#he is sitting very politely but also very dramatically

[venom-ass-daily]

From Venom: Sign of the Boss issue #2

[pooks]

(Fred and George trying to convince Percy to return home after he "ran away" in OotP) Fred: Just come back home again! George: We'll let you boss us around again~! Percy: I don't know...you're probably just saying things I want to hear. Fred: We are! George: And it's working! Fred: Come on, buddy! Percy: ...will you help me clean my old room? Fred: How about we promise to do that... George: But we just convince Ron to do that instead. Percy: Ah, good old twins.

[cherry-leclerc]

cherry cola ☆ op81

genre: smut, humor, yearning, tiny bit of fluff, virgin!reader, innocent!reader, experienced!oscar, sub!reader (for a while!), dom!oscar (for a while!)

word count: 8.5k

After a painful break up, Oscar finds himself head-to-head with an enticing girl, filled with pure innocence. Also known as, his parents secret weapon, and his worst temptation.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...f!receiving, fingering, brief mentions of masturbation, face riding, missionary sex, doggy style

inspired by this !

cherry here!... hellooo anons, long time, no see haha sorry for the lack of posts, but hopefully this makes up for it, somehow? formal apology for my last post too while we're at it. though this fic is inspired by cola by lana del rey, it will not have a sour ending like past fics (iykyk). missed u all, so here ya go! enjoy :)

There is an apprehensive sensation that towers over him as soon as she walks in; shy mannered, tall, and firm with a hint of hesitation—it’s something he adores about her, but also something that has him feeling jittery. Oftentimes, her lips are his most prized possession, enjoying the way they move. All except at this very moment. 

Everyone notices his bitter, broken, and quiet mood despite always laying low. He’s never been one to share his problems with others, and he most definitely was not going to start now. It should be the best moment of the season—his first win—but he doesn’t have the joy to celebrate it with anyone. 

Oscar’s brown eyes are low and dull; empty. He’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t see any of this coming. If he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt and misery. Should he have been more attentive, a better boyfriend, then he wouldn’t be regretting his life choices. Dramatic, but true. 

“How are you spending your summer break? Are you and Lily traveling?”

The Australian tries to scoff at the innocent inquiry beaming from his teammate, but he settles with a wince, not being able to hide it. “She, um…we broke up, actually.” He’s never been a religious individual—has never even set foot inside a church—but for the first time in his life, he prayed no more questions would be asked.

Lando raises his thick brows, clearly surprised by the sudden confession. Sure, they were a private couple—likely the most in the entire paddock—but he never saw this coming from Oscar and Lily. Though he only met her a couple of times, simply exchanging a kind greeting, he would’ve bet his entire Rolex collection that the couple were smitten with one another. “Ah, I’m sorry, mate.”

The rude sound of his race suit being zipped up harshly makes the Brit flinch in the slightest. “Don’t worry about it. That’s life, no?”

Costa Rica—they were supposed to go to Costa Rica. Instead, now, he sits alone on a flight back to his home country. He’s ecstatic to be sleeping in his childhood room with outdated posters hung of all his favorite drivers, but the feeling lingers. 

Sprawled like a koala, humid t-shirt pressed against his skin, he tosses and turns for an estimate of five whole minutes. He should be enjoying the beach, sipping on highly sweetened margaritas, getting the worst tan of his life, but he’s here. The hot summer air in Melbourne makes him spit out a string of dirty curses that would send his mum into a coma. 

The brunette might as well be an only child since not a single one of his three sisters were here to keep him company, ditching him with his parents. He loved them, of course he did, but a full house was his ideal way to spend his break. His home gym isn’t even enough to help him forget, even for a second. 

“Dinner is ready, honey,” Nicole announces, peeking carefully through the crack of the door. She grins widely. “There’s even pavlova—your favorite.”

He forces a polite nod, shaggy hair dangling just above his eyes. “Thank you. I’ll be out in a bit.” It actually takes a sum of thirty-minutes for him to jog down the stairs, a strong scent of apple expanding from his now washed hair. His dad hums as soon as he spots the McLaren driver. 

“It’s rude to leave guests waiting, Oscar,” he warns with a deep voice. 

The twenty-three year old assumes it’s a lame dad joke, perhaps, so runs along with it, taking a good look around the dining room. “Won’t happen again. I showered—”

“Where would you like to place the dessert, Mrs. Piastri?” a soft voice echoes down the hallway as he turns at the unfamiliar tone. You halt, caught off guard by the new presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you would be here.” 

“In my own home?” he finds himself squeaking involuntarily. The stern look that dances across his parents faces is enough for him to bite down on his tongue. He doesn’t even know why he said any of that—especially to a stranger. 

They introduce you two quickly, though you’re just as fast as to say that you obviously knew about his existence. Do you follow my races? You shake your head, glossy hair shining. “I work for your parents, so…I sort of know. Plus, your sisters always talk highly about you when you’re gone.”

He blinks. “You work here?” Brown eyes flicker to his parents, confusion written all over. “What could she possibly do?”

“Oscar,” Nicole scolds. “I thought you left all the unnecessary questions back in junior high.”

Chris slides a large hand over her smaller one, calming her down just a tad bit. The older man sighs. “You know your mum, always looking for something new to do—”

“I wanted to grow a garden!” she squeals, delighted. “Like in all those magazines you get me for my birthday—oh, so lovely, honey. Only I realized, I don’t know anything about gardening.”

“And this lovely girl standing right here is a total natural. Her hands must be magic.” Oscar blushes hard at his dads choice of words. “She’s helping us out for the time being. Until we get back.”

The Australian's mouth opens, then snaps back shut, swallowing. “Get back from where?”

“Costa Rica!”

He gapes. “You’re using my tickets?”

Nicole winces. “Can’t let them go to waste, honey…”

His father butts in. “How is Lily by the way?”

The brunette groans, running his hands through his waves. “How should I know? Come on, you guys can’t be serious.” The tickets weren’t the problem; the fact that they were leaving was.  He spots you awkwardly placing the pastry down onto the table. “Can you give us a minute?” 

“Yes, of course,” you quip, glad to have a reason to flee far enough away from the premises. You turn to the Piastri’s who smile fondly at your understanding. “I’ll be out in the garden.”

As soon as you rush out, the twenty-three year old turns swiftly. “I guess I’m leaving too.”

“Don’t you dare, Oscar Jack Piastri—” He fumes. “Why not? You’re all going to be gone!”

“She won’t—you are keeping her company.” She’s not asking; she’s demanding. Staring back in shock, the McLaren driver avoids eye contact, fidgeting like a kid at their first day of school. His mum stands up, makes her way over, and pecks his soft cheek. “She’s a sweet girl. She won’t be a bother—she’s just down the hallway.”

That’s where Lily would always stay back when they first started their relationship; too afraid of making a bad impression on his parents. He found it adorable. He rolls his eyes and releases a heavy breath. “Fine.” He stares out the glass window, focusing on where you patiently sit on the wooden bench, delicate hands pressing your dress down against your thighs. “Fine...”

-

The following morning, his parents wake him up at the crack of dawn, bidding goodbye. It comes as a total surprise, thinking he had a few more days left with them, but no. He’s barely registering any of it before they whisper inaudible nonsense and scurry out of his bedroom. 

After some debating, he changes and decides to go on a quick run. The sight of Ms. Alleck watering her burnt grass makes him smile as he sets off. It would have been easier to not get as tired if it were a slight bit chilly, but it’s blazing hot. He cuts it short, dashing back home and immediately serving himself a glass of cold water. 

“You’re up early.”

The brown eyed boy jumps in sudden surprise. Standing in a pastel yellow sleeping gown, you grin brightly. Long lashes lay flat, nose pinching rosy pink, and breath minty. “Yeah, my folks sort of woke me up. Couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“Oh.” You pout. “They left already?”

“You knew?”

“Yup. They mentioned it last night before bed.” A beat. “I hope me staying here isn’t making you uncomfortable…it’s just that they offered, and—”

“It’s not.” Lie. “Make yourself at home.”

Not much is seen or heard from him for the majority of the day; occasional glaces coming here and there. They put you in an uncomfortable spot yesterday—you had been working on the garden for a year now, damn it—but their son's demeanor took you by surprise. The pictures and stories were something you relied on as the only source of getting to know him: polite, tall, and swanky—boyish.

That was so far from the truth. Oscar Piastri has grown into his body; almost appearing to be a handsome giant. Despite his warm face, his attitude is a bit snarky. He has no problem in saying what’s on his mind. And he is most definitely not a boy. 

He’s a man.

“What do you say?” 

“Sorry?” 

He chuckles, Adam's Apple dancing up and down. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

It wasn't his intention to try and get close to you—not purposefully, at least—but he thought; why not? Who knows when his parents are coming back, when his sisters would, and he wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t some snotty guy. Summer is summer, after all. A friend to spend it with sounds quite nice.

Pursing your red lips, you nod, setting your book aside. The dinner table is already set up. Chicken and rice. That’s it. Given, it looks and smells amazing, but plain. You quirk a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to eat your greens? To drive quicker?” He burns up at you teasing tone.

“I didn’t want to risk burning the house down. We’re lucky I was able to get even this done.”

“Very well.” The refrigerator opens, colorful veggies staring back at him. You grin, slow and easy. “I’ll take care of it. It’s only fair, roomie.”

-

Oscar left home a few years ago, migrating to the United Kingdom for work, so it had been a while since he had stepped foot in his backyard. He faintly remembers his pirate treehouse, his sisters’ Barbie’s cluttered inside. It was a bone-chilling sight for baby Oscar back then, but now, the paint is chipping off, the wood looks a lot weaker. It’s a nostalgic feeling.

The new additions are stunning. A bunch of healthy flowers beam back at him and he swallows when he realizes he can’t name a single one. Waxflowers, Calamint, Dahlias, Peonies, Carnations, California Poppies. One by one, he admires with an open mouth. “They’re beautiful.” He turns to you with a proud smile. “You’ve done an excellent job.”

Pink feathers onto your already blushed cheeks, biting back a cheesy grin. You had decided to eat out on the bench, choosing to enjoy the now fresh air. Still humid, but less than before. The scent of coconut sunscreen makes his whiff constantly. “So…Costa Rica?”

He winces. It was too soon to talk about the situation, but something in your calm voice makes it easier to spit it out even though you probably already heard from his parents. All of a sudden, your savory carrots taste like complete shit. “T’was supposed to go with my girlf—my ex. My ex-girlfriend.” 

You pout, sorrowfully. “Oh, I’m sorry, Oscar. I didn’t mean to…I had no clue.” And it’s genuine. Guess his parents weren’t complete traitors. 

“Tell me—how long have you been working on fixing the garden?”

“Since last summer,” you hum, chewing down on a piece of grilled chicken. “This is the first time I have actually stayed here, though. Your parents are sweet. As soon as they heard that you were coming back home, they insisted I kept you company.”

Sharp jaw clenches and he scoffs. You simply blink back innocently. Then, he notices it. The way it reflects against the yellow ray of the now setting sun. He knows what it is, so he doesn’t ask. Too busy staring off into the distance, you place your plate down. “Let me show you a few other things I’ve been working on.”

There’s row and row, further into the open area; every twist and turn makes his brows raise up higher, impressed by the noticeable updates. Coming to a halt, he spins his head around, brown locks hitting his temples. “Since when do we have a cherry tree?”

You beam, orbs shining with excitement. “Since last summer!” you repeat, cheerfully. You pick one, handing it for him to try. An embarrassing moan erupts once the sweet nectar slides down his throat. “Good?”

“Bloody amazing.” Every compliment makes you squeal with delight. “My mum is actually allergic to cherries, so how…”

“She was actually the one who brought it up. Said she knew how much I loved them, and that I deserved a little something for flourishing her garden. I couldn’t deny the chance to do so.” You bite down on your lip, sheepishly. “They are my favorite.”

Reaching for one makes him look away as soon as your dress rises up, soft legs poking through. Bare feet press against the wet grass as you tippy toe. He mustered a fake cough, but as soon as you bite down onto the bloody fruit, he clicks into a trance. 

Plump lips; thick and juicy. Long lashes fluttering shut against your glossy cheeks. That could have been because of the summer heat, but it affected him just the same. The familiar sensation of attraction rushes to his cock as he stands stiffly—but also loosely. He was loose. So fucking loose.

Something hits his cheekbones and it rips him away from his drooling. A singular seed now lays by his feet; indicating what you had done. A crinkled, wobbly smile shines back at him, hands nervously flattening your dress back down. The Australian jokingly lunges towards you as you squeal, backing away. 

“You were disintegrating! I had to get your attention one way or another!”

Oh, you definitely got his attention. Giving you one final scowl, he stops his steps. “Everything—all of it—it’s great. Thank you.” The wind picks up and you shiver. “...for doing this for my parents.”

Neat hair flies against the breeze, covering your eyes for a minute. Pushing it aside, you scrunch your nose faintly. “Anytime.”

-

Technically, what you’re getting paid for was to watch over the beloved yard; that’s all. But you offer to do more. Mow the lawn? Paint the chipped wall? Wash the windows?

“God no, darling,” Oscar’s mum laughs through the end of the line. “You are doing enough already. Please. Relax.”

But you can’t. Nibbling on your thumb, you brush the counter, strolling past countless family portraits. A smile slips when you spot a toothless Oscar. “I insist.”

So, here you are; decluttering the attic. After a bit of bickering with Nicole, she eventually gives in and asks for a favor. Clean and tidy the small room. Easy peasy. 

“Ouch,” you hiss when a nail digs through your skin, gore immediately pouring out of you like a waterfall; you squeak. Just then, a certain brunette peeks their head through the entrance.

“Oh good, it’s you. I thought we had an intruder.”

Raising a skeptical brow at him and the thin duvet, you quickly take it from him, pressing it down to ease the bleeding. “Holy crap, are you okay?” In one motion, he steps closer to you, analyzing the injury with worried eyes. You groan.

“It’s only a little cut. No biggie.” But the way your face is slowly losing color lets him know that your words aren't true. Brown eyes flicker, searching for a spot to sit, but everything about this is crowded. You were just about to start tidying; the mess was still there. Crouching onto a tiny stool, he takes a seat, somehow still towering over you. Or at least that's what it felt like, because suddenly, you felt suffocated. 

His long legs are spread as you stand between them, hand out towards him as he winces at the brutal cut. “Ah—that’s pretty deep.” He gags when he notices the underneath flesh. You suppress a giggle. “We should go to the ER.” 

You scoff, ripping away from his grip, tripping over a box. Regaining your balance, you drape the cloth over your hand once again. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be right back.”

After rinsing your hand with alcohol, covering the wound with the largest bandaid to ever exist, and balling your eyes out, you make your way back up. The Australian is drenched in sweat, huffing and puffing. “Got it,” he pants. Confused, you tilt your head to the side, but that’s when you pick out the nail in the palm of his hand. You blink, too bewildered to make sense of how he retrieved it without the help of a hammer. “I also found lots of old trophies. Extremely bittersweet.”

“Why’s that?” you hum, kneeling down next to him, reading through the labels. Each makes you more and more dazzled. 

A minute passes by. “Because I grew up.”

“That’s…sad.” Shrugging, he digs for more. He laughs loudly, throwing his head back. “Dear G—I forgot this even existed!”

Oscar’s 81 Things To-Do During the Summer [List]

Learn how to bike.

Learn the Australian National Anthem (Sophie will be beautifully impressed)

Get better at being more outgoing (Mum is worried)

So on and so forth. “You were an extremely creative lad. Eighty-one things to do…eh.” A tongue click. “Possibly buy a pet dragon?”

He cringes. “Not all were realistic. I actually never really got around to it. Mainly added, if anything.” 

Crimson red flashes. “I, um, I could tell.”

69. Oscar Piastri, you know what I mean.

The brunette chokes on his saliva, yanking it away as fast as he can. Standing up to his full height, he rolls up the piece of paper and points towards the exit. “I think I should, um…yeah. See ya.”

