#Tagging this so much and I have no idea why

[fangirl-dot-com]

✉️Divorce of Convenience

*part of the reverse trope series*

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Wife!Reader Genre: Fluff/Mischief/Miscommunication Summary: Oscar as your first everything: love, boyfriend, husband. You never had to go through any type of heartbreak ever. With Taylor Swift's new album, you yearn for a deeper connection with the songs. What's a better way than to ask your husband for a weekend divorce?

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Oscar knew something was up the moment you started smirking behind your phone as you lounged on the couch. His hand was mindlessly rubbing one of your ankles that was currently propped up on his lap. There was a week in between Monaco and Canada, which gave him time to come straight home to you. 

Photographs littered the walls of your home. Some from the very early days of grade school, where you and Oscar first met. And then some of grades 9 through 12 and Oscar’s karting and Formula racing, which marked the first four years of your relationship. The engagement pictures and wedding pictures followed a year later. 

There were a couple of pictures from 2023, signifying Oscar’s first year in McLaren. There were few from this year, as Oscar got busier, but you managed to pick some out to print. However, the Aussie really didn’t notice them at first, too busy wrapping you in his arms when he got home from the double-header. 

Another giggle made him actually look at you, eyebrow raised. 

“What’s got you all smiley?” 

You huffed as you put your phone down in your lap. 

“Taylor Swift came out with a new album, and people on Tik Tok are hilarious.”  

He rolled his eyes. He knew that there was more to it. 

“And?” 

“I’m just thinking about how if we ever went through a breakup, I could relate to some of the songs on a deeper level.” 

You sat up to scooch closer to your husband, now touching shoulders as you showed him a video of a woman crying to one of the new songs. Oscar was having a hard time realizing why this was funny to you.

“What if we got a divorce?” 

Oh. 

Oscar whipped his head toward you, hair swishing. “You want to do what?” 

You huffed again, lightly rolling your eyes. “A divorce for like just a bit, so that I can really get to Taylor’s level.” 

Oscar’s head reeled back. “Why on earth would you want to do that?” 

He was getting a bit self-conscious. Was this your way of silently telling him that you weren’t satisfied being married to him? Was he away too much? Were you bored without him here? Did you want to come to more races with him?  

“Ossie, it’s not what you think,” you said as you waved your hands around. Your husband crossed his arms, not entirely impressed. 

“What I’m thinking is that you’re not happy with me anymore.” 

You wanted to melt into the couch as his sad expression. There wasn’t much difference between him and his new “brother” Leo in terms of puppy eyes. You gently put your hands on his cheeks and made him look at you. 

“Oscar you should know better. There isn’t anyone else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.” 

He pouted slightly. “Then why do you want to get a ‘divorce’ if you’re still happy.” 

You looked down at your lap as you took your hands away from his face. Your fingers started to pick at the skin around your nails. Now that you thought about it, your idea was childish and dramatic. Why would you want to get a divorce when you were happily married to the love of your life. 

“Hey.” It was Oscar’s turn to turn your head to look at him. “Just tell me. I’m having a hard time understanding.” 

“You were my first everything, you know this. I’ve never gone through a bad breakup or heartbreak, and sometimes I wish that I could experience that.” 

He gave you a look. “I understand.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “You do?” 

A nod was your answer. “It’s a part of growing up that you didn’t get to go through.” 

Nervous giggles fell through your lips, which turned into actual laughing. You fell forward into Oscar’s lap, making him laugh with you. When all giggles and laughs had subsided, he gave you a quick peck on your lips. 

The McLaren driver started to calculate things in his head. “Saur, you want to get a divorce, to listen to some songs for a few hours, and then?” 

You bumped him lightly with your shoulder. “Not an actual divorce Ossie. Just, if lots of people believe that we’re getting a divorce then it’s technically true?” 

Even you didn’t sound 100 percent sure. 

Oscar turned his body to fully face you. Now it was his turn to smirk, knowing what you wanted to do. He was never above creating some mischief online. Heck, his tweets went viral for stirring up the media. 

“So, how are we going to do this?” 

What Osar wasn’t ready for, was for you to have a 10-step plan for this. He should have been ready for your antics; he had been with you for most of your life. You suddenly stopped talking mid-sentence, your eyes widening, raising some concern in Oscar. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“We can’t tell Lando.” 

With that the plan went into motion. Step one was to cry in the car, which seemed easy enough as you chose to watch some sad edits on TikTok. It was perfect. Your mascara ran enough for the cameras to pick up on it. 

The second step was simple. You had a friend who just so happened to work at the Melbourne Law Firm. You had previously wanted to bring her lunch one day, and it worked perfectly for the plan. You knew that people were following you, which made it even better. On your way out, you took a small coffee from the lobby, and then sat in your car for a moment. 

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y/nl/n you drew stars around my scars, but down I'm bleeding

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y/nsworld guys. . . SOMEONE WAKE ME UP FROM THIS NIGHTMARE 😩

ossie&n/n THEY HIT THE PENTAGON

landonorris you want to REPLY TO MY MESSAGES??

charles_leclerc please also respond to your favorite father-in-law

maxverstappen1 answer them cause they're threatening to fly to Australia and they're going to take me with them

piastriduo she changed her username 🥺😭

y/nswife I can't be a child of divorce, it's too early

Third, Oscar would make a public appearance the day after. Some paparazzi had spotted him, making him fly the bird at the cameras. The McLaren driver quickly turned around and headed back to his car, wanting to now get home. 

Except, Oscar wasn’t expecting to be jumped the moment he wanted to get out of the house for the weekend. You had decided to go out shopping, keeping your head low. He knew he should also have kept his head low. A hand reached out and grabbed him, pulling him into a random bookstore. He had half a mind to start yelling “stranger danger,” but these were no strangers.

“Lando, Max, Charles? What is this?” 

Lando’s finger pressed into his chest, making him wince a bit. The Briton had anger in his eyes, along with Charles and Max also glaring. 

Lando hissed, “This is an intervention. Why did you divorce Y/n? She was literally your life mate. You freakin’ muppet.” 

Charles decided to put his piece in. “Did something happen? You two were so happy in Australia and Miami.” 

“Or did she do something?” the Dutchman asked, making Oscar immediately shake his head. He looked down at the floor. 

“We just decided that it wasn’t working any more. I’ve been too busy with racing and she got a new job here.” 

Lando scoffed. “Utter bullshit, that’s what that is.” 

Charles looked like a kicked puppy. “Mate. Is there no way to reconnect?” 

Oscar crossed his arms, trying to seem more intimidating. “We fought and it’s over. She already gave me the papers and they’re signed. End of story.” 

“Babe, you didn’t tell me that you were shopping here too! I found this new book . . . oh.” 

Shit. 

You blinked, looking at the three men who were cornering your husband. This was not in the 10-step plan. You were about to say something, but Lando quickly walked over to you. You expected some yelling, but he pulled you to the side. It was intense eye contact for a moment. 

“Did Oscar cheat?” 

“What?” 

He gasped. “Did you cheat?” 

You huffed. “Lando, no one cheated.” 

The kid looked like a kicked puppy, even though he was older than you. He threw his hands up in the air, pretty exasperated. 

“Why did you two get a divorce?” 

The sheer volume of his voice made a few heads turn, making you wince a bit. You tugged his arm and pulled him back to the group of three. The Briton may have dragged his feet just a bit, only because he didn’t want to have this awkward conversation with you and his teammate. 

You tilted your head just a bit. “Can we have this conversation somewhere else?” 

They shrugged and followed you, even into the car since they had all walked. And instead of getting into the back seats of your SUV, Lando, Charles, and Max squished into the first row. Their eyes did widen when your hand clasped Oscar’s as you drove off. 

Lando leaned over to Max and whispered pretty loudly, “Why are they holding hands?” 

The Dutchman “whispered” back, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s some weird kink?” 

You hit the brakes as you came to a stop light, making Lando and Max jolt. Charles sat still in his seat, already bracing himself since he wasn’t yapping. Well, at least not yet. 

You took this moment to quickly turn around and stare at them, silently telling them to shut their mouths. Oscar bit back a smile as he heard Max and Lando suck in a breath. He sighed in relief as you pulled into the garage. Ever such a gentleman, he hopped out to run around and open your door. 

He pressed a kiss against your cheek. 

“This was your idea remember?” he muttered, guiding you into the house, the three other drivers silently following you. 

You took your time to put your new books away before you went to sit on the couch. Oscar handed you a glass of water, which you thankfully took. You wanted to laugh as you watched Max, Charles, and Lando squirm. 

“You have a very lovely house,” Charles mentioned, trying to break the silence. He was successful as you gave them a soft smile. 

“Thank you, Charles. Oscar bought it for us after he signed with McLaren.” 

Lando remembered the day that the Aussie had told him about the purchase. Oscar had been so excited to truly start your life with each other. The apartment that you two had before was getting small. But now, sitting in front of you when divorce was on the line, he truly wondered what all went wrong. 

He clapped his hands, ending the conversation that you were having with Charles about paint colors. 

Lando pointed at you and Oscar. “Enough. What is going on?” 

You stifled a laugh before trying to clear the air. “Lando, there was never a real divorce. The gossip pages just ran with a rumor.” 

Max butted in. “But the law firm, your Instagram post?” 

Oscar reached over and took your hand in his. “You three know that we’re high school sweethearts, and before that, childhood friends.” 

Lando looked confused. “And what does that have anything to do with this?” 

“Mate,” Oscar started, “it has everything to do with it. Because we’ve been together since we were younger, there wasn’t time for normal teenager things like breakups or heart break.” 

“So,” you added, “we,” Oscar gave you a look, “I thought it might be fun to pretend to get a divorce.” 

No one said a word.

Lando then fell to his knees and kissed your carpet. “Thank God. I don’t think I could handle a sad Oscar every single weekend.” 

You patted him on the shoulder. “I don’t think I’d ever want to live without him. And I couldn’t pass the opportunity to not travel around the world.” 

Your husband gasped a bit while he put his hand on his heart. “You wound me woman. I knew you were with me for my money.” 

You wiggled your eyebrows. “But of course, darling. What else would you be good for?” 

Max put his head in his hands. “They’re made for each other. This is gross.” 

You quickly stood from your couch. “Well, I think it’s time for dinner. Ossie?” 

The man in question blushed at the nickname, while the other three cooed at them. He turned to give them a stink eye, effectively shutting them up. 

As you started to get some pans out for dinner, you found yourself with a human backpack. Oscar pressed his face into your neck, sighing deeply. There weren’t many moments that the two of you got to be domestic like this. And it would have been romantic, except for Lando’s squealing as he looked around at the pictures on the wall. 

“Osc, is this you in grade school? Where did the cheeks go, mate?” 

“Lando, get away from the pictures.” 

“But Osc, you were such a cute kid. What happened?” 

“You happened.” 

“Osc!” 

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oscarpiastri she's mine for the rest of time ❤️

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ossie&n/n WAAAARRRR IISSSS OOOVVEERRRRR

y/nsworld I have never been more thankful for rumors

y/nl/n ossieeeee 🥺

y/nl/n I love youuuuuuu (you're never getting rid of meeee)

oscarpiastri I love you too (pls change your user back)

y/nl/n i have to wait 2 weeks (stupid instagram)

landonorris so glad to see you in the paddock 🙌

y/nl/n good to see you too loser

piastriupdates my parents ☺️

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @myxticmoon @cherry-piee @blueberry64857959 @glitterquadricorn @lizzypiastri @sam-is-lost @spilled-coffee-cup @ilove-tswizzle @the-untamed-soul @allenajade-ite @starssfall @torchbearerkyle @judespoision @halfdeadsage @juniper-july19 @severewobblerlightdragon @thatgirlmj @gods-menace @ineedafictionalman @namgification @dark-night-sky-99 @samantha-chicago @2pagenumb @treehouse-mouse @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @kagatinkita @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @awekbachira @vellicora @skepvids @sunrizef1 @stan-josie @fanficweasley @hiireadstuff @barcelonaloverf1life @c-losur3 @graciewrote @bruhhhhhhhhehhhhhhh @tallrock35 @ashy-kit @kat-s2 @minkyungseokie @lozzamez3 @leslieis-crying @adventuresofrose @lighttsoutlewis

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one fanfiction #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #Oscar piastri x wife!reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x you #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #formula one x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x y/n #reverse trope #divorce of convenience

[tayytayy12]

American Girl | OP81 x Reader

Summary - Every F1 fan becomes shocked when Oscar, someone who they thought was very much single, comes out to be in a relationship with none other than Logan Sargeants little sister.

