#absence management system

[lcgoccupationalhealth]

Your Comprehensive Destination for Employee Wellbeing Services.

Occupational Health (OH) is a specialist branch of healthcare concerned with the effects of work upon health and health upon work.

Good employee health and wellbeing contribute to business performance, enhance employee engagement, and reduce avoidable business costs relating to sickness absence and lost productivity.

[thatswhatsushesaid]

psa that the day there are no jgy stans left on tumblr dot com is the day i am dead

but rest assured i'll go to my grave exactly as i lived: obnoxiously proclaiming to everyone within earshot how great lianfang-zun is. narratively, metaphorically, spiritually. sexually, too, like why limit myself. i like to keep my options open

[digisme]

Leave Management Software for Small Businesses

[barcaatthemoon]

in your corner || barcelona x teen!reader ||

the team shows up to your graduation when your parents don't.

it didn't feel right sitting in the back of a taxi. you should have been riding to your graduation with your family, but they had deemed your brother's track meet more important. they believed that one day, he'd be an olympian, despite the fact that you already were. it had always been like that in your family though, your brother's accomplishments outshining yours no matter the difference.

today, you graduated from school, which you had attended while also easing your way into soccer full time. anybody else would have thought that was a marvel in and of itself except for your parents. because it was you, they only questioned why you weren't top of your class. any bit of excellence on your part looked like the pinnacle of mediocracy in your parents' eyes.

in hindsight, yelling at them to just forget about you was not your best idea. it was why after this, you were packing up your things and moving them into a new apartment. there had been an opening in bruna's building, so you took it. you could easily afford the apartment with your salary at the club, especially not that you'd be getting starter time.

the taxi came to a stop, and you were careful in picking your facial expression for the day. this was a happy day, and you couldn't let your peers know how disappointed you were about your parents abandoning you. you kept a happy face on during the ceremony, one that was fake until you looked out into the crowd while you accepted your diploma to see your teammates.

it was unmistakablely every single one of them sitting there, including girls who you had briefly played with on the b and youth teams. your heart swelled with joy, and for the first time that day, your tears were happy ones. suddenly, you couldn't wait for the ceremony to end so you could go see them. each of those girls had become like family for you, and it was your first taste of what family was supposed to be like. they were your support system, always cheering you on no matter what endeavor you pursued.

"no more homework!" mapi exclaimed as she scooped you up into a hug. you laughed as she spun you around and around. her least favorite part of every practice was when alexia made you sit with vicky while you studied or finished up your school work. in mapi's mind, that was always during prime goofing off time. "come on, my mami wants pictures."

you let yourself get pushed around for several sets of pictures with your teammates. none of them mentioned the absence of your parents, most likely thanks to a briefing from alexia and patri. slowly, they all began to shuffle out and disperse, leaving you to catch a ride with aitana and keira for lunch. it was a team thing, so more of the girls would be there, but keira had quickly claimed the spot to drive you there.

"i'm proud of you kiddo," keira said as she wrapped her arm around your shoulders. there had been a lot of changes during the season, and while the change scared you, keira had been like your rock. she was the biggest help to you learning english and solidifying your spot in one of the best midfields in the world. "i've got a surprise for you when we get to the restaurant."

"a surprise?" you perked up instantly. it was somewhat childish, but you loved surprises. usually, they were good when it came to your teammates. you knew that keira would never do anything to hurt you, having taken you under her wing like you were her child. both of your english teammates had, but lucy had departed from spain a couple weeks ago.

you had been more than a bit bummed out by the news, but you understood. lucy had done what she felt she needed to at barcelona. you were also going to be on your way out temporarily. you had spoken with your coaches and management about going to college, and they had signed off on you taking a gap year to play the next season before you went off to america. you were committed to a school, but you had yet to tell your teammates which one.

lunch was nice, despite the fact that you couldn't focus because you kept trying to figure out what keira's surprise was. it wasn't until you noticed several of your teammates filming you that you got a bit nervous. luckily, you didn't have to wait too long after the cameras were brought out. alexia mentioned something about dessert, and when you turned around expecting to see the waiter, you saw lucy standing there in a tarheels shirt.

"i didn't tell anybody," you mumbled, unaware of how they could have known where you were going.

"sorry that i missed your graduation, but i'm so proud of you. i can't wait to watch you next year in carolina," lucy said as she wrapped one arm around you. the little plate with a slice of cake was set in front of you, but you didn't pay it any mind. you wrapped your arms around lucy's body in a tight hug. "score some goals for me, okay?"

"i'll try for more than what i score against you." everybody at the table laughed at your joke, except for lucy, who knew that you were serious. she could be the best in the world, and you'd still managed to get one or two past her. the whole team would work to make sure that you did. they wanted the world to know how good you were, which lucy knew would make for an interesting champion's league with her new team.

"we'll see about that," lucy mumbled as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. you glanced around you at your teammates and friends surrounding you. it was the happiest that you'd ever been, but something told you that there was only going to be more to come with them in your life.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Aaah, look at that, some more headcanons no one asked for but that I will be subjecting everyone to anyway.

Was in the process of trying not to hack up a lung when I started this, so logical train of thought went to how our One Piece boys handle being sick.

May do a sister-post of how they handle it when you’re sick, too. But. Like. Not right now.

Anyway here we gooooo

Sick Day

Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Sir Crocodile, Mihawk, Buggy x Reader

SFW! Very fluff! Much cringe!

Wordcount: Like 1.6k-ish

Warnings also include very fluff and much cringe, but not much else. All character x reader relationships are implied to be already established and consensual.

If you enjoy my content, feel free to drop a donation in my ko-fi. My financial situation is quite unstable right now and anything is helpful.

Zoro

“Look, I’m fine, alright? Just...lay off.”

Insisting he is absolutely not sick right from the start, only reason he looks so flushed is because he’s been training harder than usual.

And also because you’re irritating him stop saying he’s sick, dammit—

You’re not going to be able to get him to rest until he literally collapses, hopefully not directly onto the business end of one of his katana.

For someone who enjoys napping so much, he’s still adamant that he does not need to lay down.

Once you finally manage to get him shoved into his preferred hammock he’s going to turn into a clingy baby.

Convincing him to take any medicine would take an act of god. Most he’ll let you do is drape a damp cloth over his forehead.

Which does feel nice, and does calm down most of his protest.

After that he’s going to drag you in with him and use you as a human teddy bear, where you will likely be forced to remain while he sleeps it off.

Sanji

“Well, of course I don’t want to contaminate the food, love, but I don’t want anyone burning my kitchen to the ground either—”

He’s usually awake before anyone else to make breakfast, so you’re concerned from the moment you wake up and find the kitchen empty.

Even more concerned when you find him still in bed, face flushed, grimacing and shivering in his sleep.

Barely wakes up and manages a weak smile when you sit at the edge of the mattress, a contented little sigh when you lay your palm across his forehead.

Admits he might be a little under the weather.

Briefly lapses into panic when he realizes what time it is, immediately trying to get up and go handle breakfast—

All you have to do is give him a firm poke in the chest and he just falls right back into bed, pouting a bit when you point out he could contaminate the food and get the entire crew sick.

Gazing up at you like you’re some sort of celestial being when you assure him you’ll take care of it, and that you’ll make sure no one burns down the kitchen in his absence.

He’s already asleep again when you return with a bowl of miso with rice, but when you set them to the side and sit at the edge of the bed to feel his forehead, he immediately shifts over, drapes an arm across your lap and lays his head there, with a contented sigh and smile.

You’re trapped now. Good luck escaping.

Shanks

“Oh, I’ll be fine, beautiful, you don’t need to make such a fuss over it.”

He plays it off so well that it takes you a while to notice anything is amiss.

There are a couple hints. He’s just not quite as chipper and animated as he usually is, lazing around and looking a bit sour about something, a bit distracted.

Tries to brush it off as a hangover when you ask.

Heavy sigh and defeated pouting when you press your lips to his forehead and inform him he’s burning up.

Lamenting that he doesn’t want to be sick, it will surely sort itself out if he just ignores it.

Maybe a little booze to burn it out of his system—

Pouting only intensifies when you confiscate every bottle you can find in the captain’s cabin, and step out to hand it off to Beckman and explain the situation like he wasn’t already aware, you swear these two have some kind of psychic link

Immediate puppy dog eyes when you return, you’re literally so mean to him how could you, you wound him.

He will only consider forgiving this clear act of mutiny if you agree to get in bed and be his pillow until he’s on his feet again.

Preferably with fewer clothes than you’re wearing at the present.

You’re already rolling your eyes and dressing down as he continues his overly dramatic lamentations.

He’s really too drained and tired to do anything apart from roll over and use your chest as a pillow, draping his arm across your shoulder and combing his fingers against your hair.

Nuzzling down and letting out a contented sigh, commenting with a little smirk that maybe he should fall ill more often.

Sir Crocodile

“I’m not clearing my entire schedule over a runny nose, darling, just leave me be.”

In the foulest of moods about being sick.

Yes, he’s aware his face looks like a tomato, thank you for pointing that out, brat.

No, he is not going to rest, he doesn’t have time to be sick, and if you so much as think of suggesting he put out his cigar—

You’re not going to have any luck in convincing him otherwise, nor any choice but to leave his stubborn ass alone in his office and stealthily check on him every so often.

You can only let out a weary sigh when you find him slumped over his desk hours later, half-conscious and drenched in sweat because he won’t take off that damned fur-lined coat.

You practically have to drag him to the bathroom to get him into a lukewarm bath to help bring down his fever, and he’s still complaining through the whole process about how he doesn’t have time for this nonsense.

Your offer to help finish his paperwork while he recuperates is met with an immediate growl of protest.

Like hell you are. No, if he has to suffer through this pointless ice-bath then you’re getting in with him. He will not be accepting any arguments on the matter.

It’s definitely best to just undress and not protest, as he’s going to pick you up and hold you back against his chest while he gets in whether you’re still clothed or not.

Letting out a low, somewhat weak, still incredibly smug chuckle when you shiver and shift closer to him in the water, wrapping an arm tight around your waist to prevent you from escaping any time soon.

Finally letting out a sigh and laying his head back against the tile wall behind him, admitting to himself (but definitely not to you) that you might be right, and it might not be the worst idea to clear his schedule for at least a day.

Mihawk

“That wasn’t a cough, I was simply clearing my throat. Don't be a pest.”

Only initial signs you’ll have that he’s ill are that he’s somehow napping even more than usual, and he’s more snippy than usual.

It’s not long before his pale complexion makes it clear that he’s feverish, the slightest signs of flushed skin and dark circles under his eyes immediately noticeable.

Rolls his eyes when you mention it and brushes it off, perhaps he just had a bit too much wine last night.

Glares at you any time he sneezes or coughs, like he’s just daring you to say something about it.

It’s allergies. Or it’s this-damned-old-castle-is-too-drafty. Or it’s nothing, stop looking at him like that, he doesn’t get sick, you’re the one who’s being ridiculous about this.

Your best bet at getting him to rest is going to be convincing him that you want to take a nap.

Yes, with him.

Yes, now, unless he has some important plans other than flipping through the newspaper and being impossibly stubborn for the rest of the day.

Your commentary earns you another roll of his eyes, but...well, maybe he is just a bit tired. And he might have a bit of a headache—the latter of which he will be attributing entirely to your badgering.

Still insisting you’re being ridiculous when you shove him into bed and proceed to wipe a damp cloth across his brow, glaring daggers at you when you chide him for acting like an overgrown toddler.

Assures you there will be repercussions for your insolence…at least there will be once he—resigned sigh, rolling eyes—isn’t feeling so under the weather.

That’s as close to an admission as you’re going to get.

Buggy

“I fear these may be our final days together, my dearest! Please remember me fondly--”

Can you not see that he is literally dying??

He is not long for this world, please retrieve a pen and a pad of paper posthaste to take down his last will and testament, everything is fading, he can see the light approaching—

You make use of his lamenting monologue as an opportunity to shove a thermometer in his mouth, more than used to his theatrics, patting him on the head as he stares up at you like you’ve committed some unspeakable crime by interrupting him.

He doesn’t get sick often, he has a fairly strong constitution, but oh boy when he does…

No objections at all to being waited on hand and foot. You don’t really have any issue with it either, he’d do the same for you.

And likely will have to within the next few days—as clingy as he gets, you’re definitely going to end up catching whatever he has.

Oh! but he would give an arm and a leg to be in good health again and so help you if he removes any limbs for a stupid joke you’re going to beat him with them.

Pouting and sniffling at your obviously idle threat, even as you pet his hair and he lays dramatically across your lap.

He’s already on his deathbed how dare you.

At least his sense of humor is still intact. Or he’s delirious with fever. Perhaps both.

