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motorsportbarbie13 · 1 month ago

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Post It - Part 5 - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

warnings/notes: a bit steamy with this one (literally and figuratively hahaha) but not explicit smut. As per usual, special shoutout to the best beta reader on the planet who puts up with my shit @lestapiastrisgirl ❤️❤️❤️ pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 3k

- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 -Master List

yourusername posted

498,029 likes liked by lando, hannahstjohn, yourmom, and others yourusername i think we walked a million miles today. lando man, i hope you've got someone who's willing to give you a foot massage after all that walking we did today... >>>user929 EXCUSE ME user101 WEEEEEE? who's 'we' @/yourusername???? user223 'liked by lando' OF COURSE HE LIKED IT, HE'S IN THE POST user019 didn't lando's last .jpeg post also have the bamboo picture? user038 hey @/its_allegra_babes if L is with her, who are you going to visit in Monaco this weekend. >>>user222 her suitcase story is still up with the ticket to Nice clearly displayed. oh my godddddddd

Your first full day in Japan is spent at the Arashiyama bamboo forest, an hour’s train ride away from your hotel in Osaka. According to all of the research you did on the flight over, the best time to see the forest was sunrise, much to Lando’s dismay. While you were also a night owl like he was, Lando was apparently violently against getting up at such an early hour. It had taken you several attempts at 6 in the morning to get him up and out of bed, but eventually you had won.

Nearly twelve hours later, you and Lando tumble back through the doors of your hotel suite, utterly exhausted. The suite itself is huge with 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, a luxurious living room with widescreen tv and spacious veranda that looked out onto the city center. Lando had asked if you had wanted your own room, telling you that he wanted you to be comfortable and offered to pay for 2 singles instead.

You had considered the offer for about ten seconds before deciding that the current arrangement would work. Nothing in your gut was telling you that you wanted anything other than what had already been planned. The idea of having Lando sleeping so closely to you sent a delicious shiver up your spine even now.

Last night, about an hour after you had said goodnight and closed your door, ready for bed (alone), Lando had sent you a TikTok you could hear him laughing at through the shared wall. One text led to another and soon you were slipping beneath the sheets of Lando’s bed before switching on a movie. Nothing more had happened that night, except for you falling asleep cradled in Lando’s arms and Lando waking up in the middle of the night with you still wrapped around him.

That had been the real reason he hadn’t wanted to get up this morning, he was too content with where you were at.

But as he followed you through the door after walking what felt like seventy miles that day, he was glad that the had gone. The two of you had bonded on a deeper level, much deeper than Lando had ever thought possible. The connection between you two had sparked that night in February when he had slid into your DM’s but now? Now the connection was a wildfire.

Lando watches as you drop your bag and flop down onto the couch. The entire time you’d been together today it was like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. He couldn’t remember a time where he had laughed so hard and lost track of time like he had today. He felt so stupid for nearly blowing this back in February but as he joined you on the couch, instantly tugging you closer so he could touch you again, he was relieved the universe had decided to give him a second chance. It was wild to him, how well you two were getting on still. He wasn’t usually someone who could spend this much uninterrupted time with another person, he normally craved his alone time but with you? It was like he had told Max the night before over text, with you, it was different.

And Lando knew from the outside looking in, this was moving so fast. No one knew that you had spend hours upon hours just talking, often falling asleep together on FaceTime, back in February. Not that it really mattered to him. If there was one lesson he had taken away from the 2024 season it was that he had to work on giving less of a fuck of what other people said and paying more attention to what those around him that mattered were saying.

And you mattered to him.

“I think we walked a million miles today.” You groan, kicking off your shoes before flexing your toes, the ache in the bottom of your instep creeping up your leg. Your calves were on fire from how many hills you had walked up and down in that forest today. The shots you and Lando had gotten had been 100% worth it though. You couldn’t wait to crack open your laptop later tonight and start editing for Pretty Little Lens. Posting them would have to wait, though. You never ever posted onto PLL before you left a location since your real account almost always detailed where you were and what you were doing and you didn’t want to run the risk of anyone connecting you to the account. You often mixed up locations too, posting places out of order or well after you’d left a location. PLL was how you made your money but you didn’t ever want to be the public face the account.

Lando reaches forward to pull your feet into his lap before pressing the pads of his thumbs deep into the arch of your foot.

“Oh my God.” You groan, head tipping back to rest on the back of the couch.

Lando chuckles softly before starting to work at the muscles of your feet with deeper strokes. You’re quiet while he massages the ache out of your feet, only making slight whimpering sounds every once in a while. Lando shifts in his seat at the sounds you’re making, hoping how hard he’s getting isn’t as obvious as he thinks it is. He can’t help it though, the sounds you’re making are downright erotic and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were teasing him on purpose.

Which of course, you were.

Several minutes pass in silence as Lando continues to work at your feed and up your calves before his phone starts to buzz in his pocket. With one hand still on your toes, he reaches for his phone. You crack an eye open to watch as he unlocks his phone and huffs a sigh.

“Fuck. I forgot a I have a team call in 5 minutes.” He looks up at you, apologies flickering in his eyes. “I’m sorry, this is a post race thing that we do every week and I can’t miss it. It shouldn’t take long though, we’ll be fine for dinner.”

You grin before swinging your feet out of his lap and onto the floor. “It’s okay.” You lean over before brushing your lips over the shell of his ear. “I need to take a shower before dinner anyway.”

Lando turns his head before catching your lips with his, pressing his mouth to yours before you can get away. You hum in surprise, caught off guard by the intensity of his kiss. You’re the one to deepen the kiss though, licking your way into his mouth when he doesn’t pull away quick enough. The temptation to climb into his lap is overwhelming but the buzzing of his phone pulls you back down to earth. Tipping your forehead against his, you grin. “I’ll stop distracting you now.”

“I don’t know,” Lando chuckles as he watches you stand, “The thought of you in the shower without me is more distracting than that kiss.”

Laughing, you shake your head before rounding the couch to head towards your bedroom. Dragging your fingers across his shoulders as you walk behind the couch, you enjoy the way Lando visibly shudders under your touch.

Lando watches over his shoulder as you walk down the hallway before he turns back to his phone to dial into the call. It was a routine call that Zak and Andrea held after every race weekend to debrief what went wrong and what they were going to be working on ahead of the next race. They were boring but necessary, especially since things got missed during the hustle and bustle of race weekends.

Lando listens in as Andrea and a few engineers run through the data from the race, discussing tire wear, the strategy that had worked and what they needed to work on for Japan, and the frustrating near-miss podium finish. As he listens and interjects bits of observations himself, he finds himself distracted. His gaze keeps drifting toward the hallway you’d disappeared down. The scent of your shampoo, a mix of citrus and something with a delicate floral scent, lingers in the air, completely distracting him.

He found himself rushing through his recap of the race when it was his turn to speak, eager to wrap things up. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the call wraps up and Lando was free to sign off. After a quick goodbye to the team, he sighs in relief, and tosses his phone onto the couch, the screen going dark.

Lando’s surprised to hear the shower still running but as he passes the room you had claimed yesterday, he found it totally empty. Confused, he spots the white skirt you’d been wearing that day discarded in a heap outside the door to his bedroom. Lando’s heart beat picks up as he follows the trail you had apparently left him. At the foot of his bed was the top you had worn that day, discarded along with a very thin, very skimpy, white and pink lace bra.

He nearly loses it when he sees the matching thong waiting for him at the doorway of the bathroom.

Sultry music floats out from your phone that’s propped up on the bathroom sink. The room was humid and fragrant, air heavy with the scent of your shampoo and body wash. Steam wraps itself around Lando as he takes a few cautious steps into the tiled bathroom. It was a large en suite deal, with his and hers sinks, a huge soaking tub, and a large glass enclosed shower tiled with black marble.

The rhythmic sound of the water mixed with the sultry music created an intoxicating atmosphere that has his heart pounding against his ribs. Lando’s breath catches when he finally spots you, your silhouette a hazy outline through the steam that clings to the glass of the shower door. He could make out the curve of your hip, the delicate line of your spine, the way the water cascaded down your body, rivulets of water doing their best win the race down your body.

He’d never been more jealous of water in his entire life.

Lando hesitates, leaning against the cool tile of the wall opposite the shower, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He decides to stay put, enjoying the view and the way his stomach was churning delightfully with anticipation.

“Are you lost, baby?” Lando teases, pitching his voice loud enough so you can hear him above the soft music and thrumming water.

You finally turn your head towards him, smirk on your lips, and Lando nearly sinks to his knees then and there. “I figured I’d try out your shower.” You rasp, voice husky with need. “Turns out, the acoustics are much better in here than in my shower.”

It takes every ounce of control that he’s honed over his racing career to keep from stripping off his clothes right then and there when his gaze catches the swell of your breast as you turn towards him. “The acousitcs are pretty good in here, aren’t they?” He agrees, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you pick up the loofa that had been hanging from a hook inside the shower. “The view’s not half bad either.”

“It’s too bad your call took so long, you missed the warm up. ” You say, voice light and teasing as you squeeze the body wash bottle before lathering the loofah up.

Lando groans as you start in on your arms, lathering them up with he bubbles. You don’t look up but you can feel his eyes on you, a gentle caress that sends shivers down your spine and goosebumps erupting all over your skin.

“It that so?” He chuckles, moving to sit at the edge of the soaking tub that is on the opposite side of the shower. From here he can still see everything you’re doing to torture him but he can sit and enjoy the show. “Well, I’m here now. I’m sure I can catch up.”

The rasp in his voice has heat building in the pit of your belly, sparks of electricity traveling straight to that spot between your legs that is aching for Lando’s touch. You drag the loofah up your arms, up towards your neck before stretching out to show off the delicate line of your throat. “Or maybe,” You suggest, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper as you finally lift your eyes to his. “You should just watch.”

Lando watches, captivated, as your hands move, slow and deliberate, a silent suggestion at what could happen later tonight that sends a shiver down his spine. He could almost feel the the warmth of the water on his own skin, the scent of the body wash filling his senses.

“I’m never taking a work call while you’re around ever again.” He laughs, his gaze lingering on the curve of your ass as you turn around to wash the bubbles off in the scalding spray or the shower head. He watches as you continue washing, the drag of your hands over your body driving him absolutely mad. As he watched he imagined it was him running his hands up and down your slick body. He was torn between keeping his gaze on you to watch you drag your fingers down the line of your body or close his eyes and pretend it was him doing the touching.

All you do is smirk in response, enjoying the way Lando’s eyes have gone hazy with desire as he watches you. Your fingers trail down your torso, coasting over your ribcage and down towards the curve of your hip. You’d never been quite this bold before but something about how today had gone, how you’d been so comfortable all day in his presence had you so needy for him in a more physical way tonight.

Lando chokes on a strangled moan when your fingers continue down your body, teasing their way down towards the apex of your thighs. He wants nothing more than for your hands to be his, to be touching you the way you’re touching yourself but he’s also beyond satisfied watching the show taking place in front of him. You don’t break eye contact when your fingers dip in-between your things for the first time, swirling them around your already sensitive clit.

You can see the barely restrained control threatening to break from behind Lando’s eyes as you tilt your head back, biting on your bottom lip, while you continue to touch yourself, slipping a finger deeper inside you.

“Fuck.” Lando whispers, shifting as his own hand drifts unconsciously towards his cock that is achingly hard. “You know,” He manages to rasp out as a gasp tumbles from your lips when you slip a second finger between your slick folds. “I’m starting to think this shower is less about getting clean and more about torturing me.”

You chuckle, eyes darting from where you’d been watching him palm at his cock back up to his stormy expression. “Torture?” You ask. “Is that what you’d call this? I thought I was just giving you a nice little show.” The innocence in your tone betrays the fact that you’re minutes away from giving yourself a delightful orgasm right in front of Lando.

He watches as you continue to work your fingers between your legs, the way your head is thrown back driving him insane. “Torture is exactly what I would call watching you touch yourself like that when I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“Well maybe next time you should wrap up your work call quicker.” You sass back before dragging your fingers back up your body. “But you’re going to have to wait,” You reach for the shower faucet before turning off the water. The quiet that settles over the room hangs heavy between you.

Stepping out of the shower, you reach for the towel that Lando holds up for you, the soft fabric clinging to your wet skin. You murmur a quiet thank you before reaching for another towel to dry your dripping hair. When you look over at him again, a shimmer of pleasure flutters over your skin. The way he’s looking at you, his eyes dark and intense, is something that you could see yourself getting addicting too.

And that feels dangerous.

Lando groans in response before leaning back against the cool tile, arms crossed over his chest and frown on his face.

“Impatient, are we?” You tease, a playful glint in your eyes.

He pushes himself off the wall, his movements confident and deliberate. “Extremely.” He murmurs, his voice husky. He closes the distance between you then, his eyes never leaving yours.

He reaches out, his fingers tracing your jaw. “You know,” Lando whispers, he breath warm against your lips. “I’ve been thinking of getting you back here so I could have you all to myself all day long.”

He brings his lips to yours, a tender kiss that quickly deepens into something darker, more intense. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth, silently requesting access. You open for him obediently, sighing against him as he begins the familiar exploration that you find yourself becoming addicted to. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer so you can deepen the kiss this time. The world around you fades away, leaving one the feeling of his lips on yours, the taste of him, the intoxicating scent of his cologne filling your senses as you lose yourself in the way Lando touches you.

He pulls back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Your own chest heaves as you watch the way he watches you. “Fuck.” He whispers, his hands fisting at the white towel still tied around your body. “You have no idea how hard it was to stay out here just now.”