“Yeah.” He dashes off. “See you…”

-

Eighteen-year old Oscar was a horny bastard. But every guy that age is, so it’s not really fair to feel bad about his list. The writing is obviously his, but the things jotted down made him almost feel like it wasn’t. Blowjobs? Hand jobs? What was he thinking?

And then, there was you—a curious cat. He had to be a virgin; he just had to. Why else would he be embarrassed? You weren’t one to judge, though. You knew nothing about the sexual world, having never partaken. The thin band wrapped around your ring finger is enough proof. 

And no—you weren’t married.

It would have been absolutely diabolical to mention sex in your household growing up. Being Roman Catholics is no joke, believing religiously to wait until marriage. You never had a problem with that; you would wait. Doesn’t mean you didn’t know what any of the common terms meant. Sort of. 

Only now—for the first time in your life—there it was.

Temptation.

The McLaren driver was no newbie. He has had his fair share of experiences; before Lily, with Lily. He knew just about anything and everything. His good-boy act was no facade. At times he didn’t like that about himself, but it’s who he was. Obeyed the rules. Never crossed the line with anyone he wasn’t romantically linked to. And yet…

There you were.

The flowers were perfect; only needing to be watered. The cherry tree was much more…complicated. The chances of animals recklessly hunting for the sweet fruit was high, the chances of the red drupes rotting also was. Therefore, you spent most of your time there. 

Maybe you were avoiding him; you told yourself you were already horrified at the dirty thoughts taking over like the plague. And perhaps he was doing the same; he had only been locked in his room for the past three hours. 

Golden hour. With your hands on your hips, you squint, admire the polished drupes, tickling with water. Walking back to the bench, you lay down, picking up on your reading, occasionally taking sips from your Cherry Cola. 

Pacing the small bedroom, Oscar mutters to himself. Maybe she didn’t read all of it. Maybe she doesn't know what it means. Yeah—he was exaggerating. Clicking his window open, he gasped for needed air. As soon as he spots you reading, he grunts. 

White skirt brushes down your smooth legs, challenging the sun to see who shines the brightest. Lips wrap around the glass bottle, puckering in the slightest. And he wonders; would you taste as sweet as the cool beverage?

He’s a grown man; an adult. There’s no need to be uncomfortable. Sex was a part of everyone's day to day life. He was the one making it a bigger deal than it actually was. Still, he slips on a pair of sunglasses, perched perfectly onto the bridge of his nose. 

“Is it any good?”

His voice makes you flinch, dropping the book flat on your face. A tiny groan rings through the air. Flashing him a weak smile, you sit up straight, fixing your clothes. “Want one? There’s plenty in the fridge.”

He had noticed, of course he had. Never in a million years did he think he'd see his refrigerator stocked up with the sweet drink. He never cared enough to ask who they belonged to; figured they would just expire.

Wavy hair swings back and forth when he shakes his head. “Gotta keep in shape.” I see, you murmur, loopy eyes peeking over at him, taking another gulp. The sizzling feeling is utterly childish compared to what he’s making you feel. The burning sensation between your legs is annoying and painful, you almost want to plead for help. “I meant the book, by the way.”

“No!” You laugh, nervously. “I mean…it’s alright?”

After he stormed off and left you a breathless puddle, you biked and biked—until you hit the local bookstore. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, simply browsing, but as soon as you reached the section of Erotic Literature, you stopped. 

So many—many—wrong choices. Still, humiliated, you paid and fiercely ran out. Maybe this was some sort of punishment for reading what you’re reading; had to be. And Oscar asking questions wasn’t helping. Licking your berry lips, you swallow a thick layer. “What have you been up to?”

Fuck, he moans, large hand sliding up and down his cock; more and more pleasure intensifying. Your tiny dresses. Your short skirts. Your angelic face. The way your lips would separate before every sentence. Your sweet scent that would have normally given him a headache, but instead made him chase after you like a dog. 

Finishing all over his thighs, he shudders. White liquid never looked more sinister than at this very moment. After changing, he paces the room with regret. 

Pushing the frames further into his face, he hums. “Oh, you know. Just… cleaning up my room.”

-

It’s been a week in a half now and you’re happy to announce that you have fallen into a routine. While Oscar did his daily workout, you would make breakfast. While you worked on the garden, he cooked dinner. Though, he was unbeknownst over the way you would drool over him when he would walk out the door; a compressed shirt hugging his built body tightly, arms begging to be kissed. You were unaware of the way he would rub his face in desperation when you walked out, banging his head purposefully against the cabinet; the way you would skip out with your book and infamous drink, or how you would prettily tie up your hair before you even got started.

It was a mess.

A mocking mess.

This afternoon though, you aren’t flying out the door to the yard, but rather frolicking over to Ms. Alleck, ready to assist. I try my best, but they always wilt! Could it be the humidity? Laughing, you toss your hair up into a bun, messy strands poking out as you cock your head to the side. “Could be, but don’t you worry. We’ll find a way to make it work. Promise.”

He had always known you were kind, gentle, soft spoken…pure. And you doing this only added to his attraction. It’s salad, spaghetti, and salmon that afternoon. Sweaty, you pant. I’m going to squeeze in a shower real quick. But you weren’t sweaty, like you believe; you were glistening. 

“This is so cute,” you chirp, sitting cross cross in the old treehouse. A few spider webs make your blood run cold, but he quickly took care of it, apologizing. The brunette blushes. 

“I wanted to use it one last time. Before we get rid of it.” Neat brows furrow. “It’s just that it’s old—only a matter of time before it plunges down.” “What?” 

“O-obviously not now!”

After a bit more convincing, you finally relax and enjoy the way the crickets sing against the night. Small feet press against the wall, white tube socks turning slightly brown from the lack of sweeping. For a moment, he shuts his lids, breaths shallow, body loose. The high temperature almost made him feel as if he was cuddling into the warmest blanket; it felt nice. 

Whoops, you mumble when hollow glass pounds against the wooden floor. He perks up at the sound, brown eyes burning with high alert. “You do shit on purpose?” he screeches when he detects scarlet blood. Wincing in pain, you curl your hand towards the hem of your dress. 

“Help me,” you plead, slight annoyance written all over your face. He must’ve broken the world record of running into the house to retreat the first aid kit, and running right back to you. The way he sanitizes the skin, to the way he wraps your hand with a gauze pad, is honestly hilarious.

“What so funny?” he murmurs, attention never leaving the wound. 

“Mmm. Nothing.” He snickers and you giggle harder. “It just seems as if I’m making you a professional. You ought to be ready if anyone else needs your help to treat injuries.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll tell them a certain klutz made me learn from day to night with all her clumsiness.” His voice drops, laced with concern. “Seriously though—you were just healing. You have to be careful.”

Plump lips part with the sound of his delicate voice, accent almost disappearing. Wandering eyes admire the way his brows are knitted together and orbs soften. Swallowing, you nod. “I will.”

“Good.”

The once vibrant room is now hazy and suffocating. Does he not know what kind of effect he has on you? The type of power he holds? Oscar doesn’t seem to, though, with the way he chugs down his entire glass of water. Stuck in a trance, your hand briskly reaches out for your own drink. He roars with laughter, clutching his stomach. “You just broke your bottle, you don’t have a drink anymore.” He picked up the Cherry Cola you had offered, but he had declined. “Take mine.”

You don’t put up a fight, simply allow him to open and give it to you. The sweet drink doesn’t do a great job at hydrating your foaming mouth, but it helps as a distraction. On the other hand, the brunette can’t seem to not watch the ways your lips suck in and out, eagerly. As if this were the only source of air. He shudders. 

“We should probably head down…”

Wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you comply, already standing up. From the floor, he has a good view of your legs; long, soft, sweetly scented. He wonders if you use honey as lotion because that would explain his urge to nuzzle his face against them. Picking up the broken glass and plates, you turn back. “Coming?”

A sigh rings through the air once, and suddenly—he’s cradling your face with high intensity and lust, molding his lips against yours. Tomato sauce stains his shirt and your dress from the plates that still remain between you two. One second, you're wide eyed, and then the next, you're allowing yourself to kiss him back. 

You want to cry with how pleasant the feeling feels and he wants to scream with how much he wants to fuck you. But alas, one of you pulls away first—you can’t really tell who— and you’re both left gasping for air. Completely winded and fucked.

You both are fucked.

-

The treehouse comes crashing down the day after your first kiss. Yes, first kiss. You would like to blame him and say that he stole it from you, but the arousal that was dripping between your thighs last night was a clear indication that you could never actually say so because you liked it so much. 

The wooden house tearing down is something you take as a sign; you’ve sinned. Okay, maybe that was a bit too dramatic, but you were honestly thinking about it. That night you dreamt of the wildest things imaginable; his pretty face in between your legs, large hands squeezing your perky breasts, fingers swirling inside your velvety walls, cock tearing you in half.

It was unacceptable. 

So, while Oscar worked on picking up the tiles with a hometown buddy, you marched right over to beg for forgiveness. Kneeling down against the cushion, you say a silent prayer. 

I don’t want to think like this—not when I know I can help it, but God this is getting way too out of hand. And you know I’m not like this, you know that! But he just—AGH. Maybe it’s his personality that makes him so attractive, or maybe it’s his sudden growth spurt, but please let me get a hold of myself. He’s just a friend, he’s just a friend—HE’S JUST A FRIEND. 

“Would you mind keeping your words to yourself, sweetheart?” an older lady whispers, two rows ahead of you. 

Pink feathers onto your cheeks. “Oh, yes, of course! I’m so sorry…”

I don’t ever ask for much, no, that’s never been necessary, but I am now. So please. Hear me when I say: Push this desire I have, far, far, far away.

-

If you were to say, there was a ninety percent chance that you would walk away. Not even spare him a passing glance. He would call you out on it later, but whatever—too late. Ignored you, you say? No, really I did? I had no idea, I’ll make sure to not let it happen again!

If Oscar were to say, there was a ninety-nine percent chance that he would let you walk away. He didn’t need your company; he was doing just fine. But then again, that one percent tugs at him like the devil on his shoulder.

“Hey. You’re back.” Cool. Calm. Collected.

“Oh! I suppose I am.” Cool. Utter. Mess.

He grins, eyes crinkling like the leaves that hang upon the crimson tree. Signaling up, he cocks his head in deep thought. “Just finished. Cole said his uncle could shred…” A pause. “He owns a massive wood chipper.” 

Blinking like a deer in headlights, you chew on your bottom lip, simply nodding along. “Sounds good? I think. No. Yes. Very good.” You wince at all the uncontrolled mumbo-jumbo. “I’m sorry I was no help, too. I had to…talk to the man up above.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. That must be why your pretty little knees are bruised.” 

Your breath comes to a harsh halt, ears burning like a wildfire. The Australian just keeps his brown eyes set on the tree for a second longer before turning to face you. Quickly, you relax your muscles. “You could make up for it by helping me with something else.”

You gulp. Suddenly, your mouth is overflowing with hot saliva. “With what?”

Dark orbs glue onto your delicate figure, a slight smirk playing out. And it looks so unfamiliar, not his own, that you create a distance. And just like that, it’s gone. Vanished just as fast as it slipped onto his pink lips. “Get on.” He crouches down and your jaw drops.

“Wha—like onto your shoulders?” Rolling his eyes in a goofy manner, he nods, picks you up safely, and places you on top. You screech, dizzy by the sudden altitude. “Put me down!”

“You’re fine. Just help me reach those. Been craving them all day,” he murmurs, voice raspy. The twenty-three year old is still slightly sweaty from his hard labor, and that’s clear when you cling onto his brown locks. Other than that, you’re as high as a kite; both figuratively and literally. 

You’ve known—seen—how tall and broad the Australian was, but being perched onto his wide shoulders was a sweet confirmation you couldn’t help but enjoy. “Move a bit forward.” He follows instructions, wide hands gripping onto your thighs to keep you steady. You giggle when a few fruits hit your face. “Watch it—and don’t you dare drop me.”

“Get,” he commands.

About three minutes pass by. You rip the cherries carefully, candy aroma filling the air, and plop them onto the basket. By all accounts, you’re well aware of your actions. The basket was full, now overflowing, really, and you could plant your ballet flats back onto the tall grass—but you don’t.

There’s something about feeling his touch; high electricity, shock waves nipping at your skin, soft pants. It’s pathetic how much you crave any ounce of physical touch he’s willing to give you, unknowingly.

“That should be good,” you whisper, meekly. He doesn’t respond, just swings you down as you let out a yelp. All of a sudden, you’re magically magnetic. And he wonders; if only. You hand the basket over, waiting nervously for him to thank you, at least. 

“Thank you,” he feels himself saying. “What do you say we play a little game? No prize. Only bragging rights.”

“O-okay.”

A singular cherry is handed over. He grins. Can you tie a knot using your tongue? “Wait—are you being serious?”

The red fruit dissolves inside his mouth, spitting the seed somewhere far enough away. Then, the stem flips into his mouth. “Come on. I’ll give you a head start.”

With wary hands, you rip the stem away from your own drupe, fitting the thin stick into your suddenly dry mouth. He stares intently, clenching his jaw, “Go on. Ten seconds.” Quickly, your lips start to move, twisting and turning. Pouting, then sucking back in. Your low breaths become heavy after a few tries. You think you’re getting it done right, the sudden ball forming is enough for you to guess that you must be doing something correct. 

The sound of his low mewls is what ends you. Doe eyes flicker up to face him, paying close attention to how his brown eyes wander up at the sky in concentration, occasionally squinting due to the bright sun. You can feel a thin layer of sweat hug you like a blanket as your movements slow down; a snail's pace compared to before.

For good measure, you fake your twists as you continue to simply admire. Too far gone, you blink hastily when he sticks his pink tongue out towards you, a stinking knot sitting nicely atop.

“I won.”

Gulp. “You sure did. Good job, Oscar.”

Long lashes flutter shut momentarily, head tossed back, sighing. “It wasn’t a fair fight. You weren’t doing anything. Other than staring at my lips.”

Flustered, you dig your hand into the bucket. “That’s not true! At all. At all, at all.” You munch harder, splitting a seed in half. You spit it out sourly. “You're just better at using your mouth than I am.”

It goes straight to his cock, your words. Opening his eyes, the brunette scrunches his nose. You’re avoiding his gaze. You’re good at doing that. A pro. But it leaves him to wonder some more. And that itself was dangerous when it dawned on him. 

He doesn’t like daydreaming anymore.

“Fuck it,” he grunts, kissing you harshly, like the night before. And you thought that blew your mind, but this? This left you gasping and reaching out for him even though he was pressed right against you. You could feel him buzzing, pinching your hips against his large hands. It’s perfect.

You don’t really understand how you end up straddling him on the grass, green straining your knees as you grind harder onto him, forcing your skin to burn with each stroke. This—this—must be as good as it gets. There can’t be more, but you weren’t complaining. It was enough. 

When his fingers dance underneath your dress, you halt, and everything comes crashing down. “No,” you pant. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Why is that, baby?” he mumbles, lost on sucking the side of your neck. Looking up, his straight brows drew in together with concern. “What is it?”

“It’s just that…I’m—” Why is it so hard to admit? Brushing a strand of hair away, you purse your lips. “I’m a virgin, Oscar. It’s odd, I know, but I can’t sleep with you.”

“You think I didn’t know that?’

You freeze. “What?”

His thumbs circle your thighs, gently, swooning with how soft you feel. “I figured you were. Your purity ring sort of gave it away.” You blush hard, rolling off of him, playing with the thin band. 

“I wish I could do this—God, I really want to—but I can’t.”

Respecting your decision, he pats your hand with reassurance. The hot feeling remained between your legs and the pain between his. This was torture, you both know that, but what was there to do? It’s awkward for a while, that is, until he starts asking you about things that shouldn’t make you glow with happiness.