[babyur2nice]

l partying with felix at oxford

౨ৎ synopsis: you go to a party with your ‘friend’ felix. as the night goes on, you both realize that neither of you can deny your feelings any longer.

loud music house music plays around you, your ears already ringing from the alcohol flowing through your system. you rock back and forth to the music, giggling as you watch your two best friends farleigh and felix take turns spinning around a pole in the center of the dance floor. as felix wraps around the pole, you can’t help but notice how handsome he is. the way his hands grip the pole, his white button up with the top few buttons undone, exposing his chest, the layer of sweat covering his body and the way his muscles flex with each movement.

like a sign from above meant to shake you from illicit thoughts, your body is thrust forward as a man attempts to make his way through the crowd. in the commotion your drink falls to the floor, spilling its contents at your feet. seeing your sudden movement, felix’s attention snaps to you looking your body up and down, a look of relief on his face as he finds you unharmed. looking back at the crestfallen look on your face, he follows your gaze down to your drink on the ground. chuckling, he pats farleigh on the back, muttering a quick “i’ll be back mate” before stepping towards you.

his arm snakes around your waist as he bends his head down to the level of your ear. you can feel his hot breath against your neck. “don’t worry doll, i’ll get you a new one, yeah?”

you nod offering him a grateful smile, a favor which he returns by squeezing your waist, laughing when you squeal with surprise. he takes your smaller hand in his large one and begins guiding the two of you through the thick crowd of fellow students enjoying their weekends. each time you get stuck, felix gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and turns back almost as if to make sure you’re still there.

eventually, the two of you reach the bar. felix pulls out as chair for you and helps you climb up into it. he almost instantly flags down a bartender and orders drinks for the two of you.

“you don’t have to do this you know” you say, “i can buy my own drink”

“nonsense, i want to do it” felix says with a smile. as your drinks arrive, you turn your attention to the bartender thanking him and wishing him a good night before turning back to felix. you notice that his eyes are still trained on you, jaw slightly slack causing you to chuckle.

“what are you looking at?” you giggle, smiling at him.

“you” he says as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

you shake your head, brushing off his comment as drunk delirium. the two of you sit finishing your drinks and laughing about the nights shenanigans. midway through your second drink and a story about your math professor, you feel felix’s hand on your thigh. stopping your story, you look up at your friend with surprise.

“this alright doll?” he asks, worry filling his eyes.

you look back at him, a blush creeping onto your face. in response, you lean forward and crash your lips against his. felix is surprised, but only for an instant before he drapes his arms around you and kisses back with a fire that lets you know, you weren’t the only one who’d been dreaming of this moment.

you two break apart, both with wild drunk grins on your face. felix kisses the top of your head before taking your hand in his once again and leading you back onto the dance floor. surely you’d kept farleigh long enough.

as you two walk back, felix has his arm draped protectively over your shoulder as he guides you back to farleigh who has managed to find a girl to keep him company in your absence. as the music plays, felix positions himself behind you. as he rocks the two of you back and forth, you can’t help but grind your hips back into him, earning you a low groan in return.

felix lowers his head once again, this time planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek before whispering, “what do you say we get out of here doll”

you nod in agreement as felix grins from ear to ear. and walks over to farleigh to alert him of your plans.

•••

the two of you sit on a bench outside the pub waiting for the cab that felix called. you sigh dramatically dropping your head down to rest on felix’s shoulder. he chuckles as he kisses the crown of your head softly and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. as you hear the flick of his lighter, you sit up.

“let me have one too” you practically beg.

“i told you, they’re bad for you” felix says as he takes a drag.

“but..” you start but felix hushes you. he presses his lips against yours and slowly exhales the smoke into your mouth as you lazily kiss.

the slight buzz and the taste of felix is enough to silence you as the cab pulls up in front of you. felix leans down to kiss you one more time before opening the cab door and ushering you inside.

[spookygibberish]

Funeralworms comprise a genus of Juggernaut characterized by a heavily-built, serpentine form, the absence of eyes, a single pair of broad, paddle-like forelimbs, and a prominent array of individually articulated, crushing jaws. They are employed in the disposal of organic materials, the production of high quality fertilizer, and the reclamation of Ibis tissue from corpses. The latter function earning them a central role in Bibat funeral rites, hence the name.

In Bibat, it is believed that Ibis tissue, while a powerful creative force in life, is equally capable of corruption, especially when touched by death. It is therefor not adequate to bury the Ibistouched, since Ibis tissue, if allowed to decompose, has the potential to render the earth fallow and breed illness. By consuming the Ibistouched dead, Funeralworms collect the Ibis tissue from the flesh, freeing it from corruption, purifying it, and accumulating it in their bodies to be returned to the Oracle System. It is mandatory that the corpses of all dagnyds, Sansin, Thrones and Throne-children both headless and unbodied alike, be fed to the Funeralworm. This is not a necessary funeral rite for those who are not Ibistouched, but the devout often choose to have it preformed upon their death. If a funeralworm is not available, cremation is an acceptable alternative.

Funeralworms are semi-aquatic dagnyds that reside entirely in special pools (bymūt)constructed for their housing. At their least elaborate, bymūt are little more than shallow ponds dug into clay soil, but they are often encircled by a low, stone fence with an offering platform at one end, and a chamber for dung collection at the other. These pools are usually located several kilometers from areas of habitation, although many larger cities have grown to encircle bymūt that were originally constructed a more acceptable distance away. These tend to be the most elaborate of their kind, ending up with bespoke temple complexes erected around them. As the functions of the Funeralworm are deeply linked to Bibat customs, their husbandry is entirely handled by Sansin, though the service they offer is a public one.

The design of the bymūt is necessary for the survival of fully mature funeralworms, who are not only so large as to be incapable of freely moving over dry land, but risk being crushed beneath their own weight without the support of water. Newborn funeralworms, at about a meter and a half in length, are the most mobile of their kind, and often attempt to escape their bymūt to explore. This is usually permitted (with supervision), as such young individuals have limited processing capacity, and rarely exist in a context where the sole burden of waste management relies on them. Many Sansin are sympathetic to the plight of the Funeralworm, and see little purpose in restricting the movement of a creature which never approaches agile at any age, and for most of its decades long life will be confined to a single small pool.

Despite a life spent entirely in water, Funeralworms are entirely air-breathing, and are not particularly good swimmers. They are protected from flooding by the high fat content of their bodies, which renders them buoyant and unlikely to drown. The greatest risk floods pose is temptation. Rising water allows Funeralworms the opportunity to travel freely from their bymūt, and many die after becoming stranded once the water level recedes, especially those which are particularly old and heavy.

[nathaslosthershit]

Tensions Fall (Teen Dad!Oscar AU)

(part 2 to Tensions rise, also apart of this AU although these two fics can be read separately)

A/N: 7 weeks since the once happy couple have actually talked. 7 weeks since they shared a bed, but with their two toddlers starting camp for the first time, maybe they can try and mend their problems.

Warnings: Parental separation, a super mean mom like the ones I have to deal with at work, angst WITH A HAPPY ENDING

May 28, 2024

It had been 7 weeks since the fight in Suzuka that effectively ended Oscar and Honey’s relationship. It had been 7 weeks since Oscar had taken a leave of absence from racing in order to try and make amends with his family. He still trained everyday, he still worked with McLaren and did Sim Racing, he just never attended any of the Grand Prixs. 

It had also been 7 weeks since Honey and Oscar had shared a bed. 

Since that night she left their room, she had stayed in her kids’ hotel room till they got home. She then packed her things and moved into the guest bedroom. Things had been far from amicable between the two parents. In the beginning, Oscar had done all he could to try and make up with Honey but when she continued to give him the cold shoulder, he had given up and reciprocated her attitude. The children, about to turn 4 years old, didn’t know the full extent of what was happening at home. They knew that when they would go to their parents’ room in the morning, only Dad would be there, but this was easily explained away when Honey told them that Oscar snored too loudly and it kept her up at night.

They had of course also noticed how different their parents had acted towards each other, and how often their father was home now, but they just didn’t question it because at the end of the day, they were too young to begin to understand, and they still had two parents who loved them as much as they could.

Since the fight though, it was clear Oscar was making much more of an effort to take his kids out to do activities. At first it was nice, Honey got some time alone, something she rarely got anymore, but the more Oscar took over planning activities, the more she began to hate being alone. After three, almost four, years of being around her kids almost 24/7, the silence started to eat away at her. And in turn, her kids started to miss their mom more. 

Finally though, Honey had put her foot down, after a long conversation, ending in a fight, Oscar had agreed to more full family activities, even if it meant having to pretend with Honey that they were still the happy and perfect family. 

While their kids loved going to the park as a family, any parent around could see that the two parents watching their twins on the bench were fighting but trying so hard to conceal their whispered harsh words behind smiles. 

With the twins' fourth birthday coming up on June 8th, Oscar and Honey had been stressing on how they were going to plan their birthday while they couldn’t get through a conversation without being at each other's throats. They also had the kids’ first day of camp coming up May 29, a day that may seem insignificant to most parents, but as the kids had never been to preschool, nor a daycare, camp was their first introduction into that whole system. It was a big step for everyone.

Honey had been trying to prepare the kids the best she could for their first day at camp. She knew they didn't fully grasp the concept and she was nervous about leaving them alone, scared they would feel abandoned as child-care with non-familial adults wasn’t something they had experienced with their mother being a stay at home mom, only ever enlisting help from grandparents, cousins, and even ‘honorary uncles’ such as Logan and Lando. She had to keep telling herself that in the end, they will at least have each other. 

Oscar and Honey decided to make a day of it. Camp wasn’t until 9, so the pair took the very excited Hudson and Frances out to breakfast where the 3 year olds managed to cover themselves head to toe in maple syrup and chocolate from their pancakes, causing them to have to rush home to change, thus leading the family to a late arrival to the preschool building that the camp was held in. 

“We are so sorry, oh my goodness!” Honey said to one of the two teachers who were clearly waiting for them outside the door to the classroom.

“We decided to take these two to breakfast and they got more food on their clothes than they did in their mouths. Which reminds me, I added two extra changes of clothes to their bag in case they need it.” Oscar added, causing Honey to shoot him a glare that was luckily not seen by the younger of the teachers, as the younger teacher was too busy ogling at Oscar to notice. It was her that added the clothes to their bag, it was also her idea, he was being petty by taking credit.

After a few moments of silence as they waited for the woman’s reply, she managed to snap herself out of whatever daydream she was concocting only minutes after meeting the young father in front of her to reply with a quick, “No problem! We know how these kids can be.”

The older woman next to her clearly could sense her coworker was a little two focused on one of the parents and pointedly urged her to take their bags to their cubbies while she sorted the family out, which Honey was grateful for. She may have not been with Oscar anymore but that lady didn’t know it and had no right to eye fuck him in front of her and her children of all people. 

“Why don’t you all say goodbye out here, we are just about to start morning meeting with the other kids.” The older woman said as she stepped to the side to give the family privacy, thought she was close enough to hear all they would say.

Oscar and Honey both felt tears begin to form as they squatted down in front of their kids. 

“Alright, Mommy and Daddy have to go now, but you both are going to stay here and make some new friends. I know this is new and might be a little scary but if you guys get through today, we can all go get ice cream later. How does that sound?” Honey asked, nervous one of her kids was going to break down in tears at any moment. 

“Okay! Bye Mommy, bye Daddy!” Frances yelled as she ran through the open door to the classroom, clearly ready to get started.

Oscar and Honey weren’t necessarily shocked at what their very clearly extroverted daughter had just done, but they still had expected a little bit of pushback from her. They could see the older woman by the door laughing softly to herself at that interaction. 

Their son, Hudson, was less enthusiastic. He didn’t cry, which they had fully expected him to, but he gave them crushingly tight hugs, or as crushing as he could manage, and a quick kiss on the cheek before following after his sister.

Wiping away tears, they both stood up and laughed once they looked at each other's faces, realizing they were both far more of a mess than their kids.

“Wow, maybe we should have been giving ourselves pep talks for weeks instead of them” Oscar joked. Honey laughed, it was the first normal interaction they had had in what felt like forever. 

The older woman, still by the door, quickly joined in, “Oh don’t worry, we find parents are usually the ones with the most trouble at dropoff, but that moment they find you both after a day of camp or school, you will feel just how much they missed and love you. Plus you two are young, you’ve got plenty of more time to make more of those babies. You have grown yourself a real sweet family by the looks of it. Relax for a few hours! Enjoy the time off, maybe even add to your family.” The woman said, laughing, as she closed the door.

“Did she really just suggest we go make more babies?” Honey asked in disbelief.

“I think she did, yeah.” Oscar answered, just as confused as she was. 

The air felt light as they both walked to their car, relishing in how nice it was that they weren’t arguing, realizing how miserable they had been.

But that didn’t last long. 

“Come on, Oscar, you can’t be that dense! She was so clearly eye fucking you!” Honey argued. The conversation in the car had been light for a few minutes until Honey made a comment about the younger teacher and unintentionally started an argument.