A shimmer of electricity zaps up your spine at the intensity of his gaze. “Now,” He murmurs, tone still husky. “Let’s get you ready for dinner. I’m starving.” He gives you a playful wink before turning towards the door. “But,” He adds before walking away, his voice trailing off behind him. “I’m going to be honest, I think I’m even hungrier for my dessert afterwards.”

lando.jpeg posted

987,109 likes liked by yourusername, maxfewtrell, keeganpalmer, and others lando.jpeg more of this please user348 if not hard launch, why hard launch shaped? user122 that is 100% @/yourusername's bracelet in that first picture >>>user889 girl, @/yourusername is literally in ALL OF THEM user988 if he wanted to, he would >>>user212 @/its_allegra_babes, i'm gonna hold your hand when i say this... yourusername looks like you're having fun!!! :) >>>user202 now they're just fucking with us.

yourusername posted

596,029 likes liked by maxfewtrell, lando, hannahstjohn and others yourusername dreamy few days maxfewtrell did you actually get him to set foot in a sushi place??? >>>yourusername i bribed him with kinder maxie >>>maxfewtrell is that what you kids are calling it these days >>>lando and that's a PR meeting for you!!! user000 oh she's max f approved now? >>>user857 @/its_allegra_babes oh girl, it's over now. user929 shes actually so pretty

(posted six months later to PrettyLittleLens)

5,609,298 likes PrettyLittleLens japan, you were a dream user009 bucket list trip! user034 another unreal series! you are so talented! user578 can't wait for these to be up on the website to purchase. That bamboo one is amazing!!!

lando's camera roll lately...

your camera roll lately

Tag list: @alessioayla @addy-lol @changetyre @obxstiles @tvdtw4ever @joaofelixml @vickykazuya @47chickens @magnusstan @joannaln4 @nicooolsstuff @wakasays @slutforcoffein @ajordan2020 @widow-cevans @isagrace22 @simp4f1 @chertik-007vvv @mayax2o07 @scenesofobx @a-beaverhausen @glitteryturtledeer @halleest @sltwins @doesgekouwe @unknownmystery22 @honethatty12 @chaoswithus @sarahsobsession @liz140569 @sinfully-yoursss @ilove-tswizzle @gigicisneros @angelluv16 @majapapaya4 @chaoswithus @raynetargaryan2 @stylesmoonlight12 @maytheforcebewithyousw-blog @formula1simp @henna006 @eugene-emt-roe @landossainz @anayaverse @yesmanbabe @mille-gracie @waywardpersonwerewolf @whistlef0rthechoir @flowergirl1134

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ariadnes-elixirs · 4 months ago

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thinking of an isekaied reader and a yandere noble boy...

(gn reader x male noble yandere)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6

tw: manipulative behavior, thats about it though

you stared at the honeysuckles climbing alongside the fence near the outskirts of your family's garden. as you continue examining them, it occurs to you that they seem to take on a vine-like shape, wrapping and constricting the fence. in front of the vines there are two smaller shrubs, also presumably honeysuckles.

as you stand there awkwardly lost in thought, oliver begins speaking. he takes one step forward as his eyes shift between the shrub and the vines, "there are three types of honeysuckle: shrubs, bushes, and vines."

he takes a careful step between the two shrubs and strides towards the vines, reaching a gentle hand out and caressing a pale pink, almost white blossom in his fingers. "while their flowers are pretty, in some places they can be invasive. they can block out sunlight, making it impossible for other plants to grow."

he's standing in front of you, so it's hard to gauge his expression. his voice is calm and serene, almost reverent as he speaks about the flowers.

"the pale pink flowers on the vines are likely common honeysuckle vines. while the pink tubular flowers on the shrub indicate that those are likely tatarian honeysuckles."

he slowly turns away from the vines as your eyes focus on his hand caressing the flower. in one swift motion he uses his left hand to pluck it off the vine, then turns towards the shrub. he's still standing in the same spot, but as he turns you can finally see his face.

his expression is cold, almost apathetic as he looks at the flowers. with how he sounded you would have expected him to at least be smiling. his dark brown eyes quickly meet yours before he looks at the shrub. he crouches down, still holding the pale pink flower in his left hand. his right hand reaches out gently to a darker pink blossom belonging to the shrub.

"chances are, some gardener got careless and either decided to plant these because they didn't feel like planting something higher maintenance... or they simply," he rips the flower off, "didn't notice that an invasive flower slipped into the garden..."

as he holds the pale pink flower in his left hand and a dark pink flower in his right, he finally shifts his body to face you and meets your eyes. his expression shifts to a much softer one as he looks at you, "i don't know what happened to you, but what i do know is that you are definitely acting different."

your blood runs cold, surprised he decided to bring this up again. you stand there for a second, about to reply before he smiles gently at you, catching you off guard.

"i know you have been having trouble with your memory, my love." he says, "it just..."

"it makes me so sad when you look at me like that... like..." you notice his eyes look sad, almost like he's tearing up as he speaks, "when you look at me like you don't know who i am, or what we were, or how much i love you."

he moves his hands to yours, gently taking your left palm and bringing it between the two of you. then he slowly holds up the two flowers in each of his hands, "obviously this isn't your fault, but..." he pauses, "i don't want to make you hate me by going too far too fast."

"so, i wanted to ask," he moves the dark pink tatarian honeysuckle towards you, "do you wish to resume our relationship, as passionate yet secret lovers," he moves the pale pink common honeysuckle flower closer to you, "or do you want to start over, from the moment where i got down on my knees and told you how much i love you for the first time?"

he looks at you gently, waiting for you to take one of the flowers in your hand, "i don't want to overwhelm you, darling, but please..."

"i just can't live without your love any longer. please, love, even if you don't remember, won't you fall in love with me again?"

a/n: (this is the part where my indecisiveness starts showing)

anyways !! would you like to "resume the relationship", start over, or say no to both (secret option he's not gonna say but i will)

#red pill or blue pill?#nah we got light pink or dark pink flower here #the matrix at home be like #ariadne's writing - 🩷#ariadne's ocs - oliver northwood #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #male yandere #soft yandere

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dj-of-the-coven · 11 months ago

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trigun 1998 episode simulator

[3 minutes of guitar solo]

Vash the Stampede: hi my name is Vash the Stampede. I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Love. all I really want to do is have a sandwich and a morning coffee without getting chased by bandits

some bandit: (gunshot) absolutely not. square up faggot

Vash: rats.

[gunfight]

Vash the Stampede: my name is Vash the stampede. I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Love.could I please have a sandwich

Meryl from the Bernardelli Insurace Society: how long are you going to sit on your ass doing nothing but playing games with children and doing chores for the elderly and disabled and looking after lonely youths and cooking dinner for the homeless

Vash: I've been here for like 2 days

Milly Thompson: Hi Vash!

Vash: Hi Milly

[exit left pursued by bounty hunters]

Vash the Stampede: (panting, entering a bar) my name is Vash the stampede.... I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Good L*rd what is going on in here

Hostage: mphdsfhapff!!!! mffmpphhf!!!!

Villain of the week: well if it isn't the elusive Vash the Stampede! you see it all started when I was 4 days old and you kicked me like a football and then exploded my parents to death with a laser canon and killed every puppy in a ten ile (translator's note: this is the No Man's Land equivalent of the American Mile) radius

Vash: I don't remember doing that but well I suppose you can shoot me if it'll make you feel better

Side character of the week: Are you insane? Just shoot him instead???

Vash: but my mom told me not to be mean to people

Villain of the week: (still going) And as I am now 47 years old I have finally decided to get my revenge. Say your prayers, Vash the Pisshead

[Wall explodes and reveals a motorcycle with a sexy priest on it]

[sfx: guitar with a hint of electric distortion]

Vash: is that..... Wolfwood?

Meryl who was in the background this whole time: the priest?

Nicholas Dickolas Wolfwood: (brings his fingers up to a pair of luscious lips to grab the cigarette from right between them, taking one more slow inhale before crushing the cherry red underneath his heel)(sensually cocks one of his 8 guns) Are you just gonna let this guy talk down to you like that needle noggin?

Vash: I g-

[guitar riff bumper]

Vash: -uess not, since you're here to help now... (slow, warm smile) Wolfwood

Nicholas D. ranged Wolfwood: Vash

Milly who was also in the background this whole time: Hi mr priest man! isn't this lovely, I haven't seen you since the last time you spoke with mr Vash yesterday evening when you were helping him buckle all those silly belts on his pants after he had lost them somehow

Vash: On a cactus

Milly: On a cactus! Oh it must've hurt so terribly; how fortunate that Mr Priest man was there to help you

Wolfwood: Hi Milly

[gunfight]

Villain of the week: ohhhhh curses!!! CURSES!!!! I have spent my whole existence getting ready to fight Vash the Stampede but he's just too good at swallowing all my bullets!!!!!!

Vash the Stampede: my tragic dead mother would be sad if I didn't swallow everyone's bullets so I've trained diligently every morning at digesting gunpowder without dying immediately

Wolfwood: [internally: I can't believe it. All this time I've spent walking the path of darkness, reaching to a pure light that I could never grasp, and yet here is a man who's dedicated his life and his body to the pursuit of Peace. I wish he were a woman so I could fuck him romantic style. I've got a whole plan for it and everything. Whiskey, sunset, a bed with no sand in it, 6 hours. This would be fully and completely possible if only he were a woman. Unfortunately he's not, but I can still think about the what-ifs. platonically of course. Maybe if he got some good dick he'd stop being so annoying. And maybe he'd stop making me rethink my morals. I wonder if the seven drunken handies meant anything to him. Platonically]

Wolfwood: Well anyway it looks like my job is done here

Vash: (teary) Will I see you again?

Wolfwood: I don't know. And besides, whenever I look at you, I'm reminded of everything I hate about myself. You know, it hurts.

[exit Nicholas D. Wolfwood pursued by repressed homosexual desires and immense catholic guilt]

Vash the Stanned Peat: (looking out the window like a widow whose husband was killed in action) Nicholas... D... Wolfwood.......

Meryl who was in the background that entire time, yes, the whole time: shut the fuck up already

Vash: when will it be my turn Meryl. When

[roll credits]

#trigun 98 #vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #milly thompson #meryl stryfe

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nerdygirlramblings · 4 months ago

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Off to See the Wizard (3)

previous | next

tw: canon-typical violence, bad accents

"Wut?" Simon stutters, in a voice you've never heard before. You've been on comms with him when missions have gone to shit, and he has never sounded as nervous as he does right now.

"It's just-" You huff out a breath. Why does this have to be so hard? Usually conversation flows with Simon like a stream over rocks, smooth and unhurried. "It seems like you're upset. You looked like you wanted to hide when John introduced us, and now..." You let the sentence trail off. "Where's the man who, two weeks back, spent watch sharing the worst puns I've ever heard?"

Simon looks at you, finally meeting your eyes, before glancing quickly away. "I dunno wha' 'cher talkin' about," he mumbles.

You can't help but snort in response. "That's such bullshit, Simon! You forget I've heard you lie before," you remind him. "You're usually much better than this."

Simon's mask twitches and you glimpse little laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. You think maybe he's smiling a little behind the mask.

You decide to push your luck, knowing your Simon is stuck somewhere in this man who seems to sit so uneasily in his place. So you smile and say, "Go ahead and give me another."

Simon holds your gaze a few moments longer than last time and mutters you, "I don' like change."

You keep your eyes on his, on the parts of his face you can see, and on the way his hands are twitching against the table top. "Liar." You're grinning at him now.

Simon flattens his hands against the table and leans forward a little bit. Lowering his voice, he says, "We don' need help."

"Eeeh!" You make a buzzer sound and tell him, "Wrong answer, but thanks for playing." He chuckles like you're used to, low and dark. "I've seen the same intel you have, and you're going to want me on the other side of those comms."

This time he looks at you and holds your gaze. "Yer right, Oz. We will."

You're so shocked at the first honest response from him you don't know what to do. You gape at him for a moment, unsure of what to expect next, when he floors you again.

Simon looks down at the table and, so quietly you think you misheard, says, "Yer prettier 'an I thought you'd be. An' I knew you'd be pretty."

You're saved from having to respond at all as Kyle, Soap, and John finally come back with food.

"Scran's nae bad teday," Soap says, sliding a tray in front of you. You mumble out your thanks and catch John looking between you and Simon. You hope he can't see how nervous you are. Simon's posture gives nothing away, which might be his biggest tell right now.

"Solid copy, Ghost?" John asks him, and he merely grunts as he digs into his food.

The rest of your day is spent going back over the information you have. Laswell agreed with your idea for transport, so you spend a few hours arranging something both more discreet and reliable, calling in a favor or two in her name.

By the time dinner rolls around, you have given yourself no less than a dozen pep talks about your interaction with Simon at lunch. You've played out a million different scenarios and finally opted to take your cues from him.

You don't have long to wait as he and Soap come to your office at 6:30. He stands back and lets Soap do most of the talking, which he does all the way to the barracks. When you get there, you give him a quizzical look. "I don't know the base well, but isn't the mess the other way?"

Soap's smile borders on feral. "Aye, but Cap'n decided, 'cuz a yer bein 'ere, to take ye off base tonight." Beside him, you catch Simon's eye and the eye roll he gives to Soap's back.

"Cap'n jus' wan'ed tuh show ya some 'a the city, seein' as you'll be here instead 'a home when we're gone." He finishes quietly. Seems like no one is happy when reminded the whole reason you're here is to support them while they're gone.

Simon unlocks the barracks and ushers you in, following behind with a gentle hand on your lower back. Now three of your boys have made the same unconscious motion. When will Soap? "We're gonna head out in 20. Tha enough time fer ya ta get ready?" he asks.

You look at him and Soap and notice they're dressed in civvies. You're not sure how you missed that detail before because now that you really look, it's clear they've cleaned up and changed since lunch. "Twenty should be fine. I mean, it's not fancy, right?"

Soap winks at you, "Nah. Ya look perfect already, bon. Yoo could go as ya are 'n be feen."

You pause, smile frozen on your face. You don't know how to take that compliment , so you stammer, "Uh, thanks. I'll just..." You point towards your room. "Meet you in the rec room?"