How was your day? I want to hear all about it. Do you think it’s bad to eat an entire bucket of drupes? Must be, right? In the long run? Hey, would you mind teaching me how to garden? You make it look intriguing. 

That seems to do it for you. Everything you ever promised flies out the window as you climb back onto his thick lap, and this time, he’s surprised by your actions. Clumsy fingers try their best to unzip his pants, but he only stutters against your kisses. N-no, we don’t have to rush anything. I, you, we—

“Shit, o-okay,” he sighs when you finally touch him, even in the slightest. He may be touch deprived, but so were you, so how far would any of this go? Flipping you over to lay against the tall grass, he winks teasingly and that effectively makes your heartbeat quicken. “Relax, sweetheart. Do that for me, yeah? Can you?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.” 

The McLaren drivers press a kiss on the inside of your thighs before licking them. You shiver, though try your best to even your breaths. You shut your eyes, maybe if you act hard enough, you could somehow convince yourself that this wasn’t a war itself. To see how long you’d last. No—you would last. You had to.

“I’ve thought about it.” He slips your panties down, inch by inch. “A lot, as of lately. If you would taste just as sweet as I imagined. As sweet as those Cherry Cola’s you're overly obsessed with.” And he dives in, licking your arousal clean as you pant, chest heaving up and down like an erupting volcano. 

What were you supposed to feel—relaxed? In a frenzy? Most likely the latter because considering the way he was making your head spin said it all. The sounds he’s making forces you to involuntarily shut your legs around his face and his hand that now lies between you two. The stretch is a burning sensation that leaves you both gasping and moaning; it’s too much, but not enough.

More. Grinning up from in between your legs, he shakes his head full of curls, all thanks to the Aussie weather, and your dirty foreplay. “Does it feel good?” You whimper. “Good—good, baby. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Velvet walls clench around his long digits. “Hey, hey, look at me.”

Once your soft orbs connect to his intoxicating ones, his cock grows harder. “Okay, listen, it’s going to hurt a little bit, okay? But that’s completely normal; it’s like a…a stingy feeling. Do you understand?” I do, you pant. He grits his teeth when his calloused fingers brush against your g-spot and your head lolls back, exposing your sharp clavicle. He itches to mark you all over. “Do you want it, then?”

A zing. “Fuck, Oscar. I fucking want you.”

The brown eyed boy is all over you, kissing you up and down, gripping you tighter. It was an addiction in its truest form. For a split second, you frown when he slips out of you, but as soon as he starts unzipping his pants, you feverishly lick your lips. 

It dawns on you that you aren’t scared, nervous, or anything; you’re bubbling with excitement. You watch carefully as he jerks himself off a bit, his already large girth growing bigger. How is that possible? “I’ll start with the tip.” Leaning down, he pecks your pouty lips and you smile. “Let me know if it’s too much, we’ll stop and take a break. Or do anything, really,” he adds, cheekbones flushing red. 

“I’ll be okay,” you whisper. “I swear.”

You were being skinned alive, it was excruciating pain. You know he notices it when he starts brushing your hips, hoping to comfort you in some sort of way. Heavy breaths, numb lips from biting too hard, exposed breasts arching straight for him. He didn’t know whether to enjoy this or worry. 

“Breathe, darling, breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. There you go,” he congratulates, admiring your shaky breath. “You’re doing so good.”

“Osc, move…please.”

There was no more confirmation necessary that you were ready to go. His hips find motion, thrusting into you slowly. Nails scratch down his back as you moan loudly, almost yelping. “Y-you’re so big.” So, so, so, so big.  “So good.”

Nearly animalistic, he releases a grunt, pounding deeper into you, getting lost with the way you hug him tightly. You mewl, pressing your naked chest against his, and he nearly slips from his hands being set on top of the cold grass, but it was beautiful torture, all at once. 

From the way you tremble, to the way you look up at him, he loves it all. He realized it been too long, he’s missed this, he’s missed having a body undeaneath his, as fucked up as that sounds. 

And he—he must be a saint, himself. There’s a sort of invisible halo that lightens up around him, nearly blinding you. There’s a gut-wrenching stare he’s gifting you, making your stomach churn with pleasure. 

Wrapping his mouth around your sore buds, you let out a shaky sigh. Skillful tongue swirls the way one would suck on a lollipop; the heat intensifies. “Close?” But you’re not sure, you just know it feels good—ridiculously good. He must have known so, and must want to make your first experience the best you’ll ever have, because suddenly, you’re on all fours. 

As he slips in and out with such ease, you grip harshly at the tall grass. You can hear the sad rips with every thrust and every tug, but how can you feel bad when he feels so good? His cock rapidly brushes the magic spot, and you’re left seeing stars. “Oh God. I feel it, Oscar, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Tell me. Describe it.”

Your jaw locks, and your arms give up, flying down towards the grass, round ass high up in the air as he continues his movements. He groans at the sight, slapping your sweaty skin. Whining, you look back at him, grinning from ear to ear. The Australian looks up at the open sky, trying his best to push back the feeling of his upcoming orgasm, but it's hard to ignore the fact that an absolute angel takes him like no other.

And an Angel you were.

“Can feel your cock, Oscar. The way it pulses—so thick, so veiny, so sweet.”

An Angel with a vocabulary of Heathen.

“God, fuck me harder, please, Oscar, please.” He’s pretty sure you’re half-gone, half-present, but it only adds to the lust he carries for you. Just then, you feel the fresh cherry pressed up against your lips. Open, he demands and you follow straight away, ripping it from its stem. You nearly choke on the seed when he suddenly speeds up, limbs and arms burning from holding upright. For a moment, you stare back with an open mouth, admiring over the way his abs contract with every brutal push.

“Now spit.” Two seeds fly out towards the grass, laying there to taunt you as you pick up on your moans, ringing through the air. If you squint hard enough, you can spot the stars that mock the daylight sky. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, none of this does. “So pretty, sweetheart.” You swoon, feeling his arms hold you down. “Again—open.”

You’re expecting another set of cherries, thinking this might be some sort of prize, but as soon as you feel the familiar stick, you pout. No, you cry out. He chuckles. “Yes.” A pause. “You only get to come until you tie a knot.”

“You’re not being f-fair, holy shit.” Long fingers rub slowly against your puffy clit, throbbing with pain, begging to come all of his numbing girth. You clench your jaw, eyes screwed shut.

“We don’t have all night, go on. Move that pretty little mouth of yours.”

It’s a mission, it’s a task, it’s a fucking wreck. It’s impossible. You’re not that surprised, though, not when he thrusts into with twice as much force, triple speed; what a man. Loose tongue swirls at a weak attempt, but then he pinches your swollen bud, and you’re back to square one. You’re nearly there, excited to prove to him how much you wanted this and how you were able to multitask, but then he’s pulling all the way back, only his rosy tip awaiting by your entrance, and he’s coming back down, full-throttle. 

It was cruel.

But two can play that game, you suppose.

You pull away quickly, he blinks, and then you’re pushing him back, sprawled on the grass. He nearly whines from missing your warm cunt, but as soon as you climb to sit on his face, he grows more and more turned on. “Go on,” you push. “Use that pretty little tongue of yours.”

Dark eyes stare up at you, enjoying the way your body moves, hips rolling, riding his face at an impressive rate. The white nectar you're willing to spill out makes him lap at an embarrassing speed, desperate to taste the sweetness. 

Meanwhile, you’re gripping his hair, trying to feign indifference with the way his nose rubs against your lips, the way he keeps you in place with his watch covered hand, the other playing with your clit. It’s even, this is fair, but you still needed to reach your end. 

“I’m close,” you moan, head rolling back, but jaw continuing to tick. He hums and the vibrations cause you to squeeze your legs around his face. That seems to make him enjoy this far more. Unless you show me you’ve done it, then no, you’re not coming anytime soon. Your molars grind harder, white spots forming throughout your vision. “Shut up, just—fucking stop talking.”

“What do y’know? Miss Perfection has a potty mouth.” He pokes his tongue against your hole. “Dirty girl, eh?”

With one final suck, and one soft moan, you cum all over him. The Australian is quick to lick you clean, groaning pathetically deep. Gasping, you fall from your climax, slightly twitching with sensibility as he hauls you onto his lap. You giggle when he raises a teasing brow. 

“You got away with it—this time.”

“There’s going to be a second time?”

He stiffens, trying to play it cool. “Well, not anymore, you didn’t do what I asked for you to do—”

Opening your mouth, you stick your red tongue out, displaying the most perfect knot. He gapes, sticking his fingers in to retrieve it. “H-how?” A beat, sharp and accusing eyes. “Seriously, how?”

“Does it matter?” you ask, wide eyes back on for show. “I did it.”

“I…yeah, yeah you did,” he repeats in disbelief. He laughs. “You’re wickedly talented. That's an art.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, slowly, mixed with a giggle. “I tried my best for you.”

“I see that.” The brown eyed boy pinches your hip. “How was it?”

Sighing dreamily, as if napping on a cloud, your eyes twinkle. “I get it now. Why people have casual sex, I mean. It was amazing. Thank you.”

Casual, casual, casual, yes. Of course this was casual, why wouldn’t it be casual? He’s not looking to have anyone new in his life, and you’re barely understanding what any of this is, so yeah. Casual. 

“Was I bad?” you ponder, chewing on your bottom lip. “I know I’m no professional, but I—”

“You were perfect,” he reassures with a soft smile. “Best thing to come around, solemnly swear.” Swatting his arm, he snickers, catching your hand. You purse your lips. “I was right,” he murmurs when his lips graze over your own. You open your mouth, waiting for more.

“About?”

“You tasting as sweet as a Cherry Cola.” Then he connects your lips, and you’re left utterly smitten. You can hardly feel him slip your ring off, but you know so when your finger feels empty since the moment you first put it on. “Guess you won’t be needing this anymore?”

“Guess not, no. Keep it.”

“Could take it to a Pawn Shop, sell it for a couple dollars…”

“Hey! Be nice, you dimwit,” you warn. “You should feel special. Stupidly special.”

“I’m kidding. I’ll cherish it.”

“Creep.”

He groans, slapping your ass as you squeal. “There’s no right or wrong answer, it seems like. Very well, let's just leave it at thanks. So…thank you for trusting me.” You blush, looking away. Awkwardly, you reach for your dress, slipping it over your head. He coughs, dressing himself before choking back a much needed chuckle. “Looks like we got dragged through the mud.”

“Ah, ew, I can’t. I need to shower.” 

Reaching your end of the hallway, you press your back up against the wooden door as you sheepishly giggle when Oscar does the same. “Okay then…see you around?” 

“Around town?”

“Around the house.”

“In the garden?”

“In the attic, too, maybe. It still needs a good sweep.”

He rolls his eyes. “Do we still have time?”

“Before your parents get back from Costa Rica?”

“Yes.”

“Which is in—”

“A week.”

“Which is—”

“Seven days.”

“And roughly…”

“Enough time.”

“Enough time to do what?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling suggestively, and your heart pounds hard against your ribcage. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

“Yeah,” you ponder in deep thought before your lips stretch out into a bright smile of your own. He raises dark brows as you scurry over with bruised knees, a muddy dress, and an exploding heart. “Yeah, okay. Just until they get back.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

[t2316m]

Cass is face blind, not like oh she’s bad at remembering faces but in an actual cannot for the life of her know who she’s looking at kinda way. Instead of faces she uses context clues, body language, and voices to tell who she’s interacting with. She’s gotten pretty good at it each of her family members having an obvious tell that it’s them. Some of them include how Dick always has blue incorporated into his outfit. Jason always smells slightly of gun powder and cigarettes. Tim’s posture is so bad Cass can tell it’s him from a mile away. Damian has green eyes, Steph has blonde hair, Babs has red hair. Cass wishes all the boys had different colored hair, as it would simply make her life a lot easier.

The face blindness really doesn’t impare her abilities during patrol cause all of the Gotham rogues and heroes wear such dramatic outfits Cass doesn’t need to see their face to know who they are.

Unfortunately problems often arise when she’s in civilian form,

Cass: *at starbucks*

Dick: oh my god Cass! is that you?

Cass: *confused but polite* hello.

Dick: hey, how’s your day been?

Cass: *is unsure why this random guy is talking to her but once again polite* good.

Dick: *confused on why his sister is acting weird*...that’s good.

Cass: *grabbing her order and attempting to leave.*

Dick: Wait don’t you want a ride back to the manor?

Cass: No. *rushing away and is very uncomfortable.*

Cass: *halfway down the street, realizing she’s heard that voice before, immediately pulling out her phone*

Dick: Hello?

Cass: Starbucks?

Dick: Yea..

——

Jason: *recently dyed his white streak black cause he was feeling insecure about it*

Cass: *stands next to no streak Jason sitting at the batcomputer* Bruce?

Jason: I beg your finest pardon

Cass: Oh, Hi Jason.

Jason: *on his way to bleach his streak back cause never again.*

——

Bruce: *brings Clark to the manor, they’re both in civilian clothing looking identical.*

Cass: No metas, too confusing.

Cass: *staring directly at Bruce thinking it’s Clark* I. Don’t. Like. You.

Bruce: *has not been this heartbroken since Khoa Khan.* Clark, I think it’s best for you to leave

——

Cass: *staring at the blonde person in the kitchen thinking it’s Steph* oh wow your hair..

Bernard: *also face blind.* Tim…You sound different.

[luvf4ngz]

HOT LOVE ON THE WING - jason todd.

Descripton: You’re not upset about your most recent breakup; you’re just upset you have no one to fuck anymore. Good thing your Shakespeare loving best friend, Jason, has a solution to that.

Contents: This Bad Boy Is PACKED With Shakespeare References, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cheating (Not By Jason Or Reader), You And Jason Are Absolute Fucking DORKS, Good Friend Jason Todd, Best Friend Jason Todd, Self-Indulgent, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Female Reader, HEAVY Banter, Hair-pulling, Vaginal Fingering, Squirting, Overstimulation :), Pet Names, Praise Kink, Dacryphilia, Soft Jason Todd, Dom Jason Todd, Missionary Position, Doggy Style, Cowgirl Position, Nipple Play, Spanking, Rough Sex, Dumbification, Fucked Stupid, Unrealistic Sex, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Spit/Drool, Goofy Giggly Sex, But Also Hard and Fast Sex, Jason Destroys Your Spiderman Panties :(

Word Count: 3131

Author's Note: If it wasn't obvious from the tags this is a repost from my AO3 hehe. This is genuinely my favorite fic I've ever written, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do :) <3

“It’s okay, pretty girl. You can take it, can’t you? You made a big show of defying me earlier, put your money where your mouth is - right?”

You threw open the door to his dorm, instantly honing in on his bed and diving into the soft plush. Jason is sitting at his desk, looking up at you from his book with a roll of his eyes at your dramatic entrance. 

“Well, hello to you too.” His tone is dripping with sarcasm, but his smile betrays his facade. “It’s nice to see you again, stranger. How long has it been, hm?” He teases, his words alluding to the fact that you’ve been spending less time with him lately in favor of being with your “new boy toy” - as he put it.

You let out a hum into the comforter before moving to your side to properly look at him. “Well I think you’ll be very happy to hear that I’m all yours again, Todd, so there’s no need to be jealous.” You cheekily reply. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyebrows knit together in confusion. You thought it made him look adorable.

“I broke up with my ‘boy toy’, as you so politely called him.” You giggled out, using your fingers as quotation marks for emphasis. 

“What!? What happened?” Jason’s eyes widened at the news you so casually dropped.

“Apparently he’s been cheating on me for some time. My friend showed me some pictures of him shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat at a party so I broke it off with him this morning. Anyways, what’s been going on in Jay-Land?” You grin widely as you gaze at him from the bed.

Your attempt at changing the topic of conversation went unsuccessful. 

