#but I can see she reacting more or less like that

[twstfanblog]

Heyyyyy so uhhhhh…

What if the mc back in their world was a slave? Not servant like jamil, just, straight up slave where their opinion didn’t matter :( n they r female, afab, pronounce she/they? Hopefully nothing bad happened but people who get slaves r bad people so :((( overblot boys pls 🙏🥺

I feel like they would all threaten crowley to absolutely NOT look for a way to send mc home n to stop making her do his things cause that reminds her of back home in a very bad way :(

N then they comfort n hold the mc cause they r safe n wont have to be treated like shit anymore :(

They will punch anyone who treats em like shit

Which practically everyone in school did when they arrived at NRC, and they just thought ‘this is normal’. :(

Overblot Boys React to Slave Reader

Overblot Boys x Reader

Riddle

Lowkey saw you as an ideal student. Polite, respectful, and mindful of the rules. So he wouldn't notice anything past a few odd ticks that he himself wouldn't fully question since his own upbringing was shitty.

It takes him and Ace having an argument, Riddle brings up that Ace can learn a thing or two from you on being a respectful student. And Ace fires back on you being a SLAVE. Of course, his overbearing ass would love that. And Riddle has to really think about what kinda person that makes him that he didn't even notice.

He talks to you, wanting personal confirmation on what Ace had blurted out. Once he gets the confirmation, his attitude gets much softer. You don't get as harsh treatment for rule-breaking, but he's still stern about them.

End game, he makes up a secondary set of rules for you only. Rules like 'We say something if we are uncomfortable' or 'We are allowed to say No'. He just gets much softer but remains true on rules being important. He just also stresses that you should have your own personal rules now.

Leona

Clocked immediately you came from a background of servitude, though he wasn't aware how severe it was.

He didn't plan on getting invovled but his little bleeding heart took Ruggie under his wing for a reason. It was one part pity and mostly annoyance seeing you getting bullied by his dorm everyday.

You basically get 'Leona's Servant' boot camp with Ruggie suddenly. He teaches you how Leona likes his laundry tended to and what snack flavors he prefers. It's a smooth transition from slave to servant until Ruggie tells you it's free game to steal from Leona.

Leona never brings it up, but he knows your old home was not a good environment. He also knows he can't just fling you into a healthier dynamic with those around you, so he'll do it slowly and sneakily. Ruggie is the perfect one to bridge the gap for him to start spoiling you.

Azul

Knew something was off but had no real frame of reference. He would make little theories and try to figure out why you act the way you do. He only started thinking you had come from a background of servitude when you follow orders so quickly.

Honestly doesn't know how to feel because he did do slavery in tricking the contracted students into working at the lounge against their will. He's not entirely sure how to save face with you after he's come across as a cruel and unfair slaver. Lowkey uses his overblot aftermath as an excuse for a fresh start with you.

He starts treating you kinder, making sure to address you properly and showing that he respects you. People from his dorm follow his lead, at least. The Tweels are part-time bodyguards, making your old bullies more hesitant to start anything because an eel might slip out of a crack or something.

Azul is a sneaky one too, slowly helping you raise your standard of how you should be treated by others. If you get him blabbing long enough, he'll slip into just stating how precious you are to him.

Jamil

I'm sorry, even with the English sanitation, Jamil’s situation can only come across as slavery to me. He's a very well cared for slave because Kalim adores him, but a slave none the less.

It's a little jarring to him to see someone who really could understand. But he's so used to keeping himself guarded he never reached out in a friendly sense. Treating you more like a new coworker; helpful but distant. It wasn't until you accidently broke something in Scarabia and nearly had a panic attack when Kalim looked at you does he realize how severe punishment was back in your world.

Gets much softer to you. It's sad because he does love and care about you, but he would not allow you to be with him long term. You've managed to come to a new world where your old masters can't reach you, you're free. Don't waste it following him back into a life of servitude.

Jamil would understand you the best so he'd be the one to really push and guide you to trying new experiences with your freedom. Wants you to be selfish and use your friends' kindness to make your life better. If he never gets his dream of being able to travel the world he wants you to be able to.

(Should the miracle happen and he and Kalim have the conversation finally, Jamil would go globe trotting with you. He legit has thoughts of just not going back and disappearing with you.)

Vil

I don't think he'd mean anything malicious by it. But he would end up treating you like a purse dog for a while.

Vil has a strong and cemented personality and sense of worth. Dealing with someone as passive as an abused slave, he would easily bulldoze over them and not really notice. Because he'd basically have you on the 'Betterment Plan' he has Epel.

He saw the potential and just kept going because you never said stop. Lots of beauty routines, he picks outfits for you for outings, basically has you as his shadow before either Rook or Epel bring up how he's running you ragged.

Vil never dealt with someone who's come from the situation you did. The very idea that 'No' wasn't a boundary you were ever allowed horrified him for a bit. But like the queen he is, he doesn't try to defend his misstep and goes right into correcting his behavior. The introduction of choices was the best start, but you slowly start saying no to events and choices and Vil couldn't be more delighted.

Idia

Lowkey, I'm not sure if he'd notice in any capacity until you told him point-blank. Idia is the one of the boys who sticks mostly to himself and he'd avoid you if he saw you constantly being hounded by other students.

But, if you managed to get close enough to him, he'd question why you always freeze up when your bullies call you? Why running isn't an option you take? And then you'd tell him about where you came from and how running never ended well for you or the other slaves...

He's not one I think would actively try to curb your behaviors but it would effect his own. Now when he sees you being bullied there's a high chance he'll use what power he has a housewarden to get them to leave. When he's sneaking around, he'll catch your eye and give the mental offer to come hide out in his room with him. He becomes a legit safe space for you to just breath since no one but Ortho really enters his room.

He's had to stop you multiple times from cleaning his room. Yes, it's a mess. No, you don't have to thank him by cleaning. Yes, he's aware you can also keep his stuff organized for him while you clean. You don't have to clean, you aren't his maid. (He is terrified he will ruin your friendship the second you find anything embarrassing under his piles of junk. Like a body pillow, or a 18+ comic, or a stray love note he wrote you-)

Malleus

Adorable you think the bonds of slavery from an unknown world matter to him. Malleus is...a prince, a crown prince at that. I don't think he has 'slaves' but with servants of royalty, I'm never really sure. But anyhow, this boy hasn't been told no enough in his life and it shows.

So when you try to back away from the friendship a bit under the fact of you being a slave and not...worthy of his princely company. He just decides you aren't a slave anymore. Just wills and speaks it into existence. There, it's fixed. You can continue being his beloved child of man, now come. He has a new gargoyle he wants to show you.

Fae to me have favorites, and they love to keep an eye on them. So god help some poor schmuck who tries to bully you into doing their work after Malleus has decided you don't do that anymore... You start saying No and leaving the situation with much more effectiveness because the other choice is Malleus making some poor student drop out for fear of their life.

Malleus canonically ignores the autonomy of others for his own gain. So it would be a really weird balance of him simply stating that you are your own being capable of choice and that your old-world status as a slave doesn't matter here. But with that new free status, you are also his best friend, who will come on night walks with him, talk with him, and make friendship bracelets.

[lucius-i-ran]

Rewriting Percy and Nico's convo in BoO because "you're not my type" fills me with rage every time I think about it

The son of Apollo was looking at Nico with a stern look that would make any god shiver, but a mass of black hair in the corner of his eye made him falter.

Nico turned. Percy and Annabeth were joking around, bickering and pushing each other. Their smiles comforting and warm, but the bags under their eyes still a deep purple.

He turned again, now facing Will.

"I need to do something first, I'll be right back." he stated with an apologetic look on his face.

He walked to the older demigods, heart pounding in his chest. The feelings he had for Percy were long gone and deep inside him he knew that Percy wouldn't hate him for being gay. Still, he was scared to death to confess his feeling for him.

How would he react? Would he laugh in his face? Would it be awkward? Would this ruin the already strained relationship between them?

With all these thoughts swirling around his restless head, he kept walking, trying to look as confident as possible.

"Hi dude, good morning!" Percy said as soon as he saw Nico, the usual smirk grew on his face. Annabeth smiled at him, too. It was kind and unusually tender. She spoke a million words without uttering a single one. She already knew.

Nico smiled at her and bowed his head as a thank; and with that smile she gifted him, he gained the confidence to finally speak.

"Good morning" of course, his voice broke. His throat was dry and his confidence nearly shattered, but he didn't give in. He turned to face the son of Poseidon, "I need to talk to you."

Percy turned to Annabeth, looking something between mortally scared and confused. Nico grew a little smile. It was kind of endearing to him how the gods defying, Tartarus survivor, son of Poseidon, Percy Jackson looked that scared to face him; but his smile was quick to disappear. Percy was probably scared because their exchanges up to that point weren't exactly friendly, and it was all Nico's fault.

They walked to the shore of the lake, where they could be alone for some time. It was usually more crowded, even at these early hours, but a battle just went down, demigods needed to rest; they wouldn't see anyone for a while.

"I think we should sit down" Nico said, more for himself than Percy, already feeling lightheaded.

They sat and they stayed quiet for a while, just looking at the crystal clear water, hearing leaves rustling with summer's wind. It was a good day, not a cloud in the sky. The sun made the water shimmer like a kaleidoscope.

Nico wished they could stay like that forever: silent and peaceful, with no uncomfortable conversations to be spoken, just the comforting sound of the summer to be heard.

But this was reality and Nico needed to face it. He owed that to himself, to his sisters, to Jason. Most importantly, he owed that to the boy sitting beside him who, weirdly enough, hadn't uttered a word, like he was letting Nico move at his own pace.

"Percy," he finally broke the silence "Would you promise me that you won't be angry at me?"

The boy looked at him.

"I can't promise you that. I can promise that if it isn't necessary, I won't try to strangle you"

Nico tried to smile. He appreciated the joke, it released some tension; but in that moment he felt like he could throw up if he started laughing.

"Thanks," the whispered "but I'm serious."

"So am I"

"Oh"

Well that didn't help.

"Percy," he repeated, trying to sound less frustrated than he felt. He exhaled heavily through his mouth "I'm scared"

"Is that what you needed to tell me?"

"No"

"Why are you scared?"

Nico sighed heavily, again. "Because I don't know how you will look at me after this. Because I think this" he gestured vaguely with his hands "dynamic that we have going on might be even weirder than it already is" he stopped to try and swallow the lump forming in his throat "I'm scared that you'll hate me"

Percy looked at him as if he was trying his hardest not to whack him on the head. Then he turned to face the water again "Nico, with all due honesty, you sold me to your father for informations a year ago and I'm still here, willing to talk to you. Wanna know why? Because I know you're good at heart." A pause. Then an exhale.

"It's true, our relationship is weird but trust me when I say this: I know for a fact that you couldn't do something worse. Because A," he put his fingers up as he started to listing "it's hard to come up with something worse than that for a 13 year old; and B, you couldn't. I know only a year has passed but you've grown. You know what's wrong and what's right and most importantly Nico, you're good. You're kind at heart, as much as you try to hide it. It's probably the reason why me and Annabeth survived in Tartarus."

Nico looked at him like he was deranged.

"What?" "Yeah Nico, Bob- You know what, whatever, that's not the point. Point is: just tell me. If anything I'll hang you to that tree overthere from the scruff, what's the big deal?"

They both laughed, exhausted. Nico gained courage. "The reason why I acted the way I did wasn't because of Bianca." He started "I mean, it was for a while but then I understood I was angrier at her and me"

"Well that's a great conclusion, it definitely took a lot of self reflection-" "That's not it." "Oh, sorry-"

"I had a crush on you" he blurted out.

His face was on fire. "That's why I was so distant. That's why I kept leaving and running away. I couldn't even look at you because it reminded me everyday that I was different, that I wasn't cut out for love. I just couldn't bare it," he paused.

"I'm sorry Percy."

The son of Poseidon was silent and it made everything worse. 'There goes the chance of a friendship' Nico thought, tears already welling up in his eyes. He bit his lip trying to repress a sob.

Then Percy stood up and sat down again, this time much more close to Nico. Then he wrapped his arm around his small shoulders and he held him tight.

They stayed quiet again, the only things that could be herd were the sounds of nature and Nico's occasionals sniffles and quiet sobs. He felt so relieved, he just couldn't help but to let out all of that pent up tension and anxiety that burdened him for three years straight. And now, this hug. A hug that felt so familiar, like those his sister would give him, like those he gave to Hazel. It was reassuring, warm, shielding. Once again Nico wished they could stay in this embrace forever. But eventually:

"You're not my type anyway" rasped Nico.

They looked at each other and they started laughing so loudly, they were basically yelling. Some nymphs even peeked in their direction, trying to make sure no animal was being slaughtered.

Then Percy made a motion like he recived a spear through his heart and fell dramatically backwards. "That's a low blow, Di Angelo". They giggled some more and then Percy asked "So who's your type?" and as if on cue a familiar voice started echoing from the distance:

"C'mon Di angelo! The three days in the infirmary started five hours ago! Chop chop!"

Nico and Percy exchanged a knowing look:

"I'm definitely not your type"

[prince-liest]

I wonder if Alastor's owner is forcing him to follow every request and command Charlie or the hotel gives him. Essentially, Charlie is like a pseudo owner--not that Al would ever tell her. That would be giving them too much of an advantage! 