Simon nods, and you walk away. You hear a light thump and an "Oi, Lt, wha' was tha' fer?" as your door closes.

It turns out John's idea of a tour of the town is more about how to get off base and where not to go alone. "Unfortunately, can' let ya borrow a military ride, Oz. Yer not cleared for 'em." So instead he shows you where to catch the bus - "ne'er do a ride share. Can' have 'em on base" - and where some key places in town are. "Asda's gunna have e'rything ya need 's far as snacks 'n toiletries. An' if ya want food tha's not from the mess, pick somethin' over 'ere," he says, sweeping his arm to the streets northwest of where the bus would drop you.

He doesn't take his own advice though, parking in a lot several blocks south and taking everyone to a pub bearing the name The Dancing Bear. The others walk ahead of you and John. Clearly this is a place they've been before.

As you follow the group into the space, the man behind the bar calls out to John who simply raises a open hand. You watch the man's eyebrows rise while he looks over the group, finally landing on you. You can't quite interpret the look he gives John, but he points to a table towards the back. You notice it's nestled in an area not immediately viewable from the door but with a line of sight to most of the room. As they had at lunch, Simon and John take up positions along the wall where they can see almost everything. Kyle and Soap are sat next to John and Simon respectfully, which leaves you to take the seat between the two sergeants.

You hear heavy steps come up behind you, and while your first instinct is to tense - you completely understand why soldiers and cops try to not put their backs to a room - no one you're with seems concerned.

When the footsteps stop, a gruff voice says, "Nice ta see ya, boys. An' ye've brought a friend."

You assume this is the same man from behind the bad, but while John was smiling a moment ago, you can tell it's now strained. You can only guess what caused the change.

"What've they got on you, dollface? Ye're too gorgeous to be here, with them, by choice." The man laughs at his own joke as you turn. You don't know how often the boys come here, and you certainly don't want to burn bridges if they think the joke is funny, so you simply give the man a tight smile.

John gets his attention and orders drinks for the boys then looks to you. You order a soda; these guys do not need to see what a lightweight you are, and you definitely don't need your inhibitions lowered. Kyle orders chips and curry for the table as you all decide on your meals.

The atmosphere is much different than at lunch, when the lore of being the 141 kept you insulated. John and Simon are scowling more than before, to the point where you suggest everyone heads back to base.

"Why?" Simon asks.

You look at him then over your shoulder to the small group playing darts, the few people at the bar, the man who was at your table and another woman, both making drinks behind the bar. "Oh, I don't know," you drawl. "Maybe because it looks like you're trying to stare the place down."

Simon's eyes snap to yours as Soap giggles. "She's got a point, Lt. Yeh look right pissed."

He turns slightly to see where Simon has been staring, his own face morphing from carefree to annoyed as Simon says, "It'd be fine 's long 's other people'd mind their fuckin' business."

You look at him pleadingly. "Then let's go, really. I want this to be nice for us all, and clearly you're bothered by something."

Simon looks at John who claps a hand on his shoulder. "Oz's right, Ghost. Let it go or we're gone." Though he's calm and the tone is light, John's words come across as a mild threat.

You make it through the meal without another incident, but as you get up to leave, the guys take up positions around you. It's impossible to miss the way John leads the way with Kyle and Soap chatting your ears off while Simon trails you silently.

Back at the barracks, you say your goodnights and turn in while the others meet in John's office. "Tha' was a bad idea," Ghost says. "Too many eyes on 'er."

"Not sure base is any better," Gaz says. "Plenty a' the rookies saw 'er as I walked 'er to lunch. Got the feeling some idiot is biding their time 'til we're gone."

Price looks around at them. "Is this something ya want? Truly?"

"How can we not, Cap?" Soap asks. "She's perfect. And perfect fer us." Gaz nods, and Ghost meets Price's eyes unblinkingly.

"Alright then. We got less than a week to get this done."

series masterlist | main masterlist

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #johnny mactavish #kyle garrick #simon riley #john price #nerdygirl says #off to see the wizard

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ariel26c · 1 year ago

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🎀Things I’ve learned about Shifting 🎀

1. Background noise doesn’t matter. I come from a Hispanic family household and let me tell you hun it’s freaking loud as hell. It’s like a zoo lol but guess what? I still shifted. At some point you will start to feel your CR kinda “fade away”. I have been in this state where I am in between my CR and DR. I can hear background noise from my CR but I still feel like I’m in a different room or I hear sounds from my DR as well. Has anyone experienced this?? Let me know, I’m curious 🤨

2. Have patience. Allow yourself to relax and naturally connect to your DR. Don’t stress about having random thoughts or having an itch or things like that. Have patience with yourself like seriously you got this babe. Sometimes for me it’s feels like it’s takes 1 or 2 hours until I feel fully connected to my DR. (It’s different for everyone btw) you may take less time than I do. Those things don’t matter if you decide that those things don’t matter.

3. Methods really aren’t needed. If you think about it all methods consist of the same thing usually. It usually consists of affirmations, visualization, subliminal audios, meditation, counting, blah blah blah. If you want to use a method, then do that but don’t force yourself to do a method that doesn’t resonate with you. If you don’t like counting, then don’t count. If you don’t like visualizing, then don’t visualize. Change things up a bit and listen to music that reminds you of your DR or do something that you think is fun.

4. Just because some people like to lie about their shifting experiences doesn’t mean that shifting is fake. Just like in every community there is going to be people that are dishonest or don’t have the best intentions but that doesn’t mean that shifting is a big inside joke. Don’t allow these people to discourage you from shifting to your DR or make you doubt in its existence. Don’t depend on other people's content to feel motivated or believe in shifting. Just KNOW it’s real and motivate yourself to shift. (even though motivation isn’t needed to shift)

5. Shifting is Real. I think we all should know this by now, but I don’t think people really fully understand just how REAL shifting is. I mean you are going to be able to use all of your senses. You will be able to taste food, see your reflection in the mirror, talk to people that may be considered as fictional in this reality, etc. The process of shifting is safe but if you are shifting somewhere that has violence or gore make sure you script your own well-being. High pain tolerance, no trauma, etc.

6. Time isn't important. Just because it's been 4 years or 5 doesn't mean you can't do it. Time doesn't apply to shifting because time is just man-made thing. We created the concept of time not the Universe. Don't blame the Universe for your "Failure". (Spoiler alert: it's not failure) You just need to realize that no matter what, it will happen. It is completely inevitable. Some people have shifted after 5 years so don't give up! It will be worth it.

7. You can't fail at shifting. When you do your method, you will shift to your DR or shift to your CR. You shift all the time. We are constantly shifting consciously or unconsciously. Manifestation and shifting are very much closely related. (But that's another discussion for another time) Just like how we are manifesting on autopilot we are also shifting on autopilot. So, when you do a sleep method, and you wake up in this reality instead of your DR you still shifted. (Just not to your DR) (Get it?)

I hope you found this post helpful! :)

#affirmations #desired reality #law of the universe #shifting #shifting realities #reality shifting community #reality shift #reality shifting #shifting community #shifters #shiftblr

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landograndprix · 11 months ago

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╰┈➤ ❝ desire us • l.n ❞ ii

part one - part three

➪ life changed after you decided to go through it as a single woman, offering your daughter the best life she deserves, focusing on work, friends and family but damn, that guy.

➪ your friends are up to no good while you make another life changing decision.

➪ mom!reader x dad!Charles (platonic) x lando

➪ you really thought i was gonna keep my babies apart? Y/n's 2nd child = millie & are text messages between millie and Manon ;)

➽────────────────────────❥

y/nusername

📍 Paris, France

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 476,321 others

y/nusername 🏡

view all 1,312 comments

chilisainz ah you're telling me this is not a happy little family? 👀

↳ yukisan just a couple of besties spending every single free minute together 🥰

chilisainz like all besties do 🥰

julieeeexo this is a last warning for zoë..stop growing

hamilt44n girl I wanna live in Paris, are you looking for a roommate?

landitonorris so you're telling me our girl flew to the UK to 'hang out' with lando and they flew back to Paris together to 'hang out' with each other at y/n her place?

↳ sharl16 they'll probably fly to Japan together as well 😅

landitonorris but they're just friends though 😉

sharl16 oh yeah for sure!!!!!!!!!

milliexoxo ...but when I ask for a sleepover you say no :(

milliexoxo ...just say you don't like me and logan

↳ norry4 love makes blind bestie, you're on your own 😔

y/nusername so dramatic and for what? :')

landonorris princess bed sleept amazing

bott_ass you're not fooling anyone my guy, you're sleeping in the same bed 😂

norrizz actually living my dream life

charles_leclerc my pretty princess ❤️

↳ landonorris thank you, you're a pretty princess too ❤️

landoscar I love this dad and (ex?)stepdad dynamic <3

➽────────────────────────❥

y/nusername posted to their story

manon_roux replied to your story

manon_roux

cutest little girl in the world ♡

I'm talking about zoë

kidding you cute too

Also, you can't convince me lando's able to keep his hands to himself at night when you're looking like that next to him in bed

or does he really sleep in zoë's tiny ass princess bed?

I know you're ignoring me

what secrets are you hiding from me girl?

➽────────────────────────❥

y/nusername

liked by milliexoxo, landonorris and 541,387 others

y/nusername 🇯🇵

tagged: milliexoxo

view all 1,619 comments

sharl16 babe is okay, you can tag lando <3

yukisan we better get a 3 hours long vlog to make up for all the months you haven't posted 😭

norry4 don't be shy lando, drop those pictures you've taken of y/n

↳ norrizz and zoë

norry4 I just know he's got a ton of pictures of them 😭

hamilt44n damn Logan so lucky

lando4norris once again asking to be a third in whatever relationship y/n and lando have going on

norrislandooo I've gone nearly 6 months without a vlog, this better be worth it ma'am 😭

logiebear can logan fight?

↳ y/nusername logan's a lover, not a fighter

milliexoxo this man fights me 24/7, don't know where you got that information

logansargeant that's one way to exaggerate

milliexoxo get back in your cage captain america

logiebear millie I love u 😭❤️

➽────────────────────────❥

Lando taglist: @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10 @bored-brunette2 @i83andrew @mcmuppet @justdreamersdream

Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @honethatty12 @cixrosie @ireadthensuetheauthors @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseoki @pretty-little-bunny382728 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @severewobblerlightdragon @cherry-piee @namgification @mycenterfold @celestialend @jsjcue @d3kstar @themislovesf1 @mehrmonga @destinyg237

Desire taglist; @sainzluvrr @writingworlds @chezmardybum @lewisvinga @xjval @fanficweasley @rockyhayzkid @thecubanator2 @minchedchilli @crimeshowjunkie @alisoncasey21 @eeviepepi08 @shamelesspotatos @sleepybrokenmelle @leireggsworld @janeholt3 @iamahalicinationn @dessxoxsworld @kapsylia @22yuki @dark-night-sky-99 @sheslikeacurse @nerdreader

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfic #lando norris smau #lando norris imagine #f1 driver x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #lando x reader

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homunculus-argument · 1 year ago

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The thing about perfect pitch is that it's a combination of having an inherent knack for it, and having that skill honed with a musical education. Someone who could recognise a specific note by the ear but was never taught notes cannot do it, and someone who simply wasn't born with the potential for it can't learn it no matter how thorough of a musical education they have.

I think the same thing applies to what I've come to refer to as "a few raisins is five raisins" type of instruction-giving. The ability to instinctively assess how much information and detail somebody wants or needs when they're asking for instructions. People who cannot do this are enraged by the idea that someone thinks they can, btw. How dare somebody arbitrarily decide to withdraw information and take away someone's agency concerning choices that they don't want to make and whose outcome doesn't matter much.

I'd consider that I have a pretty good knack for it, myself. It's been honed by working both with people who refuse to give exact instructions, my own difficulties in asking for sufficiently exact instructions when I've needed them, and working with people with varying preferences towards instruction-exactness.

People who refuse to give clarifications to their instructions and guidelines in things that they are familiar with leave you no other choice than to demonstrate just how wrong their vague answers can be interprated before they're willing to clarify. If you ask someone "how long does this usually roughly take?" and they just go "I cannot answer that, it varies so much from person to person, every single individual case is different" on and on, refusing to give the roughest of rough estimates, all you can do is say "okay so it can take anything between 20 minutes and 20 years." And only then will they say "oh no, it's more like 3-6 years on average", which was the exact answer you wanted in the first place.

It's not really a comprehension thing, but a moral code to them. I don't believe in having ethical principles that serve no other role than inconvenience absolutely everyone including myself, so I have no qualms about giving simplified instructions. If someone who needs exact instructions is trying to follow a recipe that tells them to add "a few raisins" freezes at the vagueness and asks "how much is 'a few' raisins?" they want an exact number.

Someone who isn't comfortable trusting their own assessment of how much is 'a few' won't be helped by being told to follow their heart and make their own choices. They specifically want somebody to just give some sort of a guideline about this. And being the type that's more comfortable just eyeballing things, I can assess that in this context "a few" means roughly half of a small handful of raisins, and quickly estimate that one half of a small handful is roughly 4-6 individual raisins.

And instead of getting needlessly difficult about refusing to say it, I can just say "oh, that's about five raisins", and everyone can carry on with their day.