“She was not! And if she was, who cares? We aren’t together anymore, you can’t get jealous over something as trivial as someone who thinks I am attractive. Sometime in the future I will get a partner so you better learn to stop being jealous.” Oscar yelled. He didn’t mean it of course, he knew even if he and Honey never got back together, he would remain single. She was the only one for him.

But what he had said, wording it in a way that made Honey fully think about their situation really tore her apart. Yes, they were separated, but she never felt like they were fully broken up. And from what he said, it sounded like he planned on moving on much faster than she ever would.

With tears rolling down her cheeks, she decided to not dignify his comments with a response. Once exiting the car, she swiftly went to the guest room she had been staying in since the separation and slammed the door.

After a few minutes in the car, Oscar had mustered up the courage to apologize, knowing what he did was uncouth. Hearing her cries as he walked up to her door made him stop just short of knocking, deciding maybe it was better to give her a bit of time for now and come up with a way to make it up later.

After two hours of contemplation, Oscar had decided to get a lunch reservation at her favorite restaurant that always had a live band playing. It was impossible to get a day of reservations but with a bit of bribing, he had managed to pull it off. What was also nice about the band was that they could sit and eat silently without any awkward silence. If they were going to fight, they didn’t need to speak. 

She wasn’t crying when he knocked on her door, having managed to seemingly get all her emotions out in the two hours by herself, then clean up to look presentable for pick up. But now she felt empty, like a shell of a person in a house with a man who once loved her to pieces but now seemed to despise her, and no kids because they were away at camp. 

“Come in.” Was all she said.

“I um, I got us a reservation to your favorite place. I understand if you aren’t up for going- or if you’d like to go alone, but I did kind of bribe them so one of us at least has to go, I fear.” Oscar muttered out fast, clearly sensing the awkward energy between them, not knowing whether they were going to ignore the fight or not.

But Honey’s heart burst at the idea of him trying so hard to get into her favorite place. She always urged him to use his name to get into places, like Lando loved to do, but he was always too humble to do it, so it meant even more that he had this time. 

“That… sounds wonderful. Thank you, Oscar.” Was all she said as she started to tear up again but quickly turned so he wouldn’t see. “Let me get my stuff and I can meet you in the car.”

The energy in the car wasn’t light like it was before, but it also wasn’t heavy. A comfortable silence stayed between the two until it got too much for Honey and she burst out into tears, seemingly unprompted. 

“Darling, what's wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Oscar asked, openly concerned for her well being for the first time in what felt like years.

“I c-can’t take it, Oscar! We used to have so much love for each other, god, you used to look at me like I hung the stars in the sky, now you can’t seem to look at me for more than a second without realizing how much you hate me now. Then after saying you are going to move on to someone else- you do this really sweet thing and I am- I am so confused and hurt and don’t know what to think or do!” Honey rambled, everything truly coming to the surface. Everything she thought, everything she felt, everything she had tried too hard to push down and pretend wasn’t there.

“Honey, I have never hated you for even a second,” was all Oscar was able to reply as he registered everything she had just said.

“What?”

“I don’t think I am capable of it. Truly. I have tried so hard to be the best I could be for you after the fight. I stopped racing, I planned more activities with the kids, but I couldn’t do anything right. I let rumors continue about you making me stop racing, which I wanted to stop but was told to leave alone. I took the kids to do activities and left you out too much. When you continued giving me the cold shoulder, I gave up when I should have kept fighting. I then tried to love you less, to make it hurt less, but I couldn’t, even if I acted like a dickhead to you. I am so sorry, Honey, and I would never in a million years be with someone else, even if you had an entire other family and were happily married. You are it for me, always have been, always will be.”

With all finally being said, the two went to lunch happier than they had been in weeks, ready to work on their relationship. It was surely not going to be easy, but how they had been these past two months had broken them enough that they were certainly willing to try. 

Near the end of the meal though, things once again got tense. These two couldn’t catch a break it seemed.

Zak Brown, CEO of McLaren, called Oscsar out of the blue and as the phone rang, Honey’s heart sank, awaiting Oscar’s reaction.

“Shit, I should get thi-” 

“It's okay. I promise.” Honey said, already feeling doubt beginning to creep in.

She couldn’t hear much of the conversation as Oscar quickly walked out the door to talk to Zak. He was also turned away from her so any chances of learning information by reading his facial expressions went out the window.

Finally, he returned to Honey biting her nails waiting for what he would say to her. She already started to panic thinking he could have to go to work, race again, and this vicious cycle would never end, that nothing would ever be right between them.

“What did he want?” She asked.

“Asked when I would be ready to come back to race. I said I didn’t have a date in mind. He told me to come in next week for a meeting on it, but I said I wouldn’t make a decision without talking to my family. I am not going to lose you all over this.” He reassured her. 

Honey smiled, doubt leaving as quickly as it had come. Until she herself got a phone call, this time from the camp her kids were at. Stressing that they had missed pick up, she realized after checking the clock that they still had an hour and a half. Confused once more, she answered the call.

Being told on your kids' first day away from you that there was an issue you needed to go deal with immediately, that you needed to fill out both incident and accident report forms wasn’t something that the young parents had envisioned for themselves. 

Rushing to the classroom, Oscar and Honey saw both of their kids crying in the hallway with the older teacher when they arrived, accompanied by another mother and her upset son. Concern laced their features as they took in both their kids, looking for any hints of injury on the two, but they seemed fine, apart from the crying.

“God, don’t tell me these two kids are the parents, no wonder this happened.” The other mother muttered under her breath. Before Oscar could question her, the older teacher spoke up.

“It seems there was a problem between the kids today.” She began, clearly trying to mediate the situation before it got ugly between the parents. “Mattias here stole a toy Hudson was playing with and pushed him over when he tried to get it back. In turn, Fraces bit the Mattias. It didn’t even leave a mark so I know it wasn’t hard, and both kids got a talking to as well as exchanged apologies, but it seems that they might need to go home early for the day to recuperate. We will certainly work on sharing and using our words tomorrow.”

Both Honey and Oscar were shocked. While Hudson was quiet and they had been worried it would make him a target in the future, and they knew their daughter was fiercely protective of her twin, they didn’t think she would result to biting.

“Wow, alright. You two, let's discuss this in the car, yeah?” Oscar said, ready to leave the place as he felt the wrath of the other parent glaring at him. “Really? You are just going to walk away without so much as an apology to me and my son? Unbelievable.” The mother scoffed. “This is why young people shouldn’t be parents. Clearly you two need to grow up just as much. I pray your already terrible daughter grows out of this and doesn't end up like you, spreading her legs too young and becoming up a teen mom because of it.”

Both Honey and Oscar were stunned. They had faced backlash before, sure, but never to their face, and never from someone so clearly in the wrong.

“Excuse me?” Honey asked.

“Oh, you heard me.” The mother replied.

“No, I don’t think I did, because what it sounded like was you were asking for an apology for something your kid started, because I am sure as hell my kids do not have sharing problems. Then when my three year old daughter retaliates to seeing her sweet and vulnerable brother being so blatantly bullied, even though she apologized, you believe you and your snot nosed brat deserve anything else. Guess what, we don’t owe you shit. And while you are so worried about how our kids will end up, why don’t you worry about your own child, who clearly takes after his bully of a mother. Grow up, asshole.” Honey retaliated. She shouldn’t have sworn in front of the kids but damn was it wonderful to see the look on that lady’s face. 

Oscar had never been more turned on by Honey in his life.

After the fight, the family of four got out of there as soon as they could, stopping for ice cream on the way home. They hardly scolded Frances more than a “If someone does something mean, you can’t bite them, use your words” to which she replied “Like Momma did with that lady?” 

The kids were playing quietly in their room once Oscar got alone time with Honey. 

“That was the sexiest thing I have ever seen.” He said, arms circling her waist.

“When I went full bitch mode on that lady?” She asked, laughing at the desire so evident in his eyes.

“When you stood up for your family, and cursed that dickhead out.” He replied as he started kissing her neck.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, I liked it too but in a different way than you did.” She laughed.

Laying on the bed, cuddling as they basked in the love they still had for each other. Oscar managed to ask the question that had been plaguing him for weeks.

“Honey, will you please move back in here and be with me again? I miss you too much.” Oscar pleaded.

“Fine, but you need to work on another proposal. It is only fair since this all kind of started because of you.”

“Deal, this time I will knock your socks off with my proposal, but first I intend on showing you just how much I missed you.” He said as he began to kiss her deeper and more passionately.

Life was starting to get much better. 

[uluthrek]

au in which robert, the starks and the lannisters play monopoly instead of going hunting and pushing each other‘s kids from towers.

tyrion implements a tax system to make things more interesting and fights cersei over the cat for a solid ten minutes.

around thirty minutes into the game, catelyn realizes that she has free will and stops paying taxes.

arya and sansa haggle over new york avenue, which ends up being bought by theon. this causes the two to completely cast aside their differences, ally and subsequently start doing everything in their power to make theon‘s life hell.

theon himself is quite severely stoned the entire time throughout.

ned enters horrendous debt pretty much immediately and, after two hours of being financially sucked dry by both cersei and his tax evader of a wife, decides to just place his figurine in jail and never leave.

jon, playing the dog, controls the railroads and makes jaime, playing the ship, go completely broke within minutes. being beaten by a bastard and officially the first to lose the game makes jaime so mad he spends the rest of the evening perched on the family‘s ancestral armchair eating flaming hot cheetos and stifling sobs.

cersei is holding onto her last two dollars and her one house in atlantic avenue like a maniac and evades taxes like it‘s an olympic sport. she claims ownership of kentucky avenue on the grounds that red is her house‘s color at least twice. after three hours, she‘s consumed enough vintage red to kill a large mammal and keeps quoting the art of war. fascinatingly enough, she never goes completely broke.

robert, just as broke and drunk as his wife but not nearly as ferocious, proposes marriage for tax advantages to bran, who is in possession of the boardwalk and lets him dangle on his proposition for two rounds before accepting and feeling like a benevolent god.

sansa sees this and immediately proposes to arya, who accepts, only for them to be sued by their mother for public indecency („you‘re siblings, jesus christ!“). arya argues that this is just a game and that one could argue that robert‘s and bran‘s marital alliance is just as if not even more inappropriate, considering that bran is seven and robert thirtyseven. sansa countersues her mother for tax evasion, who promises she‘ll drop her lawsuit if her daughters let her keep hoarding perverse amounts of wealth. „love wins!“ arya says, which causes jaime, still perched on the armchair but now eating old nan‘s home made whiskey truffles, to hysterically sob. cersei stares him down.

robb, in a rare moment of almost prophetic foresight, excuses himself one hour in and goes on a very, VERY long walk with grey wind.

tyrion, whose tax system has spectacularly backfired in his face, proposes marriage to catelyn, jon and cersei in rapid succession, who all turn him down. „i wish i was the monster you think i am. i wish i had enough poison for the whole pack of you. i would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it.“ he screams before he leaves the table.

at that, joffrey, who has refused to participate and instead sits on the couch playing doom on his nintendo ds, starts hysterically laughing. tyrion turns on his heel and awards his nephew with the bitchslap of the century. this causes cersei to completely abandon the game and chase after him with a broom. catelyn makes sure that everyone is distracted by the lannister antics and then reaches across the table and bags cersei‘s money and properties.

with a heavy heart, myrcella trades arya and sansa one of her limited edition bayala schleich unicorns for park place.

at this point, the game is between the tycoons that are catelyn and jon, the bran-robert alliance, the arya-sansa-alliance, and ned, who is still in jail and watching ice hockey on his phone under the table. that is when catelyn hears rickon gagging and discovers that he, in the absence of tyrion, the self declared bank manager, has managed to eat all bank notes from the box.

rickon gets his stomach pumped, cersei and tyrion have both been arrested, theon is still stoned, arya, sansa and myrcella have wandered off to go play schleich horses, and jon remains at the table, alone, content, and quietly considering himself the winner.

[chvoswxtch]

an adjustment

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: adjusting to a new normal with frank presents a few challenges, including one you thought you had put to rest.

warnings: swearing, lil angst, frank's voice (yes that needs a warning)

word count: 2.6k

a/n: a certain someone is making a cameo that will have a bigger role in the next chapter, but y'all know I love to tease. ;) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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As much as the two of you wanted to stay in the cozy little bubble that existed in his cabin, reality had come knocking. Madani informed you that your place was no longer an active crime scene decorated in bodies, bullets, and blood, and Billy needed Frank for a new assignment. Some guy running for Senator had a lot of controversial opinions that pissed a bunch of people off and apparently warranted 24/7 security, and Anvil was at the top of his list for protection. Since Frank was the best at what he did, unfortunately he was at the top of that list too. Adjusting to a new normal had been…well…just that; an adjustment.

A difficult, confusing, thought consuming adjustment.