So the times he is asked to clean or make a commercial ? No way to get out of that. Maybe that's way he made a deal with Vaggie to ensure he is never asked to handle television again. Wouldn't want them commanding him to collaborate with Vox or be chummy with him again! It's just an extra safety measure that gives Al some of his autonomy back

I also think it's weird he makes a demonic deal with Vaggie just so she can't ASK him to do television related things. If he is that uncomfortable, why not just refuse her requests later on? Unless he is prohibited from doing so 

-N

Yo, I LOVE that concept... I don't know if I would be easily convinced that it's true in canon. I took his deal with Vaggie to be more of a "never fucking annoy me with this again" type of thing, especially after how harshly he initially reacted to some aspects of the suggestion, and him not wanting to even hear about television (read: Vox) because of their past beef. That said, I think it's a delightfully fucked up idea and I can definitely see it being true in a less literal sense - ie, forcing him to work toward Charlie's success or something.

HOWEVER. Alastor getting, intentionally or not, the Ella Enchanted treatment from Charlie, or the hotel administration, or even the royal family, without her initially knowing is a fanfic that I now desperately want to read.

[dizzyrobinsims]

So finally watched Full Moon and oh boy the juicy, delicious draaamaaaa and anggggsst. I am FEASTING.

BUT also if anyone can watch that episode and blame only one of 'em for that clusterfuck then they need to take a media studies course.

[kraviolis]

one of these days im gonna be incredibly self indulgent and draw an entire fix-it comic about cleo shaw bcus shes one of my all time favorite characters and i fucking miss her so much bro

[itsalwaysdark]

thank GODDD the doctor is taking time to work on himself maybe now he can stop ruining womens lives .

[ghstzzn]

helping hand

pairing: bsf!lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: heeseung had an unusual ritual before every competition as a professional league of legends player. one that his ex-girlfriend could no longer fulfill for him, leaving him desperate enough to ask for your help as his best friend.

tags/warnings: SMUT! MDNI! barely proofread lol, heeseungs a professional gamer… idk shit about that tho, you’re his best friend, league of legend mention, oral (m. rec), face fucking, deepthroating obv, praise? heeseung whimpers and whines here and there, name calling bc he calls her a perv hehe, reader touches herself and orgasms bc of his whimpering, cum swallowing, first time writing JUST a blowjob & ball fondling hehe and more probably! [3.3k words]

🖤: im so scared this was only supposed to be like 1k words but i cant shut the fuck up ever.

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT!

it’s been awhile since you’ve had heeseung linger around your apartment for hours or even days like this. between his time spent with his now ex girlfriend and his professional gaming career, you had rarely seen him. only relying on occasional short lunch meetings or quick coffee runs.

it’s not that his ex disliked you, but more so disliked that you and heeseung happened to be an extremely attractive pair of friends and hated that people would confuse you both as a couple rather than heeseung and her.

you missed your best friend, and it comforted you that he returned those feelings. 

before heeseung had stepped foot into a relationship with his ex, he would spend half of his time at your apartment. especially when he had a competition that was near. 

“are you nervous?” you ask him, watching as he packs little things he left at your apartment into a small suitcase for the gaming league. it was only one city away but these sorts of things take an entire weekend. 

heeseung hums, “i’m confident.” you know he’s not lying either. there’s not much you know about gaming, or specifically, league of legends—but according to your mutual friends, heeseung seems to be a god at the game. yet, he seemed so antsy about something.

“so what are you gonna do about your little pre-competition ritual,” you hope to lighten his mood, easing him of whatever that was on his mind.

“what ritual?”

you clear your throat, “oh, um. your blowjob ritual..?”

the question was asked in a light hearted way, but heeseung didn’t react in such a way at all. the ritual, as you called it, was something heeseung accidentally created a few years ago when he had first gone pro. his situationship at the time gave him head right before he left as a sexy goodluck and a reminder of what he had waiting for him when he got back, but that day he had carried and won the competition for his entire team. 

the next year after that he had gotten with his girlfriend and had shyly asked her to suck him off, to which she agreed and it had officially become a routine for every competition, including smaller, less meaningful ones.

“you okay, hee?” 

“can i ask you something?” he suddenly speaks up, voice way louder than he intended, causing the both of you to cringe at the volume. “s-sorry.. i just need to ask you something.”

you nod slowly, “yeah, anything. is everything okay?”

heeseung thinks for a few moments before speaking again, “it’s a little personal and it’s okay if you are uncomfortable with this and you absolutely do not have to say yes but i need to at least ask you.”

“heeseung just say it.”

“can you give me a blowjob before my competition this weekend?”

your reaction comes in three stages. the both of you stare at each other in silence for about three minutes before you burst out in laughter, which also lasts about three more minutes. but when you see heeseungs panicked expression, you go silent again.

“wait… seriously?” 

heeseung swallows before shaking his head timidly. he debated laughing along with you and passing it off as a complete joke but he felt the need to follow through. the room is silent again. your fingers subconsciously play with the zipper on his suitcase as you think about the question he just proposed to you. 

your best friend, whom you’ve experienced half your life with, just asked you if you could give him head before one of his league of legends competitions.

what was the right answer here?

“you.. you don't have to,” heeseungs heart feels like it’s about to fall out of his chest. why on earth would he ask such a thing to his only female friend? no less, his best friend.

it was a joke. yeah, a joke! oh my god, why would i ask that, you pervert! you should’ve seen your face! you guys joke like this all the time, this is no different. he could totally play this off coolly. 

“it’s fucking stupid, i know. but it seriously helps me and you know she would do it for me everytime.” he begins rambling without even realizing it. the air is so thick you would have to take a chainsaw to it. “y-you aren’t her, yeah, but i don’t know—it genuinely gets me through the competitions.”

heeseung lets out a shaky breath, “just forget it. ignore what i said.”

“well, no heeseung,” you cut him off, “i can’t just forget that you seriously asked me something like that.”

“please don’t make this awkward. you can say no and we can forget this happened.”

you could tell heeseung wanted to rip his tongue out, and to see your best friend this distressed over something so silly made you want to drop everything and get rid of those feelings for him. 

“i mean, i never said no, did i..?” 

heeseung looks up, meeting your gaze with a shocked expression, “what?”

“yeah,” you nod, “it doesn’t hurt to think about it, right? it’s not like you’re asking me to completely fuck you—a blowjob wouldn’t hurt us right? especially if it’s going to help you.”

he blinks. heeseung might think you’re going insane, and he’s the one that asked you for the blowjob. no way you were actually considering this for him.

what did he do in his past life to gain such a supportive, pretty best friend.

“so… you’ll think about it?” your best friend's voice is quiet when he asks, like he’s scared to speak up any louder. “like, seriously?”

“yeah,” nodding your head, you flash him a reassuring smile. agreeing to suck off your friend before his professional video game competition, a totally normal request.

when heeseung leaves your apartment, you immediately cuss yourself out. why the fuck would you practically agree to that? 

but when you think about telling the boy no, your heart cracks. why? you don’t know. but what you do know is that you would rather die than look at his big sad brown eyes when you tell him you can't give him a special blowjob for his special day.

you were no pro at sucking dick, but you were dedicated to this friendship.

heeseung bounced his leg with nervousness and anticipation. you texted him that you were on the way to his hotel, which would’ve been normal and completely fine considering you attend all of his comps, but today was different.

you never answered his question.

he wonders if maybe you forgot about it. he also hopes you didn’t forget. ever since he asked you the big question, heeseung couldn’t get you out of his mind.

every night leading up to today, he’d lie awake staring at his ceiling trying to push every image of you sitting pretty between his legs out of his mind. the feeling of his cock hardening to the thought of you made him want to dive out of the nearest window.

it’s not like he didn’t think you were hot or that the idea of being intimate with you disgusted him, but it’s the fact that he promised to never be like every other guy.

the two of you were very close. from cuddling while watching movies to holding hands in a crowded area to heeseung beating up creepy men at dive bars for you—you both had a tight knit friendship. and he always promised that he would never cross that line. he might be a total loser but he liked to consider himself a gentleman at the same time.

that day, he did. yet you were still attending something that meant the world to him when you could’ve told him to fuck off and die.

four knocks at the door rips heeseung away from his thoughts.

with sweaty hands and knees that felt like jelly, heeseung grips the door knob and opens it, plastering the fakest smile he could muster up. “hey.” did his voice crack? fuck my life. 

“hi!” you hold up two bags filled with a variety of snacks with a large smile on your face, “i brought some stuff for this weekend.”

he clears his throat and steps to the side, letting you enter his hotel room. heeseung averts his gaze to the ceiling as you walk by him, afraid of letting his eyes stay on you–what if he accidentally looks at your ass?

“what time does it start today?” you ask, completely unaware of the emotional distress your male best friend was going through. so nonchalant and unmoving. maybe you did forget afterall. 

heeseung takes a seat at the desk in his hotel room, where he had a temporary p.c. set up in case he needed a practice game. “uhh, it’s at six this time.”

“jeez… you guys won't be leaving until late then.” you glance at the clock and back to him. he has to leave very soon. how do you casually start giving your best friend a blowjob within the next fifteen minutes.

“yeah, you know of all people that these things can go for hours. you’re gonna be there for the last few rounds right?”

you nod, wondering if heeseung could notice the way you’re practically gawking at him. was he always this hot? it’s stupid question when you’re fully aware of how attractive heeseung was and currently is. maybe it was the way he was dressed up for his competition tonight, or the way he leaned back on his hands and spread his legs comfortably. 

the baggy black hoodie that you knew he was wearing by itself with nothing underneath paired with his baggy jeans that sat so perfectly on his hips. you were fully aware that you were checking out your best friend. he’s fucking hot, why else would you agree to do any of this?

you wonder if he’s thought about this as much as you have. is he nervous? is he vocal? how long does it take for him to get hard and how big is he?

“hey,” you don’t know where the confidence is coming from, but you find yourself kneeling in front of him with your hands on his knees, “you’re gonna do great and win this. like you always do. i’ll make sure of it.”

heeseung almost chokes on his own spit when you suddenly slip between his legs, “wha- what are you doing..?”

“did you not want my help? or did you forget?” you ask him, genuine confusion. “i-if you already-”

“no!” heeseung cuts you off, grabbing your hand with his. “i mean, i still do. i just didn’t think you were down.”

you rub your other hand up his thigh, fingers mere centimeters away from his crotch area. so close to where he needs you, yet so far. “of course i am. what good are best friends if they can’t help each other out?”

heeseungs breath hitches when your hand grazes the zipper of his jeans. he lets go of your other hand and you take it as a cue to keep going.

“just let me take care of you, hee.”

and for the first time ever, that nickname made his cock twitch.

just the view he had of you sitting pretty between his thighs, hesitant but still full of confidence as you softly palmed him through his jeans was enough for him to be leaking.

“can i…” you ask quietly, fingers on the button of his jeans. he nods once and gulps as you immediately pop the button open and move to the zipper. it feels like hours before you’re finally pulling his jeans down below his hips. 

you can’t lie and say the bulge of his hardening cock, covered by his calvin kleins, wasn’t making your mouth water. you push his hoodie up slightly, the way your cold fingertips hit his lower stomach as you grab the waistband of his boxers has his stomach tensing under your touch. you let out a small gasp when his cock almost springs out of his boxers.

your best friend is packing. 

heeseung almost chuckles when he catches your reaction. 

“don’t laugh.”

“i’m not.”

“i can see it!” you argue back.

heeseung rolls his eyes, “please just continue.” 

“i won't if you keep up that attitude. you know we have less than fifteen minutes.” you retort after hearing him scoff. 

“i can miss rehearsals.”

“heeseu-”

“god, please let me just fuck your mouth.”

oh my god? were you supposed to be turned on? you bite your lip and look down in his lap, taking his cock in your hand with a soft but firm grip. you lean forward and let spit slowly drip from your mouth as you start pumping him. 

heeseung lets out a quiet groan and you look up at him—wide eyes that are practically asking, is this good? you continue to gently fist his cock, getting him nice and hard before you start using your mouth on his. 

“i hope you win.” is all you say before you kiss his tip and sink your mouth onto him.

the boy is practically seeing stars. you just started and he’s already moaning like a bitch. it felt so good, he can’t rip his gaze from you, watching the way your lips wrap around him tightly and your cheeks hollow out as you literally suck him in. 

“fuck, like that…” his hand finds sanctuary wrapped around your hair, not yet pushing you down on his cock completely, but more so as guidance. 

you let go out his cock with a pop and continue pumping him with your fist, licking the underside of his base as you make direct eye contact. he lets out a groan and lets his head fall back.

“you don’t have to hold back heeseung,” you mumble, but the lust was evident in your tone. “don’t be gentle, this is for you.”

“holy fuck, don’t say that.” you giggle at his response and smile against his tip before taking him back into your mouth. heeseung grips your hair tighter and pushes you further down his cock per your request. he can hear you inhale deeply through your nose as you attempt to take all of him. but of course you can’t. 

you stroke what you can’t fit and let heeseungs hand guide you up and down his cock. he uses all self control to not thrust into your mouth. heeseung hisses through his teeth every time your lips tighten around the tip of his dick, feeling somewhat more sensitive than he usually is. 

a guttural moan rips from his throat when your hand comes up to squeeze his balls, offering a helping hand in making him cum soon. time was ticking. but heeseung did not care whatsoever, especially after that move.

he almost wishes he knew how fucking good you were at giving head before all of this. your mouth was so warm, wet and tight around his cock–he was in heaven. heeseung genuinely thinks this is one of the best blowjobs he’s ever gotten. his hips buck, suddenly pushing his cock deep inside of your mouth and hitting the back of your throat. you cough around his cock in surprise but it only spurs your best friend on.

maybe it was the fact that you’re his best friend. sure, it’s not taboo by any means, but there are lines that are never to be crossed in these sorts of relationships–holy shit, heeseung was on cloud 9. 