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cyberm4n · 1 year ago

Note

You've now filled my head with nothing but Alastor and Lucifer brainrot. Any other sharing thoughts you have for them? (I cannot stop thinking about them, I quite literally thought about them sharing me during my entire 8hr retail shift yesterday)

alastor and lucifer sharing you pt 3!

pt1, pt2

this was highly requested, thank you all for the love <3 im tagging anyone who asked/was fine with it last time but now you can fill out this taglist form to ensure you're tagged for future posts!

tags: @lu-ferri12 @my-anime-garden @princessdreamss @polytheatrix @reaper-of-light-12 @ambi-squirrelly @hazelfoureyes @meggletoomanyfandoms @afernandez21

cw: angst ig?? idk reader is upset cause they keep fighting, general relationship issues for a moment, smut, reader gets eaten out, there's some light praise and condescension i think, alastor has a master kink, alastor discovers he LOVES eating pussy, there's like a weird sexual tension between alastor and lucifer for the majority of this if you squint, the ending is VERY suggestive

other: not 100% happy with formatting on this but i wrote majority of it on a 6 hour flight so like. you win some you lose some. not proofread that well, i kind of ramble at times too but it's fine. 2.1k word count and half of it is formatted in a headcanon cuase, again, lazy 6 hour writing. i also don't use the bolding and coloring that much cause it'd be a lot of work.

left the ending a little open, will probably do a poll tomorrow on if people want me to take this that direction.

■ okay so sex aside i would think outwardly everyone knows you're in a relationship with lucifer at the very least

■ but it's kept lowkey with the other part of the relationship

■ which both are fine with btw

■ lucifer loves pda so he's happy, alastor isn't a fan so it's whatever

■ the public part works out because alastor would genuinely be worried about someone trying to use you to get to him

■ it's bad enough that it's known the king of hell has a new partner, but nobody knowing that if they fuck with you they're fucking with the king of hell AND the radio demon is a silent advantage

■ if anyone knows, it's charlie. but only to the extent of like the fact it's a hinge relationship, everything else she doesn't know and honestly doesn't need to know

■ she's just happy her dad seems happy and is getting along better with alastor

■ i think alastor is the kind to really start caring during the relationship vs. lucifer caring about you deeply before

■ so occasionally alastor will pull you aside, or if no one is watching will just press a quick kiss on your forehead.

■ meanwhile lucifer is always making it known he's in love with you

■ arm around your shoulder, holding your hand, everything

■ again, alastor doesn't really mind unless lucifer decides to be an ass abt it

■ look they still compete with each other sometimes they can't help it

■ then it becomes a game of how much the other can get away with before you either get upset or it's too telling

■ that's the other thing is like, the competing gets really fucking annoying to you

■ we saw them in hells greatest dad it wasn't a want to be a better dad it's just wanting to out do the other

■ and when it transfers to your relationship it gets agitating fast

moving on

■ relationship side alastor isn't as involved with that

■ but if either of them did something that upset you or like there was a lovers quarrel between you and either side it's a big deal to them

■ especially if you're only upset with one half of the hinge

■ cause like, sure, they could compete with each other and purposefully drive you apart

■ but tbh.. both of them lowkey like this arrangement much more than they thought they would

■ so they end up talking to each other about it and figuring out what to do

■ same if you're upset with both

■ not that you're upset often it's just that when you are it's usually cause they crossed a line in their little competition

■ and they hate making their girl feel like a prize to be won :(

■ whatever their solution is, they do it together.

■ show you they can get along, that they both care about you enough

■ you're in your room, a bit of a blow up happened earlier after they got into one of their arguments

■ it's not that you genuinely think theyre using you to get to the other but sometimes with the way they act it's easy to doubt

■ anyways, they both come in, it's late

■ i cry when im frustrated/upset and i think it's a pretty normal reaction, so let's just say you're crying a little

■ they're both immediately at your side, apologizing profusely

■ you've never cried like this before

■ it scares them. alot.

■ for once there's absolutely no competition, the only worry is making you feel better.

■ both sitting next to you on the couch, lucifer murmuring how much he loves you, and how he knows how much alastor cares for you

■ i hate the whole "alastor doesn't understand emotions" thing because he does. he has to, he knows how to read people well.

■ it's just he hasn't ever comforted someone

■ he doesn't know what to do when someone he cares about is upset

■ so he's glad lucifer is here, as alastor just sits at your side nodding along and gently rubbing your back

■ alastor only tunes back in when lucifer offers to give some space for the night, and a little murmur from you agrees but asks they both come to bed that night

■ given its usually only lucifer who actually sleeps in the same bed as you alastor is surprised

■ but lucifer is beckoning him out for some space.

"cmon, we'll be back in an hour yeah?" he chimes from the door, and with a squeeze of your shoulder alastor is out of the door, but he opts to walk along with lucifer. "we gotta do better" lucifer sighs as he walks, not looking over at alastor. he's not accusing alastor, he seems equally disappointed in both of them.

"for her?" alastor adds, and lucifer gives a hum of agreement. "this while ordeal has been quite... stressful as of late, no?" alastor adds, "to our own faults, yes" lucifer murmurs, giving a sigh. alastor nods, and the two men walk in silence for some time, ending up in the parlor, husk far since gone to bed. "want anything?" lucifer pulls alastor back to reality once again, he's standing behind the bar while alastor had been staring off, his mind running with thoughtd of god knows what.

"whiskey, my friend?" alastor suggests, and giving it a considerate thought lucifer pours two glasses. the silence falls over them again, just the sound of the clink of their glasses on the counter.

"so tell me, how do you do it when you pleasure her?" alastor breaks the silence, lucifers eyes dart up to him. thinking for a moment before replying "i don't really think tonight is the time for that—" lucifer says, but in a gentle tone.

"no no, in the morning." alastor says, staring down at his glass. "you two indulge often in the morning, correct?" alastor says, now his eyes uncomfortably on lucifer. Watching as the other man almost pales a little, swallowing thickly.

lucifer immediately falters, giving a sigh. "look it's not— i‐ that's not her fault–" lucifer immediately starts, assuming this is a confrontation. his eyebrows raise as alastor shakes his head. "oh please, if i had problem with it i would have done something" he says, a static crackle echoing through the room. "no, i want to know how you do it when you... when it's just about her. how can i do the same?" alastor asks, and this is even more surprising to lucifer than this whole fucking idea in the first place.

■ so lucifer of course explains some stuff to him, of course it's hard because unless he's done it before it's hard to articulate some of his "moves"

■ i mean lucifer can hardly resist going down on you everytime, he's definitely experienced but it's hard to transfer that knowledge at times

■ but he's impressed alastor even asked

■ so when they return to your room, they're a lot more calmer with each other than before.

■ that night changed a lot between them tbh

■ it's slightly awkward for both of them when everyone gets settled in the bed

■ you're on your back, lucifer on your right side and alastor on the left.

■ they're both holding you to the best of their abilities

■ lucifer gives alastors hand a squeeze before shuffling it to have a better grasp on your waist

■ you all peacefully sleep through the night, not shifting much but it's pretty comfortable

■ is the morning you're mostly cuddled into alastor, which is entirely lucifers doing

■ when you're all awake though alastor gets arguably nervous

■ but you being you, you slump over onto alastors chest, murmuring some affection to him

■ lucifer gives a nod, it's time.

■ he'd honestly probably move to get out of bed, assuming some privacy is wanted

■ but he feels a shadow wrap around his forearm, it's a light pressure

■ alastor shakes his head, mouthing a small "please"

after lucifer processes for a moment what exactly is about to go down, he's okay with that. he settles back in, his eyes on the two of you as alastor tilts your chin up, pressing a kiss to your lips. "my dear, would you mind if i tried something a little different with you?" alastor chimes, and you blink your eyes open again, still a bit sleepy as you give a nod.

he gently maneuvers you on the bed so you're laying on your back, his hands pawing at your sleep shorts and pulling them to your ankles. lucifer watches, honestly a little mezmerized by the whole ordeal. he feels proud in an odd sort of way. “I think our little doe deserves a treat, would you like that?” alastor murmurs as he spreads your thighs open. You take a shaky breath before murmuring some form of agreement, maybe even a little plea.

without further prodigy, alastors finally leans down his tongue swiping down your folds, hands grasping your hips to pull you to his face. your hands go to hold lucifers, but he shakes his head tutting at you. “ah ah, that’s not very polite princess” he chides softly, guiding your hands to alastors hair.

and alastor makes good use of the tips and information lucifer gave him, his tongue plunging into your sweet little hole as his nose bumps your clit. his eyes wander up, making eye contact with you as he eats you out so wonderfully. you tug at his hair and he practically growls in pleasure, opting to change tactics and focus his mouth on your clit while his fingers slide inside you, gently curling into your sweet spot.

and lucifer watches it all, absolutely mesmerized. he doesnt know what it is about watching this but theres something about knowing alastor is doing exactly as told to in this scenario that makes lucifer feel warm. he lets alastor steal the show, doing only minimal work. maybe hes softly cooing praises or gently reminding you to show your appreciation to the one making you feel this good.

as you get close, evident by the murmur that falls past your lips, alastors eyes snap to lucifers for a moment, and he takes a moment to think before understanding. usually when youre close alastor is all over you, telling you to be such a good girl and cum, just slight praises and coaxing. given the fact hes face deep in your sweetness he cant really do that, so that job is up to lucifer now.

“isn’t alastor doing such a good job duckling? you want to make sure he knows how good hes treating you, dont you?” lucifer coos, scooting in behind you on the bed so you stop trying to writhe away. “I think he’d be so disappointed if you didnt cum for him, you think you can do that, hm? you wanna cum all over your masters tongue?” lucifer says directly in your ear, and alastor feels a bit of a warmth in his stomach by being referred to as “master”

when you give a weak moan in response lucifer sighs, shaking his head. “be a good girl now, you can do it little doe” he says which is what sends you toppling over the edge, your hips rutting up into alastors mouth, whiny moans coming from you as alastor desperately licks up your sweet release. this whole thing was quite enjoyable for alstor, but hearing lucifer call you “little doe” his petname for you made him smugly satisfied.

after some aftercare which mostly just involved more cuddling, alastor feels satiated enough to shift to leave, before getting a look from lucifer. he reluctantly stays, feeling as you come to lay at his side once more. lucifer seems to take note of something, giving alastor a nod down, he glances down, seeing the obvious tent in his pants. alastor looks back up, slightly annoyed. a like “yeah, no shit dumbass” kind of look is exchanged.

alastor looks back down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you sigh happily. but alastor tenses as he feels a hand on his knee, shooting a glare to lucifer as he traces his hand up a little. the two meet as and alastor takes a shaky breath as lucifer leans in just a little, breathing out the next few words with a calmness alastor admires:

“just keep cuddling her”

#lucifer smut #alastor smut #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer morningstar #radioapple #alastor the radio demon #alastor x lucifer #smut #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer

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buddierealm · 17 days ago

Text

ʚ MISTAKES NEVER LAST — e. diaz x reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 Wordcount: 7.1k Summary: Everything gets a lot more complicated. It's also a lot easier. Warnings: MCD (canon compliant), idiot4idiot, yearning overload, dead mom waffles™, depictions of grief/injury/surgery aftermath, firetruck KA-BOOM, and they were roommates??. A/N: rip...

That secret, useless, inconvenient talent of yours comes back again. Only this time, when you inconveniently cross paths with Shannon Diaz, she’s dying. Some people would wish death upon the woman their ex is currently married to, but you can't do that. In fact, you have to save her. And quick.

Because Chim is barely holding Eddie back from coming over here. If it were anyone but Shannon, you would've already been coming to terms with the fact that this woman just isn't going to make it. You'd already done all you could to control the bleeding, but there was already too much bleeding by the time you'd arrived on site.

Hen's also there, asking her questions. Her expression isn't reassuring in the least. She looks alarmed, and a little sad. If you could look through the cloud of denial blocking all of your emotions, you'd probably look the same. But right now, you're still focused on saving her.

You yell out at the ambulance, asking why it's taking so long to bring a stretcher over here. The amount of blood pouring out onto the concrete is making you dizzy. Eddie finally makes his way over. He crouches down and looks at you in question. He'd just been told it was pretty bad by Chim, but he wants confirmation. You have to tell him the truth. You shake your head.

Then he finally looks down at her. His eyes are filled with an inexplicable sadness. You've only met Shannon Diaz four times, this one included, but you can't bear the thought that she might die. That she might die and leave Eddie and Chris alone again.

“Shannon?” Eddie calls out to her.

She sounds delirious, “Hey. Are you here?”

He gives her a tight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and nods.

“I'm here.”

She looks between the both of you and you can tell she's trying to smile. The universe is playing the biggest joke on her ever, and she's trying to smile. You think you can see where Christopher gets his strength from.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” she jokes.

Yeah, you wouldn’t want your husband’s almost-mistress stare at you during your last moments, either.

Hen uses her stethoscope to measure her heart rhythm and sounds. She over looks at Chimney.

“Vitals trending downwards,” she announces. It makes a pit form in your stomach.

You gulp as Chim begins handing out assignments. You let her and Eddie have a moment as you get ready to pull her up onto the backboard.

“Ready?” Chim asks, and you nod, “On three. Three, two, one.”

You pull her up by her legs, rolling her onto the backboard. She closes her eyes slightly. You can imagine the pain is intolerable. You pull her up with the rest of the paramedics and bring her to the ambulance.

You're already on the ambulance before you can think to leave. You really don't want to make this any worse for her, but it's already too late to get off. Hen needs a hand and you aren't sure you can find someone quick enough once you step off. So you stay.

“She's decompensating. We got to intubate her,” Hen yells.

You prep the intubation tube and anything else she might need. But Eddie decides against it at the last moment, which is pretty understandable. He wants a his few minutes with her to not be silent. He holds her hand on the ride to the hospital.

“I don't feel anything. That can't be good, right?” she questions. It isn't.

She gasps and starts crying. Usually, you'd have to advise against it, but you'll absolutely let her have her moment.

“Leaving again,” she begins, “I'm so sorry. I'd love... a little more time.”

“Just be silent,” he advises her.

He's right, of course, it usually helps make her chances of survival higher. But you think it's more for him than her. He doesn't want to feel this right now. He wants to stay strong for her. He smiles, and tries to stop himself from crying.

“God, I love you so much,” he whispers. “Christopher loves you so much.”

You can feel Hen sneak a glance at you. This absolutely isn't about you, and yet she's still checking on you. You nod towards her, trying not to let the dam of your tears break.

