick fingers dance between your folds, throwing your head back as he teased you.

"Enji," you moaned his name, arching your back as a finger pushed into you. Your cunt practically sucked him in, and he groaned as he imagined his throbbing cock getting the same treatment.

There was a glisten of sweat clinging to your skin. Your fingernails dug into his scalp as he sucked your clit hard, flicking at the bud with his tongue as his finger searched your pussy for your g-spot. A second finger pushed into you, your core throbbing for more. You threw your head back, losing control of your body as you could feel pleasure creeping up your spine.

You were so fucking sexy. He needed to taste your cum on his lips. It was all he could think as his fingers pressed your g-spot, instantly pulling lewd sounds from your lips. He smirked, his tongue now only lightly swirling around your clit as he focused on finger-fucking you. You were close, he could tell from the way you tightened around him.

"That's it, baby." He growled into your pussy, "cum for me." With another rough suck on your bundle of nerves, he prodded your g-spot relentlessly. His blue eyes were trained on you, watching every minute change as your breath hitched.

Your cunt tipped over the edge with ecstasy, Enji holding you in place as he continued his ministrations. It quickly spread through your whole body, thighs twitching as you felt yourself getting oversensitive. You mumbled his name, writhing in his grip as you rode out the orgasm.

"Just a lil' more..." He continued, "c'mon baby," his motions intensified, sensitivity instantly sending a more intense wave of pleasure through you. You could feel yourself squirt into his mouth, almost embarrassing had he not immediately started licking the essence from your folds.

He cleaned you out like a starved man, slowly and gently letting you come down from your high. He continued to watch you with adoration in his gaze, his cock throbbing with desire. When he finally pulled away from your cunt, you saw his smirk drenched in your juices.

"How was that?" He spoke quietly, but with confidence. Your expression and the fact that you were still catching your breath told him the answer.

"Not bad for a first timer." You chuckled through heavy breaths.

"Oh?" He climbed on top of you with a grin, pinning your arms above your head. "How 'bout I show you my expertise?"

.

@rottiens if I have to brainrot about this man you do too

#please no one put breeding w endeavor in my inbox i simply won't be able to handle it #endeavor x reader #enji todoroki #x reader #still having sinful nasty thoughts about this old man #i like thinking about a reader with an absolute failquirk. like just one of those stupid as fuck ones #and like Enji wants to breed her so bad but he's got his hangups about having a strong child #so he just hires her as an assistant and lusts after her for years #finally now that he's got kids that are grown enough and competent enough he can't help thinking #what if he breeds her. what if their quirks merge. that kid doesn't have to carry on his legacy. they can have a failquirk #and it's all he can think about whenever he sees her. how much he wants to fuck her into oblivion #until she's carrying the kid whose quirk doesn't matter... #wait fuck. WAIT SHIT I DID THIS TO MYSELF #goddamnit i need to be supervised. i need someone to watch as i type tags and STOP ME #my failquirk? putting all my best ideas in the tags #when my quirk merges with Enji's our child will be able to write detailed and thoughtful tags. but in the plinko horse flame text #he's gonna be so proud

[thirstforhelmets]

Ganondorf x F!Reader: After your life! I’m -not- your wife AU

Ganondorf: How many times does this make it, Assassin? Four losses?

F!reader: *Beat up and nearly unconscious on the ground* 

F!Reader/Assassin/Future!Wife: *Has barely enough strength to flip him the bird before fully collapsing in exhaustion*

Ganondorf: *Smirks before eyeing the stolen Master Sword embedded in the ground nearby* 

Ganondorf: You’re lucky your tenacity for humiliation has kept that sword out of the whelp’s hands for this long.

Ganondorf: *Kneels down next to your head* 

Ganondorf: Expect me to visit your village next month.

Assassin: Urgh...

Ganondorf: I’ll be staying in your room the whole time as well.

Assassin: Fuck you, Gaan...

Ganondorf: *pauses for a moment*

Ganondorf: Our daughter still likes blue, right?