Warnings - Swearing

Type - SMAU

FaceClaim - Sabrina carpenter

Notes - I’m running out of ideas what to write pls send requests 😭

(Act like Logan can actually achieve a podium okay. I live in delusion.)

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OP81.fanaccount

Liked by - User1, and 60,004 others

OP81.fanaccount - The biggest unsolved mystery ever is how this man is STILL single. Like I know my boys young but like, how? He’s so polite cat coded.

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User1 - I wonder this everyday

User2 - Have you ever thought that he maybe just doesn’t want a relationship..?

User3 - Real like it’s so obvious he doesn’t and that he wants to focus on racing

User4 - Did he tell you that?

User5 - He’s is a polite cat no one can convince me otherwise

User6 - I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE !!!

User7 - Wasn’t their pics of him and some blonde girl at a restaurant in Miami last year?

User8 - People thought it was him but the photos were way too blurry to tell, they were just making assumptions

Y/n_sargeant

Liked by - LoganSargeant, LandoNorris and 104,764 others

Tagged | LoganSargeant

Y/n_sargeant - Back in the paddock, time to support the big brother in our hometown 🫡

(Also how cute were Logan and I we got along great once upon a time. and Oscar and Lo. Little babies)

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User9 - OMFG MOTHERS BACK

User10 - Y/n’s always providing the best bad photos of Logan

User11 - “thank you y/n” we all say in unison

LoganSargeant - In that photo you’re clearly trying to choke me..? Idk who told you that we got along but they lied to you. You smell like shit (THANKS FOR COMING 🫡)

Y/n_ saregant - You caught me, I’m disappointed the attempt didn’t work. (ILL ALWAYS SHOW FOR U YOU DUMB WHORE)

OscarPiastri - THAT photo? Really?

Y/n_sargeant - Aw I think it’s amazing

User12 - OMF THE DUOS COMING BACK

User13 - BABY OSCAR AND LOGAN OMFG 😭😭

User14 - Praying Logan gets his first points 🫡

Y/n_sargeant - girl same I didn’t leave my bed for nothing

User15 - gosh she’s so real

Y/n_sargeant

Liked by - OscarPiastri, LoganSargeant and 200,175 others

Tagged | LoganSargeant, OscarPiastri

Y/n_sargeant - SHUT THE FUCK UP RIGHT NOW WHAT THE FUCK OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG,

Lo P3 and Osc P2, officially the best day ever, my god I’m still crying I’ve never been so proud of people ever ever ever. No one deserves this like the two of you do, I love you both oh my god.

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User16 - The race finished like a minute ago miss girl is quick

User17 - LOGAN FIRST PODIUM AND BE DEDICATED IT TO Y/N AND THEIR MOM STFU

User18 - I love how she’s being happy for them both

User19 - Y/noscar is real

User20 - OMFG SOMINE TELL ME THEY SAW OSCAR JUMP OUT HIS CAR AND KISS Y/N AFTER LOGAN HUGGED HER

User21 - WHY IS NO ONE TALKING SBOUT IT

User22 - They punkd us

User23 - All this time we thought there as chronically single

User24 - WHY WOUKD YHEY KEEP THIS A SECRET

OscarPiastri & Y/n_sargeant

Liked by - LoganSargeant, and 2,962,653 others

Caption - It wasn’t a secret, you just never asked. It’s our three year anniversary on Saturday btw, we except gifts (joking)(partly)

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User25 - THREE FUCKING YEARS?!??!?!!!

User26 - This is the new it couple

User27 - They seem so in love omg

LoganSargeant - They are it’s disgusting

Y/n_sargeant - You love us

OscarPiastri - We look great

Y/n_sargeant - we always do

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#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #f1 x female driver #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #formula one x y/n #op81 angst #op81 x you #op81 x y/n #op81 smau #op81 fluff #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 fic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #formula one x you #formula one x oc #ln4 angst #ln4 one shot #ln4 x y/n #ln4 fluff

[cuntylestat]

i saw the tags on this post i made and i find this super interesting because i don't think the problem was actually that he just doesn't have enough light - it's a hindrance for street photography, sure, but a tripod and a shutter cable could solve that and you can take creative approaches to street photography to outweigh the lack of light. you can also shoot in well lit interiors, you can use faster lenses, faster film, etc. you could even pivot to a different type of photography. of course, as technology advances, this would become less of a problem and light is important in photography, but that's solvable. people have made and continue to make great photography in the dark. the pictures that turn out to not be taken by louis are mostly taken at night or inside.

partly, it's down to louis. as dreamstat says, louis is impatient and doesn't take the proper care, e.g. by cleaning his lens, framing his shot with care, taking enough film, or sticking around to try out different compositions in different conditions.

but this is something that he could train himself to do. the real problem (as the dealer points out) is that the compositions do not say much. louis doesn't have "the eye." the photograph they discuss is not good because it was shot in daylight, it's because it tells a story, there is depth to the image, the subjects are framed in a way that it lets you interpret the meaning. it's human.

however, it also goes deeper than that. louis cannot connect with humans to properly picture them or tell their stories because he's a vampire, and therefore there is no relationship that goes beyond predator and prey anymore. he is separated from humanity at this point, even if he doesn't want to realize it. he cannot (and does not) want to stick around to get to know humans, make a connection with them. he finds the idea of doing that preposterous and impossible - they're sustenance and not interesting enough for him to actually invest time and interest in them. i think he likes to think that he is interested in humanity, and that's why he tries to capture them on film, but really, the gap between him and them is too big at this point.

and then there's this excellent point that @feedingicetothedog made in this post. vampires are mimics but they cannot create. louis can recognize the story when it's in front of him in form of a picture, but he cannot recreate it in his own photography because he's no longer human.

so i don't think that, no matter the technology, louis will ever be the type of photographer he wants to be, the one that captures people and human life, its essence and its complexities and its emotions. he's not capable of that anymore because he's a vampire.

#interview with the vampire #give me a photography topic and ldpdl and i will ramble forever #thanks for the people who put those tags on the post because it inspired me! #if i think of anything else i'll add it lol #now i do think he could be a good photographer but it also seems like he gave up at some point because he couldn't be the great artiste

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Eddie asked you on a date. Maybe. Possibly. But you definitely accepted. (5.6k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, mentions of sex, Reader wears a miniskirt, drinking, tipsiness, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter ten: this foolish lover's game

“I’m telling you: it’s a date.”

Nora flicked through the items on the clearance rack, searching for something in your size. She pulled out a floral shirt, wrinkled her nose, and promptly put it back. 

“It’s 1993. A guy and a girl can hang out without it being something romantic,” you retorted, trying to ignore the fuzziness that filled your head at the potential classification of your upcoming night out with Eddie as a ‘date.’

“Very true. But that’s not the case here.” Nora sighed at the limited clothing choices and at your stubbornness. She stalked over to a rack of regularly-priced skirts, evidently on a mission. “And you know it, too, which is why you asked me to help you choose a new outfit.”

You had done that, though you definitely regretted it now. It had been so long since you’d actually gone out with friends that you really did need new clothes, but you had no idea where to start. 

Enter Nora: best friend extraordinaire. She was just as great at finding clothes that flatter your figure as she was at being a study buddy. Her opinion mattered to you; it was necessary, especially considering the way you currently teemed with self-doubt. 

She plucked a denim miniskirt from the lineup and held it against your waist. “Go try this on,” she said. You reached for the price tag, almost certain that it was out of budget, but she clamped her hand over yours. “My treat. Now, go.”

There was no arguing with her, not while she was shooing you into the dressing room. She clasped your shoulders as she steered you towards a curtain, yanked it open, and shoved you inside. “I’ll wait here,” she said.

You closed the curtain once again, unbuttoning your shorts and letting them fall to the thin carpet below you. 

The skirt hung on its hanger, buttons all along the front, and it was impossible not to imagine Eddie being the one undoing them. His nimble fingers would dance across the seam as he positioned himself between your legs. You could practically feel his hands as they crept further upwards towards that dangerously sensitive part of you—

“Can we stop by the food court when you’re done? I’m dying for one of those cinnamon pretzels.”

The sound of Nora’s voice instantly cooled your heating skin. “Y-Yeah, sure,” you stammered. 

Focus on that, you silently reprimanded yourself. Focus on Auntie Anne’s or Orange Julius or Panda Express—not Eddie tracing his tongue along your inner thighs. 

You stepped into the skirt, warding off any lingering Eddie-related thoughts. Monday night would be like hanging out with Nora or Ben. There was no need to worry about your hair, or your clothes, or your makeup. Eddie was a friend, and only a friend, despite what absurdities your other friends planted in your head. 

With the last button fastened, you allowed yourself to glance at your reflection in the mirror. The denim hugged your curves delicately, providing just a hint of what laid beneath without giving too much away. It looked odd paired with the old t-shirt you’d thrown on this morning, but the right top would make a world of difference. 

Nora clapped her hands together the moment you opened the curtain. Her brown eyes lit up, and a soft squeal of excitement emanated from her throat. 

“You’re gonna have Eddie eating out the palm of your hand,” she declared, reaching out to give you a little spin. 

You gently pulled away from her as though it would offset the fluttering low in your stomach. “I told you, it’s—”

“Yeah, I know. Just two friends going to the bar, pretending they don’t wanna bone each other.” Nora rolled her eyes, already sick of the will they-won’t they song-and-dance. 

You ducked back into the fitting room to change out of the skirt. “He doesn’t wanna bone me.”

“But you wanna bone him?” 

It came out as a question, but you knew she meant as a statement. 

“First of all, stop saying ‘bone.’” You hissed, tugging your shorts back over your legs. “Second, Eddie and I are friends, and he’s taking me out for graduation. End of story.”

Nora’s sigh was audible from the other side of the curtain. “Not ‘end of story.’ You didn’t answer my question. Do you wanna b—have sex with Eddie?”

Your hesitation was enough of an answer for her, and though you couldn’t see her face, you were certain she was grinning when she announced, “I knew it!”

“It’s not like that,” you protested. The fitting room was suddenly far too crowded and depleted of oxygen despite you being its only occupant. You threaded the teeth into your shorts zipper and grabbed the skirt, now heavy in your hand. “Yeah, he’s pretty cute, but—”

“But nothing. C’mon, just admit it: you like Eddie.” You could detect a hint of exasperation in her tone. Frustration, even, or confusion as to why you continually denied yourself life’s small pleasures. 

You couldn’t answer that, either. 

Protest died with the subtle twitch of your lips that gave away the truth. You hated your tells, the ones that swiftly uncovered the feelings you worked diligently to stifle. And you knew that if Nora kept pressing you about this crush, you would eventually break down and divulge it all. 

Not just your burgeoning romantic feelings towards Eddie. Not the way you told bad jokes just to see his lopsided smile and the nose crinkle that often accompanied it. Not the multiple occasions when you caught yourself staring at the muscles in his arms and ached to kiss right along the hardened edge of his biceps. 

Once you said those thoughts out loud, gave them the weight of spoken words, they became real. Able to hurt you when he inevitably didn’t reciprocate them. 

And that terrified you. 

“You have a big ol’ crush on him,” Nora continued, “and he has one on you.”

“He doesn’t have a crush on me,” you mumbled, purposely averting your gaze from hers.

Through peripheral vision, you could see her raise one brow. “Says who?”

Says the song lyrics about his ex-girlfriend. But that was too much to explain, so you slapped on a tight smile and shook the thought away. “Never mind. Let’s just pay for this.”

Nora swiped her credit card with an ease that only comes with the luxury of not having to worry about paying the water bill. She never had to dip into her own savings to keep the lights on. Buying her friend a miniskirt for a maybe-date wasn’t going to affect her grocery budget. 

“I have the perfect pair of Docs to go with this. You can borrow them,” she said, pointedly adding “for your date.” She was either oblivious or didn’t care that the cashier was eavesdropping on your conversation. 