“oh my god,” he whines, “you’re so good at this. fuck–god, don’t stop.”

his words, his moans, his whines–they all send tingles down your spine and straight to your core. you can’t deny the throb in your cunt though. 

you continue to squeeze and fondle his balls as you let heeseung completely guide your head deeper onto his cock, thrusting his hips upwards and meeting your mouth halfway. your other hand grips his thigh, keeping you stable and relaxed as he abuses your throat with the head of his cock. 

the groan that leaves your mouth when he tugs your hair tighter is accidental, you look up at heeseung. he looks beautiful like this. a pink blush across his cheeks, damp forehead, and hazy eyes. you were surely dripping through your panties now. 

“yeah? you like t-this too, huh?” heeseung spits out. now you’re almost jealous of every woman he’s managed to pull, because fuck did that just turn you on even more. “want me to use your mouth however i want?”

you moan in response, nodding your head. heeseung lets out a long exhale as he shoves your head down his cock again. tears line your eyes and threaten to spill over, trying to relax your throat to take him completely. 

“y-you’re taking me so good, y’know that? so good, baby.”

immediately, your hand that was once on heeseungs thigh is making its way down and into your shorts. you were soaked. 

heeseung lets out another choked moan when he notices your hand in your shorts, circling your clit as you let him fuck your throat. how badly he also wishes you would just take those stupid shorts off and let him see exactly what you’re doing, he yearns to see you play with yourself one day. 

“playing with yourself while you let me use this pretty mouth…” heeseung groans, lifting your head for a mere second before pushing you down his cock again. your hand tightens around his balls and he almost whimpers at the sensation. “you like this just as much, fucking pervert.”

you let out a whine, tears falling down your cheeks, you were already so close.

heeseung gets rougher, guiding your head much faster than before. your lips were burning and there was spit completely covering your other hand. but still, you continue to suck and lick at his cock as if it were your last meal, letting him force his way down your throat. 

“‘m so close. so fucking close.” now you're both whimpering. “fuckfuckfuck, gonna cum soon, baby. keep going, please, hah–you feel so fucking good.”

his words were enough for you to hit your peak, an orgasm washing through your body immediately. you’re squirming and whining, sending vibrations down heeseungs cock. 

“ah, fuck,” he continues to let words fall out of his mouth in the form of broken moans, “y-yeah, ‘ts so good. feels so good.” heeseung suddenly pushes your head all the way down, your nose making contact with the soft hair as the base of his cock, and he cums. 

thick, hot ropes of cum covering the back of your throat. you’re gagging and choking at the full feeling, wanting to pull back so badly, but he doesn’t stop–not until he’s milked dry. 

after what feels like an eternity, he lets go and you pull back, gasping and coughing but swallowing most of his cum in the process. your hands fly to your neck as you massage it and catch your breath.

heeseung on the other hand was breathing heavily. that was the best orgasm he’s ever had.

“holy fuck.”

you look up at the male, who seemed like he was about to pass out, “hee, you have to go.” your voice is raspy and weak. 

“i can’t.” he responds, out of breath. “that was amazing. i can’t move.”

you stand up and pull him up with you, balancing him when he stumbles forward. “seriously, you have to go now.” now you’re putting his cock away for him, he hisses loudly at the feeling but you ignore it and zip up his jeans. “now.”

heeseung sighs and looks down at you, “did you.. get off like that?”

you tighten your lips and nod hesitantly.

“god. god, you’re amazing.” he breathes out, wanting nothing more than to throw you down on the bed and fuck you until he physically cannot. “please, please be here when i get back, i’m literally begging you.”

you nod at him, reassuring him that you’ll be here when he’s done as you usher him out of the hotel room. “i will, hee. just go.” you suppose this is what best friends are for after all.

“and do not show up to the comp tonight or i will be hard the entire fucking time.”

[ghostedbunnie]

nightmare in the daylight

knight!ghost x fem!reader

based on my prompt that you can find here.

warnings: non-con/dub-con, size kink, spanking, oral (f.receiving), fingering (f.receiving), thigh riding, biting, creampie, breeding kink

a/n: i feel so rusty so please be gentle i rewrote this way too many times, it was a lot longer and had more plot but i might just end up writing pt.2 if there is interest, I added a tag list for those who wanted to see this! 🫶

Ghost hadn't anticipated encountering a robbery on the forest trail while en route to collect his king's future wife. It was unexpected but not unwelcome; he was yearning for a skirmish, for blood and broken bones. The recent tranquility had left him restless. These bandits wouldn't pose much of a challenge, but they would at least satisfy his craving.

The skies began to pour as soon as he dismounted from his horse, startling the highwaymen. They were engaged in a one-sided fight with a few knights who had undoubtedly been sent to protect the carriage on its way to his kingdom. Before any of them could react to his arrival, heads started rolling. Chaos erupted once more, with screams of terror cutting through the forest and startling the remaining fauna.

After the final enemy fell to a sword through his abdomen, Ghost approached the carriage with slow, deliberate steps. As he opened the door, he was taken by surprise as a curtain was thrown into his face and a shard of glass was aimed for his neck by a scrawny, wild-looking maid. Despite your trembling, there was a fierce determination in your eyes, a vow that you would not give up without a struggle. Beneath his face plate, the corner of his mouth curled up, and with a wry snort, he deflected the shard from your bleeding hand. Seizing you by the back of your neck like a feisty kitten showing its claws, he pulled you out of the carriage and dropped you onto the chilly, muddy ground. As he turned back to the carriage to retrieve the princess, he realized she was no warrior; she had fainted at the sight of his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

As he carries your mistress to his horse, you launch at his back, kicking and screaming, trying to make him let her go. He unceremoniously deposits her on the horse like a sack of potatoes. Finally, he turns back to catch your hands, which have been beating at his back, with one of his much bigger hands. Your eyes go wide with terror as the reality of your position with this beast sinks in. He can't help but relish in the look of you now, wet hair sticking to your face, wild eyes, and scratches on your cheek from the broken glass. You look like a tasty meal for his beastly appetite and he's been starving for far too long. You are unaware of it but attracting his attention will be the worst mistake of your life. As he draws you closer with your bound wrists, he whispers into your ear so that you can hear him over the pouring rain, “Yer brave but stupid, girl.” After that, he hits the back of your neck and everything goes black.

The next thing you know, you are standing in front of the king who explains the entire situation. However, somehow that doesn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach, especially when the king mentions a reward for the behemoth of a man towering over you. He is still covered in blood, and daylight doesn't make him any less terrifying. He stalks around like a nightmare in black leathers that hug his form tight and emphasize his width. As if sensing your thoughts, he takes a step closer, taking up more of your space, and before you can move away, you catch the last words uttered by the king: “You brought me, my bride, Ghost, it's only fair you get a reward. Take your pick - anything you wish for will be yours.”

A weighty, gloved paw settles on the nape of your neck, causing you to startle. "I'll take 'er." Your mistress immediately starts to protest but despite her objections, the king simply nods and smiles, disregarding you entirely. You have no option but to allow the beast, that he called Ghost, to guide you away with a firm hand on your nape.

After navigating through several twists and turns, you find yourself in an unremarkable room. It contains only the absolute necessities—a bed and very little else. The one thing that draws your attention in the room is the sizeable tub that is still emitting steam, indicating it was just filled a few minutes ago.

Silently, Ghost pushes you towards the tub, and you promptly begin to retreat away from it. You refuse to bathe in his presence. Even though you are just a servant, you are still a virtuous lady.

“Either you go voluntarily or I'll throw you in kickin' and screamin'.” He growls and then says, "I'll relish it either way." You can sense the predatory undertone in his voice. You're fighting a losing battle, as going willingly gives him complete control, yet resisting might provoke an even more... primal response.

You break free from his hold, realizing that he let you go willingly. 

"Can you... turn around?" he scoffs, moving to a chair that creaks under his weight. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he gestures for you to proceed. Though you want to scream or lash out, you hold back, sensing that he's waiting for you to lose control. Instead, you turn around and slowly peel off your muddied and torn dress. As you reach the chemise underneath, you sneak a peek and notice he has removed his helmet and face plate, revealing short dirty blond hair, black coal marks around his eyes, and prominent scars cutting through his lips and brow. Despite his broken nose, he remains strangely alluring, which frightens you. Hastily, you turn back, slide the chemise down, and attempt to hide under the steaming water.

"Good girl," he growls, satisfied with your obedience. Just as the relief that maybe this is all he wanted starts to sink into your bones, it's replaced with dread when you notice he starts shedding his clothes too. He loosens up his dark, blood-stained leathers with ease and deftness you wouldn't expect from a man his size.

"What are you doing?" Panic is evident in your question, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

"Can't bathe with my clothes on," he answers matter-of-factly. Once again, a wave of indignation courses through you, but it's quickly overshadowed by a pang of heat that forces you to rub your thighs together underwater. Your eyes can't help but stay glued to him, just as he did to you when you were taking your dress off. He is now down to his breeches, and when he pulls them down his thick thighs, you audibly gasp when you notice he is not wearing anything underneath. This earns you an amused chuckle, especially when he catches you looking again through your fingers.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, but before your thoughts can drift to what lies between his powerful thighs, he steps into the tub with you. Water spills over the edges, though he doesn't seem to mind. He pulls you close, turning you so your back presses against him, your body nestled between his legs, leaning on his firm chest. The light tickle of his hair brushes against your skin, and his strong arm rests across your stomach, fingers splayed making you feel even smaller. The contact makes you squirm, but as you try to pull away, you only stir the hardening length behind you, making you flush with heat.

“Relax,” he grunts into your ear, more command than a suggestion.

“How can I possibly –ah.” Your reply gets cut off by a moan as his other hand falls from the edge of the tub and wanders between your legs. Your attempts at closing your legs seem futile even with one hand he is strong enough to force his way in and drag his fingers through your folds nearing the opening. Your spine arches instinctively and he answers with a nip to your neck and jaw, while forcing a finger up to the first knuckle in. 

“Gotta loosen you up a bit, pet.” You have no choice but to surrender to his touch as he sinks his finger in and curls it, drawing a moan out of you before you clap a hand over your mouth to keep the sounds in. But all that decorum is forgotten when he adds a second one and scissors them before slowly prodding you with the third making you see stars. The tension building in your body suddenly snaps, sending you reeling, legs going numb and your fingers digging into his arm still wrapped around your stomach. 

With your mind hazy from your first-ever orgasm, you don't even register that he pulls you out of the bath, drying you, and carrying you to the bed in the center of the spacious room. Your body already half asleep.

His gravelly voice pulls you out of your post-orgasmic haze. “Naive, little thing.” Suddenly he is trailing hungry, open-mouthed, and nippy kisses down the length of your body. Marking your neck and collarbones with angry red marks, biting down harder than necessary on the underside of your breast leaving behind imprints of his teeth, and making you hiss when the pain mixes with the pleasure, he licks a trail down your stomach and in a moment of clear-headedness you try to fist his hair and tug him up and away from your center but his hair is cut too short for any leverage. When you lock eyes with him, between your legs forcing them open with hunger and lust written all over his face you try to get away just for him to deliver a loud smack to your outer thigh before dragging you closer and licking a stripe through your folds with a loud guttural groan that you feel more than you hear it.

His thumb circles your clit while he alternates kissing, sucking, and fucking you with his tongue. When your squirming in an attempt to get away turns into grinding your hips against his face, his other hand rests on your stomach adding slight pressure and making you cry out which only spurs him on. The sounds that reverberated through his chest were nothing short of animalistic and when your second orgasm shot through your core, you fell limp against the sheets with a moan that would make you blush if at least half of your brain was still functioning properly. A new wave of panic sets in when you realize that he isn't stopping. On the contrary, he probes you with his fingers in addition to his tongue. You can feel the coil in your lower belly tightening again, heating up with his ministrations.

You plead with him, saying you can't take anymore just for him to disregard it with a growl, “You've got plenty more in ya.” 

You've lost count of how many times you came when he manhandled you around onto your hands and knees propping your hips up with a pillow. You turn to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him standing behind you with his massive hand tugging at his thick, angry-looking, and leaking cock with his eyes glued to your core, still pulsing and wet from all your previous orgasms. Without warning he grabs your hips, aligns the blunt head of his cock with your entrance, and pushes in. Your fingers dig into the sheets from the sheer stretch as you mewl and whimper when he drags himself all the way to slam back in. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time, with every thrust his fingers dig into your hips and you are sure there will be fingerprints left with how hard he is gripping you and the idea makes you wetter. Prompted by the delicious drag of his cock your walls keep tightening around him, as he pushes you closer and closer to your release. One of his muscular arms circles your waist, his chest flush to your back, as his other arm comes to rest next to your head with one of his legs still firmly planted on the floor and the other resting next to you on the bed for better purchase. This new angle combined with the gravelly grunts so close to your ear become your undoing and you hurtle full-force into another mind-numbing orgasm with Ghost following close behind.

“Come f'r me, pet.” Again, not a suggestion but a command and who are you to refuse him? So you do as he says, pussy fluttering from the aftershocks as he fucks you through it, thumb circling your clit before he fills you up, not allowing you to move an inch, keeping your hips propped up and when he pulls out which drags another set of whimpers from you he meticulously pushes his spend back with thick, calloused fingers. “Gotta make sure it takes.” 