Assassin: *deep sighs*

#ganondorf x reader #ganondorf/reader #not your wife AU #imagine being competant enough to steal the master sword from Link for YEARS #and being too incompetant to be able to kill Ganon cause you like the idea of killing him in an honorable duel #ganon using you to passively keep tabs on the one sword that can kill him #but then you both become fuck buddies cause fuck yeah fighting kink #then you have his kid and he starts softening up #but not really because of his reputation #your parents kind of catch on cause he shows up a week or two a year #also daughter has his hair #no one is dumb enough to say it to his face though #that you and him are probably a couple #ganondorf

[adasknife]

ooh, brainrot but imagine reader and leon are best friends, leon is in love with them because reader is the only sun in his bitter life. during their missions, they met ada and ada is enamored by reader as well. ada flirts with reader and reader just doesn't want to deal with her.

in reader's eyes, ada had caused so many bad things, sure ada is a good person, but reader doesn't want to love her because of her sins.

leon and ada are just sitting around, both in love with reader in the same way. they see reader as their only escape of their rotten world.

"They're an agent. A very proud agent. You honestly think that they will forgive all the bad things you did?"

Ada stays quiet.

Even Leon stays quiet after saying that, he doesn't feel like he deserves reader as well. he has let ada do horrible things and reader scolds him.

in the end, reader doesn't know why Ada and leon promised to be better.

#resident evil #ada wong #leon kennedy #ada wong x reader #leon kennedy x reader #i dont wanna write it because i am lazy #basically ada and leon competing for reader #reader is confused #“why are they being so nice to me?” ada and leon just glare at each other

[wannaeatramyeon]

haesu x reader x taehoon👉👌

I will not say anything else...

Haesu x Reader x Taehoon:

Haesu watches Taehoon munching on a chocolate bar. "Can I have a bite?"

"Fuck off."

"Oh. You don't like to share. So no chance of a love triangle?"

Taehoon thinks about those words, taking a moment for the surreal question to sink in. Frankly, he doesn't even know how he's in the same room as this weird kid. And now he's talking about stealing his food and a fucking love triangle of all things?

Why the fuck would he think that Seong Taehoon would be interested in relationship drama, especially with someone that A) wouldn't be perceptive enough to know they are both interested in them and B) No. He would rather die than share.

It's been a while since Taehoon has beaten someone up.

"Hey, you got 500 won?"

#i cannot imagine under any circumstances where these two will be in a love triangle or willing to compete for someone elses affection #such a late and shitty response from myself lol sorry #viral hit x reader #how to fight x reader #seong taehoon x reader #seong taehun #seo haesu #wannaeatramyeon

[navstuffs]

one of the biggest mistakes capcom has ever made was literally not making ada wong bisexual. she deserves a big badass woman at her side, joining her and letting ada do whatever she wants, cause she knows eventually ada will always come back to her. which brings me to the second part of my thought:

"And who is this exactly?"

Leon turns around, startled to watch you come close. He didn't even notice you before, so focused that he was on Ada. You wear a spandex dark suit that shows off all your curves. You don't look too excited to see him, crossing your arms, somewhat bored.

"Leon Kennedy. The one I told you about, from Raccoon City."

"Oh, I see."

You analyze Leon up and down, a smile on your lips. Ada has told you all about him, and you want Leon to know. Leon tries to ignore the small stupid pain in his heart as you approach them, the heels in your boots loud against the floor. He ignores the pain again as Ada seems to gravitate at your side, you two sharing a secret look and smile. It was like seeing a secret side from Ada: Leon had never seen her eyes glow like that or that soft smile on her lips. Like she was in love.

It shouldn't hurt as much, but it did.

"I thought Ada Wong worked alone," Leon's voice has a tiny hint of sourness. Or jealousy. Your smile got bigger, sighing.

"It seems there are many things you don't know about her, Kennedy."

You leave the room before he can answer, too bored with this overall conversation. Ada watches you leave, discreetly looking at your ass.

"Your girlfriend doesn't seem to like me," Ada smiles because she knows exactly what he means about the word girlfriend.

"Well. My girlfriend doesn't react very well to the good guys. See you later, Leon."

Ada smiles one more time before joining you. Leon was a somewhat forgotten thought since Ada met you. You were vibrant, ready to meet her snarky comments, and unafraid to cross the lines. Ada would never admit she fell in love, but she didn't have to. Not to you. You see it in her eyes as soon as she joins you.

"Ready?"

"As ready as I can be."

#ada wong x reader #ada wong x female reader #ada wong x you #ada wong x y/n #ada wong #ada wong headcanon #ada wong fanfic #ada wong fanfics #leon went home and heard mr. brightside at the highest volume #how can he compete with a woman like this? you were clearly ada's type #ada wong imagine #and reader is like eh didn't see anything on him as she is at the helicopter #ada wong imagines #and ada would prob smile cause you know you have nothing to be jealous about #she is yours as you are hers #I WENT CRAZY IN THESE TAGS

[misc-obeyme]

9 Days of Solomon: Day 8 - Barbatos

Okay, I see the shade here. Barbatos is the prompt for day eight lol.