You're so sad for them both, and you can feel your heart break for Chris. He probably wasn't going to have Shannon as a mother figure in his life anyway, but there was still a possibility. This takes even that small chance away.

“I...I,” Shannon says through labored breaths, “I love you...both.”

Her eyes move backwards, and it's clear she's finding it very difficult to say what she wants to next, but she's determined to get it out.

It comes out in barely a screech, when she makes eye contact with Eddie and then you and says, “Take care...of Chris.”

And then her eyes are rolling back, and she can barely breathe. Hen and Chimney start intubating almost immediately. Eddie sits back on the ambulance bench. You both stare at her with tears in your eyes. Instinctually, you grab his hand and squeeze tight. He doesn't dare let go until you've reached the hospital.

Shannon Diaz's death hits everyone hard. It hits her son and husband the most, of course, but the impact is widespread. After the hospital, you head straight home. Your head isn't screwed on right for hours after. You spend the long minutes on the couch, staring at the ceiling in disbelief.

Eventually, you make your way to the kitchen, and before you even know it, you're making food for two extra people, and packing it into Tupperware containers. It’s the kind of thing you’ve seen friends do for each other. It’s the kind of thing you hope Shannon meant when she spoke her last words.

You change out of your uniform and get into your car with a definite location in mind. So, you aren't too shocked when you end up parked in front of the Diaz residence.

It takes you a few minutes to gather up the courage to make it out of your car. When you do, you ring the doorbell twice and wait for an answer. A minute goes by before the door swings open.

Eddie's on the other side. He looks shocked to see you. His hair's a mess. His eyes are swollen and blood-shot, like he's been crying. You hold up the bags you brought over.

“It's food. And dessert,” you explain. “I figured you don't have much energy left to cook. Kid's gotta eat, right?”

You hand him the bags and he sets them on the table beside the door. The look in his eyes says he wants to lean in and kiss the living daylights out of you. He might’ve, in another universe, where his wife, who was trying to walk out on him for the second time, hadn’t just died horrifically.

Instead, he steps onto the porch and hugs you in gratitude. You think he might've forgotten about food altogether. You smile curtly when he pulls away.

“You need anything else?” you offer. “Anything at all.”

He shakes his head immediately, and you take it as a sign to leave. As you're walking back to your car, though, he calls out to you.

“Actually,” he runs over, “It's Chris. He's been in his room ever since we got back from my abuela's. He won't come out. I don't know... I'm not sure I know how to deal with him. Do you mind trying?”

You nod right away. Of course you'd try. You both make your way inside, and he closes the door behind you. He takes the bags you'd brought into the kitchen, as you take off your coat. He tilts his head to where Chris' room is, but you already know.

You make your way through the hallway and to Christopher's door. The door's already open, but you knock anyway. He's lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It reminds you of yourself a few hours ago. He looks over at you, and then looks back up. You take that as a sign to come in.

You walk inside slowly, and make your way to sit beside him, on the edge of the low bed. You actually aren't too sure what you'll say. You were hoping it'd come to you in the moment.

“How're you feeling?” you ask, to start off.

He just shakes his head. Okay, not much to work with.

You sigh and look at the floor. You just try to imagine what you'd want to be said to you. That seems to work wonders, because you start blurting something out before you know it.

“Y'know, I'm kind of an expert at losing people. I've lost so many someones I've loved before,” you inform him, hoping it'll build credibility. And it's true. The job doesn't come without its losses. You've seen so many friends off, you've had to watch so many heroes you considered family pass away, you watch people almost lose the people they love the most on the daily.

“I know you’re feeling a lot of things. I know you might feel like it’s your fault in some roundabout way,” you tell him, because guilt always finds a way to creep into feelings of grief.

“But I need you to know, you did everything right. Even if it was just being there with her. You did everything you could,” you affirm. It's a little good to hear yourself too.

“And I know it hurts a lot, every time you think of her,” you guess, and he nods, closing his eyes tightly.

“But over time, it’ll hurt less and less. And eventually, you’ll remember her and it’ll only hurt a little. You're so strong, Chris. And she was so strong. And so brave.”

He needs to know, you think. He needs to know that she fought for him. He should remember her well, even if she wasn't the best at staying. You grab his hand and he squeezes tightly. You smile at him, and he smiles back. You bring a hand up to trace the side of his cheek, and it makes him laugh loudly.

“You hungry, bud?” you ask.

“Yes,” he all but shouts.

“Well, there's some dinner in the kitchen. I'm sure your dad's waiting for you.”

He shoots up and makes his way towards the door. Only then, do you realize that Eddie's been standing there the whole time. He thanks you quietly, as they make their way to the kitchen.

You stand in the hallway, not sure where to go. If you and Eddie were still together, you'd have stayed for dinner. You'd have stayed the night, too. Throughout the course of your relationship, you'd forgotten enough stuff around, opting to 'borrow' Eddie's instead, that you could stay over at any time without issue.

Now, though, it feels awkward to even be here. There are almost no traces of Shannon around the house. It's like she was a ghost that wafted in and wafted out with such meticulous care, that she didn't leave anything behind. It was newfound information to you that she was planning on leaving Chris and Eddie, again.

If you weren't so saddened and shocked by her death, you'd have resented her. The time you shared being integrated into their family was the best you've ever had. You don't think you'll never understand why anyone self-sabotages so thoroughly. You've had your moments, too, but those were fueled by a fear that you'd be the one getting left. A leave before you get left mentality. Or a leave before you get left again one.

So, you make your way to the door, set on leaving. You'll show up for the funeral tomorrow, but you can't stay here right now.

Chris catches you at the door. You feel cruel for trying to leave without saying goodbye now. You crouch down and give him a smile.

“I have to go,” you confess, “I'll see you tomorrow?”

“No,” he responds, and you frown.

“Can you stay and make me waffles tomorrow?”

You close your eyes and laugh. Wow, you regret making him waffles that one time. You ruffle his hair with one hand, as you think of the smoothest rejection possible.

“Y'know, maybe I could come over a little earlier and bring them with me,” you suggest.

He doesn't look too pleased. But he nods and makes his way into the living room to eat, as Eddie leaves the kitchen with two plates in hand.

“You can stay,” he whispers.

You look up at him with a shocked expression from your crouched position. You get up and shake your head. You can't, really.

“Hey, you did say anything,” he reminds you, “And Chris needs this right now. I can tell.”

You sigh, “I guess I did.”

Shannon's last words replay in your mind. Take care of Chris. Her eye contact with you couldn't have been a mistake. You can't shake the undeniable responsibility you feel for the kid now. You can tell it isn't just Christopher who needs you, but that is neither here nor there. Besides, you're more than willing and able to help. So you will.

Eddie nods in understanding, “Go make yourself a plate in the kitchen, and come join us.”

You wake up a little before sunrise. Sleeping was a battle in and of itself, but waking up to a bunch of clattering in the kitchen is less than pleasant. The couch was moderately comfortable. You fluff the cushions back up before making your way to the kitchen. You look at the offender who's woken you up through lidded eyes.

“Couldn't sleep?” you grumble at Eddie, as he opens up all of the cabinets to look inside for something.

“Hey. Yeah,” he says, still searching around.

You make your way over to him and grab his arms.

“Could you...just stop with the noise?” you whisper angrily.

You sigh, “You're going to wake Christopher up.”

He nods. You let him go. You cross your arms and lean on the counter, trying to wake yourself up for a moment. Coffee, you decide, is probably a good choice right now.

You walk towards the coffee maker and fill it up with enough water for two, clicking the button to get it to open. Then, you turn around and stare expectantly at Eddie, who's still standing in the same place you left him.

“So, what the hell is it you’re looking for exactly?”

“Melatonin pills. I can't do this funeral without at least a few hours of sleep,” he says, and you frown in confusion.

“My family's making it into town. My parents,” he explains.

You nod. Ah. The overbearing parents he told you all about that one night. You imagine that can't be easy. You wish you could find a way to pop their tires telepathically so they can't make it. The funeral's going to be difficult on its own, without their interference.

“You could always just tell them you moved houses. Y'know, misdirection,” you recommend, making jazz hands. He laughs. That was kind of the intention.

“Or just ditch the funeral. Kid won't remember it anyway,” you shrug.

He looks contemplative, “I think that'd make them a bit more...y'know.”

“Valid point.”

You turn around to pour two cups of coffee. You hand Eddie one and take the other for yourself.

“C'mon, you probably won't sleep anyway,” you tell him, as he second-guesses whether he should take that first sip or not.

He starts to drink from the mug, but looks a little saddened by the fact that he won't be getting any sleep any time soon. You nurse your mug and stare at the fridge.

“We should probably get started on those waffles. So they're ready when he wakes up,” you suggest.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie says, like he's completely forgotten why you're here in the first place.

You gather all of the ingredients into a pile on the counter. It doesn't take you long to realize that a key ingredient is missing. Milk.

“We're missing the milk. Why the hell do you guys not have any milk? There's a growing boy in the house,” you complain, half-joking.

Eddie snickers at you, “We could just use water.”

You turn around and narrow your eye at him, “Sorry, what? You think I'm going to half-ass the dead mom waffles?”

“Oh, right. Of course not,” he reasons, sarcastically.

You grab his mug out of his hand.

“Go,” you order, “and bring back some milk.”

He rolls his eyes but leaves the kitchen nonetheless. You hear the front door shut. You begin assembling the dry ingredients, and cracking eggs into a large bowl. By the time you're done, Eddie walks in with two milk cartons. You smile and thank him, proceeding to make the batter.

The sun begins to rise as you talk and pop the waffles into the waffle maker. You sip on reheated coffee as the scent of something freshly baked wafts through the house. You almost burn a couple of the waffles, too engrossed in each other's conversation.

You'd be lying if you said it wasn't incredibly weird to be acting so normal. No one can bring themself to address the elephant in the room, so you just sweep the last two months under the rug and let yourself enjoy the calm before the storm.

The aforementioned storm being the funeral, of course.

The finishing touches you set up onto the dining table consist of butter, the jar of strawberry jam, chocolate syrup, and a few plates. Chris walks into the living room as you set up the last plate. His smile is wide when he realizes you kept your promise and stayed to make the waffles.

“Good morning, Chris!” you say.

“Morning,” he mutters, still clearly sleepy.

You're glad he looks a lot better than yesterday. He makes his way to the table to take a seat, as Eddie walks in from his room. He'd been in the bathroom getting ready for the day ahead. He kisses Chris on the cheek before taking a seat.

You sit beside Christopher, asking which waffle he'd like.

“That one!” he points.

You put two waffles onto his plate, and hand him the chocolate sauce and sprinkles you know he likes. You watch him and Eddie eat, sipping on your second coffee of the day. Eddie's phone pings with a text. He sighs and his body language speaks volumes about how stressed he is.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Oh, nothing. My parents just said their ETA is in half an hour,” he answers.

You look down at your mug. You should really head out before they get here. The last thing any of you need is Eddie's parents asking about you sleeping over the night his wife died. You aren't sure you'd be able to explain if you tried.

You wait until Chris is almost done with his waffles, and you make your way into the kitchen to wash out your mug. When you come back you announce that you should get going. Chris takes a last bite and gets out of his seat to hug you good bye.

“Thank you,” he says. You're sure he's just talking about the waffles, but it makes you smile anyway.

“Of course. I'll see you later, okay?” you promise, and he nods.

You give Eddie a smile, and mouth ‘good luck,’ before making your way to the front door.

No one likes funerals, and you're certainly no exception. You happen to think that funerals should be abolished altogether. Memorials are acceptable. But the time directly after a person dies should be strictly reserved for the family to grieve. Not only have they just had someone die, now they have to host a bunch of people who couldn't possibly care about that someone more than they do. And the cherry on top of it all is: the body's there for everyone to gawk at. It's absurd.

Besides, it forces you to contemplate your own life in ways you wouldn't otherwise. You hate it.

After the burial, there's a small reception at the Diaz's. You sit with the rest of the 118, and entertain Chris with little games. Eddie's parents have mistaken you for Carla twice now, each. Your modest, black dress is itchy and uncomfortable. You feel so overstimulated and sad you might just die right here and turn this into your own funeral. You don't do that though; it'd be incredibly self-centered.

So, you offer everyone who comes to hug Christopher a curt smile, and ignore their judgmental looks. Yes, you're aware his mother's just died. No, you aren't trying to replace her. But how do you explain to anyone that her dying wish was this?

When it's all over, you hug Eddie goodbye, and kiss Christopher's cheek with a promise that you'll be back. His grandparents aren't nearly as happy as he is at that, though. Hen drives you home after, and you rant to her all about it on the way there. She's one of the only people who were there when Shannon said what she'd said, so she just nods and agrees the whole way home.

You're on a quick med call, the night after, when you receive a phone call from Eddie. He hasn't called you since the day you fought about Shannon. It makes you frown. Your immediate thought is that he might be in danger.

“Hey Hen?” you call out to her as she patches up a citizen, “I need a minute.”

She nods and waves you away.

You quickly press 'accept,' as the last ring sounds. There's immediately just a bunch of heavy breathing on the other line.

“Hey, Eddie? What's wrong?” you say abruptly.

“Oh, uh,” he sounds a little surprised that you picked up.

“Nothing. Nothing's wrong,” he claims, but his voice is a little shaky.

“Talk to me,” you urge.

He takes a shaky breath, “You're on a call?”

“No, no. Don't worry,” you reassure.

You can almost hear him run a worried hand through his hair.

“What is it? Is Chris okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. He's fine. I just...”

You wait for him to continue.

“It's just,” he sighs, “They didn't even come for the funeral. They just came to convince me and Christopher to-”

He barely even continue with his sentence without pausing take a deep breath. He stays silent for a moment, and you genuinely begin contemplating if you should clock out a little earlier to be with him.

“My parents. They came all the way here to try and get me and Chris to go back to El Paso,” he rambles.