If your consciousness weren't slipping away, you'd likely be alarmed, but instead, your eyes begin to close again, and this time, sleep claims you.

You wake to a heavy weight pressing down on your back, and it takes a moment for your mind to catch up with the events of yesterday. When it does, your entire body flushes and you attempt to move out of bed, only to find it futile. You're pinned beneath strong arms marked with scars—some from arrows, large and small, and others older, circular, and still appearing raw.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a thick, muscular thigh presses deeper between your legs, forcing them apart. Without much thought, you begin to grind against it, a primal urge stirring within you. Despite the lingering soreness from yesterday, a fresh wave of need starts to build, and any trace of resistance fades in the face of overwhelming pleasure. It feels shameful, but you can't stop the tentative movements, slowly finding a rhythm—until the sudden flex of his thigh makes you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

“So needy,” he growls close to your ear but there's no trace of anger in his voice, if anything he sounds pleased. “Come on, ride it harder.” He punctuates the sentence with yet another flex of his thigh and a nip to your neck, making you shudder but follow through with his command. As you grind back against his thigh you take a note of his cock stirring, resting heavy and hard between your bare ass. You push against it absentmindedly and find yourself pinned under him, your legs still held apart with his thigh that's now embarrassingly slick with your arousal. The visual of it makes you turn your head away, eyes closed and whimpering. Ghost doesn't like that. His massive paw of a hand grabs at your cheeks, your lips puckering involuntarily while he grunts at you to keep those eyes open for him. As he licks into your mouth, it suddenly dawns on you—this is your first kiss. You had already let this beast inside you before even sharing a kiss, and everything felt so out of order, that it made you want to scream and cry. Instead, you settle on throwing your hands around him and clawing at his back as he aligns himself with your needy, sore pussy and thrusts to the hilt without so much as a warning.

Even after yesterday, the burn of the stretch to accommodate his length makes fresh tears spring up into your eyes and roll down the apples of your cheeks. You swear you see his scarred lips twitch up into a savage smile at the sight of them before he licks them clean off your cheeks with a satisfied groan. In retaliation you dig your nails deeper into his sturdy back, hoping to break the skin and leave a mark that only ends up urging him to fuck you harder, faster. The sounds reverberating in the room drive you crazy; over them, you don't even notice a soft knock at the door but whoever it was scurries away registering the sound of the moans he wrings out of you with one particularly hard thrust that pushes so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Effortlessly he manhandles your legs on his shoulders to hit a different angle. As you struggle with the overwhelming feeling of fullness he leaves a deceptively soft kiss on your ankle before he folds you in half again and wrestles another mind-shattering orgasm out of you and succumbing to one himself, painting your insides with his spent. Pulling out, he doesn't bother moving, he simply rests his head on your chest between your breasts, squeezing the air out of your lungs with the sheer size of him. “Rest now, pet. Plenty of time for more o' that later.”

At that moment, you know there is no turning back; you've been taken, branded from the inside out. You wonder if this is truly so horrible, perhaps this nightmare of a man will drive away all the other nightmares plaguing your mind.

Or perhaps he is even more dreadful than your imagination could have ever conjured.

taglist: @a66-1 , @ghostlythots , @rttxcmt , @september-22-1998 , @fluffysmiko , @gyusbrownie , @bumblebeesfromvenus , @magicalforestcat , @nommingonfood , @tami-doodles , @fateisnotafactor , @m-a-l-a-c-z-a-r-n-a , @nicolebarnes , @msdevil333 , @lilpothoscuttings , @tealeaftallulah , @not-reptilian , @moonfloweronmars , @aliceinwonderland-5678 , @marshmelloe , @i-love-you-just-the-same, @lazyperfectioniste , @tragedyinwaves , @thisisforthebest97 , @talkingcorn , @hxnneydew , @resplendantrosewood , @telvannitea , @the-casual-act , @hello-lemons, @kiwicopia , @just-a-sewer-goblin

[whateveriwant]

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀️)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲

[gay-dorito-dust]

How’d they react to you calling them bro or dude whilst in a pre-established relationship…(platonic/romantic)

Dick: he’s insulted.

Gutted.

He will try to give you the silent treatment for such a shameful thing but ultimately fails as he ends up being the one pawing at you for attention.

‘Do you still like me? Or did you just run out of cute nicknames to call me?’ He’d say one night as your both cuddling in bed together. ‘If it’s the later then I can help you find something, just please spare me and don’t call me dude or bro anymore.’

He’d rather you call him Richard-wait, no he hates that even more because to him you’re not meant to use his fully name, only cutesy nicknames that’d make a grown man sick to his stomach. Nothing else would suffice other than Dickie bird, handsome, babe, hunk, honeybun or anything that wasn’t his name.

He’s go mad or would act delusional and say that everything was fine when everyone could tell that it wasn’t. People who know him have personally came to you and begged you to stop calling him dude/bro because he kept talking their ears off about how his beloved partner is torturing him, which ends up torturing them even more upon hearing about his relationship issues.

Dick would even consult Hayley on what he did wrong, only for Hayley to look at him with those big, big eyes of hers. This was not her level of expertise unfortunately. (Head empty, no thoughts. She can’t do her abc’s guys it’s a real tragedy.)

Jason: ‘I just had my tongue down your throat just now and you had to go and ruin the mood by calling me bro. What the fuck.’ - Jason at some point.

It’s a whole mood killer for him to be honest.

He’s calling you things like chipmunk or sweetheart but here you were calling him dude and bro. He knows for a fact that he’s well and truly out of the friend zone because the shit you’ve done together isn’t platonic in any sort of way.

Thinks Roy had set you up to call him dude or bro behind his back. (He hasn’t)

Jason is petty and will get his own back by referring you as ‘just a really good friend’, ‘buddy o’ mine’ or even worse than both of those; ‘chum.’ 💀

When you go low, Jason was more then willing to go to the depths of fucking hell to the point it had become a game to see who’d call out just how stupid this all was, and at the both of you for ever thinking that this was an excellent idea in the first place.

You’ll probs get punished…I’m just going to leave it there and let your minds guess what that ‘punishment’ was exactly.

Damian:

As much as Damian hates it when you call him Dami, he hates it when you call him dude or bro even more, if that’s even possible.

Damian hates it when you call him dude or bro. He’s not your dude or bro, he’s your partner and he expects no less then darling, my heart or my beloved.

So you calling him dude or bro is more than enough reason for him to give you the silent treatment.

‘Until you learn that I am your partner, I won’t want to be anywhere near you if you’re going to keep calling me your bro or dude. It is a disservice to who I actually am to you.’ He says with a huff and beckons Titus to follow, only for the Great Dane to be left confused as to why his human parents were at a disagreement over something silly.

Also Titus, Ace, Jerry, Alfred the cat, Goliath and BatCow are children of divorce because I said so.

So it’s bests that you apologise while you still can because Damian can hold a grudge unlike any other. Even if you didn’t, you’d still crack first before Damian and quickly put an end to calling him dude/bro.

He just thinks being called a dude/bro when in a pre-established relationship is an insult.

He can take a joke but not when it’s aimed at his relationship. He’s well and truly devoted to his relationship -if we’re to completely ignore the whole being Robin thing- that it might as well be an insult towards him too at this point.

[swordsandholly]

Double Date - Double Down

NSFW | MDNI

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.

A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.

“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.

Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“

“How do you know I’m free?”

“You just said you were!”

You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.

“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“

“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”

“Johnny’s friend will probably-“

“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”

“He won’t-“

“We got a deal?”

She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”

At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.

The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.

“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.

You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…

Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.

“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.

You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.

“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.

You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.

All in all, wayyyy out of your league.

He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”

You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.

Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.

He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”

“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.

“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.

“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”

Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.

You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.

“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.

She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”

In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.

“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”

He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”

“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”

His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”

You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”

“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”

You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”

He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”

Oh.

*Oh*.

You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”

Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.

“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”

“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?

“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”

You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.

“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”

“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.

He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.

“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.

“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.

Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.

“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.

He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”

“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”

“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.

The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?

“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.

“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”

Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”

“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”

“Apparently.”

His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.

Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.

“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.

“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.

You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.

His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.

“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”

He hums, passing you a glass. “Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”

“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”

“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.

“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”

“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”

“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”

“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.

“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.

How convenient.

“Okay.” You whisper.

After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.

At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.

It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”

“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.

Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.

“Simon!”

“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.

“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.

“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.

You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”

You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“Say it back, doll.”

“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.

You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.

“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.

His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”

Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.

Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.

“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.

“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.

He freezes, looking up at you.

“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“

Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”

All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.

“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”

The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.

“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.

Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”

“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.

You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.

“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.

“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.

Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-

“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.

Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”

“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.

For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.

“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.

You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.

“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.

You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.

“Good.”

It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.

You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.

Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.

When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.

“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.

Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”

“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.

He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.

It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.

By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.

Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”

“Didn’t charge it before y’left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.

You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”

“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.

“Are you a psycho?”

“Not generally, no.”

“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.

Simon just scoffs at you.

You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”

“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.

You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”

Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.

“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?

You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”

[luveline]

Hi Jade! Can I request Spencer and Nurse!reader? Maybe they meet when he’s wounded/she’s patching him up?

(Yes I’m a nursing student I promise we aren’t all mean girls 😔)

ty for requesting!! ik ur not all mean of course!!<3 —you meet the cutest FBI agent ever and tend his wounds. fem, 1.5k

One of the small pleasures of your job is when the patients are cute. Not many people come through as handsome as this one. You’re professional nonetheless. 

“What am I seeing you for today?” you ask, holding your hands behind your back. 

Your patient, charted as a Dr. Spencer Walter Reid, twenty nine years old, gives you a tentative smile. “Someone hit me really hard.” 

You can see the bruise forming against his temple. “Yes, I’d say so. Did you know the assailant?” 

“No, but it’s handled.” His smile turns to a grimace. “Uh, I get these, like, debilitating migraines, and I feel like I have one coming on.”

“A head injury could trigger that,” you agree, holding your hands out in front of you, little torch in hand. “Can I have a look?” you ask softly. 

When you’ve been a nurse for some time, you start to categorise people into boxes. All kinds of boxes for different things, but Spencer Reid gets a tick for a few things straight away: shy, pretty, and sensitive to touch. He must not get touched much, or he’s had a bad experience with strangers. He did just get hit in the head, you allow, brushing a sweet, mousy curl away from his head and holding it out of the way as you shine a light into each of his eyes. He flinches hard, but his pupils react as expected. 

Whoever hit him managed to break the skin, upon closer infection of the injury. The skin has turned purple at the edges of his cut. It’ll be a big bruise in just a few hours. 

“Spencer, please tell me if I hurt you, honey,” you say, voice still soft. If he’s got a migraine coming, he won’t want your usual overloud distinction. 

“It’s okay. It hurts, but not more or less when you poke it.” 

“You have a laceration, yeah? It’s about three centimetres long, but deep. I can close it with a butterfly stitch, if you’re okay with that.” 

“Yeah, please. Um, about the migraine–”

“Do you want a tramadol, honey? I think you deserve one.” 

“I can’t have narcotics.” 

You pull back and straighten the hair you’d displaced. “That’s okay, it just means you can’t have the strongest stuff. Most people try to avoid them anyhow. How about tylenol, would that be alright? Or do you avoid painkillers in general?” 

“Tylenol is fine as long as it doesn’t have the codeine with it.” 

You give him a gentle nod. “I’ll make sure it’s the right one. You can even see the bottle, if you like. Would you want them before or after the stitch?” He probably knows, but you add, “It’s not a real stitch. But it might feel tender when I’m poking around.” 

“Anything. Whatever you want to do first.” 

His eyes squeeze closed. You give him a frown he can’t see, and rest your hand on his arm. “Is there someone here with you?” you ask him.

“My friend is coming, I think. There was a lot going on.” 

“That’s okay. I’m not sending you home until I’ve fixed you, Dr. Reid.” 

He smiles, even with his eyes closed, but doesn’t say anything more. You wash your hands and find your bandages. A butterfly bandage, a sterile wipe, and a square piece of gauze to cover it cleanly. His eyes are opening again when you return, ushering him gently down the bed so you can sit on his right side near the injury. 

“What do you do for work?” you ask him. 

“I work for the FBI.” 

“You do?” You tear open the sterile wipe and again pull the curls from his forehead. “This might sting. Please tell me if it hurts too much.” 

“It’s not the cut that hurts.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say sympathetically. Migraines are a tricky business. If he’s already having one, you probably can’t do much to get rid of it, but that doesn’t mean pain relief won’t help. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can.” 

He’s quiet. You wipe around the laceration with careful, concise movements. The cut looks clean enough when you’re done, and it’s so small you won’t irrigate it. 

“Are you an agent?” you ask. 

“Yeah. Special supervisory with the BAU. The, uh, behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Oh, I know,” you say, putting the wrapping and the dirtied wipe into your cardboard bowl. “I think I’ve seen it on TV sometimes, you guys can track the serial killers and stuff?” 

“Mostly that, yeah. Uh, sometimes we find trafficking rings or missing kids. Sometimes we manage hostage situations. It depends on the level of the crisis.” 

“So you’re the big gun.” 

“I guess so. I’m not actually good with a gun.” 

“No one has to be good with a gun to change the world.” You pull the butterfly stitch from the packaging and pick at a finicky end. “I hate guns.” 

He sighs. “I do, too.” 

“They make my job hard. It’s not nice, seeing what they can do to people. It’s awful, really. Spencer, I’m so sorry, honey, I’m just gonna put this on here, it might feel uncomfortable as I pull the sides together.” 