I was kinda struggling with the prompt because any time I started to write a scene that Barb was actually in, he took over the whole thing. (Sorry, it's my bias as usual.) And these are the 9 days of Solomon so... I ended up just writing about him being eighth on the list lol. Mostly I thought MC would ask Solomon about it and I really think Sol would take the opportunity to flirt with MC.

You noticed right away, of course. Back in your own time, in the present, Barbatos and Solomon had a close relationship. They were friends and they trusted each other. But here in the past, things were different.

Of course you noticed. This was calm, collected Barbatos. Until he saw Solomon and then he displayed a level of anger and dislike that you had never seen from him.

You would never forget the look on Barbatos's face in the labyrinth beneath the castle when Solomon summoned him. When Solomon commanded him to open a portal to transport everyone out of there. The subsequent banishment of your teacher to some far away place as a response.

If you could have told Barbatos that you were from the past, you would have. Just to ask him what that was all about, to tell him that you were aware that something weird was going on.

It turned out that you had the opportunity to ask him anyway and nothing could have prepared you for the answer he gave.

Solomon seemed just as stunned by it as you were.

To think that a demon as peaceful as Barbatos always seemed to be would get so riled up about being eighth on Solomon's list of demons to make a pact with.

It was so unexpected, you almost didn't believe it.

Solomon seemed to accept it, though, and you couldn't help but find the whole situation quite funny.

You were having tea and donuts in the kitchen of Cocytus Hall when you asked him about it directly.

"Did you really make a list like that?"

Solomon shrugged. "I suppose I did. But it wasn't exactly a meticulous thing, just something I was jotting down while I was thinking about it."

You sighed. "Barbatos seemed really upset about it, too."

Solomon frowned. "I didn't mean to hurt his feelings."

"I kind of get it," you said. "If you made a list of your favorite apprentices and I was eighth on the list, I would be upset, too."

"Ahaha!" Solomon laughed, nearly choking on the tea he had just taken a sip of. "MC, that's ridiculous! It wasn't a list of my favorite demons. And I would never make a list of favorite apprentices or demons."

You laughed, too. "Sure, if you say so."

Solomon reached across the table and took one of your hands. He was still smiling, his eyes sparkling. "Anyway, you're far more than just my favorite apprentice."

The way he squeezed your hand made your heart race. You felt your gut flutter as you twisted your hand in his and interlaced your fingers. "Yeah, but I am your favorite, right?"

Solomon shook his head slowly, still smiling. "Do you actually have to ask?"

Of course you didn't. Maybe there was something more to Barbatos's unusual display of disgust and maybe there wasn't. Maybe there was more to what happened between them than Solomon wanted to share with you and maybe there wasn't. But that was between them, in the end.

You couldn't help but be curious about it, though. Maybe you would ask Barbatos more about it later, when your heart wasn't busy doing flips at the look in Solomon's eyes.

day 1: stars | day 2: nostalgia | day 3: knife | day 4: ocean | day 5: pact (nsfw) | day 6: snow | day 7: familiar | day 9: humanity

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

#sorry Barb #though now I kinda want to write a scene with both of them where they compete for MC's attention #shoot that'd end up naughty though wouldn't it #well okay maybe I'll write some smut about it later lol #9DaysofSolomon #obey me solomon #om solomon #solomon obey me #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon x reader #om solomon x reader #solomon obey me x reader #misc writes

[wandasfifthwife]

she tells me keep fucking cause she loves this shit ✩‧₊˚

— hockey player!wanda x afab/fem!reader

wanda has an away game, meaning she has to leave you in the morning. your emotions to rise, hurt turning into anger and causing you to snap at her, resulting in an argument—but you can’t stay mad at her. before you can realize you’ve ended up under her, pleas for her to fuck you good before she leaves.

tw || SMUT MDNI, established relationship, angry-makeup-im going to miss you-sex, argument, angst w/ happy ending, hurt/comfort, top!wanda, bottom!reader, strap (r receiving), oral (r receiving), impact play (spanking), marking (neck), r is called little thing (by wanda), overstim if you squint, cum kink?

a/n || TEAM SHOWN IN PHOTOS HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH/ WANDA’S TEAM (I choose them bc they’re cool blue color). fic inspired by this prompt.

series m.list ✩ ══╡˚1.6k words˚╞══ ✩ wanda m.list

Professional athletes travel around for away games, you know this. Wanda’s mentioned her out-of-state games before to you, subconsciously reminding you of her possible leaves in the future. It was a possibility, but when it came you felt saddened by the news, especially when this trip was longer due to press and interviews.