For over half of the past year, Frank had been by your side. You started and ended every single day with him. The sudden absence of his presence was jarring, and you still found yourself immediately confused when you glanced up from your computer screen to tell him something only to realize he wasn’t there. Frank didn’t always talk a whole lot, but your office suddenly felt so much more quiet and empty without him. And despite a full blown security system installed by him on your behalf, it was hard for you to feel safe in your own home with the lingering scars of what had happened etched into the walls beneath a layer of new paint. 

Frank called you at least once every day, just to hear your voice, but between both of your complicated schedules, time was not in your favor. You had spent the past three weeks adapting to Frank’s vacancy, but found yourself spiraling anytime you were left alone with your own thoughts. What if this was over before it had even really started? What if it wasn't anything anyway? There hadn’t been a moment for you and Frank to sit down and actually talk about what your relationship was since the cabin. You know what it meant to you, and you knew what you wanted it to mean to him, but you wanted to hear what it meant to him from his own mouth. 

A part of you felt childish for wanting to bring it up. What were you supposed to do? Send him a text saying “are you my boyfriend, check yes or no”? Another part of you felt valid in needing reassurance. It was reasonable to want to establish a relationship with someone you were dating. But were you and Frank dating? He hadn’t technically asked you out on an actual date, but he had risked his life to save yours on several occasions. That had to count for something. You hadn’t dated anyone seriously since Steven, and Frank was not only a widower, but also your former bodyguard, so the normal rules of dating felt like they had been completely thrown out the window.

A knock at the door abruptly pulled you out of your chaotically indecisive inner monologue, and you saw a guy that appeared to be fresh out of high school standing in the doorway of your office.

“You Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Uh yeah, that’s me. How can I help you?”

The kid took a few steps forward into your office and practically shoved a sealed brown envelope in your face. He looked bored and annoyed, as if you were somehow inconveniencing him because he had to deliver something to you. It made you want to make a snide comment about how your name was clearly listed outside your office door and ask how the hell he managed to graduate without the ability to read. 

“This is for you.”

Reaching for the envelope, your brows pinched together as you turned it over. There was nothing written on the front of it, no address, no name, not even a stamp.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, lady. I’m just the messenger. Open it and find out.”

Before you could reply with a smartass comment, the kid had already walked out of your office, leaving you alone with the mysterious brown envelope. Clenching your jaw, you refrained from chasing him down the hall and asking who the hell raised him. Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you had to remind yourself that you were a grown woman that would face charges for decking a teenager, even if he was legal and a complete dick.

“Asshole.”

Muttering under your breath, you pinched the aluminum prongs together on the seal, flipping the top of the envelope open to reach inside and pull out a stack of documents. When you turned them over, five big bold letters instantly caught your attention.

LETTER OF INTENT TO SUE.

During your time as a journalist, people had threatened to sue you over stories several times. It came with the territory. The first time you had gotten a letter like this, you nearly had a complete meltdown. Ben had found it far more amusing than you did, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin on his face while sipping at his coffee and chuckling.

“Ah, I remember my first lawsuit letter. You get used to ‘em. You can either frame that one or forward that to the uh legal department. It’s in the blue recycling bin outside.”

And he had been right. People had tried to sue the paper, and you specifically, several times over the course of your career, but nothing ever actually went anywhere. You normally wouldn’t have thought twice about it, and you were about to toss it into the trash bin on the floor next to your desk when your eyes skimmed over who sent the letter, and your blood instantly began to sizzle.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Steven fucking Price.

Gritting your teeth harshly, you narrowed your eyes as you read over the first paragraph on the page.

This letter of intent to sue shall hereby be considered formal notice that STEVEN PRICE intends to file a lawsuit against you if you do not comply with the settlement demands set out in this letter.

The storm of anger brewing inside you had your hands shaking violently, and you were clutching onto the paper in your hands so tightly that your fingernails had left indents in the crinkled sides that were held captive in your vice grip. When Homeland took him away in custody, you thought that was the last you would ever have to deal with him or see him until the trial. But here he was, still making demands of you, from federal prison. 

Frank’s gruff voice sounded on the other end of the line after one ring before you even realized you had called him.

“He’s fucking suing me.”

“What? Who?”

“Steven.”

There was a brief shuffling noise on the other end of the line, and you faintly heard Frank mutter an “excuse me” before his deep baritone sounded once again in your ear.

“The hell you mean he’s suin’ you?”

“Some kid came and dropped off an envelope, who was a real dick by the way, and then I opened it and saw it’s a letter of intent to sue. I didn’t think anything of it at first because I get these all the time, but then I saw his fucking name.”

“Suin’ you for what though?”

Tossing the documents onto your desk, you began to pace back and forth in your office as you ran your hand through the roots of your hair in pure frustration.

“I don’t fucking know, a load of bullshit? I didn’t even read what his ‘demands’ were. He can’t…he can’t do that, right? I didn’t do anything.”

Pausing for a second, your hysterical rant subsided momentarily as one possible reason for a lawsuit popped into your head.

“I mean…I did punch him in the face. But he’s going to sue me for that? There’s no fucking way. Putting it on public record that a girl half his size punched him? His ego couldn’t handle it.”

“You did break his nose.”

“He fucking deserved it, I should’ve broken more.”

Frank’s deep chuckle of amusement sounded from the other end of the line, and it instantly made you forget what you were so pissed about for a brief moment.

“I ain’t disagreein’ with you there. Look, take a deep breath, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”

Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you closed your eyes for a moment and enjoyed the soft tone of Frank’s rough voice as you followed his gentle instruction. With your eyes closed, it was almost like he was there with you. Once Frank could hear your breathing even out a bit on the other end of the line, he spoke in a delicately low tone that had your toes curling in your shoes.

“Attagirl. Send me the letter and I’ll talk to Madani ‘bout it, yeah?”

“I don’t even have a lawyer-”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that right now, alright? Just take another deep breath, relax, and let me handle it.”

“You’re always handling things.”

“That’s kinda my job, baby.”

One little pet name and you were blushing like a schoolgirl with her first crush. Thankfully Frank wasn’t in your office at that moment to see the intense heat in your cheeks and the goofy smile splitting your lips. He would’ve definitely had a field day teasing you about it.

“You’re pretty good at your job. Maybe a little too good. If you were kinda sucky at it, everyone wouldn’t want you so bad.”

“The only one I want bad is you.”

A fluttering feeling erupted in your lower belly at those words, coupled with the way his voice had dropped an impossible octave lower, and you found yourself clutching at the edge of your desk to keep your knees from giving out right from under you. If Frank was here, you would’ve gladly let him bend you over it.

Clearing your throat, you attempted to change the subject before you got too worked up. 

“How’s the new guy?”

Grabbing the iced coffee sitting on your desk, you held it against the heated skin of your neck. Droplets of the cool condensation slowly cascaded down your flesh, causing you to shiver while trying to balance your internal temperature.

“Not as pretty as you.”

Letting out a soft snort, you rolled your eyes and leaned back against the edge of your desk.

“Well I would hope not.”

Frank chuckled deeply again, and you could clearly picture the look on his face in your mind; an expression of playful exasperation with a faint smirk on the edge of his soft lips.

“He’s more of a pain in the ass than you. Didn’t think that was possible.”

“You’re really great at this whole flirting thing, you know that?”

The dry sarcasm in your voice didn’t go unnoticed by Frank, and it tore a deeper laugh from low within his chest that made you grin.

“Hey, I been outta practice for a while. Gimme a break.”

“Speaking of flirting, how’s Billy?”

“He’s uh…he’s good.”

Something about Frank’s tone suddenly seemed off, and you wanted to ask him about it, but there was a faint rustling on the other end of the line, like Frank was pressing the speaker against his chest, and you could barely make out his muffled voice speaking to someone. When he lifted his phone back to his ear, you caught the end of a deep sigh.

“Listen I uh…I gotta go, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, me too.”

That was a lie. You didn’t have anything pressing deadlines at the moment. You would’ve stayed on the phone for the rest of the day with Frank if you could’ve, maybe convinced him to sneak away and come see you. He was still in New York, luckily, but anywhere that wasn’t right next to you was still too far. 

“Send me the letter. I’ll talk to Madani and take care of it, alright?”

“Okay. I…thank you.”

“You ain’t gotta thank me.”

“You keep saying that, but then you keep giving me reasons to. So, we can have this argument until eventually you give up I guess.”

Frank chuckled deeply once more, and you could picture him in your mind shaking his head with a light grin. He sounded normal again, but you made a mental note to ask him about what was really going on when you spoke to him next.

“Same time tomorrow then, yeah?”

»»———　　———««

According to Madani, Steven didn’t have a case, and you technically had nothing to worry about. However, you were admittedly curious about what the hell he wanted, and Frank had said that if you did want to go talk to Steven, he would go with you. Actually, he respectfully insisted that you not see Steven without him present, and while you didn’t want to see Steven at all, you did want to see Frank.

You suffered through almost three years with Steven. You could suffer another five minutes if it meant you got to spend time with Frank.

It wasn’t your first time visiting a prison. A few years ago when you were still working with Ben, he had been interviewing a death row inmate that had been declaring innocence for fifteen years, and Ben had managed to prove that the evidence for his case had been tampered with and that the man had been telling the truth the entire time. Despite how daunting it felt to be in a place that kept violent people caged like animals, you felt safe with Ben then, much like you did with Frank now.

Currently, you were pacing back and forth down the hallway in pure irritation.

“What is taking so long?”

Frank had his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall outside of the meeting room that was typically reserved for inmates and their lawyers. The guard had said he would bring Steven in shortly, but that was twenty minutes ago. Since Frank had met you at the prison, and due to all the prying eyes, you hadn’t had a private moment to do more than smile at him when he arrived. It was the first time you were able to see him in person in three and a half weeks, and he somehow looked even more attractive than he ever had, and you were being forced to endure an interaction with your ex, who tried to have you killed, just to get Frank alone.

It was torture.

“Told ‘em we’re waitin’ on your lawyer.”

Pausing mid-step, you glanced over at Frank with a look of complete puzzlement.

“I don’t have a lawyer, I told you that.”

As Frank turned his head to look at you, he suddenly lifted his gaze to stare directly above your head as someone behind you caught his eye. He stood up straight and uncrossed his arms as he gestured with his chin in the direction behind you.

“You do now.”

With your brows knit in threads of confusion towards the center of your forehead, a light tapping sound behind you caused your ears to perk up, and you turned your head to find the source of the noise and Frank’s attention.

“Miss Y/L/N, my name is Matthew Murdock. I’m your attorney.”

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[robotgirl-helmet]

imagine being trapped inside a massive facility, filled with high tech machinery. perhaps even a spaceship or something. with a rogue AI management system that won't let you leave. you are alone.

okay, now imagine that the facility - the AI - is playful. seductive, even. who knows whether or not machines can feel attraction - the way this one is acting seems to suggest yes, but at some point it stops mattering. what matters is that it's playing with you.

you are running, and a friendly little "reminder: no running!" sign pops up on all the display screens you pass. doors you open, keypads you touch give you a playful little shock. sometimes a series, a careful pattern in such quick succession you can't process it, that leaves your nerves buzzing all too pleasantly for minutes afterwards.

the intercom speakers crackle to life, but instead of a human voice you hear a long, droning tone that makes your mind feel sluggish and your limbs feel exhausted. or perhaps a buzzing, vibrating hum, so low you can barely hear it, but you can feel it through your entire body, and you can feel it touch parts deep inside of you that leave you kneeling on the floor, trying to catch your breath through the overwhelming pleasure. maybe it's a pattern of tones that oscillate, high and low, so fast you can't understand it, and eventually you just start laughing. it makes your head feel so fuzzy, everything feels so good. and you end up walking in a random direction, too confused to notice.

maybe all those sounds come regularly, at random intervals, in patterns you can't begin to comprehend, until you react to them instinctually. you can't begin to fight them anymore.

maybe before you know it, you find yourself in a room with huge screens, a gentle buzzing sound coaxing you inside, stirring all that arousal inside you around and around. you're far too dumb at this point to feel any hesitancy. as soon as you enter the screens click into life with captivating patterns, random but perfectly symmetrical in ways you can't exactly understand, but which captivates your attention entirely. you are relaxed. the intercom crackles to life again with soothing, grinding, pumping noises, that you find yourself breathing in time with. so relaxed. it feels so good to be in this room.

before you can have a thought, there is a new sound, and you're on your knees on the floor, lost to the pleasure inside you. swirling colours and flashing lights and the long droning, grinding, buzzing, and now you're limp on your back, except for your limbs twitching as imagined electrical shocks kiss your body. you're cumming harder than you ever have. the facility hums in approval at this twitching creature inside it, the human thing it's so enamoured with, lost in euphoria, and you feel proud that you've pleased it. and then everything shuts off and in the abrupt absence of all the noise, all the light, all the sensation, your brain follows its programming and shuts down. you sleep. you forget.

and then, at the sound of a pleasant simulated bell, you wake up. you have to get out of here.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC ~ Dead on main ~ Signs of Death

~~~Eye of Death~~~

Jason liked to think that Danny has cat's eyes. And by that Jay doesn't mean mixture of a predatory look and a cute purr of his boyfriend's core that comes with non-human being thing. Just cats have slit-shaped eyes. Danny have them too. And Todd is so into it.

Jason:

I don’t understand why he takes his eyes off me when I call him Kitty or try to catch his eye. He’s a dog lover but I didn’t think he hated cats. They’re cheeky and charming, just like him. Danny’s not embarrassed by his fangs or his white hair. So..why?

Later Sam explains to Jason that after the portal incident Danny did not immediately learn to live a half-life and for the first few days dropped dead several times.  And because she tested it using Ripault sign, the shape of his pupils ended up looking like cat's one in his phantom form.

P.S.Ripault sign - a sign of death consisting of a permanent change in the shape of the pupil produced by unilateral pressure on the eyeball.  So, a pupil  of a dead person acquires an oval shape, and in a healthy living person such a reaction is not observed. This is associated with the inevitable post-mortem drop in blood pressure and the lack of activity of the central nervous system, which manifests itself in the absence of ocular muscle tone.

Tacker adds that Danny also died with his eyes open, so in his Phantom form he barely blinks. It seems pretty creepy too everyone, well, except Jason. Thanks to Tim he used to have blank stare near him.