“Not a date.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Nora plucked the bagged skirt from the cashier, flashed her a grateful smile, and shoved it in your direction. “Just answer one question for me—are you gonna wear lace panties underneath this, or cotton?” 

When you once again failed to look at her, her grin widened.  

“That’s what I thought.”

On Monday evening, you found yourself poised in front of the mirror, still fogged from your shower. The inky blue sky leaked into your room through the time-worn blinds, the sun almost fully faded into nighttime, which meant that Eddie would be knocking on your door at any moment. 

The hem of your black fitted t-shirt met the waist of your skirt, the slightest gap between the two fabrics. It wasn’t scandalous by any stretch of the imagination, but it still conveyed one message: you wanted Eddie to look at you. Wanted him to notice your soft skin the way you noticed his flexing muscles, with awe and more lust than you cared to admit. 

Did it all reek of desperation? What if Eddie was wearing the sweatpants he’d donned to remove the wallpaper? Just the possibility of him looking at your own outfit, at the effort you put into your appearance, and realizing you’d interpreted a friendly gesture as a date had you cringing. 

No, this was a bad idea. You had to back out, now. Claim that you weren’t feeling well, maybe even take some ibuprofen in front of him, and promise a raincheck. You did feel the familiar throbbing that accompanied a tension headache, so it wasn’t a total lie—

Knock knock. 

Sweat overrode the antiperspirant you’d lathered on, flooding you with a nervous heat. You frantically wiped your slick palms on the bed sheet like a cat at its scratching post and opened the door. 

Eddie's eyes widened and his tongue brushed over his lower lip. There was no hiding the way his gaze dropped to your exposed thighs, drinking in every ounce of visible skin as though it was the only sustenance he’d ever need. His stare was hungry, if only for a moment, before his words broke the trance. 

“You look…good. Pretty.” He swallowed thickly and forced himself to meet your eyes. “Sorry…just not used to seeing you all dressed up.”

Pretty. Eddie Munson thought you were pretty. The notion sent serotonin surging through you, a soft giggle passing through your lips. It was embarrassing, this schoolgirl crush, the way a simple word from him rendered you pathetically speechless.

A barrage of compliments perched themselves on your tongue, waiting to be untethered. He looked good, too; beyond that, he looked handsome. His cream colored shirt was baggy around his torso but clung to his biceps, drawing your attention to the vein that ran up his forearm. 

You willed yourself to say something, anything, to reciprocate his kind words.   

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, mirroring your nervous energy as he gently rocked from the heel to the toe of his Reeboks. “We should get going,” he said.

Opportunity slipped from your grasp; anything you said now would seem like pity. Your only response was a nod as you locked the door and started towards the lobby.

Pretty. Pretty. Pretty.

Mom stood behind the desk, flipping through the check-in sheets with the  cap end of a pen clenched between her teeth. She looked up, blinking in rapid succession when she saw you and Eddie approaching. You weren’t sure what surprised her more: you going out, or the man accompanying you.

“Well, don’t you two look nice!” She grinned, though the smile didn’t quite reach her tired eyes. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just getting a drink,” you said as casually as you could. “Celebrating my—the wallpaper.” It was a lame finish, one that Mom didn’t quite believe, but she lacked the energy to push further. 

Guilt panged in your chest, not just at the lie, but because part of you felt like you were taking advantage of her exhaustion. You couldn’t tell her the real reason for the celebration; bile rose in your throat at the thought. Instead, you smiled and promised to be home before the start of your shift. 

“I’ll make sure she behaves,” Eddie added with a mischievous edge, not sexual in nature but still had your stomach doing somersaults. “I know she can be quite the troublemaker.”

Mom laughed at this, so pure and genuine that you were half-tempted to ask Eddie if you could stay here and talk with her all night. Maybe he could break the news to her, since they seemed to get on well enough.

You felt her watch as Eddie opened the door for you and gave the tiniest bow to let you pass, though you didn’t dare look back at her. Not because she wouldn’t approve—just the opposite. Looking at your mother would confirm what you already knew deep down: she’d be beaming at the sight of you going on a date. 

If that’s what this was. 

Eddie shuffled to walk right by your side, sneakers scuffing against the broken pavement. A flicker of hope ignited within you that he would do something to confirm that this was, in fact, a romantic endeavor and not just two friends getting a drink. Perhaps an arm slung over your shoulder or a hand laced with yours. 

There was only the gentle brush of his fingers against yours, knuckles grazing one another as they nearly slotted together. It was taunting, the way they could be a perfect fit if given the chance. 

You almost went for it, almost grabbed hold of his hand yourself, but fear had you in its own grasp. Even if the benefit outweighed the risk, you couldn’t stop picturing him tugging his hand away from yours in a humiliating show of rejection. 

“You okay? You’re not, like, mad at me again, are you?” Concern creased Eddie’s brows, and your heavy heart realized that the last time you were this quiet around him was after the argument. 

“Not at all. Sorry.” You shot him a reassuring smile. “Just lost in my own thoughts.” You sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t ask you to elaborate on those thoughts. 

Luckily, he just tilted his head towards you, his eyes taking on an even more doe-like quality than usual. “That’s the problem with you smart people: you’re always thinking too much.”

You laughed as you nudged him, your right shoulder colliding with his left. He stumbled slightly, quickly catching himself before he could fully lose his balance. 

“Hey!” He yelped, rubbing his upper arm. The muscles beneath it flexed at his touch. “Don’t damage the merchandise.”

“I wouldn’t dare. I…” You shook your nerves loose and faced him, speaking before you fully lost yourself in his full, waiting lips. “I’d never damage merchandise as priceless as you.”

Eddie stopped in his tracks, the compliment seemingly rebooting his brain. Was it too forward? No, it couldn’t have been; he’d called you pretty just moments before. And it wasn’t as if you’d been forward enough to say he was sexy (though he was) or accidentally emasculated him by pointing out how adorable his soft dimples were (another fact). 

His exhale was a disbelieving chuckle. “I, uh, don’t think anyone’s called me ‘priceless’ before. ‘Worthless,’ maybe, but…” He trailed off in an attempt to contain it as a lighthearted joke, but it was anchored by an undeniable truth. 

If you could, you would wash away the ego-marring stains left behind by those who hurt him. Scrub and scrub until it was once again pristine as though they’d never been tarnished by self-doubt. 

“Priceless.” You said it definitively, leaving no room for further argument. 

Eddie ducked behind his hair, letting the curly locks dangle over his mouth to mask his flustered smile. You were willing to bet that a blush was spreading across the apples of his cheeks. 

Curiosity loosened your inhibitions enough for you to reach out and tuck a few strands behind his ear. Sure enough, a delicate pink tinged his skin. You wanted to kiss it until your lips grew swollen from where his stubble scratched them raw.

Doing that would require something far more potent than inquisitiveness. 

There was a decent crowd that night, not as packed as the weekend would have been, but there were enough people that only one empty stool remained in front of the bar. Eddie gestured to it, offering you the seat just as he had on the subway last week. 

You tucked the denim fabric of your skirt behind your thighs as you sat. Eddie watched every movement, an unreadable desire darkening his expression, as if he wished it were his fingers on your skin. 

Your smile seemed to snap him from his trance. He waved down the bartender, who held up her forefinger to signal she would be right over. 

A shadow draped over you as you scanned the liquor-cluttered shelves, bathing you in a welcoming darkness. Protection. Eddie’s arms framed your torso, his hands planted firmly on the bartop. And when you lightly grasped his wrist, your thumb rubbing against the soft hairs on his arm, you could have sworn you felt the tension leave his body in one swift exhale.

“What are you gonna get?” The grainy pop music playing from the speakers and a cacophony of neighboring conversations muffled his voice, and he had to shout just to be heard. 

“A vodka tonic.” Simple, classic, and most importantly—not expensive. Though you probably should let him be the judge of that, considering it was his treat. “If that’s okay?”

Eddie laughed softly and nodded. “It’s your night, Heiress.” The tip of his tongue swiped over his lower lip. 

He ordered your drink first, then placed his order for whatever beer was on tap before declining to open a tab. Your chest went slightly concave; you should have followed his lead and ordered the cheaper option. 

As if sensing your guilt, Eddie pulled back enough to look you in the eye. “It’s your night,” he repeated, grabbing your short, stout glass and placing it in your hand. He raised his own taller mug, proposing a toast. “To a badass future social worker and all of the lives she’s gonna change. For the better,” he added quickly. 

Before he could clink his glass to yours, you locked eyes with him. The brown eyes that steeled themselves against you the night he first checked into the motel were now pillow-soft, beckoning you to fall. He may not have even been aware of it himself. 

“To the coolest rockstar I know,” you said, allowing the lips of your glasses to touch. “And the second-coolest guest to ever stay at the motel.”

Eddie raised a brow. “Second?”

“You really think you’re cooler than Phyllis?”

“Touché.” He relented with a smirk, taking a swig of his drink that left a foamy mustache on his upper lip. Without a second thought, he licked it away. 

The movement enraptured you: his tongue swiping over his skin, leaving no residue in its wake. That same tongue that peeked out from his mouth when he was focused, a simple muscle, but it held your attention for a beat too long. 

“Are you…” Eddie gestured towards your vodka tonic, and you realized you hadn’t even taken a sip. 

Cheers to embarrassing yourself ten minutes into the date. Non-date. Whatever it was. 

The vodka’s bitterness and the bubbles from the tonic water seeped into your tongue. You savored the burn as you swallowed. It had been so long since you’d had a drink, and just the first taste had you buzzing. If you didn’t pace yourself properly, you’d be tipsy far too soon. 

The sound system crackled and microphone feedback shot through the bar. You and Eddie winced in unison, each taking a gulp of your drinks. 

A man in his mid-thirties, balding with a goatee, stood at a makeshift stage at the back of the bar. “Welcome to Music Mondays here at The Brink. That’s right…it’s karaoke night!”

There was a smattering of applause that didn’t  match the emcee’s enthusiasm, but he remained undeterred. 

“Sign up here with your name and your song, and we’ll get started in a few minutes. Drink that liquid courage and come on down!” The microphone screeched once more as he slid it back into the stand. 

You turned to Eddie, your eyes wide with mischief. “You’re gonna do it, right?”

Eddie scoffed. “Fuck, no. I’m not getting up there and making a fool of myself.”

“But it’s my night,” you reminded him. “You said so yourself.”

He looked poised to argue, one hand gripped tightly around the mug’s handle, his mouth ready to say no. But then you batted your eyelashes and pouted, all in jest. A dramatic showing that you didn’t expect would convince him. 

A wry smile betrayed his tough exterior as his thumb ghosted your lower lip. Lightning crackled at his touch, soft as it was, illuminating your bones and surging through your veins. When he pulled back, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, a light red stain tinged his skin. If he noticed it, he made no attempt to wipe it off. 

“It is your night,” he mused, gaze flickering to your mouth before promptly returning to your eyes. When you lit up in anticipation of him conceding, he couldn’t help but grin back. “One song. And I’m choosing it.”

You couldn’t argue with him, not when his touch still lingered on your lip. He disappeared for a moment to add his name to the list. As soon as he was out of sight, you took a much larger gulp of your drink. A trickle escaped out of the corner of your mouth, and you haphazardly swiped at it with the back of your hand, lest it ruin the shirt you’d picked out especially for the date. 

This isn’t a date. The reminder was as harsh as the vodka itself. You lifted the glass once more and drained it until the half-melted ice cubes clicked against your teeth. Whatever this evening was, you needed to relax. Enjoy Eddie’s company without reading too much into his every move. 

You turned your attention to the TV mounted above the shelves, engrossing yourself in the scrolling closed captions. A weatherman announced that this summer was going to be a ‘scorcher,’ and though he said it with a plastic grin, you inwardly cringed at the impact the air conditioning would have on the electric bill. 

“I’m up third.” Eddie’s voice broke in, turning the upcoming weather into a distant memory. He raised his brows when he saw your glass, now empty on the sticky bartop. “You finished that already?”

“Mhm.” Your smile was sloppier than you intended, your head starting to float from your neck as tipsiness crept in. 

Eddie breathed out, shaking his head with a glimmer of a smirk. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or impressed, and you didn’t have time to ask before he waved over the bartender. “Just water, please.” He nodded his thanks when she slid it over. “Drink,” he said to you, and you dutifully obliged. 