“Hey,” she murmurs in a hushed tone, coming behind you from where you stood at the bathroom counter, “how’re you feeling?”

“Im fine.”

She eyes you wearily, the feeling making your skin crawl, “really, Wanda. It’s whatever.”

“I didn’t mean to tell you this so late. I only just remembered when I saw the information after my coach reminded us tonight—”

“Like I said, it’s whatever. Would’ve just been nice if you told me sooner.”

“I was planning to.”

“Well turns out you didn’t if you’re only telling me this the night before,” you say, heart aching as you realize she’ll be leaving tomorrow for her week and a half trip. You felt dramatic, you know you’ll see her again, but a week and half is long enough where you’ll miss her.

It’s long enough where her bed will begin to loose its heat, her side growing cold. It’s just long enough where she’ll be too busy to call you, get wrapped up with the scheduling they had for their team. You slam the drawer shut, the sudden spike in your energy levels making Wanda jump.

“Are you angry at me?”

You mock her tone, moving around her to grab the clothes you had thrown onto the floor before your shower.

“Talk to me. Why’re you angry?”

“Oh I don’t know. Maybe because my girlfriend is leaving for a week and a half? And oh, maybe because she thinks this isn’t important to tell me, let me know before hand?”

“I didn’t know it’d affect you this much.”

Her words snap a cord in you, your mind twisting her soft tone into one that’s scoffing at you.

“Are you just this forgetful or are you just ignorant? Because this seems to happen often where you seem to forget and then trying to apologize for it—like my birthday last week.”

“Hey,” she replies, eyebrows pinching in hurt, “that’s uncalled for, I thought we moved past that.”

“I thought we did too but here you are doing it again.”

She looks at you with disbelief on her face, “okay, woah—what’s going on?“

“You, Wanda! You’re the problem! I can’t keep dealing with your selfish thinking.”

“Look—I’m sorry for not telling you about this until now, I really am, but I’m not going to deal with this. You’re being rude. Maybe it is best I leave.”

No.

“Okay fine, you were going to anyways,” you exclaim, moving past her on your way out of her room, slamming her door behind you in the middle of her retaliation of yelling, ‘fine,’ back at you.

There was a space closet just beside her room, one you peered in to see if she had any extra blankets laying around. You found two, using them to make a make-shift bed on the couch seeing as you don’t know if Wanda would want you near her right now.

It pains you every time you remember the look on her face after you called her selfish, reminded her of last week’s grievance. She didn’t deserve any of that just because you were sad she had to leave.

There was an attempt made to sleep on the couch, eyes opening and shutting too often. Your ears were focusing on the soft sounds coming from her room, hearing her walk around or close a drawer. You were being selfish and yet you directed the word at her when she was only trying to console you. She’s the last person you would ever consider to be selfish. You squeeze your eyes shut, the movement forcing a tear down your face.

If you slept out here tonight she’d be gone early tomorrow morning. She’d leave thinking you thought she was selfish, that you were still upset she had forgotten your birthday. All were lies, tumbling out of you in the heat of the moment to deal with the hurt you felt knowing she was leaving out of no where—but it only succeeding in making it worse.

You shuffle out of the makeshift bed, feet tripping on the blankets as you push yourself back towards her room. She was sitting on her bed, scrolling on her phone when you walked in. It’s like she knew, hands reaching to cup your face when you rushed over to press a feverish kiss to her lips. She sets her phone onto the desk, bringing that hand to twist you under her so she can kiss you into the mattress.

Her hands run down your sides, caressing your hips and grabbing at the skin there to pull you further down under her. Your arms lock themselves around her neck, gasping when she bites down harshly on your lower lip.

“Please,” you beg, turning your face to deepen a kiss when you notice she’s moving back to kiss you again. She nips at your neck, turning the skin there into a darker color. You tilt your head back, giving her more space to roam, to press another mark onto your skin. There’s a thigh between yours, moving your cunt along the expanse of it.

“Fuck,” she whispers, reaching to pull your clothing off after.