Jason sat up from his spot, setting his book down before hurriedly making his way over to you, settling down beside you on the bed.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t I seem okay to you? I’m just fine, dude.” You tried to reassure him, your voice unwavering and relaxed as your eyes followed him.

“I mean, I guess; but I thought you really liked him.” 

“It seems like you want me to be sad over this. What do you want me to say? ‘Tears seven times salt burn the sense and virtue from mine eyes!’” You gasp out the line dramatically, bringing a hand to cover your heart and the other to wipe non-existent tears from your face, before bursting out into giggles. 

“Don’t you go quoting Shakespeare at me! That’s my role in this friendship!” Jason playfully nudges your shoulder as a wide grin breaks out on his own face.

“The Jason doth protest too much, methinks.” You do your best to put on a snooty tone, but your laughter prevents it. 

“Oh, shut up.” 

Another round of cackles start up between the two of you, and you both relish in the comfortable silence that falls after. 

“You know,” You start, breaking the silence and making Jason’s head turn towards you. “There is one thing I’m sad about.”

“What?”

“His dick game was mad good.” You say with an extravagant sigh. “I’m gonna miss it.” You fake a few sniffles.

“Aw, come on now. There’s other dick out there.” 

“Nah, it’s too much work. I’ll just have to survive without it for now. ‘But I have that within which passeth show; these but the trappings and the suits of woe.’”

“I can’t believe he’s got you so cock-drunk that you’re quoting Hamlet.” Jason tsks out in false disapproval. “He’s not good enough to be depressed for.”

“He’s not, but the sex definitely was.” 

“It couldn’t have been that good.”

“It was.”

“Not better than what I could do though.”

“Ehhhhhh…” You squinch your face together in overplayed disbelief, causing him to fix you with a sharp glare and a hurt gasp. 

“Is that a challenge?” He smirked, his eyes narrowing in competitiveness. 

“I know it not ‘seems’.” 

“You cheeky motherfucker.” Jason smiles out before grabbing your waist and throwing you further up the bed. It causes you to let out a startled yelp as Jason moved to hover over your body.

“Oh? You gonna prove it to me, Todd? You must be overcompensating for something if you get this riled up over such a small comment. You know, if you wanted to fuck me - you could have just asked.”

“Funny, I was about to say the exact same thing.” He leans in to bite your neck, making your body jolt against his.

“Hey! Play nice, Todd.” You scold, slapping his shoulder before wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I’m ever so sorry, madam.” He fake pouts before attacking your face with kisses. 

“Stop!” You squeal out, giggles erupting uncontrollably from the ticklish sensation. You move your hands to his chest, pushing him away from you. “Are you ever gonna get on with it, or are you just gonna keep messing around?”

“That’s a fair thought: to lie between maids’ legs.” 

“Ugh, it doesn’t sound as good when you do it.” 

“Excuse you? I’m a Shakespeare quoting champ!” 

“You’re awfully defensive today, Todd.” You note with a grin. 

“Keep talking, princess, see what happens.” He jokingly warns. 

He pulls back from you to pull his shirt over his head, before going to tug at his pants. You follow after him, sitting up to discard your own clothing. Once you both are left in your underwear, Jason pushes you flat against the bed again. 

“Spiderman panties. Cute.” 

“Shut up. It’s not like I planned for this to happen.” You grumbled out at his observation. You forgot about them and your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Mhm, sure, sweetheart.”

Jason starts planting sloppy kisses on your skin, trailing his way down your body until he’s reached your waistband. He shuffles down the bed and lies down between your legs, leaning in to snatch the fabric of your underwear between his teeth and ripping it off your legs. 

“Jay! I liked that pair!”

“My bad, princess, I’ll be sure to buy you some new ones.”

“Better still be spiderman.”

“I’m more Team Cap.” He disserts before gripping your thighs and dragging your core closer to his face; the back of your calves rest on his shoulders. 

His eyes drag down your glistening pussy before he lets out a loud wolf whistle at the sight.

“Ew, Todd!” You laugh, trying to kick him for the action but the hold he has on you is too tight to allow movement. 

“What? I’m just appreciating the view.”

He dips his head down, tongue flicking at your hooded clit before he wraps his lips and around the bud and sucks. He feels your thighs tighten around his head as your own tilts up to let out a loud moan. He replaces his tongue with his fingers, expertly working the nub in circles as he peers up at you. 

Your head is turned to the side, eyes clenched and lips spilling shaky whines. 

‘A damn nice sight’, if he did say so himself.

He continues to stimulate your clit with his thumb, pressing his tongue to your dripping hole to lap up your arousal. 

“Fuck, Jason! You really know how to put the money where your mouth is,” You mumble into the sheets, hips bucking up every once in a while from the pleasure. 

Jason grips you tighter, preventing you from moving. He briefly looks up to note “I think you’ll find I know how to use my mouth quite well”, before moving to continue eating you out.

His actions are faster, more feverous. His tongue runs up and down your sex, your slick coating his taste buds. He savors it - lets out a deep hum that reverberates through your pussy and up your spine, sending shivers through your body. He sucks and slurps at you, so passionate that you swear you can feel your soul escaping through your cunt. The wet smacks do nothing but turn you on more, your thighs pressing closer to his head and acting as earmuffs. 

Your hands move from their place bunched in his sheets to his hair, tanging the dark locks between your fingers and instinctively tugging. It causes a low groan to tear from his throat, the bass and depth of it fueling the uncontrollable hot ache in your stomach. That only makes you want to do it again. The second tug makes a sound that’s akin to a growl, before Jason pauses his movements to stare up at you.

“Careful, princess. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.” 

It’s a sight to behold. Jason: heaving, eyes blown, his face shiny from your smeared slick. His mouth is open, panting - his gaze refusing to leave contact with yours. There’s mischief glimmering in the depth of his eyes. 

You don’t reply - only smirk, and yank his head closer to your sex again. 

“Oh, you’ve done it now.” 

His hand moves from your clit to your dripping hole, two fingers pushing their way inside you. His lips reattach to your clit as he starts to move his fingers - fast and rough and leaving you no time to adjust to his intrusion. 

“J-Jesus fuck!” He can feel your thighs twitching, can feel your fingers gripping onto his hair hard in response, and it only spurs him on more. 

His palm smacks against your cunt with each hit, splattering your slick. His fingers move at an unfathomable speed, pads searching for that one spot inside you that will make you see white. 

You’re whimpering and whining above him, senses overwhelmed at Jason’s rough ministrations. It’s too much: the pressure building inside you. It feels like you’re on the edge, senses ready to fall into a never-ending pit of endorphins and fear and exhilaration. There are fireworks inside you, lit and ready to burst and fry all of your sensibilities. 

Finally, it happens - what Jason’s been waiting for. With a slightly tilted angle of his hand and a curl of his fingers, he finds it. He knows because you suddenly tense up; because you let out the most angelic, strung-out moan he’s ever heard; because your walls clamp down on his fingers and a jet of tangy, sweet liquid hits his awaiting tongue. 

God he wishes he could watch you cum over and over and over. He’s gonna think back to this moment when he’s fucking his fist in the future - that’s for sure. The view of you - back arched, eyes teary. The sensation of you - warm and wet and tight against his digits. The sound of you - desperate and high pitched and wailing out his name. He wants it all burned into his brain.

“Jason, Jason!” Yeah, that’s the sound of heaven alright. “Jay! Stop! I came- I can’t!”

Hm?

Oh. He hasn’t stopped pumping his fingers inside you. Oh, well.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. You can take it, can’t you? You made a big show of defying me earlier, put your money where your mouth is - right?”

God, you’re shaking. You look like a leaf shivering in the wind, or a cat left out in the rain. Your eyes are glossy and teary and fuck. You look so beautiful falling apart for him. 

Your brain is in shambles, screaming and begging for a reprieve. It’s dizzying, the assault of your sensations. All you can hear, think, feel is Jason.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please!”

“Come on, princess. Just let go. Just one more for me, yeah?”

You can’t tell if the second orgasm hits you like a train or slowly drowns you in its weight. Maybe a mix of both - a crashing of a tsunami that simultaneously relieves your ache and steals your breath. 

You’re sobbing, trembling, gasping for breath and trying to regain feeling from the clouds that seem to have replaced your nerves. 

“You did so well.” Jason cooes. He’s sitting up, suckling your juices from his fingers like you were a decadent 5-star meal.

He moves to lay down beside you, pulling your body to curl into his, back to peppering your cheeks with chaste, affectionate kisses. 

“Fuck, Jason.” You heave out, still slightly out of it. 

“Was that okay? Did I get carried away?” He questions softly, concern lacing the green in his eyes. 

“Yeah, no, that was great.” You quickly reassure him. “I just- wow. I need a moment.” 

He chuckles quietly before holding you close to his body again. “So? Did I exceed your expectations?”

“Don’t get cocky. Hubris was the downfall of Macbeth.” You shuffle closer to him. “Speaking of cocky, is that a dagger - or are you just happy to see me?”

“I’m always happy to see you princess,” Jason croons. “but I am extremely rock hard right now, too.”

Your hands drift down his body, sensually tracing every muscle from his chest to his pelvis, before tugging off his boxers.

You swing your body on top of his, straddling his waist as you begin pumping his cock. 

“Well then” You start, positioning yourself on top of his awaiting member, “O��� happy dagger, this is thy sheath…”

You start to sink down on him as you finish the quote, your words trailing off into a wanton moan. 

“I’d yell at you for saying something so stupid if you weren’t fucking squeezing my cock right now.” Jason manages to huff out. His teeth are gritted, eyes shut as he tries not to cum at the sensation of you wrapped warm and tight around him. 

His large hands settle on your waist as yours plant themselves on his chest for support. 

“You have to admit, it’s clever wordplay.” You mewl, mind fuzzy from the sensation of his dick stretching you out. 

Tingles shoot up your body as the pain dissolves into a delicious fullness. You crave friction, your very core feels like it's aching for it. In fact, you think you’ll go insane if you don’t start moving right now. 

You carefully lift your hips up, before dropping back down again, repeating the motion over and over until you’ve built up a somewhat regular rhythm. 

Moans ceaselessly flow from your lips, interspersed with mumbled swears and curses.

Your head is tipped forward, your hair falling into your face. Jason’s hand comes up to brush it back behind your ear, before gently cupping your cheek.

“You feel so good baby, fuck.” He grunts.

His other hand comes up to undo your bra, releasing your tits to him. Both palms move to cup them, kneading at the soft flesh before working your perked nipples with his fingers. 

You still your movements with a whine, too confounded by the assault of stimulations you were feeling. That doesn’t mean that you’re not still desperate and yearning, though. Your thighs do their best to rub against each other, trying to chase friction despite your inaction. 

It’s only as you rest that you feel how sore your legs have become, enough that you let out a pitiful mewl. 

“Is my pretty baby tired?” Jason muses, while he’s still pinching and rolling your sensitive buds. 

“Mhm,” You moan out in reply. 

He quickly rolls the both of you over, laying you down onto your back again before flipping you onto your stomach. 

You quickly shuffle onto your knees, arching back against him in wait. 

“Good girl,” He laughs out. His palms rub against your cheeks, squeezing the flesh there before pulling back and giving it a slap. 

It earns him a broken moan from your throat, and the view of your ass shaking in desperation.

It only makes him laugh again. “Have some patience, naughty girl.”

He spanks you again, and you keen so high-pitched and pretty that he can only relent to your demands. 

Jason grips his cock and guides it to your wet folds, sliding it up and down before finally pushing in. You welcome him easily, pussy molding perfectly to his thick cock. 

A hand settles on your waist while the other tangles into your hair. He yanks your head back as he starts fucking you hard and fast. 

His hips smack hard against your ass with each thrust, slowly turning the skin there sore and heated. His cock is bullying its way in and out of you, the tip knocking against your sweet spot with a force that repeatedly knocks the breath and thoughts out of you. 

Your eyes are rolled back, brain melted, as drool drips from your lips. 

Chants of “fuck” and “Jay” are the only sounds your mouth remembers how to make now. 

“Just keep saying my name like that, sweetheart.” Jason pants out. 

He can’t believe how good you feel around him. You’re so warm and wet that his cock glides in and out so easy, making it effortless for him to abuse your poor cunt. 

The hand in your hair guides you up to him, back pressed against his sweaty chest as he tilts your head and leans in for a kiss. 

It’s messy with your spit and drool, both your movements uncoordinated and sloppy. 

He fucks up into you all the while, gravity allowing him to hit harder and deeper inside you.

He can feel that you’re close again - your body is twitching against him, your cunt beginning to spasm. 

The hand on your waist reaches to rub quick and hard circles against your clit, and you’re gone.

Your whole body shudders as you soak his cock, before going limp is his hold. It’s an intense buzzing sensation that overtakes you, settling deep in your veins until you’re trapped in a pleasing static. Your head is submerged in sticky syrup that makes it hard to think, so you just indulge in the calming weight of it. 

Jason pulls out and gently maneuvers your dazed body back to the bed, hand working himself to completion before finishing on your stomach - his warm cum splattering on the skin as he lets out a husky grunt.

He stays there, catching his breath for a few moments before he disappears to the bathroom while you come down from your high, washing his hands and grabbing a damp towel to bring back to you. 

He wipes you clean before poking your cheek until your gaze refocuses on him.

“How was it?” He cheekily smirks. 

“I certainly died a lovely death in thy lap,” You chuckle.

“If you can still quote Shakespeare I didn’t fuck you dumb enough.” Jason frowns.

“Awh, cheer up, you big baby.” You reach out to pat his head endearingly, “I change my mind; your dick game is definitely better.”

“YES!” Jason fist-pumps like he just scored a touch-down and you smile at how stupid he looks. “Okay, now you go pee.” He shoos you away. “I’ll change the sheets and we can watch reruns of Gossip Girl again.”

“I would not wish any companion in the world but you.” You fake tear-up, wiping your eyes before giggling the whole way to the bathroom. 

Thank you so much for reading! A comment or reblog is much appreciated. Have a great day <3

- sumi ☆ミ

ミ☆ masterlist

[princessbrunette]

flirting with people that weren’t lord!rafe went against his house rules. duh. you knew that. what you didn’t realise, was that being flirted with was also a punishable offence — even though it wasn’t your fault.

maybe punishment was too dramatic of a term. but, rafe was very big on ‘sending a message’, which is exactly what he was doing as he had you totally naked— bent over the bed with his dick wedged inside you to the hilt. he pants, toned chest rising and falling as he adjusts his stance, his phone pressed to his ear.

he hadn’t said much to whoever was on the other end, but you knew from the small amounts of context given that it was him. one of rafe’s work friends had attended one of the infamous parties at tannyhill. with that, you instantly caught his attention. you were polite, not sure what to do as you assumed rafe thought highly of this man he works with, so when he was all but forcing his advances on you, perhaps you didn’t try hard enough to shoo him away. he’d grabbed you, complimented you, and when he’d pulled you onto his lap you quickly had found an excuse to get up. touching anyone but rafe did feel wrong at this point, and you’d dread to get in trouble.

his ringed hand slides slowly up your back, until he reaches the back of your neck — pushing you a little firmer against the luxurious bedsheets before slowly drawing back and grinding his cock through you. you shudder, breath hitching in your throat with a pathetic squeak and to match this a barely audible chorus of quiet, yearning moans from the doorway — rafes harem of apparent nymphomaniacs gathered to watch the show. he takes no notice of them, eyes on where you connect.

“i guess… i guess when you look the way you do everyone’s gonna want you, right? can’t really— can’t really get mad at you for that.” he addresses you this time, and you stay quiet, not wanting to step out of line. you’re drenched, walls spasming around him with enough need to drive you crazy. the pace he was going was torturous. now, rafe addresses the man on the phone.