“It’s okay.” 

You pull the plastic of the butterfly stitch on both sides, cinching his cut together promptly. It looks better now you can’t see the inside. 

“I’m gonna cover this with the dressing now. You don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to, it’s a pretty small cut, it was just deep. I’d recommend you try to keep it dry for two days, really, you should keep it covered, but it’s up to you. And if anything happens, if it gets infected, you can always come see me again.” 

You’re mildly flirting, then. Just because he’s nice and shy. It might be a little cruel of you to proposition a man when he’s roughed up, though. 

Spencer, luckily, understands that you’re not trying to harass him. “Thank you.” 

You stand, peeling the plastic from the bandaid and exposing the sticky backing. Slowly, you stroke his hair back from the wound and line the bandaid up. He shivers under your nails. 

“So sorry,” you say, laughing under your breath, “it’s my nails, huh?” 

“It’s okay.” 

“You’re a great patient, Spencer. I’d give you a sticker if I could, I’m not kidding.” 

“You’re a great nurse.” 

“Thank you.” You smooth the edges of the bandaid down for good measure and step away from him to assess him. “How’s that migraine?” 

“Getting worse.” 

“You have them often, you said? Treated or untreated?” 

“Psychosomatic, apparently.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Has your doctor talked to you about CBT?” 

“Some. I don’t really… want it,” he says awkwardly. 

“That’s okay. If it’s psychosomatic as they believe, it might get better with time. How’s the stress in your life?”

“Stressful.” 

“It must be hard, the FBI, everything. Life is hard enough. Stopping serial killers must weigh on your heart.” You smile carefully. “Was there anything else you wanted to bring to my attention? Any other injury, anything that needs urgent care?” 

“I was mostly worried I had a concussion.” 

“It doesn’t seem like it. You’re not nauseous, are you?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

He gets this awful, sad look on his face, it really isn’t nice to see. People come in by themselves all the time but it never gets easier to handle. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, taking his arm into your hand. 

“I’m fine.” 

He had the look of someone who’s always fine. Luckily for him, it’s your job to take care of people, to make sure they’re more than fine. “Okay. I’m gonna get you something warm to drink. Do you like donuts?” 

“Uh–”

“I’m getting a feeling about you. Chocolate frosting, I bet.” 

He smiles, startled and pleased at once. “Yeah.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna get those for you. A drink, a donut, and some much needed Tylenol. You can lay down if you like.” 

He nods but doesn’t move. 

As you’re leaving the room, you cross paths with a handsome man with dark skin and a bright smile. Must be something in the air today, you think. 

“Reid, you okay?” you hear him say. 

“Fine.” 

“You’re pink.” 

“What?” 

“You’re blushing. Oh, you had the pretty nurse, didn’t you?” 

“Shut up,” Spencer whispers sharply. 

“You can ask for her number.” 

“No I can’t, she’s working.” 

“But you want to,” his friend surmises. 

You bite down a smile, giving your head a shake as you go. You need to get a move on. Spencer needs a hot drink, a donut, Tylenol, and a pen. It should be okay if you’re both feeling up to it, right?

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I BITE MY TONGUE, IT'S A BAD HABIT

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai doesn't care about stupid holidays, but when he sees everyone but him being gifted chocolates from you, he starts to find himself severely bothered. it's the principle, he tells himself—nothing more, nothing less, just the principle.... right?

(wordcount: 6.9k; fem!reader, sfw, dazai is jealous and silly. unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: HAPPY LATE VALENTINE'S DAY, take pmreader and dazai being silly teens in love who refuse to tell each other how they feel in words. i had this posted on valentine's day but then turned into a big baby and deleted </3 i am still a big baby but i am a big baby who is going to leave the post up this time HAHAAH

Dazai doesn’t care about stupid holidays. 

In fact, Dazai can count the things he cares about on one hand—he cares about Odasaku and Ango because they’re his friends, he cares about crab because he likes eating crab and he can recite every known fun fact about them off the top of his head, he cares about the arcade a few streets over because his favorite video game is there and he beats Chuuya every time and it’s funny watching him get mad, and he cares about you because you’re also his friend and you gave him a room in your apartment even though he could have his own but is just stubborn about not wanting to be in Mori’s building.

So, he’s not sure why his feet are rooted to the ground in Mori’s office as he stares down at the small round box of chocolates sitting on top of his desk. There’s a note on top of it that’s partially blocked from his line of view, but he can very much see your signature at the bottom of it. 

You complain about Mori all the time, so it doesn’t take him long to put together that there must be a reason why you went out of your way to get him chocolates even though he knows you’ve been busy with some conflict happening in Russia. It’s not Mori’s birthday, and Dazai’s mind quickly tracks back to the stands of chocolate he saw set up on the same corner that the arcade is on.

Valentine’s Day, he realizes, eyes narrowing down on the chocolate.

“Such a dear she is. She dropped it off for me this morning,” Mori sighs when he realizes what Dazai is looking at. “Elise-chan hasn’t gotten me chocolates yet.”

“That’s because you don’t deserve chocolates, stupid Rintarou,” Elise’s familiar pitched voice comes from Dazai���s left—he hadn’t even noticed her sitting on the ground coloring because his gaze was pinned to the chocolate the moment he stepped into the room. Elise looks up at Dazai with a smile that’s just a bit too sweet, “Aw, she didn’t get you any? That’s too bad, Dazai-kun.”

Dazai’s jaw twitches at the snide comment, and he looks away from Elise back to Mori, who looks oddly intrigued by Dazai’s reaction, which is enough to let him know that he’s over-reacting, so he’s quick to smooth out his expression, even if the irritation in his chest continues to swell. He doesn’t even know why he’s so bothered—he doesn’t care about stupid holidays, and he doesn’t care about chocolate. It’s really not a big deal, but he can’t seem to snuff out the growing annoyance.

“I’m sure she’ll give you one later, Dazai-kun,” Mori says with a placating smile that almost sends Dazai over the edge. “No need to fret.”

“I’m not-” he starts to say, but is cut off quickly by Elise.

“Or, maybe she just doesn’t like him enough to give him any,” Elise says with gleeful giggle. “How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?”

Dazai doesn’t take anything anyone says to him or about him to heart, but he especially knows not to take anything Elise says to heart, considering the girl’s ardent distaste for him. He’s never been sure why she hates him so much, but he figures that it’s because he can make her disappear with his ability, and he’s half-tempted to grab her arm and do just that, but he knows it’ll only make Mori even more interested in why he’s so emotional over this. That’s the last thing he wants considering he doesn’t even know why he’s getting so worked up about it.

But what did Elise even mean? Why would you tell them that he forced his way into your life? If anything, you’re the one who forced yourself into his life when you showed up at his shipping compartment during that winter storm a few months ago. He just… capitalized on it, that’s all. You would’ve kicked him out if you didn't want him hanging around, but you didn’t. And Elise is known for twisting the truth, but then… Why didn’t you give him chocolates? That’s the whole point of the holiday, right? To show appreciation for the people in your life?

It’s not the holiday that’s bothering him, it’s the principle. 

Dazai is suddenly ten times more antsy than he was when he first noticed the chocolates. There must be a logical explanation for this—maybe you really are giving him them later, or maybe you’re only giving them to Mori because you have to. Snidely, he notes that the chocolates you gave him looked like they could be bought at a convenience store, so it’s not like you put much effort into it. 

“Elise-chan,” Mori chides, although he still sounds terribly amused, violet eyes glittering as he scrutinizes Dazai. “Don’t say such cruel things. I taught our hime to have good manners, Dazai-kun will get chocolates from her, even if they’re just obligatory.”

Obligatory, Dazai has to force himself not to physically blanch at the word. He thinks he would almost prefer not to get chocolates from you. How are you just going to give obligatory chocolates to someone you live with? You guys are friends, aren’t you? He doesn’t know much at all about Valentine’s Day, but he does know that there’s different types of chocolate depending on your relationship with the person, and he thinks he’ll jump off the roof if you give Chuuya nicer chocolates than him.

Chuuya.

“I have to go,” Dazai says abruptly, turning to leave.

“Goodbye, Dazai-kun,” Mori sings, much to Dazai’s surprise. He was half-expecting Mori to tell him to sit back down so they could go over whatever he was called to his office for. He still doesn’t even know why the man called him up here—maybe it was just to flaunt the chocolates he received, Dazai thinks bitterly. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“I would!” Elise calls after him as he lets the door slam shut behind him, but Dazai doesn’t pay her any mind.

Surely Chuuya wouldn’t have gotten chocolates if he didn’t, right?

———

“Give me those right now.”

Chuuya pauses from where he’s about to pop a round chocolate into his mouth, eyes cutting to the side in irritation when he realizes that Dazai is standing in the doorframe of his office. Dazai is tense and jittery all at the same time—he’s not even looking at Chuuya, he’s staring at the set of chocolates sitting open on his desk and the familiar handwriting on the note next to it. Chuuya’s set is much nicer than Mori’s; they’re his favorite truffles, imported in from Belgium, and there’s a red wine on his desk to go along with it.

It makes Dazai sick. 

“The fuck?” Chuuya asks, sitting up a bit straighter and giving Dazai a weird look before pointedly eating the chocolate in his hand. Dazai’s eye twitches. “What’s your problem this time, you freak?”

“I said give me those right now,” Dazai repeats, inhaling deeply as he takes a few steps closer. “Give me them.”

Chuuya looks a bit concerned now, grabbing the chocolates you gave him and dragging them closer to him. Dazai is undeterred, stalking forward and reaching quickly for them. Chuuya reacts faster, snatching them off the table and holding them close to his chest.

“Fuck off,” Chuuya spits, sounding confused and irritated all at the same time. “What the hell is your problem?”

Dazai could think of an excuse—they’ve been tampered with, poisoned, you accidentally gave him the wrong ones and you sent him here to grab them before Chuuya ate them all—but the only thing that escapes his lips is the same demand.

“Give me the chocolates.”

“What?” Chuuya demands. “No, you fucking psycho, get out of my office.”

Dazai’s hand instinctively twitches in the direction of his gun, and Chuuya catches it from the way his eyes shoot open.

“Yo,” Chuuya says loudly, rising to his feet. “What the fuck, Dazai?”

Logically, Dazai knows that whether he gets the chocolates from Chuuya or not, it won’t change anything. It’s the principle of it that’s the issue. Even if he manages to get his hands on the chocolates, you gave them to Chuuya and you didn’t give them to Dazai, but still, the sight of Chuuya with them is setting Dazai off in ways that he just can’t seem to get under wraps. 

“Give me-”

Chuuya’s face twists in irritation and he slams the chocolates down on his desk before walking around it in Dazai’s direction. Instead of making a smart decision and running out of his office before he can get a faceful of Chuuya’s fist, he takes the opportunity to dart forward and grab the chocolates he put down, throwing them onto the ground and driving his heel right into the box. 

“You bastard,” Chuuya shouts, grabbing Dazai by the collar of his jacket hard and throwing him hard into the side of his desk. Dazai barely withholds a wince as the corner of Chuuya’s desk drives deep into his side, crumpling to the ground hard. Chuuya kneels down to see if there’s anything left to salvage of the chocolates you gave him, but finds himself sorely disappointed. “What’s your fucking issue, Dazai?”

Stubbornly, Dazai doesn’t respond, raising his chin and meeting Chuuya’s gaze, trying to pretend that there is no issue and like he isn’t acting deranged over chocolates. 

Not chocolates, he reminds himself, the principle.

“I knew you were weird about her but jeez,” Chuuya scoffs, picking up the mess of chocolates on his floor, brows furrowed in irritation. “You can’t even handle her giving someone else chocolates on Valentine’s Day. You need some serious fucking help, man. It’s the whole point of the goddamn day. You gonna go around and take everyone’s chocolates, you possessive freak?”

Dazai cringes and can’t stop himself as he asks quietly, “How many people has she given them too?”

Instantly, he knows he’s made a mistake—his voice came out all wrong and Chuuya notices it from the way he squints and frowns. He forces his expression to clear of any possible emotions and rises back to his feet, tilting his head to the side as he dares Chuuya to point out that his voice wavered when he asked the question.

“I don’t fucking know,” Chuuya shrugs, side-eyeing him suspiciously but choosing not to point out the weird tone he asked the question in. “She came in with a ton this morning, figured I was the last since she didn’t have any left with her when she came up here before.”

Oh, Dazai thinks, staring at Chuuya absently. Dazai didn’t anticipate that. At once, both of his theories to explain why you didn’t give him chocolates are disproven, and Dazai falters. If you came in with all of them at once and had none left by the time you got to Chuuya, then all signs pointed to that you’re just not giving Dazai chocolate for Valentine’s Day.

But why? Dazai doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong lately—in fact, he’s barely even had time to talk to you lately because you’ve been busy talking with your informants in Eastern Russia. You spent most days in Tokyo, and by the time you got back to your apartment, Dazai was out on his own missions. He hasn’t had the chance to do anything wrong, unless him just being around you is wrong.

How did she word it again? Oh, yeah, you forced your way into her life, didn’t you?

Elise is known for twisting the truth, she doesn’t usually lie about things—why did you tell them that he forced himself into your life? Do you not want him staying at your apartment? Mori did mention that he taught you to have good manners and he never says anything without there being an ulterior motive behind it. Was he trying to imply that you’re just being polite in letting him stay? Dazai doesn’t know; he’s always struggled to read you, but you’ve always made him feel welcome and wanted more than anyone else. It disconcerted him for a while, but he’s grown used to it in a way that he probably shouldn’t have. 