“What song did you pick out?” Something that is supposed to be screamed more than sung, you assumed. 

He just shook his head again and swallowed more beer. “It’s a surprise.” His eyes twinkled when he said it, and you wondered if his choice erred more on the side of Madonna than Metallica. 

A woman got up on stage and began her rousing rendition of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. 

Peppy? Upbeat? A great way to kick off karaoke night? Absolutely. 

On-key? Not even close. 

“If you ever start a new band, you should ask her to join.” You chinpointed towards the woman currently butchering the Cyndi Lauper classic. “She’s got that star power, I think.”

Eddie snorted but composed himself quickly to play into your joke. “I’m worried she’d outshine me.” He widened his eyes in faux concern. “Go solo and leave me behind, y’know?”  

“She’ll probably steal all of your groupies, too,” you added, tutting as if to say, what a shame. 

“Even you?”

You cocked your brow. “Who said I’m your groupie?”

He leaned his elbow against the bar, mouth slackjaw at your rejection. Disbelieving laughter left his throat in a huff. 

“I take you out, treat you to the best watered-down drink this city has to offer, and this is the thanks I get?” His curls brushed against his cheeks when he shook his head. “Who would you be a groupie for? Wait, no; lemme guess.” He tapped his finger to his chin. “New Kids on the Block? Boyz II Men?”

“I think I’d die if Joey McIntyre so much as looked at me.” You hadn’t meant to say that aloud. The watered-down or not, the alcohol was certainly turning sober thoughts into tipsy words. 

Eddie chugged half of the beer, watching as the woman on stage finished her song and left with a triumphant bow. “Pretty sure your shitty taste in music is what plays at the gates of Hell,” he said to you. 

Your response was a mere flick of your middle finger. 

A man in a suit took the stage next, loosening his tie as he positioned himself behind the microphone. A group of similarly-dressed men started hooting and hollering obnoxiously the moment the opening chords to Don’t Stop Believin’ blared through the sound system.

You looked back to Eddie. If he was nervous about singing karaoke, he didn’t show it. His shoulders were relaxed, his posture much less tense than on the walk to the bar. Maybe the alcohol loosened him up as it had you. 

“What about you?” You asked. “Whose groupie would you be?”

“Easy,” he said, not missing a beat. “Joan Jett. Total badass, killer musician, and hot as hell.” He nodded to confirm his choice before leaning in and loudly whispering. “Bad Reputation was basically my secret anthem in high school.”

You laughed. “Did you imagine it playing in the background when you walked down the halls?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Eddie grinned and polished off his beer. 

His confession warmed you—or maybe that was just the vodka working its way through your bloodstream. Regardless, you were intrigued by the glimpse into his past and found yourself hungry for more. 

“Can I ask you a non-groupie related question?”

“Shoot.”

Your tongue was heavy, the resulting slurring softening your words. “If your hometown is so shitty, why are you trying to go back?”

He loosened a chuckle, glancing at the shelves of booze before looking back to you. “My uncle still lives there. He, ah, he raised me after my dad split and my mom…y’know.” Eddie cleared his throat and managed a small smile. “Why? You want me to stick around?” 

The hair on his forearm tickled when he slid it over to nudge you, his pinky finger overlapping yours. 

Of course you wanted him to stick around. You’d smear honey all over the motel’s siding to lure more bees, tempt them to build their nests among the sticky sweetness, just so he would have a reason to stay. 

The man on stage belted out his final “don’t stop believin’” as his buddies enveloped him in drunken hugs. 

“All right!” The emcee bleated into the microphone. “Next up, we have…” He checked the sign-up sheet. “…Eddie! Let’s give him a hand, folks.”

A smattering of applause echoed throughout the room, the excitement of karaoke night already dwindling. If Eddie noticed, he didn’t show it. 

“This one’s for you, Heiress.” He winked and sprinted towards the stage. 

Eddie pressed his foot on the microphone stand, adjusting it so it was level with his lips. His fingers curled around its neck, dramatically tugging it closer as the instrumentals piped through the sound system.

Well, since my baby left me Well, I found a new place to dwell Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street At Heartbreak Hotel

His hips swung back and forth, the gyrations not quite as precise as Elvis’s, but he still snapped them in time with the staccato guitar chords. The right heel of his sneakers tapped the floor as he continued, voice dipping into his lower register.

Where I'll be, I'll be so lonely, baby  Well, I'm so lonely  I'll be so lonely, I could die

Free hand pressed to his heart, Eddie leaned in your direction and tilted the mic stand while he sang. The movements were reminiscent of how a man would dance with someone he loved, impassioned yet graceful. Charisma oozed from every pore, his natural command of the stage an enduring reminder of his brief foray into rock stardom.   

The other patrons faded into the background as his eyes fixed on you, a personal serenade rather than karaoke night amongst a sea of drunks. Easiness weaved through each note he sang, his body loosening and his lips curving into a smile when you let out a vodka-fueled whoop of admiration. 

Now, the bellhop's tears keep flowin'  And the desk clerk's dressed in black  Well, they've been so long on Lonely Street  Well, they'll never, they'll never look back

Eddie pointed to you when he referenced the desk clerk, the crowd following his every move. The heat of their stares only exacerbated the warmth that the alcohol already sent coursing through you, but you felt no need to hide. The rich timbre of his voice was a magnetic pull, drawing you in until it echoed deep in your bones. 

Although it's always crowded  But you still can find some room  For broken hearted lovers  To cry there in their gloom  Where they get so, they get so lonely, baby  Well, they're so lonely  They'll be so lonely, they could die

He ended the song with one final swing of his hips, one foot turned inward in an Elvis-esque pose. If anyone else applauded for him, it couldn’t be heard over the sound of your cheers. 

He made a beeline for you. “Did that live up to your expectations?” Sweat dripped from his flushed forehead and down his temples. 

“Exceeded them, actually.” 

The bartender slid over two shot glasses filled with amber liquid. “On the house,” she explained when you and Eddie looked at her in confusion. 

You shouldn’t. The TV set that broadcasted the news showed that it was nearly nine o’clock and you were already tipsy from the one drink. Adding a shot—and subsequently mixing liquor—was a recipe for disaster. 

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t wanna,” Eddie said. “I’ll take them both.”

With a shake of your head, you took the glass nearest you and downed it, the whiskey burning stronger than you had anticipated. Tears reflexively welled in your eyes, leaving you clinging to the hope that you had blinked them away before Eddie could notice.

He let out a soft, low whistle. “Well, okay then.” His own shot disappeared past his grimacing lips.

A familiar synthesized beat replaced the idle hum of conversation as a middle-aged woman began her song. Eddie threw back his head when he heard it, groaning as though the ‘80s hit left him in agony.

“You’re such a music snob,” you lamented, reaching out with both of your hands to grab onto his. If this is what liquid courage felt like, you were more than happy to ride that wave. “There’s more to life than heavy metal.”

“I just sang Elvis!” He protested, but his efforts were all in vain as you hopped off of the barstool and led him away from your empty shot glasses. “Heiress…” His tone was a warning, one that you promptly ignored.

You let your gaze meet his, the vodka-and-whiskey combination working overtime to stifle your nerves. 

“Dance with me.”

Eddie laughed. “You’re tipsy.”

“I’m tipsy and I want you to dance with me.” 

“You wanna dance, huh?” He laughed again when you nodded. “All right; let’s dance.” 

Eddie’s hands slid down to your wrists and adjusted your arms so they draped over his shoulders, his curls tickling your fingers when they clasped behind his neck. He hesitated for a second before letting his own fingertips rest on your waist, careful to avoid dipping below the small of your back.

Watching, I keep waiting, still anticipating love  Never hesitating to become the fated ones  

The current performer was marginally better than the first two, but her voice wasn’t nearly as polished as Eddie’s. She kept getting too close to the mic, the lyrics muffled each time her purple-lipsticked mouth grazed the cover. 

You inched forward, your chest against Eddie’s as the two of you swayed in tandem. His fingers flexed before tugging you closer, evidence that you weren’t the only one affected by the shot. 

“Can’t remember the last time I heard this song,” he mused wistfully. “Probably my senior prom. The last one, anyway.”

“You had more than one senior prom?”

His cheeks, already pinkened from the liquor, flushed a deeper shade of red. “Yeah, it, uh, took me a few tries to graduate,” Eddie admitted. “But I did it.” A sheepish smile still held a twinge of pride. 

“You did it.”

“Yeah.” One arm reached back to grasp your hand and twirl you around, and you breathed an audible sigh of relief when the room didn’t spin with you. “But tonight,” he grinned, “is all about you.” 

You. Not the motel or its crumbling financial infrastructure. Not the guests or your parents. Not school or exams or term papers. Just you. 

An involuntary giggle wriggled its way up and you ducked your head to hide it, your forehead brushing against Eddie’s lips. Did he purse them slightly in a hint of a kiss, or was that a figment of your imagination?

Turning and returning to some secret place inside  Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say  Take my breath away

“You okay?” Eddie asked, a smile in his voice.

“Mhm. Just happy.”

“Yeah? Good.” His forefinger tucked under your chin and tilted it upwards, granting him a better look at you. The tip of his tongue parted his lips and swiped over the whiskey-scented residue. “You deserve to be happy.”

You did deserve to be happy. You deserved joyful moments in your life, people who surrounded you in sunshine even when rain poured.

My love, take my breath away  My love, take my breath away

You deserved Eddie.

Standing before you, his eyes never strayed from your form, flicking from your face to where his hands gripped your waist. His chest rose and fell in time with the music. 

“I…” You swallowed your fear, already tempered by tipsiness, curling your fingers into the back of his ribbed t-shirt collar. 

Desire rippled down your spine and you leaned in to close that godforsaken gap, already tasting him on your tongue. 

But not before he pulled away. 

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98

@squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia

@kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock

@ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975

@yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts

@mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank

@sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles

@the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl

@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

[railingsofsorrow]

death and all of its friends

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: you have an important witness admitted to Grey Sloan Hospital, but things get out of hand in the middle of your questioning. the unsub is on the loose and your team is still on their way. it's the worst that could happen, right? except that you end up stuck in an elevator with your ex. and that is worse. ( slight crossover between GA and CM ) 

pairing: s.reid x f!bau!reader; past!jackson avery x f!bau!reader 

w.c: 5.8K

warnings/content: heavy discussions about trauma regarding a mass shooting; PTSD; the word kill/murder is there a few times; kidnapping; break-ups; heartbreak; anxiety attack; hospitals; claustrophobia; mentions of surgery and blood and gunshot wound (not really graphic); minor character death (mentioned); there is so much drama in this you might call it unnecessary but I just had to unleash the devil in me; suggestive content (near the end); making out; long paragraphs in italics are flashbacks.

a/n: ok ok, like I promised (3000 years ago) here it is. enjoy it and please let me know if I forgot to tag anyone! 

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

━━━━━━━━━ 

Five years ago you walked these same halls running from a mass shooter that entered Seattle Grace and caused havoc. Now, instead of Seattle Grace is Grey Sloan and apparently, not only the name of the hospital has changed. Amongst the Attendings, Residents and Interns there were all new faces, which only made sense since it's been five years and some of the people you knew had left and others died. 

Cristina Yang nicknamed the hospital Seattle Grace Mercy Death once and after all the stories you've been told by your ex-boyfriend's friends, it seemed fitting.  

You liked Cristina's dark humor. She was the funniest person you met in your time in Seattle. You were happy to hear she left to be a cardiothoracic surgeon in Switzerland, and she owned a hospital now, which was great.  

As you passed the cafeteria your head was flooded with memories of Lexi pulling you to have lunch with her after she finished a procedure, her excited rambles about every detail inside an OR — she wasn't Lexopedia for nothing — and the juicy gossip she provided you about the relationships inside this hospital (and her relationship with Mark Sloan). 

You might not have worked with these people but they felt like family once, the missing will always be there.  

Nostalgia had to be left aside for your job though, you had to find an important witness in a case involving the kidnapping of a six-year-old boy. He had been missing for three days, you were running against the clock at this point.  