“and you’re gonna listen to this, a’ight— gonna listen to every god damn sound. you—you know you really shouldn’t touch what’s not yours.” he drawls into the receiver as he speeds up. the bed starts to creak as rafe fucks into you, and you can’t hold back the whines and mewls that fall from you. “yeah.” he grunts out in approval as you do so.

you fuck back against him as best as you can from that position, and to reward you — he wedges his phone between his ear and shoulder and shoves a now free hand beneath you to grind his fingers against your clit as you fuck on him. your legs twitch, and you’re already getting close seeing as rafe had been working at this for ages.

“oh rafe — rafe!” you moan loudly, voice breaking and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“yeah, what’s my fuckin’ name, huh?” he picks up the phone, holding it up between you to pick you up better.

“rafe!”

“and who am i? tell him.”

“my lord!”

rafe stills suddenly, before pressing the phone back to his ear breathlessly. “you hear that? i’m her god damn lord. you touch my girl again, and i won’t be so nice alright?”

impatiently, he hangs up and tosses his phone aside before suddenly both hands are back on you and he’s putting his all in — fucking you through your orgasm and also his until it was bordering on painful.

catching his breath in the aftermath, you lay in fetal position as he sits up beside you with a cigar. rafe has one hand on your back, absentmindedly tracing your spine — and the rest of the girls had scurried off, leaving the two of you in silent solace. you brave a question through a cracked, broken voice.

“why didn’t he just hang up the phone?” it’s barely a whisper as you roll over to face rafe, looking up at him through sticky eyelashes. he stares ahead, nonchalantly shrugging one shoulder with downturned lips.

“uh, he just didn’t have the hands to do that anymore i’m afraid.”

you get a weird sinking feeling in your stomach, now piecing together that this man wasn’t willingly on the phone to rafe, more so being forced by his goons. you sit up a little on your elbow, eyeing him.

“rafe, did you hurt him?”

you sound so innocent, he can’t help but chuckle.

“no, uh— i didn’t.”

you decided not to ask anymore questions.

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Synopsis: When your fiancé breaks up with you, you start to question your timeline; who needs a man when you can have a baby yourself? Who better to ask for help on creating one than your arch-nemesis Kyle Garrick?

Note: F!Reader, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: none; besides a terrible grasp of british-isms

Chapter One: Piss off Kyle

It was while sitting beneath the awning of your favorite bistro that you’d come to a great realization. Hugo Montclair, your fiance of three years, was not just a bore but a bit of a jackass. 

Also, the lavender cake was no longer listed on Le Misa’s menu. So, technically two great realizations. As bad as it sounded, one concerned you more than the other.

Squinting you give the laminated sheet another thorough read to confirm your suspicions and… ah, yes. It’s not there. Where it should be between the ladies fingers and the lemon cake is an empty, discolored space. 

With a manicured finger you chip away at the corners to reveal the sloping letter ‘L’ beneath the meticulously placed correction tape. 

This was no good.

“Siggy, darling have you heard a word I said?”

You hum in reply, still deeply baffled with the current conundrum. Hugo calls your name again, not satisfied until you’ve given him your attention. 

He leans his head down to be in your line of sight. He’s a bit too blonde and polished for you not to focus your attention on. Like a shiny beacon. You try not to sigh deeply and instead plaster on a smile. 

“Yes, I heard you darling, you want to break up because you’re seeing Maddie from downstairs.”

Hugo extends his dainty manicured hands across the small table to cover yours above the menu. 

“I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you this way.”

His eyes are carefully soft and his expression does that awkward stretch people do when attempting to project a facsimile of contriteness. In this case it just makes the skin around his mouth pucker oddly, displacing the filler he swears he gets for preventive measures.

You pat his hand politely with a smile “It’s fine, Hugo, really. Do you think I can borrow your menu? I think there's been a bit of a mistake.”

You are sliding the paper to your side of the table before you can finish the sentence. Hugo is a bit taken aback and blanches.

Another sweeping glance at Hugo’s menu reveals much of the same. 

There’s no lavender cake.

“Look, I know this is hard to take in but I want us to try to at least be amicable. We’ve been together for years and your parents and friends adore me.”

At this you snort but quickly cover it with a cough. Your parents tolerated him at best and your friends had made it well known they disapproved of Hugo. (Something about being a posh chihuahua enamored with its own self importance.)

You frown thinking of the dramatics his mother would put on inevitably, so sure you’d ruined the engagement to her son on purpose. 

But really what could you do? 

It wasn’t the most convenient thing to have your boss's beloved son kick you to the metaphorical curb, but technically you were the one who had been cheated on. Totally not your fault this time!

“I said I got it, you can’t help who you love and etcetera.” You give a cluck of your tongue before looking up once more hoping to catch the circling barista's eye. 

The mid afternoon lunch crowd at Le Misa’s is blessedly tame for a Thursday. The gloomy weather outside makes it easier to spot the jittery teen in a crimson red apron. The poor girl is glued to a corner, hunched over and clutching a notepad in white knuckle grip. 

She sees you shift in her periphery and snaps terrified eyes to your half raised arm. You do your best to smile sans teeth as you wave her over, coaxing her closer with small fluid movements. 

You hope you’re projecting calming vibes because she looks a bit green around the gills from the very thought of being needed by a customer. 

When she’s meters from your table you lean forward, your tits and belly squash a bit over the table causing your empty saucer to clatter before settling. Hugo, despite his offended chittering, stops long enough to stare at your chest. With a roll of your eyes you ignore his open panting. Typical.

“Hi darling,” you chirp in an octave higher than your usual. “I just had a quick question about the cakes? There used to be a lavender one here, I’ve been ordering it for years. Can you tell me what happened to it?”

“Um w-well.” The trembling girl blinks are twitchy and rapid, sputtering out um’s and oh’s.

‘Oh, no’ you think to yourself. 

You might have broken her. Still, you nod your head in support waiting for her to gather her wits. The poor thing was obviously a new employ with a bitch of a case of social anxiety.

Your efforts are for nothing in the end because a loud clearing throat causes you both to freeze, just as it’s seem she’d gotten up her courage.

Your cheek ticks as you watch the skittish girl clam up again. Hugo’s gaze has pried off your cleavage long enough to laser something disapproving and pointed at the side of your forehead. 

He’s even doing that thing with his face that you’ve always hated. His cheeks suck in like a goldfish and he does the eyebrow raise and head cock that screams ‘I am very displeased.’

“What? I just need to ask her something. I'll be just a sec.”

Hugo’s frown only deepens and he lets out the most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard from a thirty two year old man.

It causes you to roll your eyes. Really, why couldn’t he just break up with you through text? This whole kerfuffle was starting to drag on and ruin your already limited lunch hour.

What happened to just saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me?’ or ghosting like a normal person? 

You give the hovering teenager a tight smile and lift a single manicured finger to signify the need for a moment. She scurries back into the safety of the French doors into the cafe's interior before your hand has a chance to lower.

“Hugo darling,” Your tone is careful, neutral like the one you use to disarm your irate clients. 

“I’m really not upset I promise, we’d barely begun planning the wedding and we never got around to moving in with each other. Really there’s no harm-”

“She's pregnant.” he blurts out suddenly. 

A record scratches in your brain because, “What?”

Hugo grimaces. “She’s about three months pregnant. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

One blink. Two… before you’re sure there wasn’t a punchline coming. 

“Are you taking the piss right now?”

“Sweetheart,” His hands raise in defense “don’t get upset-”

“Oh what the actual FUCK Hugo? You told me you wanted to wait until marriage before considering children!” Your hiss is low and dark. 

More than a small part of you is satisfied with his flinch back to avoid your venom. You're slightly aware of the scene you’re causing but really! The man had kept his sperm under lock and key like his swimmers were precious jewels!

It’s the one thing he’d put his foot down about, content to let you drive the relationship otherwise.

‘I have to be considerate of my legacy as a Montclair, Siggy.’

‘We can talk about it after the wedding, Siggy.’ 

You didn’t understand the hang up because the Montclair clan were as distant from the crown as you were to Beyoncé! Still he’d been adamant about not having a child out of wedlock. 

You’re not very kind about reminding him of the fact either.

“I did mean that, I swear,” he ruffles his coiffed blonde hair, the pomade holding firm but is no match for the havoc his slender fingers trail. “It just happened and Madelyn and I decided it was a good thing.”

He huffs “I mean let’s be realistic Siggy, she’s different from you. She’s a bit more equipped to take care of a child than you are.”

Oh ho! Now that was rich. You were chomping at the bit to hear how the barely legal heiress was better equipped to birth a baby than you were!

“How so!” Your tone is one translating the utmost disbelief and sarcasm. 

Hugo waves a hand in the air, it’s so dismissive and you consider punching him in the nose for it. “She’s just much more flexible.” 

Well ouch?

There’s a Rolodex of adjectives your litany of exes used to describe you before they dumped you. 

Uptight, strict, aloof, intense. ‘Heartless harpy who feeds on the souls of innocent men’. 

The last one came from a starving poet who’d been freeloading on your nice suede green couch before you'd kicked him and his lute out. How you managed to find the one man in London with dreams of being a modern day bard, who knows.

(You did admire his ways with words and his tongue was capable of art). It had admittedly stung a bit more than the others and you needed an extra hen session with the girls to unpack the resulting feels. 

Nonetheless, you’ve never been called inflexible. 

Matter of fact, you were pretty fucking flexible! Your Pilates teacher had crowed about it several times during class, thank you very much.  (Maybe he was just trying to get you to put out but still, a compliment was a compliment.)

Momentarily you consider if that was actually supposed to be a dig at your weight but Hugo frantically rambles on as if reading your mind. 

“I just mean that you work long hours at Mum’s firm and you’ve told me yourself you wouldn’t stop working even if you were pregnant.”

“So what!”

“So, that’s an awful way to raise a child Siggy! Madelyn works for herself and has the time to dedicate to a baby that you don’t.”

“Of course she has the time!” you cry out in exasperation, ignoring Hugo’s shushing. If he wanted you to react better he shouldn’t have dropped this bomb in public!

“She teaches yoga to the elderly in her perfect fucking apartment! I’ve been a barrister for all of 2 seconds and I can’t just give up my position!”

Hugo rolls his eyes with the dramatic flare only an aristocrat could pull off. “I’ve been trying to work on our relationship for months; you’ve blown me off every time saying you were working or there was a crisis with your friends.”

“I thought proposing would change things but…” The sad look does make some guilt well up into your veins. 

Hugo’s shoulder drop and his blue eyes are a bit misty. It makes your throat close with panic. Hugo was prone to sobbing and you really needed to intercept that train before it derailed.

“Hugo-”

“It doesn’t even feel like you like me sometimes!” He’s hiccuping and throwing his hands in the air in exasperation before you know it. 

Oh for fucks sake!

“It’s like you view me as more of a convenience than a partner. I’ve only ever seen you truly happy over coupons or work or cakes!”

Fat tears roll down his face and you’re handing him your linen napkin with a sigh. He thanks you and blows his nose loudly enough for other tables to glance your way. Wonderful.

When he composes himself you try to refute him.

“Hugo, that's not true, I like you,” His gives you a look of complete disbelief that sets you on the defense. “Really I do! I just…”

Your brows furrow as words evade you. You really wish he would have just broken up with you via text.

“I show it differently that’s all.” Your shoulders sag in defeat.

Hugo gives you a sad smile. It’s watery and his face is still a bit splotchy.

“But not like Madelyn does. Be honest, did you ever love me?”

You feel like an absolute bitch because you can’t answer him. After a while you both accept that it was about as much as you could say.

It’s only when you’re halfway to the office that you realize you never did get an answer about the cake.

Kyle Garrick had a radar for when you were about to make a fool of yourself. The man had somehow been privy to every embarrassing moment you’ve had in your shared building. You couldn’t prove it, but he had to have some kind of sixth sense for your personal humiliation. 

There was no other explanation because the entire six years you’d lived across from him, he was always conveniently near when shit went awry.

Like that time you locked yourself out wearing only a ratty towel when reaching for a parcel. His stupidly pretty face only twitched in amusement seeing you hunched over and dripping wet. 

You’d been attempting to jimmy the cheap lock with a stray paper clip you found discarded nearby. It hadn’t gone well, as you’d been more focused on trying to keep your tits and thighs within the thin, cotton fabric.

(They really should make towels for bigger girls more accessible, honestly it was ridiculous!)

It hadn’t been your finest moment but he could have had the decency to look away. Instead, he leaned his broad shoulder against his doorway, content to watch you struggle. 

You’d snapped at him asking what his problem was and his only reply was ‘nippy in here, isn’t it?’ 

He did eventually help you break into your flat, but only after you’d called him as many names as you could think of. He’d waited out your tantrum without as much of a twitch. He’d simply taken the paper clip from you and sank to the floor in front of the doorknob.

His big hands were surprisingly much more dexterous than yours. You’d never admit to the lump in your throat or the shudder starting at your toes while staring at the long brown digits.

It didn’t help that his whiskey colored eyes bore into yours with an unspoken question when you made a panicked sound. The side of his head had grazed your breasts and the back of the hand holding your towel when he shifted on his knees. The light touch was clearly accidental, but still molten lava shot through you like a rocket on fire.

Intrusive thoughts of him kneeling before you in another context caused you to choke on your saliva. You tried so hard to clear your throat subtly but an embarrassing wheezing sound still managed to escape. Add insult to injury, the infuriating man had to pat your back when your body wracked with coughs.

You weren’t proud that you told him to fuck right off when he finally got the door open. You ignored his sarcastic ‘You’re welcome, luv” and slammed the door in his smug face. 

That was nearly two years ago and the start of your vendetta against the irritating neighbor.

Per usual, he finds you just outside your doorway causing a scene. This time, you’re being clung to by your now ex-fiancés mistress.

Madelyn’s wails are loud, keening things that are razor sharp against your eardrums. Her tearful pleading is loud enough for you to miss the ding of the elevator as it stops on your floor. 

Kyle strides from the lift like a living bronzed Adonis. 

With gritted teeth you curse every deity known to mankind.

Wonderful. Truly, amazing actually!

He’s clearly coming back from a run, His arms are comically large and gleaming with a thin layer of sweat on his brown skin. You’re able to make out the intricate tattooed shield containing the numbers ‘141’ on his bicep. It’s the first you’d seen of it (not that you were keeping an eye out for it before). 

His sleeveless jumper is damp and half zipped to show off a view of his firm pectorals and the first row of his 6-pack. You’re about to peek lower to his loose gym shorts when he catches your stray perusal and raises a singular brow.

“Everything alright, love?”

“Just peachy, Kyle, thank you.” you snipe in a clipped tone. “Please feel free to run along.”

Your snarky dismissal is prickly enough that most people would call you a cunt but would blessedly sod off. 

The disgustingly fit nuisance just removes his headphones from around the cartilage of his ears and continues to linger just outside his door with crossed arms. Behind Madelyn’s trembling back you make a harried shoo-ing gesture. It’s meant to somehow relay that you had everything under control. 

You did not of course, but the last thing you could stand right now is Kyle fucking Garrick in the mix of this shit-show. No matter how angelic the bastard looked in the dim lighting of the hallway, he had an uncanny ability to piss on all of your emotional reserves. 

“Siggy!” Madelyn’s blubbering cuts off Kyle's next words. “I’m so, SO sorry!” She immediately descends into another fit of sobs against your cleavage. 

There’s a bit of an awkward lull when Kyle snorts out a laugh.“You think she can breathe in there?”

With closed eyes you lean your head back to look at the ceiling, shooting a ‘fuck you very much’ to the universe. 

You’d come home 20 minutes prior with murderous miasma cloaking you like a second skin. After being publicly dumped (without even the comfort of sweets to soothe the humiliation) you’d gone straight back to work just to deal with piles upon piles of paperwork. 

Your only reprieve was Hugo’s mother canceling her standing appointment with you. You’d still been forced to work with the old woman’s assistant and to your disdain, he was just as persnickety as his employer.