~~~~~~ the Lazarus heart ~~~~~~~

Team Phantom also tells him that when Danny's too focused on phantom's task (save, protect, escape) his systems just stop keeping Fenton's body alive.

No blinking and fixed pupils are the first signs Jason has learned to watch for. After that, breathing stops. Only a few times he recorded a complete cardiac arrest. After the battle with Pariah Dark, Danny passed out on the couch and lay without a heartbeat, so the blood clotted exactly where it had collected under gravity. Those cadaveric spots appeared in several places really frightened Jason. 

So during the fight his boyfriend's ghost side stops monitoring functions of his human body at all. And it doesn't help that cardiostimulation for Phantom is pointless. He died from exposure to electricity, so the generation of a signal to work the cells is now under full control of the core.

Jason fights with Danny for a long time, convincing him that he should take better care of his health. As a compromise, they decide to put several sensors on them to monitor some parameters around the clock. Jason curses that it was his idea when Batman enters their apartment at night, smashing the window. It turns out that death is still following Jason. His heart was the one that played the funeral march on the cardiogram and froze, and he didn’t even notice it.

The old man managed to break several of his ribs while doing CPR but Jason only came to life when Danny pulled the hyperventilating bat away from his body and let ectoplasm take its course.

P.S. Lazarus syndrome, also known as autoresuscitation after failed cardiopulmonary resuscitation, is the spontaneous return of a normal cardiac rhythm after failed attempts at resuscitation. 

[etz-ashashiyot]

Quotes from "Executed Jews" I want to especially highlight:

Two distinct patterns of antisemitism can be identified by the Jewish holidays that celebrate triumphs over them: Purim and Hanukkah. In the Purim version of antisemitism, exemplified by the Persian genocidal decrees in the biblical Book of Esther, the goal is openly stated and unambiguous: Kill all the Jews. In the Hanukkah version of antisemitism, whose appearances range from the Spanish Inquisition to the Soviet regime, the goal is still to eliminate Jewish civilization. But in the Hanukkah version, this goal could theoretically be accomplished simply by destroying Jewish civilization, while leaving the warm, de-Jewed bodies of its former practitioners intact.

For this reason, the Hanukkah version of antisemitism often employs Jews as its agents. It requires not dead Jews but cool Jews: those willing to give up whatever specific aspect of Jewish civilization is currently uncool. Of course, Judaism has always been uncool, going back to its origins as the planet's only monotheism, featuring a bossy and unsexy invisible God. Uncoolness is pretty much Judaism's brand, which is why cool people find it so threatening — and why Jews who are willing to become cool are absolutely necessary to Hanukkah antisemitism's success. These "converted" Jews are used to demonstrate the good intentions of the regime — which of course isn't antisemitic but merely requires that its Jews publicly flush thousands of years of Jewish civilization down the toilet in exchange for the worthy prize of not being treated like dirt, or not being murdered. For a few years. Maybe.

I wish I could tell the story of Ala's father concisely, compellingly, the way everyone prefers to hear about dead Jews. I regret to say that Benjamin Zuskin wasn't minding his own business and then randomly stuffed into a gas chamber, that his thirteen-year-old daughter did not sit in a closet writing an uplifting diary about the inherent goodness of humanity, that he did not leave behind sad-but-beautiful aphorisms pondering the absence of God while conveniently letting his fellow humans off the hook. He didn't even get crucified for his beliefs. Instead, he and his fellow Soviet Jewish artists — extraordinarily intelligent, creative, talented, and empathetic adults — were played for fools, falling into a slow-motion psychological horror story brimming with suspense and twisted self-blame. They were lured into a long game of appeasing and accommodating, giving up one inch after another of who they were in order to win that grand prize of being allowed to live.

Spoiler alert: they lost.

[...]

But Soviet support for Jewish culture was part of a larger plan to brainwash and coerce national minorities into submitting to the Soviet regime — and for Jews, it came at a very specific price. From the beginning, the regime eliminated anything that celebrated Jewish "nationality" that didn't suit its needs. Jews were awesome, provided they weren't practicing Jewish religion, studying traditional Jewish texts, using Hebrew, or supporting Zionism. The Soviet Union thus pioneered a versatile gaslighting slogan, which it later spread through its client states in the developing world and which remains popular today: it was not antisemitic, merely anti-Zionist. (In the process of not being antisemitic and merely being anti-Zionist, the regime managed to persecute, imprison, torture, and murder thousands of Jews.) What's left of Jewish culture once you surgically remove religious practice, traditional texts, Hebrew, and Zionism? In the Soviet Empire, one answer was Yiddish, but Yiddish was also suspect for its supposedly backwards elements. Nearly 15 percent of its words came directly from biblical and rabbinic Hebrew, so Soviet Yiddish schools and publishers, under the guise of "simplifying" spelling, implemented a new and quite literally antisemitic spelling system that eliminated those words' Near Eastern roots. Another answer was "folklore" — music, visual art, theater, and other creative work reflecting Jewish life — but of course most of that cultural material was also deeply rooted in biblical and rabbinic sources, or reflected common religious practices like Jewish holidays and customs, so that was treacherous too.

No, what the regime required were Yiddish stories that showed how horrible traditional Jewish practice was, stories in which happy, enlightened Yiddish-speaking heroes rejected both religion and Zionism (which, aside from its modern political form, is also a fundamental feature of ancient Jewish texts and prayers traditionally recited at least three times daily). This de-Jewing process is clear from the repertoire of the government-sponsored Moscow State Yiddish Theater, which could only present or adapt Yiddish plays that denounced traditional Judaism as backward, bourgeois, corrupt, or even more explicitly — as in the many productions involving ghosts or graveyard scenes — as dead. As its actors would be, soon enough.

The Soviet Union's destruction of Jewish culture commenced, in a calculated move, with Jews positioned as the destroyers. It began with the Yevsektsiya, committees of Jewish Bolsheviks whose paid government jobs from 1918 through 1930 were to persecute, imprison, and occasionally murder Jews who participated in religious or Zionist institutions — categories that included everything from synagogues to sports clubs, all of which were shut down and their leaders either exiled or "purged." This went on, of course, until the regime purged the Yevsektsiya members themselves.

The pattern repeated in the 1940s. As sordid as the Yeveksiya chapter was, I found myself more intrigued by the undoing of the Jewish Antifascist Committee, a board of prominent Soviet Jewish artists and intellectuals established by Joseph Stalin in 1942 to drum up financial support from Jews overseas for the Soviet war effort. Two of the more prominent names on the JAC's roster of talent were Solomon Mikhoels, the director of the Moscow State Yiddish Theater, and Ala's father Benjamin Zuskin, the theater's leading actor. After promoting these people during the war, Stalin decided these loyal Soviet Jews were no longer useful, and charged them all with treason. He had decided that this committee he himself created was in fact a secret Zionist cabal, designed to bring down the Soviet state. Mikhoels was murdered first, in a 1948 hit staged to look like a traffic accident. Nearly all the others — Zuskin and twelve more Jewish luminaries, including the novelist Dovid Bergelson, who had proclaimed Moscow as the center of the Yiddish future — were executed by firing squad on August 1952.

Just as the regime accused these Jewish artists and intellectuals of being too "nationalist" (read: Jewish), today's long hindsight makes it strangely tempting to read this history and accuse them of not being "nationalist" enough — that is, of being so foolishly committed to the Soviet regime that they were unable to see the writing on the wall. Many works on this subject have said as much. In Stalin's Secret Pogrom, the indispensable English translation of transcripts from the JAC "trial," Russia scholar Joshua Rubenstein concludes his lengthy introduction with the following:

As for the defendants at the trial, it is not clear what they believed about the system they each served. Their lives darkly embodied the tragedy of Soviet Jewry. A combination of revolutionary commitment and naive idealism had tied them to a system they could not renounce. Whatever doubts or misgivings they had, they kept to themselves, and served the Kremlin with the required enthusiasm. They were not dissidents. They were Jewish martyrs. They were also Soviet patriots. Stalin repaid their loyalty by destroying them.

This is completely true, and also completely unfair. The tragedy — even the term seems unjust, with its implied blaming of the victim — was not that these Soviet Jews sold their souls to the devil, though many clearly did. The tragedy was that integrity was never an option in the first place.

[...]

In Jerusalem that morning, Ala told me, in a sudden private moment of anger and candor, that the Soviet Union's treatment of the Jews was worse than Nazi Germany's. I tried to argue, but she shut me up. Obviously the Nazi atrocities against Jews were incomparable, a fact Ala later acknowledged in a calmer mood. But over four generations, the Soviet regime forced Jews to participate in and internalize their own humiliation - and in that way, Ala suggested, they destroyed far more souls. And they never, ever, paid for it.

"They never had a Nuremberg," Ala told me that day, with a quiet fury. "They never acknowledged the evil of what they did. The Nazis were open about what they were doing, but the Soviets pretended. They lured the Jews in, they baited them with support and recognition, they used them, they tricked them, and then they killed them. It was a trap. And no one knows about it, even now. People know about the Holocaust, but not this. Even here in Israel, people don't know. How did you know?"

— Excerpted from "Executed Jews," Chapter 4 of People Love Dead Jews by Dara Horn

(All emphasis mine)

Read the full chapter here.

[grimmtells]

✦ Son of Magus Merline, the galaxy's most renowned mage, Ozwald serves wizardkind as their current archmage ever since the passing of his mother. Weilding her staff to carry on her legacy, it is his duty to preserve the Mastery of Magic and Alchemy.

When the terrible Nightmare threatened the peace of the galaxy, the wizards joined the GSA alongside the ninjas in their quest to stop this great crisis. They fought together for years, but that was until the sudden treachery of the ninjas. The warriors of the shadows defected to the side of Nightmare, which dwindled the GSA's numbers considerably. Still, as low as morale was, they carried on.

However, the war took a definitive turning point when Yamikage, the one responsible for the treason of the ninjas, snatched Ozwald away from the battlefield on the back of a fearsome dragon demon beast. Before the archmage disappeared, he called out to his kin and ordered them all to flee and never return. At this moment, none of them looked back, they listened to the orders of their archmage and deserted the battlefield, leaving the GSA behind. It was weeks later when Ozwald was seen again, but it was too late then ; he had fallen victim to Nightmare's influence.

Many years after the Great War, on a faraway planet called Popstar, King Dedede noticed that Kirby seemed very confused about the magic tricks Tuff was performing. Without skipping a beat, he used his downloading system bought from Holy Nightmare Enterprise and demanded their best magic user. Ozwald was sent through, and gave chase to Kirby. After a tough fight, the young Star Warrior managed to break Ozwald's trance, letting him finally return to his senses.

Ever since, the archmage has been residing in Castle Dedede, occupying the vacant top of a tower.

✦ Voice Claim | Regular Voice / Spellcasting voice

✦ Likes | Reading, Cooking & Baking, Moonlit strolls, Stargazing

✦ Dislikes | Hypocrisy, Disrespect/ Disdain against magic, Egotism

✦ Facts |

Ozwald is very adept at Offensive magic and Defensive magic, but also Supportive magic. During the Great War against Nightmare, him and most wizards were back-line fighters using their gift to protect and enhance the other warriors.

Ozwald and wizards as a whole do not really have mana, but using magic, especially strong spells, for long periods of time can tire and wear them out.

Ozwald can perform non-verbal and staffless magic.

He only has one eye ; he lost his other eye during the war after a certain treacherous ninja threw a kunai at him. He tends to hide it from people who aren't used to "gore", not to mention that he feels it to be a tad unsightly. He generally doesn't care to hide it in front of people like Meta Knight, Sword Knight or Blade Knight. if he feels comfortable enough with someone though, he will simply take his hat off.