“Miss Howard's room.” The nurse pointed you towards the room and you thanked her with a polite smile. “She's been sedated, so she may not be totally aware of her surroundings yet. She just got out of surgery.”  

“Alright, thank you.” 

Stab wound to the chest. An argument turned ugly in prison. You recalled Penelope telling you and the team that that was the reason she had been hospitalised. You observed the handcuffs locking her wrist against the bed before approaching.  

Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you grabbed it to see a text from JJ.  

Is she awake? 

Yes.  

You pressed send and looked up at wiped-out blue eyes staring back at you with annoyance. You could hear what she was about to say already.  

“I answered all of y'all's questions already, can you people never leave me alone?” 

“Miss Howard, I'm with the FBI,” you started, introducing your name and then, proceeding to the hard part.  

The crease between her brows told you she was unaware of why you were there. “You people locked me up three years ago what is there to do now? Checking up if I'm killing any more disgusting men who deserved it?” 

“Martha, it's about your son, Ben Howard.” The way she immediately froze made your heart clench. Why did it have to be you to give her the news? JJ is way better at doing this, you have no idea of comforting people so you'd rather just not do it. “He's been kidnapped by your husband, Thomas Howard.”  

“Ex-husband.” She tried sitting up with difficulty while being handcuffed to the bed. You helped her. “What— No. Ben visited me with my sister three days ago, he's fine. He wouldn't dare touch my boy.” 

Ten minutes later into your questioning, your back pocket started to vibrate and you pulled it out to see who it was. 

Spencer calling. . .  

“Everything you said is very helpful, Miss Howard, we're going to try everything we can to find Ben.” 

“Please do.” Her voice cracked and you saw the mask of indifference crumble a little. “He's— he's all I got.” 

You nodded, then excused yourself to answer the call outside of the room.  

“Hey, I was just about to update you guys—” 

“He's in Grey Sloan.” Spencer blurted out the first second you answered. “Thomas Howard is in Grey Sloan. Where are you?”  

“What— What about the kid? Did you find him?” You quickly informed the two police officers outside the room to not let anyone else in. “You don't mean he's inside Grey Sloan, right?” 

Hotch's voice rang through the line and you knew you were on speaker. “He's going after Martha. We found Ben, he was unarmed but Thomas's endgame is Martha. And yes, he's inside the hospital at this moment. Do you know where Martha is?” 

“I just talked to her,” you turned your neck to glimpse at her room again subconsciously. “There are two officers outside her room, I already told them. But Hotch—” 

“He's armed, wait for backup.” 

“We profiled him as a psychopath, Hotch. He's impulsive and has no remorse or guilt, you know what he's capable of, especially if he let the boy go.” 

“Kid, don't be reckless yourself. We're almost there—” Rossi tried to intervene. 

“We're almost there.” You heard Spencer's voice and that made you hesitate for a second before hanging up. “Please don't—” 

Your heart was thumping hard and rapidly against your ribcage, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. As soon as you felt numbness in your fingers you clenched your hand into fists and let go, this was the way your body warned you you were about to have an anxiety attack. Thankfully, you were able to notice it before it got to the point where you passed out.  

Your name was called from afar and you halted, bumping into a nurse and mumbling a shaky sorry. The owner of the voice touched your elbow and you flinched, hand immediately searching for your gun. 

“Hey, whoa, it's me, Amelia. I didn't mean to scare you but when I saw it was you I just— it's been five years and you're here!” You withdrew your hand from the holster on your hip, inhaling and exhaling slowly to force your heart to calm the fuck down, you are not in imminent danger. 

“Amy,” you smiled and accepted the hug she was eager to give you. “Hi. How are you?” 

“I'm great, yeah. And you? For how long are you staying?” 

“I'm not. I, uh, I'm here on a case, with the FBI.” You cleared your throat. “Actually, I need your help with something.” 

Fifteen minutes later you had already warned most of the staff and Attendings in two floors to keep an eye out for Thomas Howard. You tried slowing your fast pulse by practicing the guided breathing you learned in therapy all those years ago. You did everything your therapist said, every single step from questioning your thoughts to counting everything blue you found in your way.  

You couldn't stop memories from revisiting your brain. 

━━━━━━━━━ 

You were waiting to have lunch with him.

It was almost one in the afternoon, Jackson was late because of a surgery that was taking longer than expected due to complications.  

It was your day off. One of the rare days you'd appear in Seattle Grace Mercy West before 6 p.m. when your classes at Washington University were over. You were a part of the Psychology department at WU, and a professor for the Undergraduate Program of B.S., Psychology.  

It wasn't usual for you to have a day off but given the amount of days you've been accumulating over the year, it was only fair.  

So you visited your boyfriend in the hospital, patiently waiting for his belated surgery to end so you could have your lunch date. That was until Lexi Gray pulled you into the hospital's cafeteria and you ended up having lunch with her.  

Lexi.  

You remember her terrified face when it happened. It had been a terrifying day, one that no one expected. It's funny how tragedies are never announced, isn't it? They just come barging in and you can't just ignore the door, tragedies do not need to knock.  

It was in that day, that you understood the gravity of that.  

Of course, it wasn't as nearly as bad for you as it was for those who worked at that place. They would have to come back every day and see the walls and that same floor which were smeared with their friends' blood.  

Jackson had lost two of his best friends. He spent two months having nightmares screaming their names during the night and getting mad at himself because you weren't able to sleep. That was the least of your concerns back then. You know something that would forever be etched into your brain was the barrel of a gun being pointed at you and the sound of the safety being taken off. You can't even recall the actual shot, only the pain that followed afterward and Jackson's horrified expression as he held your weak body on the floor.  

You thought you died. Jackson thought you died. Meredith, Lexi, Cristina and everyone else thought you died. In reality, you had just passed out from blood loss caused by a bullet wound to your chest area.  

That must have been terrifying to watch. You couldn't imagine being in his place, you probably would've been crying non-stop at the amount of blood, not saving his life, like he did to you.  

During the recovery process, you remember thinking about the absurdity of your dream of becoming an FBI Agent. If you weren't able to control your emotions on situations like that then what's even the point of anything? 

According to your therapist, what you suffered didn't determine the person you were, which, at first, you judged as complete bullshit. But you understood in later sessions what she meant by that.  

“Is it something you think you are not capable of doing?” 

You looked up from your hands, staring into the gray eyes of Isobel Houston. Jackson had made a compelling deal with you. He basically threw in your face that if he, who was threatened with a gun, was doing therapy, you, who had been shot and almost died in his arms, also had to talk about it.  

And here you were. 

“I'm not sure if I would know how.” You replied, brows twitching with your uncertainty. You were discussing about holding a gun and going out into the field, which was required in the training at the FBI Academy. You told her if you freaked out at the sight of blood then you shouldn't follow through with your decision to become an FBI Agent. 

“Well, that's what training is for, isn't it?” Isobel quirked a brow at you, earning a scoff. “You would learn certain abilities and improve the ones you already have in the academy. They wouldn't expect you to know everything.” 

“I'm not sure if I can.”  

Isobel nodded and wrote something down in the notepad you were planning to steal to see how she was making fun of you in there. 

“It is too soon still. But don't rule out your dream career quite yet. You are healing, it's a process that requires patience, both from you and from others around you. You don't have to think about that now. How about you take some time to yourself, focus on healing, getting better first?” 

A year later you would be forever thankful for those words. Because you didn't give up of your dream career, you made the decision to follow through with it and it worked.  

Partially, at least. 

“What do you mean you were accepted?” Jackson put his fork down as he chewed on his salad, tilting his head in confusion at you. “How can you be accepted somewhere if you didn't even apply to it?” The amusement in his tone instantly died as soon as he saw your serious face across from him. He connected the dots. “But you did apply... didn't you?” 

"Jack, I've always wanted this." 

He offers you a look of disbelief. 

"I know! But- You didn't even talk to me and-" 

"That's my decision." You cut him off.  

"Well, yes, but I'm your boyfriend. I think I deserved to know you were thinking about leaving for four months?" 

It caused a rift in your and Jackson's relationship. Back then, you didn't mind the fact that you were kind of doing things on your own, because your only goal was to leave and maybe, just maybe, forget what happened but the scar you had in your chest had to remind you of it. You never told him that, and you blamed him for not wanting you to leave for four months. Selfish; that was what you called him countless times after you broke up before you left. When, in reality, you had been the selfish one in the relationship.  

Truth be told, you wanted to forget that part of your life. Your completely foolish mistake and how wrong you were. Your healing had taken years and it still wasn't perfect, you weren't unflinching to the threat of an armed man. Right now, you wanted nothing more than to go back to Virginia and crawl into your blankets to feel some sort of safety.  

You had to bring safety to these people when you felt lost and cornered, how fun was that? You felt like such a failure. Years of experience and training going down the drain because of a stupid trauma.  

To add to that, you were currently stuck in an elevator. With a reckless man going after your witness. And your team was close to your location but not quite enough.  

Maybe they were already here since you had no reception and no way of knowing about their whereabouts.  

Maybe they already caught Thomas Howard and Hotch was thinking about his careful words as he fired you for your incompetency. 

“Why is it that when I find you you're always leaving?” 

Right. You got stuck in an elevator with your ex of all people. It was like everything you did not want to happen would materialize in front of you. 

“Jackson," you hissed, rubbing a hand across your face in pure frustration because of the useless phone in your hands. None of the messages were sent. Where were they? How was Martha? 

Hey, Spence. Where are you? 

I'm stuck in an elevator, fourth floor. I don't know what happened.  

You sent those fifteen minutes ago.

“It was just a comment,” Jackson said, shrugging in that infuriating way as if he knew he was right about something. You also knew Jackson Avery's way of deviating from his real problems was to seek anger. And usually, someone was the target. This time, it was you. "What are you doing here?" 

You looked down at your bulletproof vest and glanced up at him. Jackson's brows rose up to his hairline in understanding. God, he could be slow sometimes. 

"You're with the FBI." 

"I am the FBI." 

Jackson blinked, "right. Right. Uh, I- Sorry, I-" his apologetic wince made you relax your shoulders. "I'm sorry, I'm just... This is too familiar." Yeah, you could relate to that. 

"Jackson," your eyes softened but you tried to reassure him as much as you were able to. "This is not the same thing. His reasoning is completely different. What happened then- It won't happen again."  

His bright green eyes study you with a newfound curiosity but you could see some of the tension leave his body.  

"You sound sure." 

"I am," you said. "My team is close by and they're good. Besides, all of the local cops probably asked for backup already. And SWAT is right outside." 

He took a long minute staring you down to nod quietly. The silence that came afterward was uncomfortable. There was so much to say and nothing and the same time. This wasn't the time, but it was inevitable to not think about your last words to each other. You didn't hold a grudge against Jackson, you had no reason to, but he had plenty to do it and you wouldn't blame him. 

Fuck, why was this elevator so hot? Why were the walls so close to one another? 

"I saw you on TV once."  

You swallowed hard, feeling your throat closing up. Your attention drifted towards Jackson's whitecoat.  

"I didn't know being in the FBI made you famous." His attempt at joking had you scoffing despite your current state of mind. "I would've made a career exchange if I knew." 

"You were already rich, why do you need to be famous?" You mumbled with your eyes shut as you tried to calm your erratic breathing down. "Actually, you were already famous and rich, so anything you just said is..." your voice failed. "… complete bullshit." 

He said your name twice and you were obligated to open your eyes. He was much closer and concern tugged his lips downwards.  

"Put a hand on your chest and tell me what you can see." You stared at his lips moving slowly as your vision blurred slightly. He said your name more urgently this time. "Put a hand on your chest and tell me what you see." 

"Your stethoscope," you said as you stared at it, clearing your throat. "F-flyers," you croaked out, glancing briefly above his shoulders to the flyers splattered around. You couldn't see what they were about, but you knew they were there as they had been since the first time you stepped inside this elevator years ago. 

"What can you feel?" 

Your fingers drummed against your ribcage. Your breathing slowing down but not quite there yet. "My heartbeat. Mhm... The-my cold necklace." It was always two things. You thought about one and as you searched for another, you would calm down through the process.  

You could feel the warmth of his hands on your arms, helping grounding you back to earth.  

"Good. Two things you can hear." He was way relieved after your voice stopped shaking.  