By the time you’d made it home on aching feet and a splitting headache your thoughts were filled with the desire to stuff yourself with a big fat American cheeseburger. Specifically one from the shady shop around the corner that you suspect may be a mafia front. They made damn good cheeseburgers though. 

Your mind had then of course wondered to the possibility of being caught up in a police raid and if ‘wanting to support local business’ be a good enough excuse to get you off the hook.

It’s how you missed the pint sized ambush lying in wait for you.

Madelyn had been planted outside your door in electric pink spandex and light up sneakers. She’d spotted you coming out of the lift and attached herself onto you before you could make a proper run for it.

Since then you’d been stuck holding her instead of the greasy end of a heart attack masquerading as a sandwich. Fat tears continue to wet the collar of the fleece outer coat you’d nabbed at a bargain sale.

“How long has she been like this?” Kyle asks with a raised brow.

Ignoring him, you do your best to wrestle Madelyn’s stiff form back enough to meet her eyes. 

The younger girl’s face is red and splotchy, snot and mascara darkened tears stain her usually fair skin. Her mousy brown hair could use a wash as well but you aren’t unkind enough to point it out. Even though she did shag your husband to be, it was clear the girl was torturing herself with guilt.

It is a bit unfair that the smudged makeup does nothing to detract from her beauty, much to your petty disdain. 

She’d make gorgeous babies with Hugo…

The thought makes you scowl. It was time to make a retreat.

“Madelyn, I’d really like to get into my flat. I don’t want to speak to you to be honest and I need you to let me go.”

More helpless wailing comes out of the younger woman.

“P-Please Siggy, I just need you to know I never meant for this to happen! Hugo and I tried to keep away from each other and I don't want you to hate me or the b-baby!” By the end she’s blubbering herself into hyperventilation. 

From the corner of your eyes you can make out the door of your neighbor adjacent to you crack open. Whipping your neck to get a look at the nosy pissant gets the older woman to slam the door closed with a fearful squeak. 

This had gone on too long.

Forcibly you use your hip and extra weight to maneuver the hysterical woman from your person. You hold her flailing arms to prevent her from launching herself back to your front. When she whines you’ve finally reached your breaking point.

“For fucks sake, you’re making a bloody scene!” You bark out, “I don’t care about Hugo!”

Madelyn flinches.

“But you care that we’re having a baby, right?”

It’s only when Madelyn lets out a whine of pain that you notice you’d been holding her thin wrists in a vice-like grip.

A forgotten Kyle chooses that moment to slink closer, his hands cup Madelyn’s shoulder carefully, despite your death glare.

“Maddy, darling, why don’t you let go for me.”

The brunette woman startles having finally noticed his presence in the vicinity. 

“Oh, Kyle! I didn’t know you were here!” It’s insulting how quickly she wriggles from your hold to catapult herself into Kyle’s waiting arms. 

With disgust you watch Kyle pat the shorter woman’s hair much like one would do a pet. Something about watching him with her makes your hackles rise farther.

“Why don’t you come in and calm down, hm? I’ll make you that tea you like and we can watch something.” Kyle makes a humming noise meant to soothe. It pisses you off but seems to work like a charm.

Madelyn’s sniffles subside dramatically and she rubs her hand across her button nose.

“Yes, that does sound lovely, but I need to talk to Siggy...”

You flinch as the two turn towards you once more. Kyle must see the cornered look in your eyes because he rubs his hands along Madelyn’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear. 

Madelyn nods and enters Kyle’s flat without any further hesitation.

It’s like the nearly thirty minutes of being held hostage outside your own home means nothing against his soft words.

God, you hate this man with every fiber of your being.

With a scowl you rummage through your bag for your house keys. Why did you have so many gum wrappers inside? You really need to clean your bag out. 

It’s not until you hear a throat clear that you realize Kyle still watches you from the threshold of his home.

“What?” Your tone makes a muscle in his cheek twitch. You hate to say it but it satisfies you to know at least you have some effect on him.

“Are you alright, love?” 

That causes you to abandon your search. You squint at his open expression and the genuine concern you see there. It’s unexpected and makes you a bit uncomfortable. How pathetic did you look that even your enemies pity you?

“I’m fine. Not like you actually care anyways.”

The last part was said in a mumble but Kyle’s sharp ears catch it. 

“Oy, what is that supposed to mean?” He steps closer to you crowding your space. 

Your senses are bombarded by the heady scent of the bergamot and cedar wood notes in his cologne. Coupled with the tangy smell of his natural musk, your brain does that thing where it shuts off and reboots itself.

“Siggy.” Kyle reaches out to touch your arm sending an electric current between you two that causes you to jolt back. He frowns, stepping closer, crowding you before you wield your bag in front of you like a shield and sword. 

“Garrick, I really, really don’t want to talk right now.” 

“Sig-”

“No, no, no! I don’t want to hear it! I’ve had a shite day and the cause of it is currently waiting for tea and cakes in your flat! I’m the one that deserves bloody tea and cakes for fucks sake!”

Enraged, you shove your hand through your bag and come in contact with the puff ball attached to your keys. 

You’re frantically unlocking your door and shoving inside your home, refusing to give the universe another moment to make a mess of your ruined day.

You look at Kyle as he stands in utter confusion and give him the dirtiest look in your arsenal. 

“Cheers, I hope you enjoy your sweets with Madelyn but you can piss right off, Kyle!” 

You slam the door with finality.

<< Previous | Masterlist | Next >>

[therealcocoshady]

Request

Little Lilly hearing reader or Marshall say a swear word and her repeating it at random times .

Time Out

Author’s Note : Thank you for your request ❤️. I had a fun time writing this and I hope you like it ✨. Please keep these fluffy and cute requests coming because they heal my soul ✨. (Other requests are also welcome)

2020

- Fuck.

It was almost inaudible at first, and he wasn’t sure he had heard that quite right. A tiny, childish voice using a big swear word. Definitely odd. Marshall turned his head, only to see that Lily had spilled juice all over the leather couch. She was pursing her lips, obviously frustrated. His three year-old was always annoyed when things weren’t proper. She hated having paint all over her finger, loathed having dirt on her dress after playing in the garden and, whenever she spilled something, it was as if she had witnessed the eruption of WWIII. Her being upset that she had spilled juice wasn’t surprising, but her using such a colorful language definitely was. It was the first time he heard her swearing and it almost broke his heart. It was probably a bit dramatic on his part, but it was further proof that his baby was growing up. She had just turned three and her language had gotten so much better in the past few months. However, he didn’t expect it to include swearing words. She was only three years old ! If memories served, his eldest daughters were a bit older the first time they swore.

- it’s fine, baby, he said. It’s just a little juice. We’ll clean it up. But you don’t get to use that word, ok ?

- What word ? She asked innocently.

- The one you just used. Ok, Lily ? No using that.

- Ok, Daddy.

There it was. Better. Lily was an extremely polite little girl and he prayed that she would stay that way. He decided not to make a big deal out of it. After all, he wasn’t even sure that she understood what she was saying. It probably wasn’t on purpose. Although, he wasn’t quite sure where she’d heard that word. Ever since he became a Dad for the first time, almost three decades ago, he had always been careful to mind his language around children - especially his own. One might argue that his making a living relied on the use of swear words - which wasn’t technically wrong - but there was no way in hell he would allow his kids to use them freely at home.

After tucking Lily in bed that night, he brought it up to you.

- So… Lily’s swearing now, he said with a frown.

- Swearing ? You asked. What did she say ?

- Fuck, he explained. I don’t even know where she heard that one.

- That might be me, you confessed. We went to the Starbucks drive-thru the other day and I spilled coffee all over my blouse. I might have let it out…

- Fuck, babe ! He scolded.

- You just said it ! You defended yourself.

- But she’s not around, he groaned. She’s three ! She has no business hearing that kind of word, let alone repeating it…

- I know, you said apologetically. Look… she’ll probably forget about it.

- I guess, he shrugged. I hope so. She’s only three. Even Stevie waited until she was five to use swear words.

- You must have had fun conversations when they found out you make a living by using swear words, you giggled.

- You don’t know the half of it, he chuckled. I mean, the kids always understood that it’s just me making songs. Mostly because we never used those words at home. And I would very much like it to be the same for Lily.

- She said it only once, you pointed out. Of course we’re not raising a rude little girl. She’s always so polite. I’m sure it won’t happen again.

Only it did happen again. A couple of days later, she let it out while you were sitting at the dining room and she accidentally dropped her cutlery on the floor. Both Marshall and you looked at each other.

- Fuck ! Lily said in an annoyed voice.

- Lily ! You scolded.

- Baby, remember what I said ? Marshall said sternly. No using that word. It’s a swear word and we don’t use that, understood ?

- But Mommy-

- I shouldn’t have used that word, you said. It’s a bad one.

- And if I catch you using it again, you’ll get grounded, Marshall warned.

You gave him a funny look. Out of the two of you, Marshall had always been a more lenient parent to Lily. He told you in the past that, when he was raising Alaina, Hailie and Stevie, he was more of a disciplinarian than Kim but, if you were being honest, you had trouble imagining him like this. Maybe it was because he adopted Lily when she was two, or because you had never had trouble scolding her yourself, but he was always so soft with her and, in fact, he had never raised his voice to her. He was very much the « cool » parent, to her. That being said, you could tell he was adamant on her respecting that rule - as he should because you were very much in agreement.

A couple of weeks went by and you didn’t catch your little girl swearing again, much to your relief. On a Saturday afternoon, you went for some shopping and Marshall had to pop by the studio to work on a beat he produced for some artists signed to the label and he took Lily with him. She was used to being in the studio and always had fun. She had her little habits, some toys and usually played peacefully while Marshall was able to work. She was on the couch, drawing when she saw that her marker had left some stains on her fingers.

- Fuuuuck, she whined.

Marshall immediately looked in her direction and sighed. He already hated what was about to happen but it had to.

- Lily, come here ! he said sternly.

- What Daddy? She asked in an annoyed voice.

- Quit the attitude, he sighed. Come here.

« She’s three » he thought. « she can’t start acting like an edgy teen when she hasn’t even started preschool yet ! ». He had her sit on the chair next to his and look her in the eyes.

- What did you say ? He asked.

- I said what, she repeated.

- Before that, he asked. What’s that word you used ?

- Fuck, she mumbled.

- That’s right, he said sternly. And what did I say about using that word ?

- That… I… shouldn’t, she said as she avoided his gaze.

- Right, he said. So now, you’re taking a time out.

- But Da-

- No buts, he scolded sternly. If you can’t draw without swearing, you don’t get to draw at all. And look at me when I talk to you, Lily.

She looked at him with tears welling in her eyes. It was the first time he scolded her like this, using his « big voice ». Her look immediately made him feel guilty and all he wanted was to hug her and apologize. It took everything in him not to, and he had her sit in the chair in silence for three minutes while he kept on working. She was looking down, her lip quivering. After a couple of minutes he looked at her. She had one minute left but he gave up. Toddlers don’t have a great time notion anyway and he was a ready feeling guilty for scolding her.

- Ok, bug, time out’s over, he said.

- Ok Daddy, she said in a sad voice that immediately guilt-trip him.

- You don’t like time outs, do you ? He asked with a raised eyebrow.

- No, she said.

- And I don’t like scolding you either, he explained. But I’m your Dad, and it’s my job to put you on time out when you do or say bad things. And if you use that word or any other swear word, you’re taking a time out. Ok ?

- Ok, she said in an almost inaudible voice.

- Now, I understand that sometimes, you’re frustrated, but we don’t use words like that, he said in a softer voice. You can groan, you can sigh, you can use normal words, but not this. Now, I want you to apologize.

- I’m sorry, Daddy, she said as tears welled up in her eyes again.

Guilt got the best of him and he pulled her in for a hug. Scolding her broke his heart and he was thankful that you were the one who did most of it because he wasn’t able to handle seeing sadness in the eyes of his princess. How he had managed to handle scolding the older ones over and over when they were growing up (mostly because his ex didn’t), he wasn’t sure. Had he always been so soft ?

- Don’t cry, baby, he said. It’s fine. You’re forgiven.

- But I don’t like it when you’re mean, she whined.

- I’m not mean, he chuckled. I still love you very much. Just because I scold you doesn’t mean I don’t, you know ?

- Ok, she sniffled.

- You want to go back to drawing ? He asked as he put her down.

- Will you draw with me ? She asked.

- I can take a little break, he said.

They went to the couch and started drawing together. They heard Royce and Denaun come inside the studio.

- So I told her to fuck off, you know ? Denaun said.

- Shit man, that bitch is a fucking- oh hey guys ! Royce said as he saw them.

- Time out, Lily said in a stern look.

Marshall immediately covered his mouth so that she wouldn’t see the smile he failed to contain.

- First of all, you say hello properly to Ryan and Denaun, he said. Also, you don’t get to put people on time out, Lily. I do.

- Hi, Uncle Ryan, Hi Uncle Nauny, she said as she went to hug them.

- What’s that time out thing ? Denaun asked as he picked up Lily to carry her.

- We’re learning not to use colorful language, Marshall chuckled.

- Oh, Royce said. Yeah, we shouldn’t have said that, Lily, you’re right. Sorry.

- Do they get time out, Daddy ? She asked as she looked at Marshall.

- Hell no, Denaun said. We’re grown ups, we don’t get time out.

- But you said the words, Lily argued.

- Yeah guys, time out, Marshall said with a grin.

- Seriously, man ? Royce asked.

- Yeah. Time out, Marshall said. Rules are the same for everybody.

He went to the kitchen area with the guys while Lily kept on drawing. They failed to contain their laughter. Ever since Marshall had adopted Lily, they enjoyed teasing him on his « Dad » demeanor, and how he was on a different mode when she was around.

- She’s got some attitude, Royce said.

- Probably got that from her Mom, Marshall chuckled.

- Wait until I tell Y/N you said that, Denaun grinned.

- Don’t, Marshall said. Otherwise I’m getting a time out.

[tigreblvnc]

BLUE LOCK CHARACTERS WHEN DRUNK.

warning: alcohol, drunkenness.

characters included: isagi, bachira, nagi, reo, chigiri, kunigami, barou, yukimiya, rin, shidou, karasu, otoya, hiori, oliver, sae, kaiser, ness + master strikers.

✦ [All-or-nothing drunk] Isagi takes the time to calculate the blood alcohol level per drink and how long it will take for his body to process it all, before his plans are ruined by Bachira, who convinces him to drink everything with him. Isagi either becomes capable of anything or ends up on the floor, unable to speak or think properly.

✦ [Happy drunk] Bachira is overexcited, drags Isagi around and tries every drink. He ends up plastered on the floor, hugging Isagi like a pillow.

✦ [Talkative drunk] Nagi is surprisingly chatty, holding the bottle like a stuffed animal. He drinks straight from the bottle like it's a baby bottle, with a weird trembling smile on his lips. He mumbles stuff, but no one understands him.

✦ [Dramatic drunk] Reo takes the bottle away from Nagi to lecture him about sobriety, before drinking in his place. He ends up drunk instead of Nagi, starts getting sad, and eventually cries over his past failures.

✦ [Clumsy drunk] Chigiri giggles at every joke and stumbles around. He bumps into furniture and can no longer run. If he tries, he trips and falls to the ground, unable to get back up but still giggling.

✦ [Sober] Kunigami doesn’t drink and scolds those who overindulge. At the very end, he cleans up with a large garbage bag and escorts the drunk ones home, carrying people like princesses.

✦ [Sober and angry] Barou is typically like Kunigami but loses his temper with anyone who messed up the room. Unlike Kunigami, Barou drags people out by their feet directly.

✦ [Responsible drunk] Unlike Isagi, Yukimiya sticks to his calculations and drinks only the bare minimum before politely excusing himself from the party and heading home. He’s perfectly fine.

✦ [Amnesiac drunk] Rin forgets his first and last name. He turns red and drools everywhere without realizing it. Confused, he babbles incoherent words and looks for someone to comfort him. Basically, he's a big baby with teary eyes.