Now, he’s doubting it all.

Chuuya’s eyes suddenly widen, his small brain clearly realizing something it wasn’t meant to. Dazai’s gaze hardens as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever it is he wants to say, but instead of speaking, the slug snorts. His hand flies to his mouth to smother the noise, but he just can’t stop himself from bursting into laughter. Dazai bristles.

“What?” he demands.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Chuuya howls, eyes tearing up as he laughs so hard that he wheezes. Dazai stiffens but otherwise doesn’t say anything, and that’s evidently an answer enough for him. “God, shitty Dazai, you’d think you of all people would know better. Get the fuck out of my office.”

Dazai doesn’t want to admit he has no idea what Chuuya’s talking about, but he also isn’t going to let Chuuya order him around, so he stands there stubbornly until Chuuya rises to his feet to grab Dazai by the back of his jacket again. Dazai instinctively drives his elbow hard into Chuuya’s chest, but he’s unbothered by it, shoving Dazai forward through the door of his office.

Chuuya gives him a mocking smile and goads, “How about you go ask her why she didn’t give you chocolates?” 

Before Dazai has the chance to shoot back a snide comment, Chuuya slams the door right in his face. It’s not the principle that’s bothering him, Dazai realizes glumly, it’s the implication that maybe he’s been wrong about his friendship with you this whole time.

———

Dazai doesn’t even get out of the main building before he runs into someone else who has chocolates that are definitely gifted by you considering it’s your new partner. Itou Asahi is lounging in the lobby of headquarters with Hirotsu and a few members of the Black Lizards that Dazai doesn’t recognize. Dazai has never particularly liked the man—in fact, Dazai despises him and he despises how you seem to think the world of him—but now, his jaw is tight as he glares at the man from across the lobby.

Itou seems to be able to feel the daggers being shot in his direction. He looks up as he pops a chocolate into his mouth, eyes narrow as he tries to pinpoint who exactly is staring at him so intensely and pauses when he notices Dazai. He nudges Hirotsu, and to Dazai’s horror, he realizes that Hirotsu also has a set of chocolates that he hasn’t opened on the couch next to where he’s sitting with a note that Dazai can’t read from the distance but is the same pale pink parchment that Mori’s and Chuuya’s were written on.

Mori. Chuuya. Itou. Hirotsu. Why not him? What did he do?

Dazai sneers in Itou’s direction when the man lifts his hand and awkwardly waves, turning on his feet to leave the building. He had been planning on going to your apartment to sulk to see if you notice that he’s wildly irritated over the fact that he’s not received chocolates from you, but instead, he’s going to go grab a cheap bottle of whiskey from the nearest liquor store and drown himself in his misery back at his shipping container.

He doesn’t know what he did to you, and he thought if he did something wrong, you would’ve said something to him instead of icing him out. Isn’t that what you preach to him? Communication? Yes, Dazai sucks at it and has made no attempts to be better about it, but since you’re the one preaching it, you should at least have the decency to act as you preach. 

You’re such a hypocrite, Dazai thinks bitterly, his throat feels clogged and his chest feels tight and his side hurts a shit ton—he doesn’t like any of this, and with each passing second, he’s becoming increasingly more bothered by this situation. 

He’s not irritated anymore, he’s just hurt.

———

Dazai doesn’t end up going right to the shipping container. It’s late afternoon on a Friday, so when he’s halfway to the convenience store, he decides to make a pitstop at Bar Lupin to see if Odasaku and Ango are already hanging there. Luckily, one thing can go right for him today, because the two of them are in fact already sitting in their designated stools drinking their alcohol of choice.

Neither of them have said much of anything to him since he’s arrived besides greeting him. He wonders if he interrupted them—very extremely sour, he thinks that he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case considering he seems to be a burden on just about every single person he thinks is his friend. 

“I didn’t think you’d be free today,” Odasaku finally says. “We would’ve texted you.”

“I didn’t have a mission scheduled for today,” Dazai replies flatly, unable to muster the energy to put on an energetic front for the two of them. Usually, he doesn’t need to fake it around them because he does genuinely have a good time with them, but he’s just in such a bad mood because of everything with you and all of the newfound doubts plaguing him that it’s impossible for him to take his mind off of it. “Why would I be busy?”

Odasaku and Ango share a look with one another, Dazai catches the way Ango subtly shakes his head and is instantly suspicious. Odasaku either doesn’t pick up on it or doesn’t care, because he says, “It’s Valentine’s Day. I thought you’d be spending it with…”

Odasaku trails off when Ango’s headshakes become more frequent, but Dazai already knows what he was about to say. Stiffly, he asks, “Why would I spend Valentine’s Day with her?”

Ango’s smile is unsure as he shares another look with Odasaku before turning his attention toward Dazai and prodding, “Did something happen?”

“No.” Neither of them respond to his sharp answer, and after a few moments, Dazai blurts out, “She doesn’t want me living at her apartment anymore.”

“What-” Ango begins before seemingly rethinking his question, letting out a sigh. “Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Dazai says after a second, “but I know.”

“How do you know?” Ango presses. “Did you overhear her talking to someone?”

“Well, no,” Dazai responds awkwardly, “but I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she didn’t get me chocolates,” Dazai finally explodes, voicing the words that have been bothering him all day. “She got Mori chocolates. She got the slug chocolates. She got her moron of a partner chocolates. She even got Hirotsu chocolates, but she didn’t get me chocolates. And Elise said that she told her and Mori that I forced my way into her life. Isn’t that rich? She’s the one that forced her way into my life. I don’t need her, I never did. I just liked her stupid apartment. I could get my own if I wanted to, I just didn’t want to put in the work.”

Dazai thought maybe getting all of his complaints out would make him feel better, but he only feels worse, because half of that isn’t even true. He likes being able to bother you at night instead of rotting alone in his shitty shipping container, and he likes when you make him coffee in the morning before heading out to a meeting. He likes Friday night movies and he likes forcing you to play video games just so he could beat you and brag about it. You told him that you were his friend, so shouldn’t you like doing all of that with him too instead of it being a burden?

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Odasaku asks bluntly, never one to mince his words. Dazai slowly turns his head to look at the older man, barely catching the way Ango briefly shuts his eyes in exasperation. “I mean, you don’t even know if she’s not getting you any yet. You’re just assuming. The day isn’t over.”

Odasaku is usually logical, and he’s one of the few people who Dazai will take the advice of without question, but this time, Dazai shakes his head. He knows that’s not the case, you brought all of your chocolates to headquarters, and you handed them all out and didn’t give any to him. You knew he didn’t have a mission today so it’s not like he was busy, and even if he was, you could’ve given them to him this morning before he left. And either way, it’s not like that explains what Elise said.

“You should head back to her apartment,” Odasaku continues. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“You know what, you’re right,” Dazai says, becoming increasingly more incensed with each passing second. He knew befriending you was a bad idea—nobody actually wants to be Dazai’s friend once they get to know him, it’s been true his whole life, he’s still half-convinced that Odasaku and Ango only humor him because they think he’ll just kill himself. Once people start to see how odd and fucked in the head he really is, they start to distance themselves from him; you can’t distance yourself from him since he’s living with you, so this is just your way of silently telling him you’ve had enough. He knew things would turn out this way, and he hates the way it still makes his chest hurt. He rises to his feet abruptly, “I am going to head back to her apartment—so I can pack my stuff and leave.”

“Dazai,” Ango calls after him, but Dazai doesn’t respond, storming out of Bar Lupin without another word.

He doesn’t need you, he tells himself again, willing the pain in his chest to turn into something more manageable—anger, resentment, but preferably, he just wants to be indifferent. He doesn’t need you and he knew this was going to happen, so it’s time for him to just take the hint and go on his way, back to how things were before you forced yourself into his life.

———

You’re not there when he gets back to your apartment and you’re not there by the time he gets his things together and leaves. He was especially frustrated when he found himself disappointed by that, because he realized he was unintentionally wasting time packing his things because he was hoping you would show up and stop him. 

But you didn’t, so Dazai is now back at his shipping container huddled under a blanket because it’s cold. He’s almost done with his first bottle of whiskey, trying to numb the pain in his side and all of the shitty emotions he just can’t seem to rid himself of. It’s been three hours since he moved his stuff back into his shipping container; you should be back at the apartment by now—it’s thirty minutes off when the two of you watch your Friday night movies, and you’re usually back at your apartment getting snacks together with him by now.

You’ve realized he’s gone by now. Dazai hasn’t checked his phone, mostly because he doesn’t want to know if you cared enough to reach out. If he’s right about all of this, you’ll just take it as a blessing and move on, not wanting to risk an opportunity arising where you’d have to be polite and ask him to come back. As if he would. If Odasaku is right though… No, Dazai isn’t even going to go down that route, the last thing he needs is-

He’s startled when he hears three loud bangs on the metal wall of his shipping container. Instantly, his gaze focuses on the door. He knows it can only be one of two people, because you and Chuuya are the only ones shameless enough to come by without warning. Odasaku and Ango would text first and everyone else is too wary of him to come anywhere near the shipping yard, much less bang right on his door.

“Dazai, open up! What the hell?” He hears you shout from the other side of the thin wall. “It’s cold, come on! What are you even doing out here?”

You came looking for him, Dazai realizes, swallowing thickly. Dazai isn’t often wrong about things, so he doesn’t dare get his hopes up and he doesn’t respond to you. The roll up door rattles as you try to pull it up, but Dazai doesn’t budge to help you. It’s locked, so you won’t be able to open it and Dazai just waits for you to leave so he can go back to sulking in peace. 

“Dazai, come on,” you complain. “What’s wrong? I was waiting for you back at the apartment, why didn’t you come home?”

Though Dazai intended on just ignoring you until you went away, he can’t help the snide comment that escapes his lips, “Home? You mean your apartment?” 

He immediately takes another swig of whiskey, but the burn of the alcohol does nothing to take away from the bitter taste the words leave on his tongue. From the way you pause, you seem to realize something is wrong—extra snidely, he wonders when you became as slow as Chuuya.

“Yeah, my apartment, the place you’ve been living at for three months?” you say incredulously and Dazai winces. “What’s your problem?” 

“My problem?” Dazai asks coolly. “Maybe you should be answering that instead. You’re a hypocrite.”

He knows that will set you off—he’s always been good at getting under people’s skin—and he’s noticed how you bristle whenever Mori hits you with “Now, dear, let’s not be hypocritical.” He can almost imagine the way you go stiff and the way your face goes cold, but it doesn’t bring him the malicious satisfaction he expects.

 Instead, he only feels heavier.

Unfair, he thinks tightly. You’re always so unfair.

“Can you let me in?” you ask after a few moments of silence. Dazai is even more bothered now that he didn’t get the reaction he expected, gaze lowering to the ground. “I’d prefer not to freeze to death out here.”

This time when you ask, Dazai finds himself rising to his feet. He hasn’t drank enough yet to be unsteady, but he can certainly feel the blood rush to his head as soon as he stands up.

He makes his way over to the door, only fumbling once with the lock. He doesn’t slide it open for you just to be petty, but he doesn’t need to anyway—as soon as you hear the lock click open, you’re pulling open the door and Dazai pointedly turns his back to you before you can step in.

“Seriously?” you ask. Much to Dazai’s pleasure, you do sound a bit irritated now. “Dazai, what the hell? Why are you acting so weird?”

“Me?” Dazai demands, voice shrill at the sheer audacity you have coming to his shipping container and insulting him after what you did. Didn’t do. Same thing. He whips around to face you, a barrage of snide comments about to fall from his lips only to hesitate when he sees a fancy box in your hands. “... What is that?”

Your gaze sharpens and your brows furrow. You move the box out of sight behind your back, but Dazai dances around you to try to get a better look at it. The two of you play a game of swivels and twists for a few moments, but Dazai has to call it quits when the pain in his side gets worse and the alcohol goes right to his head. 

You give him a concerned look, but don’t press about the way he winces. Instead, you say, “Tell me what your problem is first. Why are you drinking here alone in the dark?”

“... No,” Dazai says after a second. “What’s in the box?”

Dazai really doesn’t want to get his hopes up, so he chews the inside of his cheek and rocks back and forth from his toes to heels, hands clasped behind his back as he tries to distract himself. You roll your eyes, but your lips curl up into a fond smile that almost eases all of the stress Dazai has felt all day. Almost.

After what feels like an eternity, you pass the box over to him and Dazai immediately darts forward to grab it before you can change your mind. Though he knows what it is before he opens it, he can’t control the relief that floods him when he sees the expensive chocolates sitting inside the box—most of them are shaped in the typical Valentine’s Day heart, but some of them are-

“They’re crabs,” Dazai says gleefully, a genuine smile spreading widely across his lips as he reaches down to pluck one out of the box and pop it into his mouth. The chocolate is soft and creamy, it melts in his mouth the moment it touches his tongue and he lets out a delighted hum. He eats another, and then another after that. “How did you get them crab shaped?”

You don’t answer the question; you stare at the chocolates, conflicted, and Dazai isn’t sure why. You seem to be trying to decide whether or not you want to say something, but you let out a sigh, seemingly deciding against it. 

Instead of whatever you were debating on saying, you rest your hand on your hip and ask him, “Why did you take all of your stuff out of your room?” 

Your room, Dazai swallows the chocolate in his mouth as he tries to figure out how to respond to your question. He doesn’t really want to admit that he had a meltdown triggered by the chocolate that you just handed him, and you do seem genuinely put off by the fact that he left. Maybe he was wrong, he thinks, pressing his lips together as he considers the possibility. He’s hardly ever wrong, but he supposes it wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve managed to surprise him; since the day he met you, he feels like his mind is dulled when you’re around. He hates it.