It makes your heart sink. Even in the time you weren't talking to Eddie, he's been a stable pillar in your life. You've let yourself get too close, and now the thought of him and his son leaving makes your chest hurt.

“Is that what you want?”

“No, no. God no. We're trying to build a life here, away from my parents,” he explains, and you almost sob in relief.

“I want nothing more than for Christopher to grow up somewhere he can express himself freely. Texas is not that. We're not going back,” he asserts, but there's still a bit of doubt in his voice.

You check the clock on your phone, it's almost midnight. Hen begins to call for you to join her in the ambulance.

“Hey, I'm sorry. I have to go,” you confess, “But my shift ends in an hour. I'll come around with a six-pack and we can talk all about it, yeah?”

“You don't...” he trails off, “There's no need.”

“Well, that's just not true,” you call him out.

You begin walking towards the ambulance, “See ya, Eddie.”

“Yeah. See you,” he says with a smile, and you hang up.

The city's been a complete mess since the bombings have started. Everyone's panicking at any sight of an unmarked package or unclaimed school lunch anywhere. You get the mass hysteria, though. You find yourself texting Eddie every few hours to check up on him and Chris. He does the same. It's so crazy to think that with a single wrong movement, you could end up so seriously injured. Or worse.

You can tell Eddie's a lot more than just on edge. All of these incidents are triggering something from his past. He constantly looks like there are skeletons being dug up from his closet, skeletons he's had buried so deep for so long. You're sure it has something to do with his time in the army, but when you ask him he just brushes it off. So, you just do your best to remind him that you and Christopher are completely fine.

Unfortunately, for him, that also means that he's started putting you and him in different firetrucks. It's a grim thought, but you figure he does it, because if he ever ends up injured en route, you're one of the only people he trusts to do their best to help. On site, and if it goes really badly, with Christopher.

So, today, you ride with Buck and a few other firefighters in a different firetruck than the rest of the them. His text comes through a few minutes after you've been on the road.

Checking in.

You laugh at how oddly clingy it is. You begin typing a message back, but before you can respond your phone is thrown out of your hand.

A loud noise fills your ears. You can feel the truck tip back, falling onto its side. You can see red, and heat licks at your face before you feel your face slide across the hard concrete of the street. A burning pain shoots up your chest. You breathe heavily, and every breath comes with unimaginable pain.

You try to sit up, your hands supporting you by leaning on the road, but you fail miserably. You wince in pain instead, and fall back onto your front. You look back at the firetruck, which was a few feet away from landing directly on top of you. You immediately start looking for Buck, whose fate wasn't as lucky as yours.

He's lying directly underneath the truck, his entire leg crushed by the vehicle. You can hear him scream in pain. You almost sob at the sight, but you notice someone standing above him. You squint. It looks like just a kid.

A kid with a bomb strapped to his chest.

Your eyes grow wide, as he says something inaudible to Buck. In minutes, the site is surrounded with cop cars and news vans. You try to crawl your way to Buck, in hopes you can help him in any conceivable way.

You hear Eddie call out your name. He's behind the truck with Hen and Chimney. He tries to instinctually run to you, but Hen holds him back, whispering something into his ear.

“Give me your captain!” the idiot holding you hostage screams.

He keeps yelling nonsense about the captain, and when he tries tell off someone for moving, with you directly behind him, Chimney steps into view.

“I'm the captain,” he announces, “I'm the captain, so please just let me help them, okay? Please.”

The teenager clarifies that he wants Bobby instead. You sigh, and continue crawling towards Buck, glad for the distraction. Once you reach Buck, you place a gentle hand onto his back.

“Hey, you're going to be okay,” you whisper. “We’re going to be okay.”

You lean back against the truck, breathing heavily. You both watch Bobby negotiate for your lives. You listen to the kid call you 'collateral damage' and it almost makes you puke. You'd really prefer if you didn't die right now.

The kid, Freddie, walks closer to you and threatens to make you all 'go boom,' as he says. You stare up at the sky. If these are going to be your last moments, you don't want to spend them staring at this murdering halfwit.

Your eyes land on Eddie instead. You smile. He smiles back. You wouldn't exactly say you'd die happy now, but you'd die pretty satisfied.

You're starting to think Bobby's very bad at negotiating if it has you thinking about death. He disarms him physically after distracting him instead. That works wonders.

Eddie, Hen, and Chimney run in your direction immediately. Eddie pulls you in for a tight hug. Your tears begin almost immediately. He kisses the side of your brow and wipes your cheeks. He only pulls back when you bring his attention to your dying friend.

You move to crouch beside Buck, as you all check his vitals and try to figure out a way to get him out from under this truck. You all try to pull the truck up with sheer force. You quickly realize there aren't enough people.

Thankfully, the people of LA, while incredibly self-absorbed and uncharitable, can be helpful too. They help you pull the truck up and release Buck in no time. You move him into the ambulance and make your way to the hospital.

You rest your head against the walls of the ambulance, feeling a little lightheaded. Hen and Chimney are working on stabilizing Buck, when Eddie turns his focus to you. He tends to a cut on your forehead from the initial blast, as you focus on evening out your breathing.

“You alright? Any pain anywhere?” he asks.

You shake your head, as he checks your vitals anyway. When he checks your pulse, he frowns deeply. He grabs the blood pressure monitor from behind him.

“Your heart rate's really high,” he notes, putting the cuff onto your arm.

“You're hypotensive too.”

You roll your eyes at him.

“I'm probably just coming down from the adrenaline rush. I was almost killed, y'know,” you say, clutching your chest.

A wave of pain hits you like a freight train. You take gasping breaths trying to calm your body down, but breathing's difficult and your chest feels heavy.

Your head's getting lighter by the second. You can feel your vision getting blurrier, too, until Eddie's just a blob of blue in your sight. You whimper at the heaviness in your chest. You can barely hear the questions Eddie's yelling at you, as you fall unconscious.

You wake up to a screech and a hug so tight it makes you see colors dance in your vision, from the pain. You're just about to cuss whoever it is out, when you realize it's little Christopher, who's just excited to see you wake up. So you grit your teeth, and smile through the pain.

You ruffle his hair, as Eddie makes his way into your line of sight. He looks like he'd been sleeping here, in this hospital room. You frown at his tired appearance. Carla comes by and takes Christopher away to bring a nurse over, and to give you and Eddie some privacy.

“Hey,” you croak out.

“Hi,” he greets, sounding he's about to cry.

You realize you can't remember a single thing after falling unconscious, “What happened?”

“You, uh,” he sounds a little choked up, “You had some internal bleeding. Hemothorax, probably from the fall.”

He gulps, “They had to perform a thoracotomy to remove the blood. Your lung was collapsed. You couldn't breathe. I just...”

He trails off. His eyes have a faraway glance in them. It looks like he's hanging on by a thread, so close to breaking down. You can tell he's reliving those moments in the ambulance, and whatever happened after. You pull his hand into yours. You let him feel your pulse with his fingers to ground him.

“I'm okay, alright? You didn't lose me. You saved me,” you say, with absolute certainty.

“No,” he sobs out, “I couldn't. I couldn't do anything. Hen had to help you. I was...stuck.”

“Oh,” you blink, “That doesn't matter, y'know. There's barely anything you could've done when I was in an ambulance, already on the way to the hospital.”

“No, no,” he argues, “I couldn't even hold your hand. You could've...You could've died. And I couldn't even look at you.”

You bring his hand up to your lips. It's a gesture that shocks him. He looks into your eyes with an intensity that almost makes you want to cry with him.

“It's okay. I forgive you. You did all you could. You did your best, Eddie,” you reassure him.

He nods once. Then, the nurses walk in and they're checking your vitals, looking at your stitches, and making sure you're comfortable. Eddie keeps his eyes on you the entire time. He searches for any way to help, but when the opportunity never comes up, he excuses himself.

"I'm gonna go call Hen. She wanted to know when you woke up."

A few days later, it's almost time for you to be discharged. Hen had taken the key to your apartment to bring you back some clothes and other essentials. You had slowly gotten up from your bed to throw the outfit she'd brought you on, in the few moments you had alone.

You only managed to slip your jeans on, though, before someone burst through your room door. You turn around immediately, covering yourself with your shirt. Your first instinct is to shout, so you do.

“Close the damn door, Diaz,” you yell.

For some reason, Eddie takes that as an invitation to close the door behind him, instead of getting out. You roll your eyes. Well, he's definitely seen it all before, so there's no reason to be shy. You move your shirt away to throw it on, which leaves you in just your bra.

He stands frozen in the corner. His eyes are trained on the bandages covering your surgical site. He must notice something, because he yells out before you can fully get your shirt on.

“Wait!” he shouts.

You look back at him, frowning. He makes his way across the room to you, staring at your torso. You wait expectantly for him to say anything. He doesn't. Just continues staring.

“Y'know if you wanted me to stay naked, you could've just asked,” you joke.

His face flushes, “No. That's not it, obviously. You bled through the surgical dressing, it's been soaked. When'd they last change it? How didn't you notice?”

You don't look down, now that he mentions blood.

“Uh, this morning probably? And I don't look,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow.

“I can't look,” you clarify, “I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. If I look, I'll freak out.”

He nods in understanding. He starts to gather a few things from around the room. He starts washing his hands with an antiseptic soap.

“So how were you planning on changing those every day at home, exactly?” he questions.

“Oh, I wasn't. I was planning on calling Hen to do it for me,” you explain.

He laughs, and grabs a pair of gloves out of the glovebox. You frown in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm going to change your bandages. Do you mind?”

“Well, yes. I like to think, as a respectable young woman, that my first choice, in a hospital full of doctors and nurses, for this isn't my ex.”

He nods, “Yeah, well, I'm all you have. They're pretty backed up. Train wreck. It could take hours for someone to come in and help you. And you seem pretty eager to get out of here.”

You are. You hate hospitals. You've hated them a lot more since you had a full-blown panic attack in one. And he's a trained professional. You're sure he's done this kind of thing an endless amount of times.

“Fine. Whatever. Go ahead,” you succumb to your fate

Eddie helps you sit up on the edge of the hospital bed. He makes his way downward, so he's at eye level with your wound. He's so close, you can feel his breath on your skin. It makes every hair on your body stand.

He starts to pull off the soaked dressings slowly. And it hurts like a bitch, even with all of the pain-killers they have you on. You wince in pain, and grab the back of his neck instinctively.

You're just about to apologize when he says, “It's okay. Just hold on. I'll be more careful.”

He dabs the wound to make sure it's dry. He grabs the new bandages and rips them open. He carefully positions them where they're supposed to be, applying gentle pressure to get the adhesive to stick to your dry skin. You keep your hand on the nape of his neck the entire time, gripping tighter when it gets more painful.

When he's done, he comes back up. But your hand doesn't leave him. He makes no move to step away. You both just stare at each other for a long moment. Your eyes drift from his eyes to his lips a few times.

Until a nurse steps into the room with wide eyes.

“Uh, I'll just come back,” she mutters, shutting the door as she leaves.

You turn around to look at him with narrowed eyes. You grab your shirt from your lap and whip him with it.

“You said they were backed up!” you accuse.

He just laughs and walks away, “They were!”

You finally throw your shirt on. You know you should feel a little taken advantage of, but you can't help but feel thrilled. Having him touch you again was a much needed comfort.

He makes his way towards the door, and then stops abruptly, like he's remembered why he came here in the first place, “Also, I think you should come stay with me and Chris for a few days. You need someone to help you around the house.”

“And I'm more than willing to do that every day.”

You shriek and laugh nervously at him. You wish you could say no. Well, that's a lie. It all just makes logical sense, you suppose.

You need someone to look after you, and he doesn't seem to mind. You'd also be doing him a favor by looking after Christopher while he's at work. Mutual transaction.

Also, the thought of him changing your bandages every day sends an undeniable thrill down your spine. You nod in agreement as he all but skips his way out of the hospital room.

Well, seems like Christopher isn't the only person who's going to enjoy this new roommate arrangement.

“Hello, Probie,” you tease, resting against the locker beside Eddie's.

“Not anymore,” Eddie responds firmly.

“No, no,” you say, shaking your head.

You wave your phone in front of his face, “I still have an hour to call you that. I’m wearing it out.”

He sighs, looking frustrated. He's been standing in front of the mirror in the station dressing room for 17 minutes trying to get his tie right. You counted.

You step closer in his direction. You grab the tie from him roughly. He almost tells you off, but gets distracted by your uniform, which is tighter today than your everyday one. He begins to look you up as down, as you begin to tie his tie neatly.

“How's your wound?” he asks.

“It's fine, dad. You don't have to keep asking me every ten minutes,” you snark, still working on the tie.

It usually doesn't take you three minutes to do this, but you'd like to prolong it as much as possible. You could guess he's definitely done the same once or twice while changing your dressings. That sadly ended a two days after you'd gotten discharged, and you wouldn't admit it even with a gun to your head, but you miss his touch.

Once it's tied, you tap his chest twice to get him to look. He finally takes his eyes off of you to look down. He looks pleased with it. He looks into the mirror one last time, and then slams his locker closed.

You can tell he's anxious, because his parents are in town. He gets this way whenever they come by. It's completely valid, but today is his day, no one else's. So you'll try to distract him in any way possible.

“You look nervous. Are you nervous, Probie?” you joke, sitting on the bench in the middle of the room. He joins you.

“I am not,” he denies, tying his boot.

“And stop calling me that,” he insists, but his eyes say he's entertained by this whole interaction.

You shake your head hard, “No. I actually can't believe I didn't do it more often, when I had the chance. Never mind, though, I still have 55 minutes.”

You laugh and move out of the way when he tries to grab you, shaking your head furiously. You walk out of the dressing room, cackling like a maniac. You pull your phone out and shoot him a message.

Probie.

He responds almost immediately. You can hear him chuckle from the other room.