"Your voice," you uttered, feeling your fingers moving and the sweat dripping down your back. The anxiety diminished little by little. When you were about to say the next thing you could hear, what you could only describe as two loud shots right outside the elevator doors made the both of you flinch and stare at the metal doors with widened eyes.  

You immediately got into action, thankfully prioritizing being numb over any other emotion at that moment, which was what you should have done from the start.  

"What are you doing?" Jackson asked you confusedly as you tried prying the doors open. "We might not be entirely on the floor-" 

"Help me open this, Jackson and I'll figure it out from there." 

Just then, your phone came back to life. Reception. At the same time, the doors opened without any human force. You didn't have time to see the caller ID before your gun was drawn in front of you and Jackson, ready to fire.  

"Hey, hey, it's me!" The voice you've been craving to hear for half an hour called out your name in front of you. Honey-brown, you thought, locking eyes with Spencer, I can see honey-brown eyes too. "I just got your text, I was looking for you- Hey." He breathed out in your ear as you threw your arms around his neck. His arms squeezed you in comfort. "Are you okay?" 

I am now. 

Your head bobbed up and down as you leaned back to get some distance. PDA wasn't your forte, but you had been triggered just a few minutes ago, and you needed some comfort from the only person who would effectively provide it to you.  

“They got him. He was hidden in one of the on-call rooms on the third floor.” Spencer filled you in before you could ask. He was assessing you thoroughly, looking for any strand of hair out of place, something that would tell him you had gotten hurt.  

You placed a hand on his chest, patting it gently. “I'm okay,” you tried reassuring him, eyes traveling through the room until you found some of your coworkers talking with the local police.  

“You should drink water.” Jackson's voice startled you a bit and Spencer looked behind you curiously. “And sit down.” 

And that comment immediately canceled out Spencer's certainty that you were okay. 

“Oh, I'm fine.”  

“Anxiety attack.” Jackson mouthed to Spencer out of your eyesight. He moved away to talk to some doctors while Spencer stared at his back, trying to pinpoint where exactly did he knew him from and why he was acting as if he knew you.  

But then it clicked.  

Jackson Avery. Harper Avery's grandson. Owner of a share of the Grey Sloan Memorial. Plastics surgeon. 

Right, of course. And your ex-boyfriend. 

“Is Martha okay?”  

Spencer looked down at you, blinking. “Uh-huh. Yeah, she's safe.”  

You gave him a look, “what?” 

“What?” His voice failed, which was a bit embarrassing, really.  

“Just spit it out, Spence.” 

So, he did. 

“Were you stuck in an elevator with Jackson Avery?”  

You almost choked up on your own saliva, earning a grimace from your boyfriend. Your concerned and caring boyfriend wasn't making that question because of pure jealousy, he genuinely wanted to know if you were okay after being stuck in an elevator with your ex-boyfriend in the same place you got shot by Gary Clark.  

“I'm sorry I wasn't here,” Spencer said with a sigh. “I should have come with you. I'm so sorry I wasn't here.” 

“Spencer, I'm fine,” you insisted, taking his hand on yours. Fuck it. “Hey, nothing happened in there.”  

He knows that but that's not what he meant. Not in that sense. 

“I'm not jealous.” He felt the need to clarify. He wasn't immune to jealousy but that was neither the right place nor moment for it. He just wanted to know if the reason for your anxiety attack was just being in a confined space or if the other person you were stuck with had something to do with it. “But you— Did he say something to you? To trigger it?” 

It took you a moment to get what he was saying, but once you did, you sighed and pulled him aside away from prying eyes.  

“No. I— It was the images. Memories. And the whole thing of being inside an elevator for more than one minute. He didn't do anything. He actually... helped me calm down.” 

Spencer brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, “okay. Good. And do you feel better now?” 

A tender smile twitched the corner of your lips.  

“Yes, I do.”  

“Are you ready to go?” Hotch approached you and Spencer and you watched Emily, JJ, Derek and Rossi exit the hospital.  

“Yes.” But your eyes drifted to the side and you told both of them you'd meet them in the car. “I'll be right there. It won't take long.” 

Spencer kissed your temple on his way out.  

━━━━━━━━━ 

"Are you okay?" 

"Are you?"  

Both of you have been on opposite ends of the room for the past five minutes and none had the courage to break the deafening silence. It should have been you, though. You were the one to ask Jackson for a quick word.  

"Why wouldn't I be?" His brows furrowed as he stared at his hands. He seemed deep in thought. You wondered if he was thinking the same as you. It was a long time ago. It was a long time ago but it is somehow very fresh when he's standing in front of me.  

Because we never got closure. I didn't let that happen. 

"We never talked about it." You sat down in one of the bunk beds, knowing this wouldn't be as fast as both of you liked it to be. Years of a relationship couldn't be fixed in five minutes. You texted Spencer to let him know you'd meet all of them in the motel since the jet would only be available tomorrow anyway, and you didn't want anybody waiting for you.  

"We did."  

"Talking to our therapists is not the same as communicating to each other." You interjected. 

Jackson's gaze flashed with hurt and he looked away.  

“I couldn't stay," you said, biting your cheek because it was so hard to admit that out loud. 

He finally looked up, tilting his head to look at you. “You couldn't or you wouldn't?”  

You clenched your jaw, annoyance seeping through your demeanor. “I wouldn't. It was my dream, it had always been my dream to get into the FBI—into the BAU. I wouldn't give that up. And it's not fair for you to judge me when you know exactly how that feels. Yes, I could have stayed, but I didn't want to.” 

Jackson rolled his eyes, standing up to pace around the room. "Yeah, it was pretty clear you didn't want to stay." 

"Jackson-" 

“Look, I'm not judging. And yes, I do understand. I just think—" He halted and looked at you, green eyes burning into yours. "God, did you have to pack your bags without even talking to me? You made a life-changing decision and you just up and left.” 

Your breath hitched, and something in your chest churned painfully. Guilt, probably. Five years and you hadn't uttered the words he deserved once. 

"I'm sorry." You swallowed with difficulty. "Jackson, I- What I did was unfair and I'm so incredibly sorry for hurting you. You deserved more than that." 

"I've forgiven you a long time ago," Jackson confessed, uncrossing his arms and angling his body towards you. "It's been five years. Those words have been bottled up in my throat since the moment you walked out... but I don't hate you."  

You winced, "but you did hate me." 

Amusement travels through his face. "For a bit, yes."  

"Fair." 

"I'm sorry too."  

You gave him a sad smile. "You didn't leave me, Jackson." 

"No, but I said some pretty hurtful things to you. So, I'm sorry." 

"Mhm, okay." You nodded, shifting on your feet. “You're forgiven too, I guess.”

Jackson offered his hand for a handshake...? You glanced down at it, holding back a laugh because of how awkward he was being. You shook his hand, grinning with a shake of your head.  

Yeah, that could be closure.  

“I saw you on TV,” Jackson repeated what he said before but you weren't exactly alright to actually hear it. “Are you giving out autographs?” 

“I'm giving out this, does it work for you?” You flipped him off. A nurse passed by you and gave you an ugly look while Jackson just smirked.  

━━━━━━━━━ 

As soon as you walked through the doors of Grey Sloan Memorial, exiting the hospital, your eyes caught the back of a familiar lanky figure whose light brown curls waved wildly with the harsh wind of Seattle. 

When you got close enough, you heard an indignant edge to your boyfriend's tone. He was speaking on the phone. Your amusement grew when you realized was on the other line, pissing him off. 

“Yeah, you know what, Derek?” Spencer started but cut himself off upon seeing you arrive at his side. “You're back.” His annoyed tone switched to something softer.  

“What's he pissing you off about now?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Tell him I'll slap his bald shiny head if he doesn't stop.” 

Spencer snorted, covering his mouth. You could hear Derek's telling you to fuck off through the phone before Spencer hung up the call.  

You accepted the urge to pull him close to you by wrapping both of your arms around his middle and lowering your head to his chest. His immediate response was to bury his face in the croak of your neck, the cold tip of his nose grazing your skin made you squirm a little.  

“I thought I told you not to wait for me.”  

Spencer rubbed your back, leaning back slightly to look down at you. 

“I wasn't gonna let you drive back on your own.” 

You chuckled, “are you telling me I'm a terrible driver? 

He hummed, lips quirking up when he kissed the tip of your nose. “You're not as terrible as me.” 

“I'm not sure if that can be classified as a compliment, angel. But you're right, nobody is a worse driver than you.” 

A pinch in your hip made you whine. He started laughing as you gave him a playful shove before getting in the car. Driver's seat. You had to prove a point.  

“How are you?” Spencer asked after a long minute of being silent and you knew he'd be dying to ask that. 

“I'm okay.” You told him, giving his thigh a soft squeeze as you concentrated on leaving the parking lot.  

“How did it feel?”  

You stopped at a red light. The motel was about fifteen minutes from the hospital by car, and you wouldn't go back home today, the jet was only going to be available tomorrow.  

“Suffocating.” You laughed after you admitted it out loud. That was how you felt. “Yeah, that's about it. The moment I stepped inside Grey Sloan I felt cornered.” 

“That's understandable.” Spencer caressed the back of your hand before you had to pull it back to move the car gear. “You haven't been there for five years. You may have seen, smelled, felt, or touched something that triggered you to go back to that very moment. Even though triggers are usually harmless, they cause your body to react as if you're in danger.” He explained, causing your mouth to quirk upwards in amusement. “Which was why I wanted to be there with you.” 

“Hey, that wasn't your fault. And I'm not a little girl anymore, I can get a grip on myself, Spence. We were doing our jobs.” 

From the corner of your eye, you were able to see him lean back on the seat with a roll of his eyes. 

“Well, yes, I know but I wanted to be there with you. You know just... be there.”  

You parked in the motel's parking lot, turning the car off. You inhaled heavily before turning to Spencer, leaning forward to kiss him on the lips. Your boyfriend hummed in satisfaction, pulling you closer by the back of your neck. 

“What was that for?” He blinked bleary, voice slightly dazed after your surprise kiss. Your insides turned to mush and fondness overtook your body.  

“I love you,” you said, thumb running across his cheek lovingly. “like... a lot.” 

His eyes sparkled at your statement and he started smiling like an idiot. An idiot head over heels for you. 

“Like a lot?” 

“Like a lot.” 

A harsh tap on your window made your body jerk and you hit your knee against the steering wheel, a loud curse slipping past your tongue. 

Spencer lowered the car window with a glare.  

“Alright, lovebirds. We're going out to the bar across the street to have a little fun. Are you coming or what?” Derek dipped his head as his eyes narrowed at the two of you. “Was I interrupting something?” 

“How are you so annoying—” 

“There is no scientific explanation for that, angel.” You pat Spencer's shoulder, who huffed while getting out of the car. He was immediately wrapped in a side hug by Derek as you locked your car and followed them both down the street, where the rest of your team waited.  

Emily snorted, nudging JJ with her arm. “Told you he was going to cockblock them.” 

“Emily,” Hotch said sternly, but his mouth betrayed him with a little smile.  

“C'mon, pretty boy.” Derek dragged Spencer to the bar as you followed them inside. “Let's drink the night away to make you forget about seeing your girl's ex, who has the greenest eyes I've ever seen—” 

Your lips parted in astonishment.  

“Hey!” JJ warned him. “Stop that. C'mon, leave him alone you've teased him enough with this.” 

Spencer looked at you, lips pulling into a smile at the scowl you were sending Derek as he walked away with JJ and Emily beside him.

“It's alright,” Spencer mumbled, nudging you to a corner as your team scattered around to find a table for eight. “He's just playing around and I'm not threatened by light-colored eyes, anyway. They're overrated.”  

You huffed out a laugh, surprised at his nonchalant claim.  

"Good." You were so close that your breaths mixed, his eyes falling to your lips and rising to your eyes again. You pulled him flush against your body by the belt loops of his pants, earning a shaky exhale from his parted soft lips. "Cause... You know," you pressed a kiss against his jaw. "There's nothing you should be threatened about. I'm pretty certain of that." 

"You are?" Spencer realized how pathetic he sounded and how needy he was starting to look.  

"I am, angel," you reaffirmed in his ear, leaning forward to kiss him. Before it got too heated, you smirked against his lips, pushing him away gently as he groaned in protest. "Okay, we can pick this up later tonight, now let's celebrate a bit with them, yeah?" 