“Please—fuck me,” you beg again, pulling at her shirt. She’s shrugging it off, pulling it over her head to toss it beside her. Her chest presses into yours as she spreads your right leg up, opening you up for her. She’s looking into your eyes, seeking your confirmation before continuing.

She’s reaching, grabbing the harness to fasten it to her. The tip’s already at your entrance, pushing through your tight heat. Your body freezes, bottom lip dropping open as you feel every inch slide in, already beginning to move. You cry out when she thrusts back, hips moving at almost a punishing pace.

You’re pushed into the sheets, hands intertwined with hers by your head. She bites down on your shoulder, fucking into you harder after hearing you whimper. You’ve got your thighs pushed wide, welcoming her size as best as you can, but she still splits you open and it makes your eyes roll back.

“You’re infuriating,” she says, thumb brushing your previous tear stains away. You barely hear her over your incoherent mumbling, a string of pleas and whines escaping you to echo throughout her room.

“No,” you cry, reaching for her when she slides out. She’s shushing you, looking down at where you were connected to gage where to press in again. She gets distracted by the wetness coating your thighs, the dark spot forming onto her mattress from underneath where you lay. Her fingers spread your folds open, moaning as she licks through them, stopping directly onto your clit.

You’re weaving your hands into her hair, pulling her hair so tight. Your thighs shake beside her head, hips squirming as she sucks against your clit. She’s been keeping her eyes on you this whole time, angled up at you to see how beautifully you arch your back. With her tongue pressing into you and a finger circling your clit—you loose it, moaning as you come onto her tongue.

She grips your waist, flipping you so you’re breathing heavily into the mattress. The way you’re pushing your ass back into her gives her the best sight of the arousal running down your legs. You wiggle your hips, gasping when she brings her hand down to spank your ass.

“Yes!—ah, yes,” you whine, moving back to push more of her length into you. She grips your waist, hand brushing the skin to pull you until she’s bottomed out again. Her current angle is pressing right into the spot that makes you see white, makes you loose control over yourself seeing how you’ve begun to writhe from pleasure.

“Wanda-ah, uh—oh!”

You pull at her sheets, whine half muffled from how your face was being pushed into them. She squeezes your hip, “gonna miss this when I’m gone, aren’t you? Little thing can’t pleasure yourself the way I do.”

“There,” you choke on a moan, “oh!—right there!”

She knows where you’re talking about, having full knowledge and confidence about your body. Her thrusts are short, quick—pushing rapidly against that spot in ways that builds the heat between your thighs again. The second her finger is reaching over to rub at your clit you’ve let yourself go, silently screaming into the pillows.

Wanda pushes a finger past your hole even as she’s still sheathed inside, bringing it to her lips after. She hums around her fingers, eyes in a lustful gaze as she looks down at your panting body, connected to her still. She jerks her hips into yours playfully, laugh full of ego when you mewl after her ministration.

“I’m selfish? Look at you right now,” she emphasizes her words with another jerk of her hips, “came twice and you’re wanting more.”

You twist your face, ruffling the pillow to look back at her, shivering when you find her eyes. She leans over your body, arms flexing where they fall by your head. You lean back into her body, leaking all over her strap.

“I’m not stopping until you’re begging me to. Your body wont forget this all the days I’m gone,” she husks into your ear, “that sound good to you?”

You’re only able to nod, lips opening and closing with nothing but whines coming out. You’ve been reduced to nothing and she knows it.

“You always come crawling back to me.”

You want to deny it but you can’t, and she knows it, a smile coming upon her face when you nod.

series m.list ✩ ══╡˚1.6k words˚╞══ ✩ wanda m.list

#competing series #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda x you #dom wanda #top wanda #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x afab!reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader smut #hockey!au #hockey player!wanda #hockey!wanda #marvel wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff fic #marvel wanda #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff #marvel fanfiction #hockey coach!wanda #wanda maximoff x afab!reader #marvel fic #wanda fanfiction #wanda maximoff x y/n #marvel women x reader

[elsweetheart]

ellie loves feeling like a provider for u and giving u a soft life at jackson….. she does all the jobs no one wants to do like going out on supply runs and killing off infected and people who trespass their land and comes home all bloody and sweaty to find you working at the garden growing tomatoes for the community or at the barn brushing a horses mane, looking all clean and pretty and pampered bc everyone trades ellie their good stuff so that she’ll do all the hard jobs <33

#competence kink go brr #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams prompt #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams headcanons

[watanabes-cum-dump]

For all the ppl writing fics for Fontaine characters, just know that mon is male possessive for my, but can also be used to indicate gender less as masculine is the default. Ma would be the feminine version.