Stop

You don't. In fact, his annoyance only makes you more insistent. You keep calling him that until the very moment he gets awarded the title of firefighter. Literally.

As you and Chris sit at a table, with Carla and Eddie's abuela, you convince him to cheer Eddie on when he appears to receive his new title. You want Chris to feel comfortable enough to cheer his dad on, but you also want to use the opportunity for evil.

You can't help but scream, “Yeah, Probie Diaz!” at him, as he walks over. He shoots you a feigned dirty look, but it dissipates into a smile as he sees Chris hoot for him, with you encouraging it. You both watch Bobby declare him a firefighter, pride filling your hearts.

When the ceremony's over, you take pictures and pointedly avoid Eddie's parents. You can already tell they know you're staying with him and Christopher. And they aren't happy about it in the least.

You're sure in another life, where you'd just meet them on an emergency and had absolutely no personal ties to them, you wouldn't hate Helena and Ramón Díaz.

In this life, though, you do. Anyone who's aware of the harm they cause Eddie, and by extension Christopher, would too.

After hours of carefully tip-toeing around Eddie's parents, Christopher decides that he’s completely worn out and passes out on the couch at the station. Eddie carries him, when you all make your way to the truck.

You both sigh loudly once you’re in the car alone, and as far away as possible from Chris' grandparents. You laugh quietly at your mutual distress, before making your way home in comforting silence.

Even though being around Eddie's parents has put a bitter taste in your mouth, you wouldn't trade this for the world. Christopher quietly snoring in the back seat, as Eddie drives you all back to their house. A house you've never felt anything less than loved and appreciated in.

You quickly realize on the way back that all of the glares and subtle side-eyes were completely worth it. You hope you don't have to see Helena and Ramón again any time soon.

A/N: caring more about your ex almost dying than your wife being dead is crazy work. i love eddie.

#eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz #edmundo diaz #eddie diaz x you #eddie diaz fanfic #eddie diaz fic #eddie diaz drabble #eddie diaz smut #eddie diaz fluff #eddie diaz angst #911 abc #911 show #911 #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader

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lo1k-diamonds · 7 months ago

Text

Stellar Behavior | MYG | Masterpost

PAIRING: Officer!Yoongi x Mafia (f)reader

SUMMARY: Yoongi has been in the police force for long enough to know that the system isn’t perfect, so when an injustice is about to put his protégé in jail, he has no other choice but to go to you. You’re the devil, but you’re hard to resist, and he needs to decide between falling into temptation or showing you that two can play the game.

WORD COUNT: 44.3k

GENRE: Gangster AU, Law AU, enemies to lovers, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: where do I begin... Corruption, power dynamics, blackmail, sexual favors, mentions of crimes, guns, knifes, explosions, fire, blood, concussions, arguing, Yoongi is a badass and a sweetheart 👀, handcuffs, death, violence, invasion of privacy, kidnapping, fingering, oral (f & m rec), handjob, masturbation (both), caught having sex, unprotected sex, switching, (f)brat, hate sex, semi public sex.

A.N. I'm so happy with this fic, I can't even tell you 😁I didn't think I had it in me, but here we are with a gangster/mafia AU! Infinite thank yous to @moonleeai and @downbad4yoongi for working through my crazy and being incredible! Thank you to @yoonia for the moodboard 💜 This is my entry in the upcoming @bangtanwritershq 3rd Quarter Writing Event: Got A Secret, Can You Keep It? I chose the AU Type: Savage Love - Enemies to Lovers, and took it very literally 🥰 I'll be uploading daily, so buckle up! 😁

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

He blinked, “What?” He looked down to follow your hands over your thighs, and you spread your legs for him, though the black dress covered between them. He shook his head in bewilderment, “You’re crazy!”

“Crazy?” You chuckled, “I think I’m being quite reasonable.”

Part 1 | WC: 4.8k - [here]

“What is worth an innocent’s life? You decide.”

[Snippet]

Part 2 | WC: 7.3k - [here]

“I may consider an alternative with less social catastrophe... If I’m adequately compensated. I was left wanting last time…”

[Snippet]

Part 3 | WC: 5.9k - [here]

“It's not the price of anything, or a deal. Just let me eat you out again.”

[Snippet]

Part 4 | WC: 6.8k - [here]

“Justice just never sleeps.”

[Snippet]

Part 5 | WC: 9.6k - [here]

“Intimacy was about power, worth, and gain, and I thought that was all there was to it, but… I don’t… feel that way with you.”

[Snippet]

Part 6 | WC: 4.3k - [here]

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

[Snippet]

Part 7 | WC: 4.5k - [here]

“I said I like it fucking quiet.”

[Snippet]

Epilogue | WC: 756 - [here]

“Knock’em dead.”

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whirlybirbs · 1 month ago

Text

— BURNER CELL ; 3 ; DABI ; 荼毗

summary: a night out with dabi. pairing: dabi / f!reader ; quirkless word count: 4.6k tag: humor, maladjusted dabi meets normal adult woman, flirting, canon-based world building, texting as a plot device, slight au, univeristy student!reader, marijuana mention, drinking, blowjob mention, public sex mention, dabi is a guard dog a/n: i know that everyone is always like "yes daddy dabi mmm fuck me yea he's a hard dom" but i for one think he is so scarred that the idea of intimacy floods touya with absolute panic. like, pleasure???? he barely knows that when it's by his own hand. ANNNND we WILL be talking about that! ← previous | the tag

You do end up getting a good grade on that paper.

Which, frankly, is a relief, because ever since you decided to text Dabi, life has been weird. Like... weird-weird. It wasn't the catastrophic derailment you feared, but a slow burn (ha, get it?) of weirdness you feel in your bones.

I mean, Dabi is weird. He is consistently inconsistent in his texting. Bursts of haptic feedback frequently interrupt your focus in lectures that week, and you find yourself being Pavlov-dogged into checking after two or more vibrations break through the usual iMessage silence. He acts like he's known you for years. He's weird.

He's a terminal triple-texter. He's a chronic user of text emojis that went out of style years ago. Weird.

→ dabi ; 9:34am ya idk princess i think i might kms public execution sounds soooo hot rn i am so fuckin hungover what r u up 2 o wait it's tues. ur in class rn aren't u lmfao :p

← bar girl ; 9:36am why are you hungover on a tuesday

→ dabi ; 9:36am depression idfk

He's weird. Sorta funny. And he's clingy.

Clingy if clingy means vying for your attention — and clingy if clingy means texting you again if you don't respond after an hour and a half of silence. God forbid you overlook his texts in favor of doing the dishes, brushing Mizu, or even showering.

Friday evening rolls around and Dabi is still texting you.

→ dabi ; 6:56pm ...i asked you a question it's friday r u going out with nuri + the rest of blackpink or nah :/

You exhale tightly, sweeping the towel closer and ignoring the gathering water droplets on your phone as you hammer back a quick reply.

← bar girl ; 6:57pm i am begging you to let me shower in peace

He's typing.

→ dabi ; 6:57pm what do u want me to say to that. "aha without me????? :p" stfu i don't care about ur shower giran said ur going out.

It does make you laugh — one thing about Dabi is that the flirting is rudimentary and blunt, and he always extinguishes it before you even react. It's sort of refreshing... in a confusing way. A weird way.

He can't help it.

You're kinda fun. In a weird way.

Touya doesn't know what the fuck he's doing if he's being honest with himself. It's not like this is his thing. He didn't think this would turn into a weird, big deal — not that it is... But, his body and brain feel like it is because he likes texting you and hates when you don't respond. Whatever. He didn't think you'd seriously take his number at the bar. No one is ever stupid enough to take him up on that offer.

You're just some stupid college girl who happens to be nice and honest and has a cute cat. A dime a dozen. He can ignore you, leave you on read, and dump you for the next item whenever he wants. Any day now.

Just... Not today.

Your text lights up his lock screen. A scarred thumb swipes it open with ease.

← bar girl ; 7:01pm yes, dabi, i'm going out with them

His smirk is crooked and it pulls at the staples in his cheeks. It's enough for him — and now that he's gotten the reply he wants, he drifts into that sudden radio silence that confuses you.

You're getting ready, phone charging, and find yourself hovering back into your bedroom between hair and make-up — you tap your phone awake, and each time: there's nothing.

It's not until you're in the back of the Uber, shouldered between Nuri and the others, that he finally responds. You squint in the dark at the notification, scoffing to yourself.

→ dabi ; 9:44pm where r u

Something ignites in the back of your mind — the culmination of weirdness. Dabi's looking for you at the bar. Of course, he is.

You hammer back a reply, the two shots you took in the kitchen with the girls — before getting in the rideshare — are creeping in. The glow of your text illuminates your heavy liner and lash.

← bar girl ; 9:45pm relax hot stuff

His reply is almost instant.

→ dabi ; 9:46pm just bc ur pretty doesn't mean u can tell me what 2 do now let's try that again princess where r u

His texts tingle something in the back of your mind. It's the weirdness. It's back. You don't hate it, but it flusters you — just enough that you're quick to respond.

← bar girl ; 9:46pm two min away

Again, his reply is instantaneous.

→ dabi ; 9:47pm :)

And unsettling.

When the ride pulls up to the bar, everyone is quick to thank the driver as they pile out of the back seat and into the crisp evening air. It's getting colder. As you give the Uber driver another kind goodbye and shut the door, you can hear Nuri squealing — a telltale sign that she's found her man of the hour. Or week. Or month. You don't know.

According to Nuri, Giran isn't as shitty as you originally thought.

After all, that new (and expensive) purse on her arm is a gift from The Broker himself.

The acrid smell of tobacco and a touch of something else curls around you in greeting as you turn and blink into the blaring neon signs of the bar. By the edge of the building, Giran is hugging Nuri while smoke curls from his nose like a dragon.

The lean, tall figure in all black beside him puffs quietly on the shared cigarette.

So much for quitting.

Giran insisted on stepping out for a smoke — and well, Dabi was bribed with the offer of a fresh hand-roll. He's got his vices. He hasn't smoked in, like, three weeks. Cut him some fucking slack. S'not like it's a Marlboro. And it's definitelynot that shit Splinter smoked him out with — that horrifying strain that nearly killed both him and Shigaraki one night.

It's a shitty, cheap spliff.

His eyes, cutting and blue, pin you where you stand. He takes another purposeful drag as his turquoise eyes rake over your figure. You look good. Real good.

Pretty.

Between the wisps of smoke, there's something floral, sweet, and soft in the air.

Your perfume.

You ignore the creeping feeling of becoming prey and instead, heed Nuri's laughter and smiles as she waves you over to meet Giran formally. You do as you're told, toddling beside the others as you shake Giran's hand. His dark eyes flicker with something like recognition before drifting sideward to Dabi.

"We're going to head in — I'll grab us all drinks," he grins, the look a little lopsided; Nuri coos and the others hardly protest. Giran takes one last drag of his hand-roll before passing it back to Dabi with a wink; his smile unsettles you, "You two finish that for me, yeah?"

With that, you're left outside the bar with Dabi and his cigarette.

He tugs on the hood over his head a little, sniffling and rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb as he balances the burning gift between his fingers. His eyes haven't left you once.

You take the opportunity to look him over. Ripped jeans, a broken-in pair of Doc Martens. There's a black t-shirt hem poking out from under the baggy, black hoodie on his shoulders. Some scraggly, nearly illegible metal band name is embossed into the material.

There's a black face mask tugged around his chin as he aims to finish the cigarette. He flicks the embers into the wet pavement in a practiced move. The burning butt hangs between two long and deft fingers.

"You're starin'."

You cross your arms, tilting your head as you meet his gaze. "I thought you told me you quit."

His laugh is a raspy, dangerous wheeze. Dabi leans back against the building's black brick. Beneath his hood, you can see his blue eyes narrow.

"Don't get yer panties in a twist," Dabi murmurs as he swallows and exhales, "It's a single spliff. S'nothin'."

Ah, so that explains it.

Arms still crossed, you gesture easily for a hit. You crook two fingers, black nail polish glinting in the neon lights. Dabi hesitates, the dwindling cigarette perched between his lips.

"No," he denies the request, smacking your hand down and away, "M'not corrupting you."

"Corrupting me?" you laugh, tucking your hand back under your armpit to stay warm. You're regretting not bringing a jacket. You just didn't want to deal with coat check, "Seriously?"

It's bad enough he's dragged you into his shit.

"Giran's shit sucks anyways," Dabi explains away roughly, flicking the butt of the remainder of the roach, "S'barely enough to get a rat high."

"Perfect. I love rats," you chirp back; your grin is slow, "I'm a one-hit wonder anyways."

Suddenly, Dabi feels the need to protect you surge inside of him. He puts greater distance between you and the spliff on instinct.

What the fuck is happening?

"I'm not getting you high," Dabi says firmly, taking one last drag, "And I'm not giving you any drunk cigarettes either. S' against my glimmering, perfect morals."

"Riiiight," you nod; the weirdness is ebbing away. Right now, it feels like another night of texting. Easy. Fun. You sigh and shake your head, "Must be hard being such a perfect guy."

"You've got no fuckin' idea," he drops the roach to the pavement as he exhales long and hard before gesturing to his lonely state outside the bar, "Gotta beat th' girls offa me."

"Is this you wallowing?" you ask in good humor as Dabi cracks his neck.

"No, this was me waitin' fer you t' show," he corrects before lobbing one long arm around your shoulders and tugging you close to his side, "Cuz' m'gonna have t' beat the guys offa you."

He smells like fire and tobacco and a little bit of weed, but also laundry detergent and crisp, sporty deodorant. Like a real person, and not like some mythic League of Villains member who needs to hide his face to even be here.

He tugs the face mask back up his jaw, the hood still on.

You're back to feeling weird. Like prey. But, less like the rabbit in his snapping maw, and more like the treasured kill. Is that what this feeling is? He feels it too. He's been feelin' it.

Is he catching feelings?