Spencer sighed, burying his face into your neck for a second and drawing it back to glance at the table their friends chose. It was in a corner of the room, across from where they were currently... talking.  

"Okay."  

"Don't sound too excited." 

"Shut up," he grabbed one of your hands and pulled around his hip at the same time his arm lifted to wrap around your shoulders. "You know what I'm excited about-" he pretended to cough upon gaining a light slap on his back as a warning for him to shut up before any of your friends could hear the implication his words were carrying.  

As soon as you arrived at the table, Emily placed a shot before you, claiming you were late for the party. You smiled apologetically at the brunette, bringing the vodka shot to your lips and downing it in one go, gaze locked to your boyfriend's beside you. Oh, this was going to be a long night. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

taglist: @lvtilzs ; @inexplicableeee ; @fkapluto ; @nellxsies

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #jackson avery x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x grey's anatomy crossover

[starryevermore]

the house of snow (21) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his. 

chapter summary: changes are coming.

word count: 2,010

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: implied smut, sickness, pet name (petal), not proofread

“I never imaged that Coriolanus Snow would be the sort of man to wrap himself around his wife’s finger,” Clemensia said, stirring her spoon in the china teacup. The metal clinked against the porcelain. She lifted the spoon from the cup and set it on the plate before taking a long drink.

You had invited her and Livia, among some other young ladies of the ton, for tea. The rest of the ladies had broken off in their own conversations while you remained with your friends. It was nice to see them. Though you loved your Coryo, sometimes it was good to spend time away from him. It reminded you of how much you enjoyed his presence. 

“I never imagined him married. I sort of thought he’d live alone forever. He never cared much for chasing after girls at the Academy,” Livia admitted. Her face paled as though she realized who she was speaking to. You almost laughed at the scared, mouse-like expression. “I mean no offense, Your Majesty.”

You waved her off. “You can speak freely to me. I must admit, it is nice to hear that someone didn’t think my Coryo to be the marrying type.”

“Oooh, your Coryo,” Clemensia teased, brushing her elbow against yours. 

“Oh, hush,” you laughed. “I thought I was truly blind when he told me he’s wanted my hand since we were fourteen. At least now I can say I was not blind, but rather that he was terrible at communicating his feelings.”

Livia’s brows raised to her hairline. “Fourteen? Really?”

“He’d been asking my father for my hand since we were eighteen,” you added. “My father refused until Coryo made a name for himself.”

“And of course he would take that to mean he must be crowned King,” Clemensia said. “He was never anything but ambitious.”

Livia smiled and reached for your hand. She gave it a squeeze. “That is so romantic. A man who will take a kingdom so he can earn his love’s hand. People write stories about that sort of thing.”

“That sounds like the stories you would read, petal.“

All other conversation in the parlor had ceased. You didn’t have to turn in your seat to know that Coryo was behind you. His firm hands came to rest on his shoulders, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. A smile pulled at your lips. 

“Do you think all I read is romance?” you said. 

“Not all. But everyone needs something lighter after reading about history and politics all day,” Coryo said. His fingers trailed off the lace of your gown and to the exposed skin by your collarbone. A shiver ran down your spine. Why had you tortured yourself with this tea again? “Besides, you had to get the idea of a love match from somewhere.”

You watched as Clemensia leaned over to Livia. Her voice dropped to a stage-whisper as she said, “Aren’t they much cuter than her and Lord Plinth would ever be?”

Coryo’s fingers curled into your skin. It didn’t hurt, but it reminded you of how you and Coryo lost a friend. Even if Sejanus could leave the Peacekeepers and return to the Capitol, nothing would ever be the same. You couldn’t imagine a world where you all could be friends again. You reached up and took his hand, lifting it to your lips. He relaxed as you kissed his knuckles. 

“Much cuter,” Livia agreed. 

Clemensia’s eyes glinted with mischief as she turned her gaze to you and Coryo. “A shame he enlisted with the Peacekeepers. I wish he could see the two of you so sickeningly in love.”

“Perhaps that’s why he enlisted. Because he couldn’t live with himself if he wasn’t the one making her so happy,” Livia mused. 

Oh, that was such a romantic way to think of it. If only they knew it was because he was so in love with you that he begged you to run away with him. If only they had seen the King so red with anger, how you had thought he would have killed his once-friend with his bare hands. If Livia was writing your story, she would make it seem like Sejanus peacefully stepped out of the picture. She wouldn’t make it seem like the betrayal it was. 

You lifted your chin to look at your husband. While his face was painted to look calm, you could see the anger swirling in his pale blue eyes. You kissed his knuckles again and said, “Why he left doesn’t matter. Not when I have such a wonderful husband by my side.”

Coryo’s tight-lipped smile turned genuine. “And with that, I must steal my wife away. We have important matters we must discuss.”

You held onto Coryo’s hand as you rose from your seat. He led you out of the ignore, the both of you ignoring Clemensia’s giggled “important matters, hm?”. Your heart beat hard in your chest as you walked down the hall. He wouldn’t harm you, you were sure of that, but you didn’t like when he let the anger simmer.

Coryo took you to the office and shut the door behind you. Once alone, he tugged you against his chest and pressed his lips against yours. A gasp escaped you, allowing him the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. Your arms wound their way around his shoulders. You hand tangled itself in his hair. Well, this certainly wasn’t what you expected, but you weren’t going to kick a gift horse in the mouth. 

“I would marry you again,” he grunted against your mouth. “I would marry you every day for the rest of my life.”

“What’s stopping you? You are King. The only person you let order you around is me, and I would never deprive myself of you again.”

Coryo pulled away. Before you could inquire why, he was sinking down on his knees. He pushed your skirts up, hooked one leg over his shoulder. His nose brushed against your clothed core, wet mouth pressing kisses. Coryo pulled down your undergarments and began to recite his vows. 

“I, Coriolanus Snow, take thee to be my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward…”

Your stomach churned as you ate breakfast. With every bite, it took tremendous effort to keep the food down. Even with a generous amount of water between bites, it doesn’t seem to help. Part of you wanted to believe it was because you would be meeting with the Electors for the first time since your engagement to Coryo. But you knew it wasn’t nerves. You had had a rare clear schedule two days prior when you found yourself knelt over a chamberpot, the remnants of lunch spilling out with no end in sight. 

“You don’t need to meet with the Electors if you are not feeling up to it,” Coryo said from the other end of the table. He had finished his own breakfast what felt like hours ago. In reality, it had only been a few minutes. Yet every effort to eat your own meal seemed to take eons. “I can meet them on my own, or we can reschedule. No one will fault you if they wish to live.”

The threat was meant to make you laugh, and you might have if the nausea didn’t overwhelm you. A Peacekeeper from the corner of the room raced over with a vessel for your vomit. You heaved until there was nothing left, barely noticing that Coryo had came around your side and was rubbing your back. 

“I take it back. You are not going,” he said. “They should be arriving soon, but I will inform them that we cannot take visitors at the moment.”

You lifted your head. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you knew you looked as sick as you felt. Still, though, you argued, “I am fine now. I-I just need a moment to freshen up. Whatever sickness that was has passed. I am fine, Coryo.”

“Is that why you pretend I don’t know you have been sick every day this week?”

You had prayed he didn’t notice. A foolish thought, to be sure. But he never made a comment when you would slide out of bed or would excuse yourself from the office. 

“You never said anything.”

Coryo sighed. He ran a hand over your hair, careful not to mess up the delicate pinnings. “Nor did you. I thought you might have wanted space. If you do, I will continue to allow you it. But I will not let you go to meetings and make yourself worse. Go back to our chambers, take a bath, and I will have a physician sent up.”

“Coryo—”

He hushed you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Please, petal.”

You frowned, but conceded. When Coryo looked at you with that serious look in his eyes, it was hard to fight back. So you rose from your chair and retreated to your chambers. A lady’s maid was quick to help you out of your dress and undid your hair while another servant drew you a bath. Once in the bath, you tried to push your mind away from your sickness. It was easy to do until a servant came in to let you know the physician arrived. 

Rather reluctantly, you left your bath and slipped on a shift before letting the physician inside your chambers. You offered a tight-lipped smile as he gave a quick bow. 

“Thank you for your haste,” you said, sitting on the edge of the bed. The physician pulled the bench by your vanity over so he sat in front of you. “I am certain this will pass soon, but Coryo wanted to be certain.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said. “I am sure you would much rather return to your duties, so we can make this quick. Could you tell me your symptoms?”

You began to rattle them off, your heart sinking as you began to realize how much you had been sick over the last week. How had Coryo managed to stay silent this long? Did he realize how ill you had been? Judging by the on the physician’s face, you began to worry that you and Coryo had waited too long to do anything.

The door creaked open. Without really thinking of what you were doing, you stood up as Coryo entered the room. He nodded at the physician before coming to your side. You sat together. His hand instinctively took yours. 

“Is everything well?” Coryo asked.

“I will need to ask a few questions first, but I am certain all is well, Your Majesty,” the physician said.

“Ask away then,” Coryo said. 

The physical looked to you. “Forgive me for my bluntness, but when was your last courses?”

Your grip on Coryo’s hand tightened. When had that been? It felt like nearly a lifetime ago. How long ago had it been since you bled? You used to be so diligent about this. Your mother always stressed the importance of it. She would say it would be important when you were married, because that’s when you knew when you would have children. Children. Oh. 

You counted back the days and the weeks, your heart racing as you couldn’t pinpoint the exact time. “Right before the wedding,” you decided. “The day you threw the ball, Coryo.”

Coryo’s head snapped to yours. “That was nearly two months ago.”

The physician smiled. “Ah, well, then that’s likely what’s at issue. I have a few tests we can do to be certain, but I do believe we have found the source of your sickness, Your Majesty.”

Suddenly, you very much wanted to throw up again. Could it really be so soon? You tried to recall married couples that came before you. How long had it been for them? You wanted to say a lot longer. Certainly not a mere two months. 

“Congratulations,” the physician said. “Panem will rejoice when your babe arrives.”

You vomited on his shoes. 

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

[likedovesinthewindd]

give or take; part ten of sore loser ⋆ masterlist

summary: patrick comes to visit | content/warning: explicit language, arguing and light angst | tags: @midwestprincesss | a/n: yes it is short again I'm sorry but also I need ideas on this damn ending yall give me ideas pls!!

Art squints his eyes, his racket rising in the air with precision before he serves. It's near perfect and and you watch attentively as him and his teammate play, your good hand absent-mindedly rubbing over the plaster of your cast.

Watching Art play was always a feast for the eyes, but recently, it had filled you with an uncertain envy. You deeply yearned to be in his position, the weeks until you were gully healed feeling like they were moving at a snailspace.

Your mind had been running wild recently; agitated because you couldn't play, frustrated because you couldn't write or do your work without help and scared at what your future from here looked like. Per your scholarship's terms, they didn't drop you completely, and your coach had promised she would wait until you were healed.

The words were supposed to put you at ease, but your doctor's voice rang in the back of your mind, her concern over how well your wrist would heal based on how bad you had broken it. Her telling you that you could suffer from possible long-term effects.

You were so deep in thought that you didn't immediately register Patrick plopping down next to, only coming to when he nudged your shoulder with his.

Your laugh was like a bell that went off in Art's head, and he looked over to find you wrapping your arms around his friend in greeting. The game was suddenly less important, and he asked his teammate for a break which he begrudgingly agreed to. He made his way over to the two of you, Patrick enveloping him in a tight hug and pulling away to slap his hands against his face playfully.

The three of you cut Art's practice short and made your way to the food court to catch up. Patrick didn't miss the way you decided to sit next to Art, the both of you sitting across from him. He didn't miss the way your thighs rubbed against Art's, his knee playfully nudging yours under the table every now and then and the shy smile he gave you every time you caught his gaze. The three of you were happily catching up before you realized you'd forgotten your gym bag, excusing yourself and leaving the two friends to their own devices.

Patrick looked over at his friend, deep in thought as he bit into his sandwich. "So," Patrick started making Art look up at him with raised eyebrows. "You two?" he asked. "What about us? Art asked through a mouthful. "C'mon," Patrick scoffed. "It's obvious things have gotten a little serious since I've been gone," he reasoned, taking a big gulp of his coke before continuing.