So, he throws Elise under the bus.

“Elise said that you told her I forced myself into your life,” he says, voice coming out far more bitter than he intended for it to. He raises his chin stubbornly. “I wouldn’t want to keep imposing.”

Your expression flickers momentarily and you look a bit hurt, Dazai immediately swallows another chocolate, hopeful that he’ll swallow the sudden guilt he feels along with it. He doesn’t.

“Mori was trying to get me to convince you to live in the apartment he has set up for you in the main building,” you explain quietly after a few moments, crossing your arms over your chest. “I told him that he was better off trying to convince you himself because it was your decision to stay at mine. I didn’t have much of a say in it.”

Dazai lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and because he has no self control, he starts to ask, “But if you did have a say in it…”

Your expression softens in a way that makes Dazai’s stomach turn in on itself and your eyes flicker down to the box he’s holding before you quickly look back up at him. The box of chocolates in his hands suddenly feels a lot heavier, and his grip instinctively tightens around it.

“I… my apartment is a bit too big to live in alone,” you answer, and then add, “I would prefer you stayed.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, but his gaze does dart down to the three bags of clothes he brought back to the shipping container with him, all still packed. It wasn’t all of his stuff, just enough for it to be noticeable to you when you went to his room looking for him. Maybe he had been hoping you would come bring him back.

“I don’t have a movie picked out for tonight, if you want to pick,” you offer when the silence stretches on.

Dazai glances down at the chocolates you gave him again and then he says, “The Discovery channel has a new documentary on -”

“No.”

“What?” Dazai demands. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I am not watching another crab documentary, Dazai.”

“The last one was good.”

“The last one bored me to tears.”

Dazai rolls his eyes, leaning down to pick up one of his bags and you grab the other two after sending a narrowed look to his left side, slinging them over your shoulder as you step outside of the shipping container. Dazai follows you, rolling the door back down before giving you a mocking look.

“So you just want to watch one of those stupid superhero movies again? The only one actually entertained by them is bird-brained Chuuya, anyone with two brain cells knows how it ends just from the first scene,” he says snidely, enjoying the way you immediately scowl at him.

“Just because you know how it’s going to end doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining,” you argue. “You can be entertained by something predictable.”

“Not me,” Dazai sings as he follows you out of the shipping container yard and to the road. Much to Dazai’s displeasure, he realizes that you did not come here alone—your new partner is sitting in the front seat of the car waiting on the side of the road, scrolling through his phone. Distastefully, he demands, “Why is he here?”

“He drove me,” you say like it’s obvious. “What’s your problem with him anyway?”

“Nothing,” Dazai mutters, making sure to give the older boy a dark look as he slides into the back seat. 

He expects you to get into the passenger seat, but instead you move to sit in the back with him. Before you do, he stiffens as he remembers his clothes were not the only thing he stole from your apartment. Your eyes narrow in suspicion and you place your hand on your hip.

“What else did you take before leaving?”

Dazai sulks at how easily you figured out what the issue is and lies when he repeats, “Nothing.”

“If we get back home and immediately have to come back out here, I’m going to waterboard you, Dazai,” you say flatly.

“I’ve been waterboarded before,” he says stubbornly.

“Not by me,” you threaten.

 Dazai sighs dramatically, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

“I stole all of the remotes in the apartment,” he admits, shifting to push himself up to walk back over to the shipping container, wincing again when he shifts the wrong way. He pauses when you roll your eyes and hold your hand up to stop him.

“I’ll get them,” you say. “Stay here.”

“Don’t leave me with him,” Dazai complains, but you slam the door in his face.

Instantly, the light and playful expression drops from his face as he turns his attention to the rear view mirror, eyes locking with Itou Asahi. The blonde raises his eyebrows tauntingly, as if he’s daring Dazai to say something to him, and Dazai has half a mind to reach for the gun stuffed in the pocket of his black jacket. He refrains if only because he doesn’t want to piss you off even more.

After a moment, Itou twists in his seat to look at Dazai. Dazai’s eye twitches in irritation, realizing that he’s about to speak to him.

He nods to the box of chocolates. “She spent a month at my place trying to get it right.”

Though Dazai planned on ignoring him, he can’t stop the quiet, “What?” that slips from his mouth.

“The chocolates,” Itou says like Dazai is stupid, which irritates him but he’s still confused so he’s forced to wait for him to explain. “She tried custom ordering the crab shaped ones but had a tantrum because they looked ugly. So she spent a month learning how to make them so she could mold them on her own. She only just finished this batch today—still isn’t satisfied with how they came out, but ran out of time.”

Dazai’s throat swells up as he stares down at the chocolates, an odd warmth spreading through his chest that he can’t snuff out. Scrutinizing them more carefully now, he sees all of the tiny imperfections that wouldn’t be there if you’d store bought them—the hearts aren’t all perfectly even, some of the legs on the crabs are longer than others, there’s an indent on the back of the heart shaped chocolate he’s holding like you’d touched it while it was too soft.

His fingers close around it carefully, lips parting to speak but he can’t find any words. When did you have the time though? You’ve had so many missions lately-

Oh.

“All the missions in Tokyo…”

“Her missions were learning how to fucking make chocolate and they were in my apartment, not Tokyo,” Itou scoffs. “I’m never going to be able to eat chocolate again in my life the amount she’s force fed me. I can hardly stand the smell of it now. I had to send her to Nakahara for him to taste test the last few batches.”

Dazai’s gaze sharpens, obscenely bothered at the thought of Itou Ashi and Nakahara Chuuya being your taste testers and Itou is complaining about it. “You should be grateful you got to try her chocolate,” he snaps immediately.

Itou’s jaw drops and he immediately shakes his head. “You two are so fucking-” he starts to say but cuts himself off when he sees you approaching the car again. 

Dazai squints at him, almost wanting to dare him to continue, but his expression lightens when you open the door, remotes in hand and an irritated expression still painted on your face.

He only moves over enough to give you room to sit instead of moving to sit behind the driver’s seat. You squint at him, but Dazai gives you a small smile and says quietly, “My chocolates are much nicer than Chuuya’s.”

Your expression immediately softens and your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze—the telltale sign of you being flustered. Dazai’s lips part to say something else, but no words come out, gaze pinned on the pretty glow the moonlight casts over your face. You look like you want to say something as you look down at the chocolates again, but again, you seem to decide against it.

“How do you even know what Chuuya got?” you ask suddenly, clearing your throat. Dazai freezes. “And what happened to your side? Every time you move you’re wincing.”

“I… stopped by his office and saw them?” he offers, his next smile is too sweet, and you catch it from the way your eyes narrow. Defensively, he says, “The slug didn’t deserve chocolates from you.”

“Oh my god, Dazai,” you complain, burying your face in your hands. 

Dazai’s face flames up, and he shoots a dirty look in Itou’s direction when the older boy bursts into laughter. 

“Slugs can’t eat chocolate,” Dazai insists. “I was helping him, really.” 

“I can’t stand you,” you sigh, but when you shift in your seat, you shift so that you’re sitting a little closer to Dazai, shoulder pressed against his and thighs knocking together.

He glances down at the box of chocolates in his lap again, and the chocolate heart resting in his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, he passes it over to you. You give him a questioning look, but Dazai pointedly looks away as he wills his cheeks not to reflect his flustered thoughts, waiting for you to take it. His breath catches when your fingers brush his hand as you take it from him.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

Instead of directly responding, Dazai prods, “So, about the crab documentary…”

You let out a heavy sigh as you side eye him. “Fine,” you agree, “but you’re doing the garbage this week.”

“What?!” he demands. “It’s not my turn.”

“The price you pay for forcing me to watch nature documentaries for movie night.”

“It’s not just nature, it’s crabs.”

“Deal or no deal?”

“Fine. Deal.”

“Good,” you say with a saccharine smile that Dazai doesn’t like because he knows you’re thinking something bad. “Deal.”

After a few moments, you add, “I would’ve put it on even if you didn’t agree.”

“I’m going back to my shipping container.”

You laugh loudly, and Dazai’s heart skips a beat at the sound of it. He very much ignores the way Itou shoots an amused look back at them, focusing instead on the way your eyes glitter as your laughs fizzle into soft giggles.

“As if,” you say, knocking your shoulder into his. “I’ll just drag you back again. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

His lips curl up into a small smile in response to your words, gaze dropping back down to the chocolates sitting in his lap, and then back to you.

“Will you?” he asks quietly, a bit too seriously.

Your smile softens, and Dazai’s heart lodges right in his throat. “Count on it.”

[delphi-shield]

SAY IT BACK ↪ letting them leave without an ily

finishing up some smaller things from my wip folder before i buckle down and work on the big stuff again. here's this doofy little fluff piece.

characters included: chris redfield, leon kennedy, jill valentine, ada wong

content: fluff. just fluff. established relationship. mildly ooc behavior for the sake of fluff (also known as being in a relationship and acting stupid)

You found it on TikTok - or maybe it was Instagram, or Facebook - doesn't matter. One of the media conglomerates had given you a horrible idea about how to tease your loving, devoted partner.

It's simple - when they said 'I love you' before they left for work, you just wouldn't say it back. What could go wrong?

Chris Redfield ↪

Did not notice. Secure. In his lane. Unbothered. Probably not moisturized. (Get him a nice oil, fragrance free. He'll like it more if you massage it into his muscles for him, spend a little extra time smoothing along the curve of his spine, up and over the tightness of his shoulders.)

If you're at the point with Chris where he's saying “I love you” in place of a goodbye, he doesn't need to hear you say it back. He's confident in your relationship. Hearing it is just a nice bonus.

You're going to get your own feelings hurt here. Sent yourself into a spiral. Like, damn, does he not listen? Does he not care? What the fuck is his deal?

Chris is legitimately confused when you bring it up to him later. Doesn't get the point of the whole thing. “Why wouldn't you just say you love me?” Head cocked to the side, so puppy-like you can practically see the velvety ears flopping over.

Really doesn't do the whole social media thing. Even when you show him videos as an example, he's just shrugging. "I'm pretty sure those are skits, honey. No one really reacts like that."

If only he knew. Hey - at least now you know that Chris is perfectly content in your relationship and won't let anything silly like this bother him. It's just a sign to ramp up the pranks - more practical jokes, less subtle, harmless emotional manipulation.

That's what you thought, at least, but when Chris flips the light off that night and sidles up behind you in bed, strong arms slipping around your middle and tugging you back to him, his voice rumbles in your ear - "You gonna tell me you love me, or is this gonna be a problem?"

And Chris is really good at extracting confessions. How badly do you actually want to get some sleep tonight?

Jill Valentine ↪

Doesn't seem to have noticed that you ignored her. Walked right out the door without missing a step, didn't even glance back. Her car pulls out of the garage, her sunglasses on - she seems entirely unbothered.

Oh, she’s bothered.

Jill Valentine is Not Petty™️. And she does not pout when her partner doesn't say ‘I love you’ back. She's in a pissy mood at work for a completely unrelated reason. She's not returning your texts because she's busy at work, not because she's trying (and failing) to give you a taste of your own medicine.

She definitely doesn't carry that storm cloud all the way home with her, doesn't rain on your parade when you cheerfully announce that dinner's ready and on the table.

You're trying everything you can think of to cheer her up. Asking about work got you a noncommittal shrug. You'd offered to draw a bath for her - or (preferably) for the both of you, but she'd dismissed the idea, talking about how it would take up too much time.

She didn't have the heart to shrug you off when you started massaging her shoulders. Despite your silence in the morning, you were clearly intent on taking care of her. Maybe nothing was wrong. Maybe you just hadn't heard her.

Her palm presses against your cheek, turns you to face her. She searches your eyes for a moment, her gaze unreadable. "Thanks for dinner. I love you."

Nothing. Fucking nothing. "You're welcome."

Jill knows that look on your face, that shit-eating grin that you're trying to cover up by glancing down, by pretending to be flustered. Her hands grip your hips. She manhandles you into her lap, chair scraping against the floor to make room for the both of you.

"Okay - spill. What's up with you?"

Once you explain, she's not mad about the whole thing, not really. But you can't help but notice that she's been withholding kisses lately, and-- wait.

Fuck. Now she's turned the tables on you.

Leon Kennedy ↪

Keeps finding new and inventive ways to double back inside the house. He's not going to outright ask you what's up - that would make him look desperate, which he’s totally not. He’s definitely not concerned at all that you didn’t complete your morning ritual and send him out the door with an ‘I love you’. He’s a big boy - this isn’t high school, this is his very mature, very adult relationship.

Excuse number one: “Sorry, forgot my keys,” as he makes a show of dropping his keys out of his pocket, onto the living room floor. His eyes are on you when he reaches to grab them. Leon tosses them in his hand, making as much noise as he possibly can. “All right, love you.”

You hold strong. Still no ‘love you’ back. He’s gone for all of 60 seconds when he comes back with excuse number two: “Ah, damn, forgot my badge. I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

His badge is attached to his belt. You can literally see it. When you point that out to him, he makes a show of being relieved, goes so far as to press a kiss to your temple, and says, “God, what would I do without you? Love ya. Have a good day.”

But you hold strong. Until excuse number three:

“Babe, have you seen my gun?”