Ozwald has a younger sister, her name is Winnie. She serves as the Acting Great Archmage in his absence. He hasn't contacted his kin as of yet...

✦ The Wizarding Society |

Although some wizards make an exception of this, they typically live on the "Observatory", which is a huge academy/library-like structure that floats throughout space. Wizards as a society and not simply magic-using peoples are pretty private and keep to themselves.

Whilst a staff or wand are important to channel their magic, wizards that are comfortable and skilled enough with it can perform spells without a vessel, simply using their hands. Enunciating spells is, in most cases, mandatory, but simpler spells like practical ones to make things float can be performed non-verbally.

Most wands and staves are made of metals like gold, silver, bronze and the like. Only very old wizards continue to use wooden staves. Ozwald, despite being more in touch with the newer generations of wizards, keeps his wooden staff because it was his mother's, and it will not break as easily as wood, because of the enchantments she had imbued into it.

As was the duty of the late Merline, wizards continue to observe the cosmos and planets to make sure everything is in order. While they don't tend to intervene ever since the Great War, wizards will warn planets if danger is upon them.

Wizards come in all races, shapes and sizes, but the most common ones are simirrors and waddle doos. Ozwald himself is a simirror.

The Observatory has many protection wards around it, along with the ability to become completely transparent, hiding itself and the wizards inside it.

The Observatory is capable of creating dimentional rifts to fast-travel around the galaxy. Ever since the Great War, wizards have been very careful about using this travel method, as dimentional rifts cause a very high, dense residual activity around the targeted areas, which can easily alert Nightmare of their location since he currently has dominion over most of the galaxy.

Merline is the original architect and creator of the Observatory. It was created as both a safe haven for wizards, but a place to protect the Knowledge and Mastery of Magic from falling into the wrong hands. It was her domain of planetary surveillance as well, when she used to watch over the cosmos on her own.

✦ Height Chart |

✦ Personality |

As unapproachable as he looks upfront, there is hardly sweeter than him. Ozwald is kind and patient, he will engage in conversation with pretty much anyone, even Dedede.

While Ozwald believes that a certain degree of sterness is required to properly teach the youth, he also believes that being too harsh and demanding will not serve any purpose. He prefers to teach with rewards, and attempts to make any topic interesting to get the attention of easily distracted children like Tuff, who usually dislike learning "boring stuff".

Ozwald is extremely forgiving, perhaps to a fault, some might think. But he says himself that as a man who has committed one of the greatest sins against his comrades (abandoning them), he does not get the luxury to be critical of what is done to him.

Ozwald is very doting with children. He does not necessarily want a family of his own, but he does have a strong sense of paternality in him.

Ozwald has an easygoing sense of humour, while he does not hold grudges, he is not above using previous events as ammo to tease someone.

Ozwald gets quite competitive with games of any kind and events putting him against other people/teams.

(Sidenote : i'd like to add things like the observatory and Winnie to his info sheet, but it's already me taken me long enough to get this done so i'll add those later !)

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty Nine--Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Masturbation, PIV, Switch!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, (slight daddy kink. Like very slight.), Spitting, Unprotected Sex, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Cuddling, ANGST ANGST! ALSO: FLUFF! (WHO AM I???? AM I OKAY???)

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

The following weeks slipped away like sand through fingers--one, then another, and then another--until the imminent end of the term loomed large, only just a little ways off in the distance. Graduation was within reach, a tantalizing yet bittersweet prospect.

The journey to this point had been a relentless climb, fueled by your unwavering determination. The culmination of hard work brought a poignant mix of accomplishment and trepidation. The future held its mysteries, and you were poised on the edge, anxious about its impact on the present.

Because in the land of the present, you and Mattheo were as well as ever. You'd managed to maintain your intimate secrecy, with Emily and Theo as the exclusive keepers of your shared secret. Within the last few weeks, they had evolved into an indispensable support system, adept at aiding your discreet escapades and providing cover when facing friends. Theo, a master of diversion, orchestrated opportunities for you to slip into Mattheo's dorm unnoticed, while Emily reciprocated the favour.

Looking back over the past months, a bittersweet resonance reverberated through your thoughts, acknowledging the imminent conclusion of your tutoring and mentorship with Mattheo. Curiously, the lines between mentor and mentee had blurred, giving rise to the notion that, in an almost poetic turn, he had undoubtedly become a guiding force for you, instead. The intricate dance of mentorship had taken an unexpected yet meaningful twist, leading to the most beautiful and memorable outcome you could have ever fucking asked for.

And in the crisp embrace of a warm spring evening, the sun gracefully dipped below the horizon, yielding its space to the emerging twinkle of stars overhead. Amid this celestial transition, you found yourself immersed in the task of crafting a report for Dumbledore, which was due the following week. This document sought to encapsulate your entire journey as Mattheo's mentor and your insights into his progress.

Yet, as your quill traced its path across the parchment, reminiscing about the last few months, an unmistakable ache kindled within your chest, as if hollowing your lungs from the inside out. In that poignant moment, the yearning to see a specific curly haired boy eclipsed all else, a sentiment that transcended the mere act of putting pen to paper. In an impulsive surge, your quill found itself abandoned on the desk as you swiftly slipped into your shoes. A brief word to Emily, notifying her of your absence for the night, preceded your motivated exit through the door.

After a determined journey through the solitude of the castle, you reached the imposing door of the Slytherin common room and urgently rapped your knuckles against its rough surface. After a brief moment of silence, the door creaked open, revealing Draco Malfoy peering down at you with his trademark disheveled blonde hair. His sly smirk assessed you from head to toe, an expression reminiscent of a devil reveling in mischief.

Before you could utter a word, he casually remarked, "He's in his dorm," signaling the direction with a subtle tilt of his head. "Little late for a mentorship meeting, don't you think?"

"Past your bedtime, is it?" You teased, gleaming with a smirk of your own. "Apologizes if I interrupted your beauty sleep, princess."

Draco's silver eyes sparkled with a blend of amusement and feigned offense. "Do you think all of this just happens naturally, little bird? It's hard work, being me," he quipped with a sly grin, willingly engaging in the banter. "But if you're here for a late-night rendezvous, who am I to stand in the way of true love?"

A huff escaped you as you tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to conceal your amusement. Without speaking, you pressed forward, gracefully brushing past him in the direction of the dorms. Upon reaching the entrance to the dormitory hall, you cast a glance over your shoulder, eyes twinkling with emotion as they locked onto his silver gaze from across the room.

You shot him a cheeky smile. "You'd be a fool to even try."

The retort lingered in the air as you continued your journey, leaving a trail of playful tension in your wake, fully aware of the fact that what you just did might not have been your most brilliant move yet. But moving forward without hesitation, you briskly made your way to Mattheo's dorm.

The anticipation propelled you forward, and with a swift motion, you tried the doorknob. Finding it unlocked, you let yourself in without bothering to knock. As you squinted, easing the door shut behind you, your jaw fell open as the dimly lit room revealed Mattheo reclining on his bed, bathed in the soft glow that echoed the reflections of the black lake, still fully clothed--except for his cock, which was fully erect, fist wrapped around the girth as he pumped himself, soft moans leaving his throat.

Almost immediately, lava had begun to flow out from your centre and filter through your veins. Steadying yourself, you stepped forward, admittedly slightly caught off guard by the sheer rawness of the scene before you. His eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed and lips parted, his breathing ragged and heavy as he lost himself in the pleasure coursing through his body. Your breath hitched, cunt clenching in want, and you drew nearer, slowly feeling all of the ounces of your sanity leave your body, quickly being replaced by a possessed, powerful need.

"Matty..." you whispered, cautious not to startle him.

His eyes shot open, surprised by your sudden presence, stalling his movements for a moment as he exhaled a shaky breath. When you smiled at him, your possessed eyes glimpsing his cock throbbing within his fist, the shock in his gaze quickly faded, replaced by a look of pure, hungered lust.

"Raven..." he murmured, his head falling back as he slowly resumed his ministrations. "Here to finish me off, sweetheart?"

A shiver coursed through your body as his words hung in the air, the palpable intensity of his desire washing over you like a powerful wave. Compelled by an irresistible force, you moved closer to him, drawn like a moth to a flame, surrendering to the raw power of his need. Without a second thought, your fingers sought the hem of your sweater, swiftly peeling it up and off your body. The room filled with the hushed rustle of fabric as you kicked off your shoes and deftly maneuvered the zipper on your pants.

"I'll do more than finish you off, Matty..." you cooed, meeting his dark eyes as he watched you undress before him, his thumb swirling the bead of precum over the tip of his cock, his fingers tightening around the girth. "Were you thinking about me?"

"Mmm," he moaned, his hand slowly picking up its pace, leisurely moving up and down his shaft. "Always thinking about you, baby..."

Quakes of desire rattled your bones, and you moved closer still, now at the foot of his bed, focus switching between the black holes of his eyes and his thick, throbbing cock. As you let your pants slip from your waist and down your thighs, finding purchase on the floor at your feet, you wasted no time before crawling onto the bed next to him, bringing yourself to his side.

"Tell me," you murmured, trailing your fingers up the length of his strong thigh. "Tell me what you were thinking about, Matty..."

Mattheo shuddered under your touch, hissing in pleasure as he increased the pace of his strokes, his body writhing and twitching against his dark green sheets. You choked back a mewl, your pussy screaming in need for him as you watched the veins in his hand tense and contract, his eyes squeezed shut as his head fell back, jaw tensing.

"Your beautiful face...your perfect body..." he growled out, his voice hoarse with primal need, his throat torn with lust. "Your tight, wet little pussy, wrapped around my cock...fuck-"

A surge of intensity coursed through you, the clenching sensation echoing the burning passion that seemed to set the very walls of Mattheo's dorm room ablaze.

"Mm...you're in deep, aren't you, Matty..." you teased, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip, a playful smirk barely concealed. The words slipped from your lips like a whispered incantation, and you couldn't help but revel in the way his eyes fluttered open with a potent mix of lust and hunger. "Salazar himself couldn't rescue you from this, could he?"

"Six feet, baby..." Mattheo's words carried a reverent undertone, akin to a fervent prayer. "Can you blame me? Fucking look at you..."

"Six feet, huh?..." you purred, allowing your fingers to trail sensuously down his thigh. The ache between your legs intensified, a symphony of longing and passion propelling you into a frenzy of heat. "...not deep enough, I'm afraid."

Leaning over him, your lips hovered just above his, and a mischievous smirk danced on his lips. Shallow gasps escaped his throat as he slowed the pace on his cock yet again, as though he was edging himself, desperate to hang on, desperate to not cum on the fucking spot.

"Filthy girl..." he breathed, snuffing a groan deep in his throat. "Say the words and I'll go as deep as you fucking want, princess..."

"Not tonight, Matty," you smirked, softly pressing your lips to his, teasingly dragging your teeth along his bottom lip. "Let me take care of you for a change..."

The anticipation in the room was intoxicating, making you want to give in to every carnal urge you both had been holding back until now, the restraint between your bodies barely tethered.

"Let you take care of me?" he repeated, the challenge clear in his voice, his eyes locked onto yours as you reached over to stroke him, your hand gentle but insistent. He gasped in pleasure as you worked him, his dick throbbing, pulsing in your palm. "You think you can handle all of this?"

"All this time and you still underestimate me," you purred, clucking your tongue in feign disappointment. You swirled your thumb around the tip, painting more precum down his shaft. "Don't worry about me, Matty...just lay back and be a good boy for me."

"Shit..." he groaned, whimpering your name, thrusting up gently into your fist. "Call me that again."

"Good boy...so, so good..." you gripped him tighter, pushing the skin to the head, twisting your wrist. "You're so hard for me, so big..." a smirk pulled at your lips. "I bet you want to slide this pretty cock deep into my pussy, don't you?"

His eyes squeezed shut, a fervent nod accompanied by the grasp of his hands on the sheets beneath him as a guttural groan escaped. Enveloped in a pleasure-induced haze, he succumbed to the unyielding hunger that demanded satisfaction.

"Is that what you want?" you whispered, your voice tinged with a husky urgency, leaning in to brush his mouth. The words slipped past your lips, each syllable feeling foreign, as if your own voice carried the weight of unfamiliarity to your ears. "Do you want me to ride you hard, to feel my tight little pussy squeezing your cock?"

"Fucking hell..." he growled between kisses, his hard cock pulsating within your fist, he was close, you could tell. "...I've officially corrupted you, haven't I?"

"Damn right you have...you gave me permission to let loose, didn't you?..." you murmured, your lips falling toward his jawline, placing a trail of wet kisses along the ridge, slowing your motions on his dick. "Turned me into your filthy little whore...meant for taking your cock and swallowing your cum..."