✦ [?] Shidou doesn’t show any difference between being sober and drunk.

✦ [Melancholic drunk] Karasu downs his drinks while sitting on the roof under the moonlight. His cheeks are flushed, and he mumbles cryptic things. Sometimes, he looks sad, but he hides it. That’s why he drinks alone on the roof.

✦ [Flirty drunk] Otoya flirts more than usual and giggles a lot. He also gets more touchy, throwing his arm around people he doesn’t know and asking awkward questions before moving on to the next person.

✦ [Innocent drunk] Hiori gets carried away by Isagi, who got carried away by Bachira. He drinks one glass and already feels hot. He can’t handle alcohol but tries to keep his composure, even though his cheeks are scarlet. More philosophical than usual.

✦ [Experienced drunk] Oliver has an average tolerance for alcohol but is a regular. Basically, he drinks until he falls asleep on the floor or someone, with a silly smile on his face.

✦ [Confident drunk] Sae can’t handle alcohol too well but knows how to pace himself so that the other person gets drunker than him. After a few drinks, he gets flirty and more demonstrative, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll see him smile.

✦ [Fake drunk] Kaiser actually drinks non-alcoholic cocktails and neither holds nor tolerates alcoholic drinks, as they remind him of bad memories. He doesn’t drink in public to maintain his composure and avoid being seen as vulnerable. Probably a sad and violent drunk if he ever did drink.

✦ [Weak drunk] Ness can’t handle alcohol at all and crawls on the floor after two drinks. He babbles nonsense and keeps calling for Kaiser, even to people who aren’t Kaiser, as they try to pick him up. He probably declares his love to whoever comes near him.

+ master strikers.

✦ [Controlled drunk] Noa has flushed cheeks but remains perfectly capable of giving rational and logical speeches.

✦ [Sober and disdainful] Loki doesn’t drink, judges those who do, and even worse, judges those who can’t handle their liquor.

✦ [Euphoric drunk] Prince laughs and talks even more than usual. Very touchy. Too much. Claims to be friends with everyone.

✦ [Sober and melancholic] Snuffy doesn’t drink. The very thought of it makes him sad and reminds him of bad memories.

✦ [Uninhibited drunk] Lavinho loses all control and climbs on tables to give grand speeches praising the youth of football.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | BLUE LOCK FANFICTIONS.

[rinkkuma]

୨୧ VALENTINE'S DAY WITH BLUE LOCK BOYS

ft. isagi yoichi, reo mikage, rin itoshi, nagi seishiro, & chigiri hyoma

tags. highschool au, established relationships, gn!reader, a bit of cussing, all fluff ! / author's note. just some cheesy highschool romance! sorry they're a little short, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless ^_^

ISAGI plans a date after school, and he cannot stop thinking about it throughout the whole school day. from when school starts to the final release bell. jumping for joy when it finally rings. he immediately sprints to your class to come pick you up, and the two of you begin walking to your destination. he takes you on a date to a nearby café that had a valentine's event going on. the café is decked out in an obscene amount of pink and red decorations that would've made your head hurt if there were more. of course, he lets you order whatever you like and pays for it. (he also feeds you whatever you ordered with a big grin on his face) afterwards, he surprises you with a flower bouquet and whatever you've been ranting about wanting for the past few months. an absolute sweetheart!

REO puts his gift into a large box. why? it's too large to the point where you can't fit it into your locker, so it forces you to carry it around all day so that everyone will know you're his. writes “from: reo” in big letters on all sides of the box so people can see from every angle. yeah, reo has been planning this for the past few months. honestly, the box is so big to the point that it's a little embarrassing to bring it into your classes, and some of your teachers question you. he makes it up to you because of how amazing his gift was. a bouquet with your favorite flowers, a stuffed animal, a gorgeous and one-of-a kind necklace, and a photo book with memories from the very beginning of your relationship. spoils you with lots of kisses all over your face as well.

RIN shyly buys one of those valentine's day candy grams that a club is selling. and no, it is absolutely not because he's scared to give it to you directly. just kidding, he is. this was the first time he was actually giving something to someone for valentine's day and he did not want to mess it up, so to be safe he decided to buy one and have the club deliver it. after you receive it though, he immediately runs to your class, asking if you liked it. he mumbles an apology for not giving it to you face to face, but you pull him into a kiss to reassure him that it was more than okay.

NAGI conveniently has first period with you, so he takes this to his full advantage. arrives to school earlier than you and puts his plan into action. bangs politely knocks on the classroom door before the teacher hesitantly lets him in 2 minutes later, and puts a shit ton of things on your desk. places a stuffed animal on your seat, a basket with your favorite snacks (with the addition of a few valentine's themed candies), and a heartfelt (and surprisingly neat) letter. nagi patiently waits for you to walk in. staring at the door and being disappointed when someone walks in and it's not you. when you finally arrive though, he is holding back a smile and looks away nonchalantly, acting like you had not walked into class. you make your way to your desk, already seeing the various gifts on your desk before placing your gift for nagi on his desk. he finally lets the breath out that he didn't know he was holding, and gives you a bear hug. (you almost sit on the plushie on your seat because of how small it was)

CHIGIRI dramatically sighs when you greet him in the morning with a smile on your face and a gift bag in your hand. why did he sigh dramatically, you ask? in your mind, you thought it was obvious that you two would be each other's valentine since you are dating, so you never formally asked him. yes, chigiri could've easily taken things into his own hands and asked you, but he chickened out every time he was going to ask you. yes, he could've just texted you, but he believed that was the wimpy way out. you give him a puzzled look as you hand him your gift, asking him what was up. he looks down as he mumbles, “youdidn'taskmetobeyourvalentine..” as he rubs the back of his neck. you laugh before you give him a smile and say, “chigiri, we've been together for a while. i thought it was a given that we were each other's valentine.”

inspired by this prompt list <3

[pantherxrogers]

hellloo, omg i loved the mingo sugar daddy drabble and was wondering if u could do a yunho one!

blurb: sugar daddy! yunho x fem!reader ꨄ︎ 

🌹pairing: sugar daddy!yunho x fem!reader

🌹warnings: suggestive, spoiled reader (lmao), low key subby yunho?? (but not really), sickeningly sweet fluff

🌹summary: yunho loves taking you shopping! he can't help but love everything you try on 🤩

🌹a/n: i hope you enjoy this! 😚 ty for your request bby! ❤️ yunho is such a cutie patootie so i had a TIME making this. i want to put him in my pocket!! 🤬 divider by: @drifting-moon 🫶🏾

my masterlist (you can find the mingi & san versions here!)

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

"Yuyu, you said that about the last three pairs," you whine, stomping on the marble floors of the boutique.

The harsh click of the Louboutin heels grabs Yunho's attention, finally making eye contact with you. He had to peel his eyes away from your legs, in awe of the way the heels make them look even longer.

"I know, sweetie, but they all look so good on you," he answers honestly, his cheeks tinting pink at the admission.

It tugs on your heart strings a little bit, unable to be mad at him when he's so cute. You feel that familiar warmth spread in your chest, becoming a bit shy under his gaze.

The way he fawns over your legs makes the room feel a little bit hotter. You call out for Sonia, your sales associate walking over, already handing you another glass of champagne.

"We'll take all four pairs, please," Yunho asserts, nodding politely at the lady. He declines the champagne, already drunk on the sight of you.

"Yay! Thank you, baby," you squeal, prancing towards the leather couch to swoop down and place kisses all over his face.

The way the champagne sloshes around with your movements makes him chuckle softly, infatuated with your little outburst of joy.

He accepts your kisses without missing a beat, relishing in your affection. Yunho will truly buy you anything to keep that beautiful smile on your face. He knows he doesn't need to spoil you to make you happy, but he does it anyway.

"You're welcome, gorgeous," he murmurs, lowering his hand to pull down your Miu Miu mini skirt. The way you're folded over to kiss him makes his heart flutter, but he also doesn't want to give Sonia an accidental eyeful.

Over your shoulder, he can see the warm smile spread across Sonia's face. You've been shopping with her for years. She's always patient with your playful whining and the way you sweet talk your very giving boyfriend to get exactly what you want.

If Yunho didn't know any better, he'd think she has a soft spot for the pair of you, despite her no nonsense demeanor.

Your soft whisper brings Yunho back into the present.

"I can't wait to wear them for you later," you pull back a bit, taking in the way his eyelids droop at the sound of your voice.

Pressing a slow kiss to his lips, you retreat to Sonia, watching while she boxes up your shoes. You bite back the smirk on your lips, still feeling the heat of Yunho's gaze as you walk away.

You make small talk with Sonia, sitting down to put your feet back into your sandals. You huff dramatically, feeling slightly fatigued after the long day of shopping. Even though it was your idea.

"Yuyu, can you come here please?" you call out, turning to him with an innocent look. He's over to you before you can get the words out, already knowing what you're going to ask of him.

"Yes, honey?" he answers, towering over your place on the chair. You don't miss the way his eyes trail over your frame, catching on your plush thighs.

"Can you please help me put my shoes back on?" you pout, "It's really hard bending over in this outfit," your full lips tug down at the corners, a pout punctuating each word. Yunho knows exactly what you're doing, but he plays into your hand anyway.

"Okay, baby," he sighs, kneeling down in his expensive pants. You blow him a kiss, smiling at the way he gently places the sandals on your feet. He fastens the clasp, the Chanel logo locking into place.

Your heart skips a beat when he kneels down, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin of your ankle.

"Thank you, baby," you breathily whisper, watching him as he joins you on the plush bench.

Sonia clears her throat, momentarily bursting your little love bubble.

Your cheeks feel warm, causing you to nuzzle into Yunho's side. He smirks at your embarrassment, pulling you closer with a strong arm around your waist.

"You can charge my usual card. Thank you, Sonia," he answers respectfully, nodding as she leaves the room.

Tension fills the room as the two of you sit in silence. You bring your head up, pressing gentle kisses into the side of your boyfriend's neck.

"I love my new shoes, Yuyu," you mumble, basking in the smell of his cologne.

He's crowding your senses, head swimming with thoughts of his strong body on yours. You feel his warm hand on your back, gently stroking the skin there.

"I'm glad you like them, honey," he answers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You both sit there for a few moments, basking in each other's company.

Eventually, he taps your back, helping you stand up before Sonia comes back with your latest purchases. You smooth your hair down while Yunho tenderly adjusts your outfit, slightly ruffled from the short cuddle session.

"Yuyu?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Can we stop in Tiffany for a second? I want some new earrings to wear with my shoes."

The two of you jump slightly at the sound of Sonia's booming laughter. She places the bags in Yunho's hands, already knowing what he'll say to you. You can't help but join in with her giggles, surprised to see this side of her. But, Yunho usually brings that out of people anyway.

"We'll see, baby," he sighs, ushering you out of the store. You smile brightly, pressing a loud smack to his cheek, knowing you're about to have even more bags for him to carry.

[letters-to-rosie]

timebomb headcanons 💚

(doing this because my fic talk revolution to me is over 15k hits on ao3! it reached that a while ago it's 23k now but I'm slow ahhhh it's a long story)

Jinx is the better cook. She learned the basics while living at The Last Drop and can canonically bake, so it's not too much of a stretch. Ekko's not a disaster in the kitchen, but he follows her lead

both of them suffer pretty bad nightmares; for Jinx, she finds that Ekko holding onto her helps calm her down, but Ekko is more likely to want to get up and clear his head

any shared living space gradually becomes covered in doodles

they are both very cuddly

Jinx's attachment style is more anxious while Ekko tends to be avoidant. typically, this isn't the best mix, but they work together to accommodate each other

they call each other their partner. idk why but I insist on this one lol it just fits

the biggest obstacle in their relationship (be it canon or an AU resembling canon events) is dealing with the harm Jinx caused many of Ekko's friends while they were apart. I think if she were able to get to a healthier place, she'd take the process of reconciliation seriously not only for Ekko's sake but for her own, as part of a process of coming to terms with everything

but I think that would work for her because Jinx, as we see hinted with season 2, has political goals that align with Ekko's and give them plenty of reason to work together. I doubt the Firelights would all love her, but there are certainly ways to imagine them reaching some kind of understanding. Ekko would also find this political Jinx very hot lol

despite their flairs for the dramatic, they have a lot of quiet moments together. they calm each other down, paradoxically. this idea is mostly based on them sitting together on the bed looking super cute in Act I lol

Jinx makes the first move. she says I love you first, too.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

options for if vaggie and alastor found out about each other's dancing skills

Alastor better at dancing than Vaggie and everyone can see it - Boring. - Changes and challenges nothing. - A crime against Alastor simps and Vaggie simps alike.

Vaggie and Alastor both better than each other at dancing their specific preferred dance styles but no one else can tell - Better. - Both get a chance to show off and get shown up. - Unwillingly bonding over being the only ones at the hotel who can fully see the other's skill and being a little nauseous over it.

They're equally matched in everything and both know it. - Getting juicy. - Dance off of increasing frustration. - Everyone can tell they're hating every minute of it and are only trying to beat the other but also no one can get them to stop until Charlie literally steals her gf away.

Vaggie is slightly better but only Alastor notices - Yessss. - Vaggie can tell he's getting even more high strung and dramatic than usual but they're literally just dancing so what the fuck. - Alastor casually announcing that was the most unpleasant dance of his life and one he will NEVER be repeating again while Charlie steps in for the next dance with Vaggie very confused bc her gf is a great dancer??? What?

Vaggie is clearly better than him and everyone sees it - ITS A M-M-MENTAL BREAKDOWN!!! - He refuses to accept this outcome and keeps asking (challenging) her to another dance. - Great B-plot gag potential, Vaggie's exasperated, Alastor's cheering himself up by annoying her about it, by the end of the night Vaggie stalks out of the ballroom firmly telling the radio demon No! You stay! STAY! Don't follow me! while he trails after waving her forged dance card with his name rewritten all over it.

Vaggie is WAY better than him, sees how much that unsettles him, and is SMUG about it - A quiet Alastor is a Alastor who's going through it. - Husk is not quiet, Husk is CHEERING. - "viscerally disgusted at the thought of anyone actually being his superior in anything" Alastor meets "always the follower who rarely gets shown any damn respect even by herself" Vaggie - Vaggie switching between using Alastor like an inanimate prop and uno reverse guiding him into steps he has to stumble through, smirking the whole time. - Alastor says nothing until the very end, where he bows politely and askes who or what VAGGIE uses dancing to try to forgetting about. - Charlie doesn't hear that part but does see her gf hurry outside right afterwards and goes worriedly after her, which Alastor watches before going to sit quietly at the bar and get drunk while a now terrified Husk pretends not to exist. - Heading upstairs later with an extra few bottles Alastor passes by a partly open door and catches a glimpse of chaggie slow dancing inside in the dark, with Vaggie's exorcist wings out. - he leaves them one of the liquor bottles before moving on - Up in his radio tower Alastor puts on a record labeled mother's favorites and has it on repeat for the rest of the night. - Vaggie handles complaints the next day from demons banging on the hotel door screaming about being driven half out of their minds by the looping broadcast that affected every audio device for several several city blocks around the hotel last night. - She tells them all it was a hard night for some people and to get fucking lost. - Vaggie dropping an empty bottle off at Alastor's door with some black coffee and a note reading "thanks for the hangover asshole" - he puts the note in the bottle and keeps it. probably in the mouth a decapitated deer head. - Alastor and Vaggie and the horrifying idea they might have more than a love of dancing and multiple murders in common. - Charlie changes their official hotel status on the official hotel enemies / frienimes / alliances chart board to "FRIENDS!!!" afterwards and they both physically cringe back at seeing it.