Are you?

This is why he asked if you were going out, isn't it? So he could keep an eye on you. So he could keep anyone else away from you.

Clingy.

You don't say anything, only slip him a curious look when he tosses the bouncer a crinkled wad of yen from a well-worn wallet for your cover charge. You allow him to lead you into the bar, and you allow his arm to stay around your shoulders. The tall, dark-haired arsonist weaves easily through the chatter, music, and dancing — and easy as breathing, his arm slips from your shoulders and down your arm. He doesn't hold your hand — but he does tug on your wrist as the crowd bunches together near the bustling bar.

The back of him cuts an intimidating figure.

Dabi is tall.

Wordlessly, he manages to make enough room at the bar. There's an open seat. He nudges his chin towards it, allowing you to slip up onto the stool. It feels like you've got your own guard dog of sorts.

You don't know how to feel now.

The weirdness is back on your tongue.

Dabi is fiddling with his dangling, silver earring as he speaks. It's loud in here. Busy. Lots of bodies. The thrum of the bass is heady and heavy in your chest. He has to lean down — to get close to your ear — for you to hear him.

"Whaddaya want t' drink?" he calls over the baseline, his arm leaned on the back of your seat.

You turn your cheek, wondering if you should milk this whole guard dog act. You make a move for the small purse hanging on your shoulder. Dabi waves you off, looking non-plussed.

It's a peace offering, he reasons. For blowing your phone up this whole week... Right? Not like he has to apologize. That's what people do. They fuckin' text one another. S'whatever.

"Just lemme buy you a fuckin' drink, will ya? Don't make it a thing," he says again, tugging off the black face mask and stuffing it into his back pocket.

He doesn't really need to worry about anyone clocking who he is in here — it's dark enough, and not exactly the best bar in Kamino Ward. Dabi tugs his hood down and runs a palm through his thick, black hair. He's fixing his cowlick, trying his best to hide the creep of shyness.

Don't make it a thing.

Isn't this a thing? This whole thing?

You sit up a little straighter, leaning in to speak up over the music. At your cue, Dabi leans down again and your nose nearly brushes the staples crawling up his cheeks. "Fine. Get me a rum and coke."

It's confusing. You're... fine with being this close to him. No one is ever this fine with being close to him. He's mangled and scarred and fucked up, and usually fear makes people bite. You haven't done that.

You've treated him like a normal fucking person.

He scoffs. He turns his face and you can smell the cigarette on his breath. And mint. The echos of chewing gum.

"No need t' be frugal about it, princess."

Your eyes narrow incrementally, trying to sus out what the everloving fuck is happening right now. Is this real? Is he real? Are you seriously here, letting Dabi buy you a drink after allowing him to blow your phone up with nonsensical texts all week? The Dabi. The League of Villains' Favorite Fire Starter, Dabi.

Texting him was a bad idea.

Letting him buy you a drink is an even worse one.

Your rum and coke and his shitty beer are traded for another wad of wrinkled yen with the bartender. You accept the bought drink, gathering the straw before knocking back a strong sip. Dabi swigs his beer, but his blue eyes stick on you in the swiveling strobes of the bar. Blue eyes connect with yours and you find your gaze hitching on the way his Adam's apple bobs as he drinks.

You never considered Dabi handsome.

Not until this moment.

Maybe that's where you went wrong with all this. Maybe you fucked up by assuming you'd never be swallowing down a wad of attraction as heavy as a magnet. It's so apparent you almost choke.

His pierced brow quirks as he side-eyes you.

What the fuck is going on tonight?

It's fine. You smother the thoughts blaring in the back of your mind like a fire alarm with another longer sip of the rum and coke in your hands. The condensation is cold and wet. Grounding. Remember who you are. Not a villain.

He can eat you alive.

But, Dabi... He... doesn't really want to.

You're squeezing the lime into your drink when Dabi leans in again.

"What's the deal with Giran an' Nuri, huh?"

You follow his eye-line and spot the two in question at the far end of the bar. They're mirroring you and Dabi except for the distinct amount of touching. Nuri can hardly keep her hands off of Giran. The Broker doesn't seem to mind. You lean into Dabi's personal space as you respond. Both of your gazes remain on the two.

"I told you," you remind him, "She thinks she can fix him."

Dabi's laugh is dry in your ear. "Is gettin' in his pants part of her plan?"

You roll your eyes at him, turning to lean a bit closer. "He bought her that Hermès bag. I don't really blame her for wanting to sleep with him after that."

It's a joke.

Dabi smirks into his beer. "What, is buyin' you a drink not enough? I gotta go designer now?"

You're impressed that you don't stutter; liquid courage be damned. "Is that an offer?"

Dabi sneers. He shoves you with his elbow albeit lightly. It's a signal — drop it. Just like how he extinguishes any flirting over text, he does it now in person.

"S' dedication on his part."

"Maybe it's love," you coo as you take another sip and look up at him, "Maybe they're meant for one another."

Touya drums his knuckles on the back of your bar stool as he rolls his jaw. He's quiet for a while — busy dragging his eyes around the establishment. Seems like everyone here has someone with them. Someone they care about. How the fuck do they do that? How do people trust like that? Touya's blue eyes narrow in on Giran and Nuri once more, only to feel like he's intruding. The sight of a long kiss shared makes Dabi drag his eyes away from the two at the end of the bar. A pang of longing strikes up his core, only to be worsened when he looks down and sees you staring at him again in the darkness of the bar.

"What?"

"You're high," you say with a growing smirk, "Aren't you?"

"Fuck off—"

"—I knew it."

"M'not high," Dabi counters, realizing as he speaks that he is. Just a little bit. Not enough for it to be a problem, "Shut up."

You feel a little bit like you've won a game. The rules were never clearly defined, never agreed upon — you watch him inhale sharply through his nose as his eyes dart around the bar behind him.

"Then why'd you get so quiet about that?" you pry, leaning against the cool, damp counter as you swivel in your stool. Your knees brush his thigh.

Maybe if you pretend that attraction isn't there, it will go away.

Maybe it will die a lonely death in the pit of your heart.

"About what?" he grits out, leaning onto his elbow. He crosses his boots at the ankle, trying to ignore the burn of your body pressed against his in the closeness of this bar. Dabi's fingers pick at the label of his beer absently.

"About looooove," you yammer on, waggling your head and leaning closer, "What, does Mr. Bad Boy not believe in love?"

Dabi scoffs in your face. "You're drunk."

Your lips part. You look offended — but he can see a smile tugging at the corners of your lips regardless. You press a palm to your chest as you speak, "I'm fine."

"Fine enough for another rum 'n' coke?" he asks as he nods towards your empty glass. The ice is melting. Dabi'ssmirking.

You flatten your look. "I'm buying it."

"Nope," he pops the 'p'. He's wrangling for his wallet again and digging it out of the back pocket well-worn pair of skinny jeans. His fingers are quick, flipping the torn and half-destroyed wallet open as he flags the bartender down, "I told you. Don't make it a thing. Do y' want another one, or nah?"

You squint at him.

Then, you concede.

"One more."

Dabi's grin breaks across his face like a lightning strike. Dangerous. "Good girl. Was that so hard?"

The weirdness gives way — it burns. Your chest feels like it's on fire. If Dabi notices, he doesn't say shit. You're glad. You don't know if you'd ever be able to come back from it if he did.

There's a part of him that knows what he's doing. There's a part, deep down, that knows this will end up hurting worse than anything imaginable, he's sure. But, whatever. So it goes. Touya doesn't give a shit. Hurting makes him feel human.

That rum and coke arrives just as some clean-cut, dopey-looking fucker strides up the bar beside you. He's got a patterned button-up on and a watch that looks too heavy for his wrist. Dabi is paying, jutting his jaw out in thanks to the bartender, when Mr. Perfect tries to strike up a conversation with you.

His teeth are eerily white in the bar's dark as he tries to get your attention.

You try to hide a wince when the stranger's hand touches your shoulder.

(You don't wince when he touches you, Dabi realizes smugly.)

Before the man can even talk to you, there's a pair of turquoise eyes boring a hole into the man's skull.

"Hey, pal," comes the rasped crackle of Dabi's voice over your shoulder, "She ain't interested."

You haven't heard this tone from him before — it's flat and hollow and sharp, almost like being on the receiving end could make you bleed. It takes a moment for it to register, and when you blink up at Dabi, you realize that he's angry.

Your fingers tighten around your drink.

The man doesn't seem to get it. He just laughs — and tries to brush off the attempted cock block by doubling down.

Bad idea.

You can't help but freeze when Dabi moves, sliding behind you and cornering the man against the bar. Suddenly, the resident arsonist's poor posture is forgotten. His height unfolds a wave of intimidation as he roots his fist in the back of the guy's collar.

"You know," Dabi grits with a flash of his eyes as he leans into the man's personal space; the expression could be mistaken for a smile, but you know better, "I really fuckin' hate it when I have to repeat myself."

You tighten your jaw. You take a sip of your drink and try to ignore the tension developing beside you. You sip your rum and coke and pray this doesn't become a bigger scene than it needs to be.

One hard shove displaces the unwanted attention — and now Dabi has assumed the spot on the other side of you. He leans on the bar, both elbows planted, and then tips back his beer. The victor.

Your eyes dart over your shoulder. The man is gone, lost in the flood of bouncing bodies on the dance floor.

Morally speaking, you're on the ropes. You're a grown woman. You can take care of yourself. You know how to say no. You know how to tell a man to fuck off and eat shit. You can do it, and... you would. You were about to—

"Stop makin' it a thing."

Dabi's voice cuts through your thoughts. You blink back at him and realize he's avoiding eye contact.

You cross your legs, exhale, and rub the spot between your brows.

This bastard is giving you a headache. But, y'know, nothing new there.

"I could've handled that on my own, y'know—"

Dabi scoffs. He taps his finished beer down onto the counter before pushing back upright and turning to look at you. His hair hangs in his eyes.

"—That's nice. I don't care—"

"—But, thank you."

You pin him with a look that's all too unamused, and Dabi doesn't like that his heart does some weird fuckin' stutter thing. The villain's brows knit for a moment as he tries to sort out what the fuck is happening, and then he rolls his jaw and shrugs. He goes a little rigid at the thank you.

"...It's whatever."

It's cute.

Your expression softens. You settle into your seat and take a sip of your drink. Dabi's stare is off a thousand yards, rooted somewhere between the drink coaster and your thighs.

"Stop making it a thing," you parrot back at him, nudging him with your elbow.

It drags him back to earth. Dabi snorts through his nose, then winds his arms around himself as he makes a point of scouring the bar. His voice is dry. "It's not a thing."

Right.

For once, you're thankful for the interruption of your friends begging you to come dance.

The three of them are beaming brightly, their hands tugging on your arms and shoulders as they swarm you at the bar. You have to laugh; they're insisting the song that's playing is your song but you have no recollection of ever even liking this artist. It's a ploy, you know, to get you to let loose.

You glance towards Dabi.

You swear he's almost smiling.

"I don't dance," he rasps, leaning lazily against the bar, "So don't ask."

"Fine," you murmur, wriggling down from the stool and taking a brave, long sip after tugging your skirt down; you brush your shoulder against Dabi's as you step away from the bar, "Suit yourself."

Your friends are cheering, tugging you into the fray. And Dabi is left there, leaning against the bartop, watching you disappear into the crowd.

Maybe you should have known, then, that this exact predicament was bound to happen.

It happens four songs in — right after you finish the rum and coke that was delivered right into your hands when your darling Nuri made her appearance. The lights sway, slow to catch up to the bob of your head as you let loose.

You smell that cologne first.

Then, there are hands on your waist.

A big watch, no doubt a fake, snakes around the front of your waist. Your brows knot together as your mouth curls into an angered scowl. You're about to stomp on the guy's foot, you're about to throw the watered-down dredges of your drink in the guy's face.

But, as quick as the touch came, it was gone.

Then, the smell of fire on the night air.

The new hands that fall on your hips are decidedly more conscious. They don't tug or pull, they simply curl around the soft curve there. The owner of the hands leans in, his chest pressed to your back, as he's jostled by the crowd. The studs on his belt are cool against the skin above your lower back where your shirt has ridden up.

When you look back, familiar turquoise eyes are staring.

He leans closer, your stride in the dance unbroken, and raises his voice over the bass.

"Don't make it a thing."

The position is entirely too intimate for you to even register. Then, his eyes flick a little lower, and you lean your head back a bit against his chest. Your hips rock a bit, only enough to keep the beat, as you tilt your chin and lean to speak into his ear. Your nose brushes his scars and his entire body reacts.

"I thought you didn't dance?"

If your hips roll against him again, you try to tell yourself it was on accident.

And just like that, he's swooping your finished drink out of your hand and he's gone.

He doesn't dance. He... He doesn't... feel things. He could walk out of this bar and feel nothing. He could dump his burner in the harbor and never look back, and there would be no skin off his back.

Just... Not today.

Not today, he tells himself as he steps outside with a bummed cigarette in hand trying to adjust himself in his jeans. It dangles between his lips as he grunts, puffs, and the keys on his belt jingle. Touya rubs his palm against his eye as he tries to get a grip.

You're just some stupid college girl who happens to be pretty and kind and has a nice ass. A dime a dozen. He can fuck you, leave you on read, and dump you for the next item whenever he wants. Any day now.

So why doesn't he?

He could buck the fuck up, head back in there, and drag you to the bathroom.

He could. H-He could. Give him ten minutes, and he could make a mess across your face like he keeps havin' those dreams about. Give him some time and he'll have you screamin' his name — and no one would even hear it over the music.

Touya tugs at his hair.

He could.

That doesn't mean he wants to, though.

Fuck.

#burner cell #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya x reader #touya x you #touya todoroki imagine #dabi imagine #bnha imagine #mha imagine #I LOOOOVE MY EMO BOY I AM JUST SAYIINNGGGG

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