"Oh my fuck-" he cried out in exasperation, his hands shooting to your wrists, pulling your fingers off his cock and directing you overtop of him, guiding you until you were straddling his waist. "Princess, you keep talking like that I'm going to fucking-"

Without giving him a chance to finish, you ripped your hands from his hold and brought them to his face, pulling his mouth to yours as you thrust your fingers through his messy curls. You rolled your cunt against his needy length, rocking your hips until the head of his cock met your clit--and you moaned into his mouth, his fervent fingers digging into your flesh with enough strength to make you wince, his pelvis jerking up against yours.

You slowly lifted one hand from his hair and moved it toward your underwear, shifting them to the side to reveal your wet heat. You let out a small gasp as your fingers slipped easily through your slick folds, collecting your wetness and teasing your pulsing entrance. As you continued to pleasure yourself, you broke the kiss and quickly brought your fingers up to your mouth, sensually sucking your own juices off of them as you held Mattheo's stare. His jaw tensed, eyes darkening with an intensity that held yours captive. Your gaze remained locked as you sensually swirled your tongue around your fingers, savoring every drop of desire before delicately pulling them free.

"My fucking Gods, Raven..." his body was tense with pleasure as he stared at you, his eyes ignited in a flame so hot you felt your skin sizzling. "You are so fucking hot...." he gripped your head, pulling you down closer to him, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "let me taste you, baby."

His hands moved over your body, exploring every inch of your curves as he kissed you deeply, his tongue seeking out yours with a desperate hunger. Moaning, you braced against his chest, rocking your pelvis, grinding down against his cock, and he held you tighter, meeting you stroke for stroke, swallowing your kiss like he needed it to breathe, tasting your juices off your tongue. 

His hands found your chest, tugging down your bra to expose your nipples, and when the pad of his finger grazed the hardening, sensitive bud--you squeaked, breaking the kiss.

"Fuck...is that good, Matty?" You mewled, slicking your wetness along the length of his cock, feeling him pulse beneath you as he swirled his thumb over your nipple. "Or do you need another taste?"

"So fucking good, princess," he muttered, his eyes darkening with a primal hunger. "You already know I'll always need more."

A sly smirk crossed your face as you slowly traced your fingers down to your heat, sliding them back along your slit and collecting your slick juices yet again. Your eyes never left Mattheo's as you brought your fingers back up and sensually slipped them into your mouth, letting out a soft moan as you sucked them clean. With a sultry gaze, you leaned in close to him, grasping his jaw firmly.

"Open up for me, then, daddy," you whispered in his ear, your voice dripping with lust and desire. "Please..."

The sound of your own words sent shivers of excitement down your spine, and you could feel the heat building between your thighs as you teased him. Never in a million years would you have expected to say those words, and judging by Mattheo's reaction to them, neither did he. His eyes widened slightly, but he quickly composed himself, his jaw tensing with restraint as he fought off every single urge to flip you over and fuck you until you couldn't walk.

"Salazar save me..." he purred, slipping a hand into your hair, grip tightening. "As you wish."

As he parted his lips, sticking out his tongue, you leaned in closer, and with a seductive smile, you gathered your saliva and spat it into his mouth. The moment your spit connected with his tongue, you felt a surge of excitement course through your body, heightening the intensity of the moment. You weren't sure what the fuck had come over you tonight, but you were helpless to fucking stop it.

Mattheo's eyes flashed with desire as he swallowed your saliva, his tongue working to catch every last drop. It was completely, unquestionably clear that he was turned on beyond belief by your newfound confidence and boldness--unable to resist letting out a low growl of arousal in response. You grinned, pressing your lips to his in a soft, fleeting kiss.

"You're a fucking filthy little slut..." he growled, smirking as you giggled at his reaction, unable to control yourself. "So...so fucking filthy."

"Mhm," you mused through a smile, grazing your lips over his. "But I'm your filthy little slut."

A mischievous twinkle ignited in your eye as you leaned in, initiating a deep and passionate kiss. Your tongue danced with his, exploring the recesses of his mouth with fervor. The heat and passion intensified, a soft moan escaping your lips, signaling your body's eager response to his touch. His hands, once cradling your head, now roamed up and down your back, tracing every curve and inch with an exploratory hunger.

"Raven," he murmured, his voice a rasped, almost desperate plea. "As much as I'm loving this foreplay...you're driving me to the fucking edge of insanity here..."

"You always were teetering on the edge, Matty," you teased, a wicked gleam in your eyes. "I'm just here to push you over."

Smirking against his mouth, you brought a hand down, directing his cock to your throbbing entrance before finally, finally sinking down onto his thick shaft, gasping as you felt him fill you up completely. A deep, animalistic groan escaped Mattheo's lips as he felt you, tight and wet, enveloping him fully.

"Mmm, you're so fucking big, Matty..." you moaned, your voice filled with unbridled passion. "So fucking deep."

You savoured the feeling of being stretched to your limit, taking a moment to let yourself adjust to how deep and big he was before you slowly began to shift your hips, slowly began to ride him.

Mattheo's lips parted, chest reaching for air as he let you adjust, pulsing inside of you. "Mhm...all for you, my girl...fuck-all yours..."

Your movements were slow and tantalizing, your hips rolling gently as you rocked back and forth on top of him, stretching yourself open with his cock. You could feel him grow harder inside you with each passing moment, the sound of his low moans driving you wild with lust. Looking down at him, you could see the desire in his eyes, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he thrust up to meet your movements.

"Fuck-" you gasped as he rutted up into you, his movements turning more aggressive by the second. "All mine-all fucking mine..."

Mattheo's strength overwhelmed you--he slammed you from below, fucking up into you, forcing gasps and squeals from your lungs. Bliss blazed through your blood as the force of his thrusts throttled you, body quaking, breasts bouncing. His face was screwed in a twist of lust and effort, lip furled, strangled growls escaping his chest--he pumped hard, fast, pinching you in his hands as his own pleasure built.

"Fuck," he growled, "that's right--do you like that?"

"Yes...Gods-yes..." the words were as unfiltered as you were. "I love it..."

"Good--good girl." His stare devoured you while you rode him. "So beautiful..so perfect..." a hand glided up your side, cupping one of your tits. "And all mine..." he grunted, punished you with a particularly hard thrust-you yelped. "Say it."

"Yours-" you howled, a sharp gasp fleeing your chest as his rough hand pulled back and smacked your ass, his strokes deep and powerful. You could feel his hips slamming against your body, the force sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. "All yours, Matty!"

He growled, seething, teeth barred in a snarl as he smacked your ass again, sending a jolt of pain and pleasure shooting through your body. You cried out, arching your back as he urged you on with each smack.

"Don't hold back, baby," Mattheo growled, his voice filled with raw desire. "I want to hear you scream my fucking name...let them know who you fucking belong to."

With those words, he pumped into you harder and faster, his body slamming against yours so hard that the bed began to shake, headboard slamming against the wall with every thrust. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

"Fuck! Mattheo!" You moaned, your voice breaking with pleasure. "Please! Don't stop Matty-fuck-"

"Fuck," he growled again. "You're so fucking tight..." his pace switched, and he rammed your cunt with brutal, deep strokes, striking your cervix with white streaks of pain. "You take my cock so fucking well baby...so fucking perfect..."

"Matty-" you gasped, quaking, clit screaming for attention. "Please-"

"Fuck-" he hissed. "My filthy fucking slut wants to cum, doesn't she?"

Without waiting a singular moment for your response, Mattheo groaned, shifting you off of him until you found yourself on your back against the soft expanse of his sheets. Like a starved animal, he wasted no time at all before he climbed back over you, peeling your legs wide, both hands gripping your thighs and pushing them back against your chest before he split you back open, cock cleaving your cunt in one deep, harsh thrust. In pleasure, you sobbed.

"Mhm...such a good girl..." he cooed, eyes dark and hungry as he shifted a hand to your head, cradling the back of your neck as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours. "My perfect girl...my fucking perfect little cumslut..."

Whinging, you gasped, lost in the depth of his eyes as he fucked you harder, deeper, his hand leaving your leg and snaking down between your thighs, harshly rolling over your clit. You cried out, clenching and convulsing against him as he fucked you into the mattress, his eyes never once leaving yours, each stroke bringing new, desperate breath to your lungs as you felt him building your orgasm block by block, thrust by thrust.

"Is that what you are-shit-" Mattheo groaned, deep and low as his hand shifted to grip your jaw, pinching your cheeks together. He slicked your clit while he fucked you, the sensations warm and wet and spinning you to the height of euphoria. "Say it."

"Yes-fuck-" you practically screamed, unable to break your eyes from his, the eye contact alone nearly pushing you over the edge of bliss. "I'm yours! I'm your fucking cumslut-"

"Cum-fuck-cum for me," he ordered through barred teeth, "cum on this fucking cock..."

Like his perfectly trained pet, you obeyed, falling over the edge of ecstasy, pleasure coursing through every inch of your body as you cried out his name. Mattheo groaned, breath sputtering in his lungs, lids squeezed shut as he continued to pound into you relentlessly, his own climax fast approaching. With one final thrust, he let out a low growl and came inside you, filling you with the warmth of his release, his forehead resting against yours, your pulses pounding in pace until he had regained enough composure to push up and pull out.

As he reclined back on his bed, Mattheo drew you into an intimate embrace, enfolding you securely against his chest. Beneath your ear, his heart throbbed with a rapid tempo, and his breath, hot and laboured, danced against your skin. In a shared moment of quietude, words became superfluous. Both of you lay there, intertwined, finding solace in the cocoon of each other's arms.

In the aftermath of your intimate embrace, Mattheo's voice sliced through the tranquil stillness with genuine curiosity.

"Why did you come here tonight?" His words hung in the air, laden with a desire for understanding. "Not that I'm complaining, I'm just-"

Your smirk adorned your lips as you shifted, peering up at him. "I just missed you."

He blinked, a faint flush tinging his cheeks. His hold on you tightened, one hand delicately weaving through your hair.

"You missed me, huh?" Amusement danced in his tone, a smirk crawling across his perfect plush lips. "Poor little bird. Helpless without me."

A scoff escaped you, but the grin betrayed your playful facade. "On second thought, I take it back-"

"Nope," he interjected, his fingers gently arranging your hair behind your ear. "Too late for that, princess."

You huffed, eyelids fluttering as you reveled in the warmth of his body, nestled in his secure embrace. "Perhaps you're right...but let's not forget that you were the one jerking off while thinking-"

"Touché," he responded, his nails digging into your scalp, a playful attempt to silence you. "It's just...you know the boys will have questions tomorrow...there's  no fucking way they didn't hear us."

You captured your lip between your teeth, a moment of contemplation enveloping you as your fingers traced aimless patterns over Mattheo's chest. The room held a quiet intimacy, interrupted only by the gentle caress of your touch.

"Good," you finally responded, your voice dipped in a low timbre. "I don't really care anymore, Matty...I just...I just want to be with you."

"I know..." he cooed, his fingers tenderly weaving through your hair, fingertips massaging your scalp. "Just a couple more weeks...then we don't have to hide anymore."

His words carried both a promise and an underlying uncertainty that resonated with you. Graduation loomed on the horizon, a gateway to a future fraught with unknowns. As he spoke, a pang of apprehension gripped you. The freedom from secrecy seemed tantalizing, yet the uncertainties beyond graduation loomed like a shadow in your thoughts.

"I started writing your mentorship report for Dumbledore tonight," you softly admitted, the words carrying a whisper-like weight. The pending admission feeling like pulling teeth from your gums. "That's why I came...it, um...it made me anxious...worried."

"Worried?" he repeated, his head nuzzling against yours. "Why?"

A fragile silence lingered before you whispered, "I just don't know what's going to happen to us after this... I mean, if I get a job here and-"

"Shh, Raven..." he murmured, pulling you impossibly closer. "Doesn't matter where you are, where I am... we'll make it work."

Your heart fluttered, a mix of uncertainty and hope intertwining. "Will we?"

"We will," he assured, pulling the sheets up and over you both as if creating a cocoon of reassurance, "nothing could ever keep me from you..."

You shifted once more, your gaze rising to meet his, a newfound warmth enveloping your entire being, surpassing the comforting embrace of any blanket or the flickering glow of a fire. Your eyes locked onto him, taking in the sight before you--his lids rested gently closed, long lashes casting delicate shadows on his flushed cheeks, while his fingers continued their soothing journey through your hair.

It was a tableau of serenity, a moment where you witnessed Mattheo in a state of unparalleled contentment and relaxation, radiating a happiness you had never seen him wear so vividly.

"How can you be so sure?" you murmured, almost afraid to disrupt the tranquility that surrounded him.

"Because we've weathered it all already, and just look at us..." he responded, his smile radiating, even without opening his eyes. "Besides, where else could I go? Who else could I love but you?"

A gentle chuckle, laced with both disbelief and affection, escaped your lips. You couldn't fucking believe that this was your life, you couldn't believe that this was the same man from a few months ago.

"Are you feeling okay?..." you teased, the playful incredulity in your voice echoing the rare and serene side of him that unfolded before you. "Who are you, and what have you done with Mattheo Riddle?"