Also in the case of (most) terms of endearment ex chéri (this is the most common one I’ve seen so far) add an e to indicate feminine. So ma chérie vs mon cheri

As for amour because I know I’ll be seeing that as well, that one stays mon amour don’t ask me why French is bull shit okay

Actual French speakers please feel free to correct me, my only credits are three years of French classes :)

#see I would also count elementary but we just memorized vocabulary + ur basic bonjour ca va so… #actually I’mma be real with you my French teacher for the past two years is far more competent than any other one #albeit at the price of my mental sanity because she works us hard and is very strict #nothing against her personally she’s actually really funny and sassy and an icon but she makes french miserable #kouryuu’s shit #fontaine #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fontaine #genshin impact Fontaine

[jujutsutrash]

You know I've been working myself to the bone cause I work for a bunch of incompetent morons that need me if anything has to be done well and it has got me thinking. like I see a lot of boss!nanami X secretary!reader which cool but what if the opposite? like I don't even go here (write for nanami) but hear me out:

boss!reader x assistant!nanami where reader is a CEO or some shit, all serious, responsible, competent and Nanami is her assistant, always one step behind her waiting to help, looking up to her, so dutiful and reliable. reliable in more than one way, tho, because having to be the person in charge, making decisions all the time can be so exhausting. so when the work day is done, behind closed doors, the dynamic just shifts completely.

Nanami calls the shots and you just dutifully obey, letting him manhandle you in whichever way he wants. you let him fuck you completely stupid, turning you from strong and intelligent CEO to whiny cock hungry dumb slut. It's the only way you can really relax. and he likes to get you like that, to know only he can see that side of you, and he loves getting to help you unwind. when you are left mindless and weak in his arms he says he will take care of you and by god he does.

he fucks you until your brain turns off, until you can't form words and keeps on fucking until he fills you up with his cum. even after that he isn't done, Nanami is the after care king. you want a shower? you got it. just want to cuddle? he will hold you close and talk to you about anything while you rest. he is still devoted that way, there for you even out of work hours - specially out of work hours.

#jjk x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #Sponsored by me girlbossing too close to the sun #Being competent in a job where competence is rewarded with having to take the workload of incompetent people #Aaaaa I'm about to commit murder

[anoiaa]

Lifetime rivals AyanokojixOC

I always sat at the back, quietly observing him for years we spent in the white room, and never had he noticed; at least I think he didn’t. He wasn’t anything special, I just assumed everyone was praising him because he was the director’s kid and that he just happened to have more endurance than the twelve students who had already dropped out. So I waited for him to crack.

But he never did. The numbers of children kept decreasing day by day and we were the five only left in that room. Some had fainted because of exhaustion and overwhelm, but he stood with the same expression he had for years; the bored look on his face when everyone else was struggling for their life. I hated it.

“You are the only two students left, which means you will undergo a series of tests to prove who will come victor.” I perked up my ears at this. The moment I have been waiting for to put him back in his place was right in front of me form the start. But he never showed up.

“How dare he!” the arm chair flew to the other side of the room and hit the ground. I was equally angered. “How dare he disobeys and runs away!” I stared emptily at the mess that was once a chair at the end of the room. He didn’t care did he? About the butler that helped him escape, the future of the white room or even his  father. That look wasn’t anything about boredom. It was pure selfishness. Being called all those names had finally got to his head, did he think that little of peoples lives?

did he even think of them as Humans?

I vowed to find him, for my pride and for those who lost before him. I knew it would be a hard battle. And I knew of the consequences that would befall.

_

I enrolled at ANHS five months ago. I was immediately transferred in class A, which was quite unexpected. It was on a normal summer evening that I decided to finally talk to him, and I knew where to find him. 

I walked down the hallway, empty, silent, dark enough to be a horror movie set. There was a shadow in the dark, coming closer and closer by the second.

It was him.

Eyes forward with that bored selfish look he carried all over the years. It was like a bullet hit my heart, my blood had run cold from the memory and I would not fade from his simple appearance. I walked pass him, a gust of wind waved through my hair and tie. 

“Come at me with everything you’ve got”

 was all I needed

#classroom of the elite #kiyotaka ayanokouji #anime #rivalry #elite #genius #tumblrpost #tumblr #childhood #competes #ayanokoji x reader #anime fanfic #youzitsu #classroom of the elite x oc