[rileyslibrary]

i don't know if you've already gotten this but if you haven't can you please make a part 3 to the ghost and Lt fic? it was so, so good, you had me on the edge of my seat the entire time. jealous ghost is everything i never knew i needed and more. your writing is just too good that i have to know what happens next. thanks! 🫶

Hey reader! Glad you liked it! I wrote something quick for ya but I’m afraid there’s a more sensible Ghost in this one. It’s how I’d like to finish the “new Lt.” Saga. Oh well, hope you like this one as much as the last one! 🍫

Synopsis: Captain Price’s decision to put you with Ghost and Lt. Wilson in the same room serves more as a punishment to you than to them. You have Price’s number on speed dial, ready to pull the trigger.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,033

Notes:

This is the final part of the story. Here’s Part 1, and Part 2.

Warning: The usual swearing.

Want more?

———————————————————————

Captain Price came into your office the day of the conflict and “made a few arrangements,” as he—very politely—said. These “arrangements” weren’t a big deal to an outsider, but enough for the three of you to be on edge.

And that tension didn’t come in the form of profanities or fist punches and yells. It was a lingering tension. Like the smell of fresh coffee in the morning as you walk down the stairs to the hotel’s breakfast area. Only it wasn’t coffee you smelled in this room; it was a combination of some leftover bitterness and unresolved conflict, mixed with the smell of iodine that both regularly applied on their—physical—wounds. Because the other type of wounding that Captain Price inflicted on them was pretty hard to be fixed with mere antiseptics and bandages. It seems like the Captain’s decision really hurt their ego.

See, Captain Price had this fantastic ability to make you feel small and insignificant just by smiling at you. He wasn’t direct like Ghost was. No. He was very subtle with his scolding if he ever did such a thing. He was the kind of person who would deliver criticism in the form of tropes, planting seeds in your mind so you would discover later on that they flourished and became trees filled with ripe fruit. A strong supporter of fixing something rather than scrapping and starting from the beginning, he decided not only to allocate Lt. Wilson in the same office as you and Ghost but to sit them next to each other, elbow-to-elbow.

Have you ever seen two kids whose parents have just scolded them? Sure you have; you’re looking at them right now as they sit before you.

One still wears his balaclava, with one black eye peaking out. He’s resting his head on the one hand, reading through some papers. He seems defensive but also embarrassed. Can you blame him? He not only jeopardised and almost risked his position in such an exuberant way, but having his arch nemesis as a “work buddy” was enough for him to build up his walls.

The other is bruised around the eyes due to him suffering a kick straight to the nose. He seems angry, but you’d be too if a giant beast jumped you from across the table. He moves frantically, pushing buttons on the laptop’s keyboard like a passionate pianist delivering his solo to an audience. His demeanour had changed dramatically as well. There was no more flirting, no unnecessary winking or pointing finger guns. He acted like a… soldier, for once.

And you? You were a wallflower. Trying to make as little noise as possible, closing drawers quietly, as if a newborn is sleeping next to you, not asking much, and peaking over your computer’s screen to monitor their behaviour, just like Captain Price ordered you.

“Are you trying to punch through the desk with your fingers, man?” Ghost asks Wilson, and you immediately tense up.

“‘This piece of shit doesn’t save my document,” Wilson replies while repeatedly pushing the same key.

You grab your phone. Captain Price gave you his number and advised you to call him immediately if things were about to take a wrong turn.

“I don’t care what you’re trying to achieve on that thing,” Ghost says, “but you’re pretty successful in pissing me off right now.”

Your heart jumps to your throat, and you unlock your phone.

“I’m not doing it on purpose, man!” Wilson exclaims, “though can’t say I’m not chuffed for doing that to you.” He continues smirking.

“What a fucking prick,” Ghost says and slides his chair to Wilson’s desk. “Let me show you.”

You shoot yourself up and show them your phone with Captain Price’s phone ready on speed dial.

“ONE MORE MOVE, AND I CALL PRICE.” You shout, and they both turn to look at you dumbfounded.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, doll?” Wilson yells back, “Lt. Is trying to help.”

“The hell, love?” Ghost agrees and raises his hands in the air in a stance of innocence, “here, look,” he says, putting one hand on the mouse and the other on Wilson’s keyboard.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Wilson mutters and turns to Ghost, “is this how we’re gonna have them every day?”

“Beats me, man.” Ghost replies, “can’t make a move anymore.”

You look at Wilson, then turn to Ghost, then back to Wilson. Neither is paying attention to you. Ghost is explaining to Wilson that he removed the “.docx” extension, and that’s why he couldn’t save the document. Wilson thanks him, and Ghost nods. He slides his chair back to his desk.

“You play football, by the way?” Wilson asks Ghost.

“I do,” Ghost nods, “how’d you know?”

“That kick,” Wilson explains, “was like you shot a penalty.”

Ghost briefly chuckles, “don’t make me laugh,” he says, “my tooth hurts.”

“From the punch?” Wilson asks, laughing, and Ghost nods. “I can give you my dentist’s contact details,” Wilson suggests, “he’s brilliant at fixing teeth.”

Ghost gives him a thumbs up and immediately lifts his index finger to form a gun, “appreciate it, mate,” he says.

He appreciates it? Wh- mate? F- finger guns? It just occurred to you that you’re still standing, holding that phone close to your chest.

“Right, I’ll go make us all some tea!” Wilson says as he stands up and claps his hands.

You both look at him exiting the room, then turn at each other.

I know what you’re about to say,” Ghost begins, “but let me explain first.”

You furrow your eyebrows and place your phone on your desk. “Please do, Simon.” You say and cross your arms over your chest.

“There’re two options here,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “I either attempt to put some sense to the guy for continuing to call you doll, which will result in Captain kicking me out for good”, he explains. “Or,” he continues, tilting his head to the other side, “I bite the bullet and bare his nonsense just so I can continue being here.”

You blush and smile at him. “Here?” You ask.

“Yes, here,” he replies and meets your gaze, “with you.”

———————————————————————

[b3ach-bunn7]

LATE NIGHTS AND STAR-CROSSED MARGINS

Jason Todd is the most beautiful boy in your lecture. Luckily, fate lands you a seat next to him

college!au, fluff, pining, happy ending

——————————————————————

This has to be some form of epic karma.

You’ve never been late to a lecture before. At least, not this late, where you’re sure Professor Levine will not hesitate to slam the two double doors in his face when you eventually make it there.

You’d overslept horrifically. After a night spent with your roommates over board games and shitty wine in cracked mugs, you’d been too tired to remember to turn on your alarms. You didn’t regret it. It was hard to find time to spend together, and even if it was just a couple of hours of UNO, it was nice to catch up. Unfortunately, the drinks your friend Wendy had kept pouring into your mug had lulled you into the best sleep you had in a while. Which, unfortunately, was interrupted by a confused knock on your door, a concerned friend wondering why you were still in bed so late.

Now, without a shower and the outfit you’d worn yesterday, you were practically running to the hall to try to make it in time. Feverishly checking your phone, watching the minutes go by, as you finally stop outside the doors.

You pause for a second. Do you knock? Just walk in? Professor Levine wasn’t necessarily strict. He’d never kicked anyone out before, but you’d never seen him angry. Would he even be angry? You didn’t know. God, you were being so dramatic.

You push open the door. Immediately, a couple dozen eyes lock on you, dishevelled and anxious at the door. You could die. Really and truly, just drop down on the floor and die. You glance at the professor. He just nods slightly, and you take that as a sign you’re in the clear. You start walking to your seat, relief flooding your veins, to see that it’s taken.

Your second dosage of karma. You’re not sure what you’ve done to deserve such cruel treatment. You sat in the same seat every say. Far enough front the front that you didn't get picked on, and far enough from the back that it didn’t look like you were hiding from Levine. You quickly scan the room and see the only spare seat is right at the very back. Right next to Jason Todd.

You knew who he was. Everybody in your literature class did, everybody at your university did. He was six foot tall, with hair that curled perfectly over his brown eyes, and a body that looked like it had been carved by the gods. As if that wasn’t enough, he was also nice. Boys that attractive were usually paired with a big ego and an obnoxious personality, but he had neither. He kept to himself, was polite and respectful. Jason Todd was like every guy you’d spent hours reading about and analysing for your English classes, the perfect man in every way.

Which, of course, meant he was also horrifically out of your league.

You take the awkwardly long walk to the back. You drop your things on the floor, and sit down. He flashes you a small smile and your knees feel weak. You hope the one you give him back makes you look normal. You fiddle around with your things, bring out your laptop and books, and sigh.

Crisis averted. You made it in one piece. You tap the power on button, turning your laptop to face you. Wait a little bit. And nothing.

It's out of charge.

You tap furiously on the button, as if it will somehow make something happen.

“Fucking shit.” You whisper, digging in your bag for the charger, that you know is not there.

You feel eyes on you, and you look to your side. Jason is watching you, an amused smile gracing his lips. You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you look away.

“Sorry, I just- I forgot my charger. And my laptops out”

He hums under his breath, low and deep in his chest. “Not your day, is it?”

“No, it’s really not. It’s where I take all my notes.” You slump in your chair, rubbing a hand over your face.

He slides a piece of paper over to you. “It’s okay. Professor Levine won’t call on you if you sit this far back. He takes offence. Makes him think you’re avoiding him.”

“Surely that would make him want to call on us.”

Jason shrugs. “He’s different like that.”

You huff. You open your anthology. You’re studying Keats, one of your favourites. Despite the constant reminders that your chosen degree would get you nowhere, you love literature, evident by the copious amount of annotations you’d done. It wasn’t part of the syllabus but you thought it was fun.

A hand reaches over, hovering over your book. Jason’s, bigger thank yours, with a large watch around its wrist. Not that you were checking.

“Can I look?”

You nod. You try not to watch his deft fingers slip between the pages (try not to think about where else they could slip) and write meaningless things on the sheet of paper he’d given you. You can’t focus on the lecture, only your need for his approval of your work.

“This is incredible. You did this all on your own?” His eyes don't leave the paper as he continues to flick through.

You laugh nervously, “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of free time.”

“Oh, I love this one.”

He points to Modern Love. You smile, nodding excitedly.

“Yeah, that’s my favourite! I don’t know why, but there's something so cool about one of the best Romantic poets ever writing a poem about how people put so much pressure on romance, you know? Especially in the era he was in.”

You mouth shuts. You laugh nervously.

“Sorry. I'm rambling.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s cute.”

You don’t have time to try and dignify a response through the shiver that runs down your spine, because Professor Levine clears his throat loudly from across the room. You look over and he’s staring right at the two of you (who are considerably closer than you were when you’d sat down).

“Is there something more interesting you two are discussing? Like perhaps how to show up to my lectures on time?”

Jason snorts and you duck your head. “Sorry, professor.”

The rest of the lecture is spent like something out of a high school classroom. He scribbles notes in the margin on your paper, and you draw little stars across the page. You’ve not spoken before, but you spend the whole time whispering to each other. He shows you his favourite poems, and you pretend they aren’t yours too.

It’s a shame, really. Deep down, you wish you didn’t get along with him so well. If not for the way he looks right at you when he speaks, breath fanning over your face as he leans down to say something, but for the fact you’ll never speak again. The two of you will pack your things and part ways, and you’ll spend the next lesson in your usual seat with a fully charged laptop, thinking about him. He’ll just be another story your friends will drag out of you over a glass of wine, the day when you sat with the sexiest boy on campus.

The lecture ends, and the two of you leave side by side. You avoid eye contact with your professor and pause outside the door.

“Thank you for the paper. And letting me sit next to you.”

Your hands awkwardly grasp at the straps of your bag. Of course today of all days you’d look so messy. You’re not wearing makeup, and you know your shirt is wrinkled. He looks effortless in a shirt that curls over his biceps oh, so perfectly.

“It’s no problem.”

Silence spills between the two of you. You nod once.

“Well. Bye, Jason.”

You turn to walk away, but you don’t make it far. A hand grabs your arm. You look back, and it's Jason, all smiling and nervous. He drops your arm, and shoots you another one of his boyish grins.

“Do you want to get some coffee? We can go over our notes. Get you back on Levine's good side.”

You should probably say no. Boys like Jason are the kind that could ruin you.

“Yeah. I’d love to.”

—————————————————————-

AUTHORS NOTE

my first oneshot!! I hope you all like it, and plz leave requests or if u want a part two 🩷

[tench]

Veilguard is such a weird game.

It's not a Dragon age game, it's bately a role playing game. It's an ok action. Even though it is the most stable AAA release it is still just a bunch of barely tied together stuff in a trench coat.

The writing (insultingly dumbed down and absolutely incapable of taking itself seriously untill the last 1/6 of the game) is all over the place, the direction is nonexistent judging by the tonal shift from one quest to another. We can have very heart felt monologue about the fear of death sit right next to a conversation where a lot of things are told using one specific phrase (I really hope in a clumsy attempt at emphasis) repeated till these words lose any meaning to you.

There's also a problem of role-playing in this "rpg" and the Rook. None of your dialogue choices matter in terms of defining your character, no matter the option you choose, the general conversation will carry the upbeat silly tone. "Your backstory and class matter more than your race" works untill it doesn't, like when you are a dwarf but you are denied your own journey and realizations tied to the titans, and maybe it is not your journey to take yet you can't even try to be a part of it, even when Harding is actively reaching out to other dwarves to share this connection. It's also weirdly more interested in writing romance between npcs than for the main character (Lucanis comes to mind, it feels like the game is actively punishing you for pursuing him, you have to lose the whole shadow dragon faction, you won't get to hang out with Dorian and still you have bare minimum and he more interested in Neve anyway), that's extremely funny that this game is player-sexual yet completely player-aromantic. (And I miss the dai option where you can come up and kiss your LI whenever you feel like it).

I won't even touch on the weird and unnecessary sanitation of everything, like we can't allow people or factions to have negative traits whatsoever. And it's not "southern propaganda", it's "we are not engaging with complex topics for the sake of clear dichotomy between good us and evil overlords". Speaking of which

The whole plot.. The general idea of it is ok. You come to stop Solas, you make the situation go sideways, you have to work together to fix your mistakes and maybe learn to sympathize with the antagonist haunted by his own transgressions with the main theme being legacy and your relationship with your culture and the baggage it brings. But the journey is a complete disaster. Part of it works solely because the characters absolutely Refuse to make a plan and the other - because the main character has a blunt head trauma. Maybe it's related. Maybe it's all a mass hallucination. I may try to elaborate on how it's absolutely ridiculous how little the inquisition and the politics have any impact in this game yet somehow 8 people squatting in the Fade with no political affiliations are held responsible for providing for every faction they come across. I won't even try to make sense of it. It's the usual case of "the main character does everything".

The direction is not only absent in the writing. Some lines that are ok in text delivered in such a way you may think they were allowed only to use the very first take.

The music is absolutely forgettable. Also the odd riff during the dramatic reveal absolutely took me out because I thought I heard kazoo (but I bet Varric would love it).

The visuals are.. Ok. It's pretty on the first glance but the more you travel the more you realize that the general design of the locations are kinda lacking. They have this weird gradient that makes everything a little bit more unfocused and a bit washed out. There are also too many cases of the horisont just drowning in the fog. Air perspective is great and it suits locations like Necropolis, but I would argue that these establishing shots should be used for environmental storytelling in other places, with some focal points in the background, like during the final mission where you see the world absolutely drowning in the blight, devouring local statue of liberty. Or the dead Titan. Or the first shot of the Veil jumper forest (I forgot how it's called) where you see the ruins going into he sky. But because of the fog (or sometimes darkness) it feels like the game is more interested in cheating the optimisation than to hint on the bigger picture (like the chantry and the gallows buildings that you can see almost from all locations in DA2 or the andrastian/dread wolf imagery of inquisition)

So, in conclusion. Not the worst game I played, yet disappointing, even if we pretend it's not an installment of a beloved franchise that people were waiting for 10 years.

Ps. Also making such a game with nerfing all the lore only to nuke all the legacy locations is a choice I won't ever understand. It's like it is not for the fans and it's not for the new people but a secret third thing.