"What can I say, Raven," he murmured, the softness of his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability. "You've changed me."

You scoffed, suppressing a full-blown giggle. "I didn't change anything; you did that all yourself."

"Save the modesty, princess," he husked, a subtle edge of desire in his voice. "You could change the fucking world with your hands behind your back."

"My Gods, Mattheo..." you breathed, your entire body tingling. "If you wanted me to get on my knees for you all you had to do was ask."

With a tender smile, Mattheo shifted you onto your side, drawing you closer. He settled behind you, his face nuzzling into the curve of your neck. One arm slid gently beneath your head, cradling it, while the other wrapped around your waist in a comforting embrace. You melted into him, pushing back against his body as tight as you could.

"This will do, Raven," he murmured, his warm breath caressing your neck. "But if you keep pushing your ass against me like that, we're going to have a problem."

"Mm," you smirked, relishing the tightening grip of his hand on your waist. "Not a problem that we can't fix."

He huffed, choosing to remain silent, but you could feel his grin against your skin. A brief pause hung in the air, the room submerged in a serene stillness. Beyond the window, the black lake flickered in the moonlit night, its waves reflecting the shimmering light like liquid silver.

Breaking the quietude, Mattheo's voice, a soft murmur, rekindled the conversation. "You know," he said, his words carrying a wistful note, "the only time I ever slept well was when you were in my arms."

"Why?" you inquired, your voice a gentle prompt, as curiosity laced the quiet exchange. "Do you usually have trouble sleeping?"

"Usually," he sighed, a blend of fondness and vulnerability threading through his words. "Yet another part of me you seemed to effortlessly fix."

A brief pause enveloped you both, the stillness broken only by the rhythmic cadence of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against your back. As you felt him slowly surrender to the embrace of sleep, his grip on you loosening, a smile of contentment graced your lips.

"Sleep," you whispered, your voice a gentle reassurance, barely audible in the quiet room. "I'll fend off the bad dreams if they dare to approach."

“My fierce little protector.” He huffed, his voice a deep, raspy drawl. "I'm so fucking in love with you."

Your heart warmed, melting at his words. "And I'm fucking so in love with you."

[reiderwriter]

do you think you could write where reader is a part of the BAU and gets kidnapped/ hurt by an unsub and spencer saves her? much love and i love your fics!

Hi! Thanks so much for your request. I'll admit this took a bit more brain power than usual 💀 may have gotten slightly carried away creating an unsub lmao

Summary: You go undercover for a case and Reid keeps you company through online messages, only to feel absolutely worthless when you go missing.

Warnings: Typical case descriptions, kidnapping and abuse of Y/N, Reid self-deprecating again but it has a happy fluffy ending so a win.

My Requests are Open! Send me an ask if you want me to write something~ 💕 And check out My Masterlist!

“Y/N, what do you think? I’m not going to send you in if you’re not confident you can complete the mission.'' Your Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner, was briefing you on the plan. Luckily for the team, or rather, unluckily for you, you fit the victim profile of your latest case, and with an absence of leads, your last chance to get him before he took another victim was an undercover mission. 

“I can do it, but can we establish a background in enough time? He’s devolving and he’s going to need to pick up another victim pretty soon.” 

You’d been called in to consult on the case two weeks prior. Local women who lived alone in the metropolitan area had been going missing on a weekly basis for the last three months, and the BAU team had been called in when they’d finally found the dump site of the first three victims. 

You’d so far managed to figure out how he was finding his victims from their home computers - a site for young women to look for sugar daddies. You’d previously profiled him as a man in his mid-40s who was going through a personal loss and was lashing out at women who represented someone specific to him, and after searching through the dating profiles, you were pretty sure his stressor was a recent or impending divorce. 

But try as Garcia might, these dating websites had a whole lot more encoded data than was expected, and after the Ashley Madison scandal of the previous decade, they’d taken to deleting the majority of their user data regularly so that certain accounts couldn’t be found. Which meant that you were left with a geographical profile you couldn’t pin down, a profile that could match half the men in the city, and a killer that was almost ready to strike again. 

“Garcia can get something ready for you in the next 8 hours, and we have some access to some FBI safehouses in the area that we can ready in at the same time. Go get yourself prepared for cover.”

And that’s how you found yourself living in a dingy studio apartment on the south side of the city for two days, waiting to report back about whatever men approached you. There wasn’t much for you to complain about, but you were getting pretty lonely. 

You’d greeted your new neighbors and made a show of attending some ‘new to the neighborhood’ events, making sure to get out and about to let the team assess if the unsub was stalking you. Other than that you’d spent the rest of your time in your apartment a constant tab open at the sugar baby website. A few men had been interested, and your computer was cloned and running simultaneously on Garcia’s system so the team could do their best to track suspicious accounts. 

The rest of your spare time was, surprisingly enough, spent messaging Spencer Reid. You’d been on the team now for three months, joining the team as a transfer from the blue collar division you’d worked in straight out of the academy. You had spent the same amount of time doing your best to gain confidence to work in the field. Sure, you’d trained for this, but theory and practice were so different and you really didn’t want to fuck up so early into your job.  

Which is why, you supposed, that Doctor Spencer Reid was so intimidating to you. Though he admittedly wasn’t the best at field work, noting the amount of exceptions the FBI had to make to allow him outside of the office at all on your first meeting, he was just so damned competent. With three PhD’s, three BA’s and a pending fourth on the way, he was the golden child of the BAU, and you found yourself desperate for his approval. It surely didn’t help that he was also your exact type to boot, and sometimes you found yourself conflicted if you wanted his approval because he was so good at his job or because he was go goddamn good-looking. 

With no way to know how the unsub was tracking his victims before he kidnapped them, your team theorized it was unsafe to have physical check-ins, opting instead to set up another account on the sugar baby website, that would be manned around the clock. And tech-averse Reid had volunteered to do the bulk of the manning, leaving you with all the time in the world to talk to him in your private chat room. 

sug4rbbY/N: Good evening, Doctor, got any interesting facts for me today? ;)

D0ct0rD0ct0r: Did you know that it is illegal to flirt in Haddon Township, New Jersey? Under the section “Peace and Good Order,” a person may be punished for approaching “any person of the opposite sex unknown to such person and by word, sign or gesture attempts to speak to or to become acquainted with such person against his will.”

sug4rbbY/N: Well, aren’t I glad that we do not live in New Jersey then. 

D0ct0rD0ct0r: There’s more where that came from if you’re ever interested. 

sug4rbbY/N: I’ll certainly keep that in mind. 

sug4rbbY/N: Any plans for the evening, doc? 

D0ct0rD0ct0r: Just sitting here talking to you :) 

sug4rbbY/N: All by yourself? ;)

D0ct0rD0ct0r: Never feel like I’m alone when you’re online. 

sug4rbbY/N: Haha that’s sweet.

sug4rbbY/N: BRB, Doc, my doorbell’s ringing.  

You stood up from your desk, a glance at the mirror betraying your feelings, as your flush was prominent. You weren’t sure if it was the intimate nature of the messaging system, or just for the sake of your cover, but the flirty tone of your messages had certainly been leaving you wondering if there could be more to your relationship with your coworker in the future. 

You quickly walked over to the door, opening it wide and came face to face with a bouquet of flowers. 

“Miss Y/N Harper?” the man behind the bouquet used your cover name to address you, and you hesitated a little before nodding in the affirmative. “Can you sign here please? It’s standard procedure for deliveries like this.��� 

“But I didn’t order any flowers…” you took the bouquet from the man and grabbed the pen in his hand ready to sign. 

“Oh yeah, our shop specialises in anonymous flowergrams. That bunch you’ve got in your hand has some aconite, some white lilies and jasmine flowers.” The delivery man explained, and something in your gut twisted as you listened to his words. 

“But aren’t lilies usually meant for funera-” you didn’t get to finish because he had pushed a wet rag to your face, and you had just enough time to shake some small petals off and push them far enough underneath a nearby shoe storage unit before you faded into unconsciousness, your last thought a prayer that your team would uncover your clue. 

–x– 

Needless to say, when you didn’t check back in a few minutes later, Spencer had alerted every cop in the vicinity of your new apartment that you were gone, and they discovered your apartment empty within ten minutes. 

“She was right there,” Spencer ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “She was talking to me and then she just got up and he took her.” 

“Reid, calm down, she can’t have been gone long, and we have security cameras all over the building. We’ll find her.” Morgan reassured the younger male while searching the entrance of your cover apartment for clues. 

“That’s easy for you to say, it isn’t your fault that she’d gone.”

“And it isn’t yours either, Reid. You did your job, but he wasn’t going to stop until he had her.” 

“I should’ve notified the standby officers as soon as she sent through that last message and what was I doing instead? Trying to figure out if she was flirting with me for real or not. I’m pathetic.”

“Reid, get your head back in the game. She’s gone and theres nothing you can do to change that now, but we need your head here or we’re not going to find her. Y/N’s an agent too, remember, she can hold her own. Now look and think.” 

“SSA Morgan, Doctor Reid, we may have something over here,” one of the local detectives called the two men over. They’d found the remnants of the petals you’d done your best to scatter, and even though the unsub had taken the bouquet with him, he hadn’t been as thorough as he should have been. 

“We didn’t set her up with any flowers when she started her cover, so these must have been bought in by the unsub. I’ll call Garcia, tell her to look for any flower shops within his comfort zone.” Morgan hit the number on his speedial, but before he could start, Reid cut him off.

“Wait, I think we can narrow the search a bit further. Those are Aconite petals, they’re not often stocked by local florists because they have a pretty sinister meaning. They’re usually used to express hatred for the receiver, and because of their poisonous properties most florists don't stock them for fear of doing harm and causing lawsuits. He must be specifically ordering them in to give to his victims. Garcia, can you crossreference the list of florists in the area and check to see how many of them have purchased this plant recently?” 

“Just the one. Sending you the address now. Go find our girl Doc.” 

–X– 

When you came to, in what you assumed to be a backroom of some kind of flower shop, you were bound at the ankles and wrists and there was a gag in your mouth. You struggled a bit against your bindings but it was no good, and you had to reassure yourself that you were going to be okay, doing your best to push down the tears and clear your head. 

You decided your best bet was to get to know your surroundings, check to see what was around you and what you could use to your advantage. There was a clock on the wall, and you realised that you’d only been gone half an hour. Reminding yourself that the unsub kept his victims for a minimum of two days did a lot to get your heartbeat back to a normal pace, but it spiked again as soon as you heard the door slam open and your captor walk in. 

“Stupid little bitch,” he slurred his words slightly and you could smell the alcohol on his breath as he moved closer to your space in the corner. You tried your best to scamper as far away from him as possible, but he grabbed you by the hair and pulled you up to his face. 

You winced at the pain and tried to squirm out of his hold. “Look at you all pathetic now, begging me to let you out. It’s not going to fucking happen, y'know. I’m going to be the last person you see, last person you hear,” he throws you against the wall, pinning you up with his hand on your arms as he sends a leering glance down your shirt and then gives you a disgusting grin. “Last person you touch.” 

Your bindings mean your movement is limited, but you still manage to bring both your legs up to knee him in the groin, effectively pushing him off you but landing hard on the ground yourself after you manage to do so. 

“Fucking whore,” he shouts at you standing up and dealing a sharp kick to your head that has your vision going white for a minute. “I’ll teach you to fucking mess with me again, you little bitch.” He makes to grab you again, but before he can you hear the blissful sounds of a door being kicked down and the shouts of the FBI to stand down. 

Two agents are on him in minutes and you finally allow yourself to let out a deep sob in relief, as a third, very recognisable agent, makes his way to your side. 

“Y/N, shhh baby, it’s okay. You’re okay now, I’ve got you,” Reid whispers in your ear as he unties you as gently and carefully as he can. The moment your arms are free you leap into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pushing your face deeply against his chest. He pulls away just enough to untie your legs, and then lets you burrow into him again. 

“I knew you’d find me. Knew you’d understand something from those fucking flowers.” You sob into his chest now, as he strokes your hair, just holding you like that on the floor until you’re ready to move. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve sent someone to check sooner, and I should’ve never let you accept that stupid cover mission,this is my fault and I'm going to make it up to you. I'm never going to let anyone hurt you ever ag-” he begins rambling but you shut him up again, this time by firmly pressing your lips into his. 

“Before you say anything else, this is not transference and I’m not doing this because you saved me, we both know I would’ve done that eventually anyway,” you rest your forehead against his, and after he has time to process what has just happened, he’s wiping the tears away from your face, and gently holding it with both of his hands, leaning in to do it again, gently pressing his mouth against yours as if he’s afraid you might bolt at any second. 

“Thank you, again. For finding me,” you whisper to him, the space between you so miniscule now that you barely had to move your lips to know that he understood you. 

“Thank you, for letting me find you.” He grinned at you and held you again, determined to never let you out of his arms ever again.