You laugh, which only makes him laugh - and then he hits you with ‘no, seriously’ while he leans against the doorway, hip cocked. He’s got you figured out by now, knows that if he can make you laugh then you’re not doing this because you’re mad at him or anything. He can't even be mad when you explain it to him. He can only warn you:

"I'm gonna get you for this. Now, c'mon - say it."

Ada Wong ↪

I don't know why you would do this to her to be honest. She just said ‘I love you’. You should be marking your calendar and turning this into a holiday.

She doesn't say it often, at least not while you're conscious. Whether she presses her sentiments into your hair while you sleep against her, drooling against her collar bone, is up for debate. You have no hard evidence and she'll deny the allegations.

It simultaneously is and is not a big deal. She didn't say it because she craved the validation of having you repeat it to her. She said it because she meant it. There's so few concrete truths about herself that she can share with you, but that was one of them. Does it sting a little not to have it returned? Maybe.

She turns the moment over and over in her head, letting it haunt her. You had given her time, she thinks, why can't she give you yours? But your silence is a specter that tinges every moment. It creeps at the edges of every thought, it–

“Hey, you forgot your coffee.”

She turns to see you in the door of your apartment, hanging from the frame with one hand, her cup extended to her in the other. She clicks back to you in her stilettos, and your press a kiss to her cheek when she claims her drink. The guilt of it all ate at you before you could let her leave your sight. “Love you. Be safe.”

She'd spiraled before she even got down to the parking lot. Total loser in love.

[passengerprincessblog]

“Trophy Room” Lando Norris x Reader

Warning: smut, NSFW, alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex.

Summary: Lando Norris throws a party in hopes of getting closer to Y/N, a girl he’s been crushing on, introduced by mutual friends. Amid drinks, dancing, and flirtation, their chemistry culminates into a moment away from the crowd, hinting at something deeper between them.

WC: 2,000?

Lando’s POV

The two weeks off couldn’t have come at a better time. After months of relentless training, race prep, and following a strict diet, I was ready to relax a bit. It’d been ages since I let loose, and tonight was all about unwinding. But honestly, the real reason I was throwing this party had less to do with relaxation and more to do with her. Y/N.

I don’t know what it was about her—something about the way she laughed or how she didn’t seem fazed by the chaos around her. She’d come into my life through Max and Pietra, his girlfriend, and since then, I’d found myself scrolling through her Instagram, even browsing her Spotify playlists just to feel like I knew her a little better. I was surprised to find out she didn’t have a boyfriend. Not that I was checking specifically… but, okay, maybe I was.

The music was already pumping as people filled my penthouse. My mate Martin was on the DJ deck, setting the perfect vibe, and the drinks were flowing freely. The weight of the day’s workout still lingered in my muscles, but the buzz from a couple of shots was loosening me up. I was taking a shot with Max when I saw her walk in, and—well, let’s just say I almost choked on my drink.

I couldn’t stop myself from calling out to her. “Y/N! Shot?” I grinned, holding up the vodka bottle.

Y/N’s POV

Walking into Lando’s penthouse, I immediately felt a bit overwhelmed. The place was packed, and the music was loud enough to make the floor vibrate. I scanned the room for Pietra; she was the one who convinced me to come in the first place, promising me a fun night and a chance to unwind.

Before I could find her, though, I heard my name being called. I looked over and saw Lando, smirking, with a bottle of vodka in hand, waving me over. He had this look in his eye that told me he was already a little tipsy. The group around him started chanting my name, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, okay… fine!” I made my way over, and Lando immediately started pouring me a shot, spilling a bit as he did. He was definitely drunk, and he was being flirty in a way that caught me off guard.

“Don’t look so scared, it’s just vodka,” he teased with a grin. “Come on, cutie… I’ll pour you an extra large one.”

I laughed, trying to hide the fact that his confidence was making me blush. “I think I can handle it, thanks.” I downed the shot, my face scrunching up as the vodka burned its way down.

He burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, was it that bad?” He watched me, his gaze lingering a little too long, and I felt his eyes sweep over me. It was like he was taking in every detail, from my dress to the way I was reacting to him.

“You never followed me back, by the way,” he said, pouting in a way that was both ridiculous and kind of cute.

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “Didn’t know you were checking, Mr. Norris.”

“Oh, I’ve been checking,” he replied, leaning closer. “Just waiting on you to notice.” His words were playful, but his eyes had a glint that made my stomach flutter.

He poured me another shot before I had a chance to protest, grinning as he held it out. “One more. Think you can keep up?”

I raised an eyebrow, taking the glass. “Are you challenging me?”

“Maybe,” he smirked. “Let’s see if you can handle it.”

I took the shot, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through me. The music seemed louder, the lights dimmer, and everything around me just felt more alive. I was definitely feeling the buzz now.

As more people arrived, the party got even more crowded, and every time Lando moved away, I’d find him gravitating back toward me, like he wasn’t content unless he was close. Eventually, he reached for my hand and pulled me toward the makeshift dance floor.

“Come on!” he yelled over the music, his grin infectious.

I laughed, letting him lead me, and he immediately started dancing, his movements exaggerated as he tried to make me laugh. His energy was electric, and soon I couldn’t help but match his enthusiasm. At one point, a few people bumped into me, and he quickly grabbed my hips, pulling me closer. I could feel his breath on my ear as he leaned in.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmured, smirking as he looked down at me.

My face heated up at his words, but he was already pulling back, that same cocky smile on his face. “What?” I challenged, trying to keep my cool.

He shrugged, giving me a look that was equal parts daring and mischievous. “Just stating facts.”

Before I could respond, he tilted his head, giving me a mischievous grin. “Wanna see something cool?”

“What do you have in mind?”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I wanna show you my trophies.” He held my gaze, and even in his drunken state, I could feel the sincerity in his eyes.

I felt my stomach twist in excitement and nerves, but before I could second-guess, he grabbed my hand, leading me down a hallway. His fingers laced through mine, and I could feel the warmth of his hand, grounding me in the moment.

He opened a door to a room that had a display case filled with trophies, awards, and helmets. The room felt quieter, the music from the party faint in the background, and for a moment, it was like we’d stepped into a different world. He watched as I took it all in, a proud but slightly shy expression on his face.

“You’re really good at what you do,” I said softly, looking back at him.

He shrugged, his usual confidence wavering slightly. “It’s just racing… I dunno, sometimes it feels like people only see this side of me, y’know?”

I nodded, understanding more than I expected. “Well, it’s impressive. But I think I’m seeing another side of you tonight too.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “You mean the drunk idiot?”

“No,” I laughed. “The Lando who cares, who’s goofy and… real.”

His gaze softened, and he stepped closer. “I’m really glad you came tonight, Y/N.”

My heart pounded as he looked at me, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something warmer, something… real. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, his hand lingering for a moment.

Without thinking, I found myself leaning in, and he met me halfway, his lips soft and warm against mine. It was a gentle kiss, both of us testing the waters, but as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer, the kiss deepened, filled with the energy and intensity that had been simmering between us all night.

He pulled me closer, his drunken confidence fueling his actions. With a sudden force, he pushed me back against one of the trophy cases, his lips hungrily claiming mine. I was taken aback, not expecting this level of intensity from Lando. His teeth nipped at my bottom lip, sending a shiver down my spine as he sucked on it fervently.

His hands roamed down my body, finally settling on my ass. He gripped it tightly, pulling me flush against him. I could feel his hardness pressing against my core, evidence of his desire for me. My mind was reeling, trying to process the abrupt change in our dynamic. I hadn't realized Lando wanted me this badly, but I found myself responding to his touch, my body melting into his.

As he continued to kiss me passionately, I felt a sense of excitement and nervousness coursing through me. This wasn't what I had anticipated for tonight, but the thrill of the unexpected was intoxicating. His hands slid under my dress, caressing my thighs, inching closer to my most intimate area. I let out a soft moan, the sound muffled by his lips against mine.

Lando abruptly pulled away from our heated embrace, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. He grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the trophy room, his steps hurried and determined. We stumbled down the hallway, our laughter echoing off the walls as we made our way towards his bedroom.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, he pushed me onto the bed, his body following suit. He hovered over me, his eyes dark with desire and his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. "You're so fucking beautiful," he slurred, his words slightly jumbled. "I want to devour you, my little puppy."

I couldn't help but giggle at his drunken attempt at dirty talk. "You're drunk," I teased, playfully swatting at his chest.

He chuckled, his hand grasping mine and pinning it above my head. "Maybe I am, but I know what I want, and I want you. All of you." His other hand trailed down my body, slipping beneath my dress and caressing my skin.

I squirmed beneath his touch, a mix of anticipation and arousal coursing through my veins. "Then take me," I whispered, my voice laced with desire. "Show me what you've got, Lando."

With a growl, he captured my lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth with a fervor that left me breathless. His hand continued its exploration, sliding up my thigh and teasing the edge of my panties. I gasped into the kiss, my hips instinctively bucking against his touch.

Lost in the heat of the moment, I surrendered myself to Lando's drunken passion, eager to see where the night would take us.

Lando's lips trailed hot kisses down my neck as his hands continued to explore my body. He nipped and sucked at my sensitive skin, leaving a trail of marks that I knew would be visible in the morning. His drunken dirty talk continued, each word sending a shiver down my spine.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he mumbled against my skin, his hands fumbling with the hem of my dress. "I want to taste every inch of you, my little puppy."

I could feel his eagerness, but I noticed him struggling with my dress. A mischievous idea formed in my mind, and I gently pushed him back onto the bed. He looked up at me with a confused yet amused expression.

"Let me help you with that," I purred, my fingers deftly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. His smirk grew wider as he watched me take control.

"Little puppy's not so shy now, huh?" he teased drunkenly, his voice low and husky.

I hooked my fingers into his waistband and slowly pulled his jeans down, revealing his hardness straining against his boxers. "Not when I've got you right where I want you," I replied with a wink.

I leaned down, my hair falling around us like a curtain as I pressed soft kisses along his inner thigh. His hands tangled in my hair, tugging gently as I worked my way closer to his aching member.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're driving me crazy," he groaned, his hips bucking slightly.

I looked up at him through my lashes, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. "That's the idea," I whispered before taking him into my mouth, my lips wrapping around his shaft as I began to work him with my tongue.

I continued to suck on Lando's hardness, my tongue swirling around his shaft as I took him deeper into my mouth. His moans filled the room, his fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me as I pleasured him. I was surprised by my own boldness, but there was something about Lando that made me feel comfortable and confident.

As I bobbed my head up and down, I felt a surge of pride when I tasted his precum. It was a sign of his pleasure, and I reveled in the knowledge that I was the cause of it. However, before I could continue, he gently pulled me off and flipped me onto my back, his body hovering over mine.

He moved to check his drawer for a condom, but after a few moments of rummaging, he cursed under his breath. "Can I... please fuck you? With nothing..." he asked drunkenly, his voice laden with desire.

My face heated up at his request, and I felt a mix of uncertainty and need coursing through me. I knew the risks, but in that moment, all I could think about was how badly I wanted him. His lips trailed kisses along my neck, his hands caressing my skin as he waited for my response.

"Lando," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are you sure? We shouldn't..."

But even as the words left my lips, I knew I was already lost in the heat of the moment. His touch ignited a fire within me, and I found myself craving more. I hesitated for a moment longer before finally giving in to my desires.

"Okay," I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest.

A triumphant grin spread across his face as he positioned himself at my entrance. "You won't regret this, pretty girl," he promised, his voice thick with lust.

And with that, he thrust into me, filling me completely. I gasped at the sensation, my nails digging into his back as he began to move inside me. The feeling was intense, overwhelming, and I knew there was no turning back now.

Lando continued to thrust into me, his movements fueled by a mix of lust and alcohol. His hands roamed my body, caressing every curve and dip as he lost himself in the pleasure of our intimate connection. I moaned softly, my hands gripping the sheets beneath us as I surrendered to the sensations coursing through me.

Suddenly, his hand slipped between our bodies, his fingers finding my sensitive clit. He rubbed it gently, his touch sending waves of pleasure through my core. I gasped, my hips bucking against his hand as he skillfully brought me closer to the edge.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he slurred, his drunken dirty talk mingling with the sounds of our lovemaking. "I love how you feel around my cock, baby. You're taking it so well."

His words only heightened my arousal, and I found myself clinging to him, urging him on. I could feel my orgasm building, the pressure inside me growing with each passing second. With a final stroke of his fingers and a particularly deep thrust, I came undone, my body shaking with the intensity of my release.

Lando followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled his seed deep inside me. He collapsed on top of me, his breath hot against my neck as he tried to catch his breath. For a moment, we lay there, our bodies intertwined and our hearts racing.

Slowly, he rolled off of me and pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me in a tender embrace. He kissed my cheek softly, his touch gentle despite his inebriated state. "Was that okay, baby?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically sweet. "Do you need anything? Water, a towel, my bathroom is all yours."

I smiled, touched by his consideration. "I'm good," I assured him, snuggling closer.

As we caught our breath, Lando helped me pull my dress back down, his hands gentle and slightly unsteady due to his inebriated state. He reached up to fix my hair, his fingers combing through the tangled locks with a tenderness that belied his earlier drunken fervor. A smirk played on his lips as he admired his handiwork, clearly pleased with himself for finally getting the girl he had been crushing on.

"Maybe you'll follow me back now, huh?" he joked, referring to the fact that I hadn't followed him on Instagram. "I mean, after that performance, you owe me at least a like or two."

I laughed, shaking my head at his audacity. "We'll see," I teased, not wanting to make any promises just yet.

Lando took my hand and led me back to the party, his arm draped casually around my shoulders.

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