"Have you two been fucking?" he asked what he wanted to ask from the beginning. Art dropped his sandwich, his face scrunching into an appalled expression. "That's none of your business, man," he replied, watching Patrick's smile widen, cheeks balling at the action.

"I thought we told each other everything?" he asked, voice taking on a serious tone despite his smirk. "Why does it bother you so much?" Art asked, already passed irritated. "It doesn't," Patrick lied, "I just can't help but wonder where that leaves me."

Patrick took another bite of his sandwich, finishing it before adding, "I hope you realize this is just a game to her." Another bite at his sandwich. "A conquest. She's using you," he adds bitterly. "What could she possibly be using me for?" Art asked, angered by Patrick's claim, who in return shrugged, that stupid smirk still present on his face. "I dunno. Emosional support, pity, to somehow absorb your skills, sex? You figure it out, Art."

Art's frown deepened, ready to retort at his friend until you sat down in your spot next to him, sparing them both a smile and an out of breath apology. The topic was dropped there, the three of you continuing where you had left them.

It was, however, brought up again a few days later, this time between you and Patrick when the two of you had gone to watch one of Art's matches.

"What happened?" he asked, head nodding down to your hand laid down in your lap. "I broke it while playing," you said, fingers subconsciously flexing in the cast. "How long 'till you can play again?" You sighed, hand subconsciously rubbing over the cast as it always did when you were deep in thought. "Twelve weeks. Give or take." Patrick only hummed, taking a moment to take you in in your entirety.

You looked good – as you always did – but tired, eyes slightly puffy and laced with red, with a soft frown on your pretty face. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do.

He shuffled a little closer, making sure he was right by your ear when he asked, "Does this put your little game on hold now?"

You looked over at him, kissing your teeth when you saw the stupid smirk on his face. "Go fuck yourself," you said softly, grateful the few chairs next to you were open so that no one could hear your outburst. He laughed, hand rubbing over his cheeks and mouth. "You're always so hot and cold," he started. "I'm still not sure if you even like me."

"But you know what I do know?" he asked.

"What," you said, a command for him to continue rather than a question. "I know that you're a bitch," he started, "and that you get off on using people." You scoffed but the smile on your face betrayed you, eyebrows raising at his words. "That's not true," you said, refocusing your attention on Art, but it didn't deter Patrick. Not much could when he had his mind set on something.

"Then what are you doing?" he asked, saying your name like it was bitter in his mouth. You pursed your mouth, dead set on ignoring as you watched Art. "What are you getting out of him now?" he asked again obviously not ready to let the subject go.

"Let me ask you this, Patrick," you looked over at him again. "Are you mad that you 'lost' me or that you feel like you might lose Art?" He groaned, head tipping over the backrest of the chair as he rubbed his face in frustration, and you smiled. "I won't steal your boyfriend, Patrick," you said with a shrug, "I know you need him just as much as you think I do."

"You never answered my question from that night," he said way off topic, "you never chose." You looked at him, green-blue eyes focused on you with an angry expression, so close to you it probably looked odd to anyone watching you. You didn't answer him, turning back to the court as you folded your arms. Patrick followed suit, dropping the subject as his leg bounced in irritation.

✿ ⊹ ˚.

#challengers x reader #challengers #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig #likedovesinthewindd

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

#and then. and im putting my most controversial opinion in the tags bc im scared lmao. but like... then... you have the fans..... doing...... #the same fucking thing. #the amount of times I have seen Wriothesley used as just a side prop for Neuvillette to feel bad about shit. While Wriothesley is just..... #portrayed as having the inner peace and acceptance of a fucking monk. I was shocked when I read some fics I swear #they really said this man has no trauma at all! the stuff in his past? he's over it! #i hate that passivity when writing victims. like ok if One is written like that #sure. but MHY write all their victims like this #I mean look at fucking Lanoire #and Neuvillette sentenced him to prison after he killed his parents who were never confronted by the law. That's canon. #that's more canon than WRLT itself. #why weren't they confronted? did wriothesley try to talk to someone about it? why did he feel like killing them is his only option ????? #at least have there be some sort of conflict and friction there. How does Wriothesley feel about the court and Neuvillette when #this is the literal system that allowed all that shit to happen to him in the first place??? #are you Sure he won't be at least a little wary? the fact that some people think he's Grateful to Neuvillette or even idolises him is crazy #because the man literally subjected him to prison. and if you want to portray his prison life as easy breezy and trauma free #you undermine his entire shitty little 'prison reform' narrative #and if you think he'd be completely 100% accepting of the justice system. Then why the fuck would he kill his parents himself #don't you see that the whole 'I'll accept whatever sentence in order to kill my parents' thing in itself is an act of defying the system #and I Hate #this idea. about being some of the most powerful men in the nation. and yet they can't fucking TRY to set up a better system or smth #i can't believe I read a fic where leaving starving street kids croissants is the most they (the characters and the writer) want to do #like. what the fuck. the whole point of that scene is just to make neuvillette feel bad and be like aw......... poor people exist.... OK??? #this is literally how MHY would portray him though.... tbf..... This is what ppl would argue as 'in character' #I just think the character they're in is bad. #I will say I'm giving the fic a lot of grief. there's more to the scene than that. and. ultimately..... #fanfic is (saying this through gritted teeth) ........ recreational....................and free........... in the end................. #i dont think this is reflective of the writer. I do think it is reflective of the way the canon material (genshin impact) #presents in the audience who consumes it. most fans only want these guys to fuck anyway. not think about systemic injustices #canon doesn't make it about the systemic injustices either so why should we. the aesthetic of slums and prisons are just there for fun guys #IM JUST CRAZY OK. I SHOULDNT EVEN BE HERE THIS IS NOT FOR ME . I DONT CARE THAT MUCH FOR PEOPLE FUCKING AND I CARE TOO MUCH

[friendsoup]

Falin in a Relationship!

Recipe: Falin x Reader, Falin x Feminine! Reader, Reader isn't explicitly a girl but they're a feminine person

WC: 609

Chef's Note: It's been a while since I've written something that isn't reverse1999! I've been meaning to write Dungeon Meshi x Reader for a while! And after checking the tags, I was shocked to see none of the girls being written!!! Dungeon Meshi has so many beautiful women, why is no one writing about them? Anyways, I plan to do one for Marcille too, bc I'd feel bad if I did one of the doomed yuri girls and not the other... Who else should I do? Keep in mind I prefer writing girls!

You have to be INCREDIBLY obvious with your feelings in order to get through to her. No amount of flirting will get through her head. She just thinks you’re being nice.

When you do confess to her, she seemingly doesn’t react at first. She gives a simple “Thank you.” And wanders away. Don’t be fooled though, she’s only doing this so she can hide away and cover her face. She’s deeply flattered and flustered by your confession, she just doesn’t want to show it.

Falin loves gift giving. If she sees something that reminds her of you, she’s getting it right away. Rocks the color of your eyes, robin egg shells (you wore a dress this color once! She remembers it clearly), berries and nuts (she knows which ones you prefer). All of these things will be casually placed into your hands without explanation. She rarely talks about her own feelings, especially her romantic ones, so it’s up to you to decide what they mean.

Quality time is really really big for Falin. She wants to spend as much free time with you as possible. One of her favorite things to do with you is cooking! She likes to experiment in the kitchen, not strictly following the recipe. The success of the dishes varies… Sometimes they’re really good, sometimes they’re hot garbage. But she’ll still eat every bite, as it was a labor of love from the both of you.

Stray animals follow the two of you around constantly. You know it’s because Falin has a weak spot for them and feeds them on her way home, but she denies this adamantly. Stray cats push up against her legs and purr, and stray dogs always wag their tails when she walks by. She seems to have a way with animals that makes them really like her. And because you have her scent on you, they like you too.

Falin gets sensory overload in crowded places. When she’s beginning to grow nervous, she’ll clutch onto your arm and bury her head in your shoulder. Your scent is really calming to her. When you switch perfumes, she gets upset.

The fanciest date you’ll get with Falin is going to a play. She’ll dress in a casual, loose fitting suit (or whatever you dress her in, she doesn’t exactly care for fashion), and might even put on make up. All of that gets washed away however, as Falin always ends up crying during the emotional bits of the show. She’s not exactly a pretty crier either. Puffy red cheeks, snot dripping from her nose, her large eyes slightly red from tears. It’s a good idea to bring a handkerchief if going with her.

HIKES!!! Falin loves going on hikes, and will take you along as well if you let her. She’ll tell you about the herbs, berries, and flowers you see on the way. About how to grow them and their medicinal purposes. She’ll talk about the bugs the two of you see, their behaviors and properties. And she’ll point out all the animals on the trail, and talk about their habits and diets. The amount of knowledge she has on nature is stunning, and you always end up learning something new.

Though Falin is a bit spacey, she never forgets any of your likes or interests. She tries to meet you halfway on them, even if she can’t understand them. She’ll try to read the books you like, play the games you’re into, and watch the things you’re interested in. Even if she doesn’t like it herself, she’ll always try to turn it into something the both of you can enjoy.

#Dungeon Meshi #Delicious in Dungeon #Dungeon Meshi x Reader #Delicious in Dungeon x Reader #falin dungeon meshi #Falin x reader #Falin x you #Let's Make Friend Soup! #x reader

[allyjoe755]

Family Ties Pt. 1

Benedict Bridgerton x reader (no use of y/n)

request: from @caspianobsessed, "Can u please write about benedict and sharma sister reader , she comes to visit kate and meets ben for the first time. They meet one year later during reader's season and fall in love"

a/n: This was so much fun to write. I have no idea what 19th century ghost possessed me to write the dialogue like I did but I'm not mad at it. There will be a part two! I hope you enjoy. And if you would like to be tagged in any future parts, please let me know.

warnings: none

o-o-o

Love was a challenging concept, because hearts— they were fickle things.

You had realized as much after your sister, Edwina’s, first social season… where she had been courted by Viscount Bridgerton only for your eldest sister, Kate, to ultimately become his wife.

But oh, were they in love. You could see it in their eyes on their wedding day— how they stared deeply at one another, as if no one else mattered in the world, as if their entire world, indeed, was standing right in front of them.

It was beautiful. Magnificent, truly.

You could only wish that something as magical as that might befall you one day.

You were a year younger than Edwina, and as such, a year out from your societal debut. You had not been present during the social gatherings or your sisters’ time spent at Aubrey Hall– due, in part, to you traveling with some extended family or other during that time. Besides names and vague descriptions granted to you through writing and on your return, you truly did not know any of the family your sister was marrying into.

And even then, you barely met any of them on the wedding day. A quick conversation introducing you to the now Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, and a nodding of heads acknowledging a few of the girls– Francesca and Eloise?– but that was it.

Viscount Bridgerton you knew, of course, but any of the others? Perhaps on looks alone you could pick out the eight of them from a crowd, but you did not know who was who.

Maybe that was why your heart thrummed so violently in your chest as you exited the carriage and stood in front of Aubrey Hall. The unknown. Yes, you were visiting your sister, but you feared less a chance encounter with a pack of ravenous wolves than the family Bridgerton, for at least you knew what to expect with the former.

You were sure they were kind– or at least amiable, as you doubted your sister would tolerate much less join a family that was not at least one of those things. That one piece of hope allowed you to tamper your nerves enough that when you arrived at Aubrey Hall, you were able to wear a placid smile as the footman escorted you to the drawing room.

He had not even finished announcing your name when your sister stood from where she was and practically dashed over to you, enveloping you in a hug. You both laughed, and tears came to your eyes.

“My dear, sweet sister,” Kate said, her smile bright as your embrace ended. “How I have missed you.”

“I have missed you as well!” You exclaimed. “Viscountess Bridgerton.”

“Oh, none of that here.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Come. I should introduce you to everyone.”

She turned around and you now had a clearer image of the drawing room– or rather, who was in it. The Dowager Viscountess– you recognized her– stood and nodded her head to you. You nodded and curtsied in return.

One girl sat in a chair with a book in hand. She was one of the children you had met at the wedding… Eloise, you believed? Yet the others you were not sure you entirely recognized.

“At the piano is Francesca,” Kate began. “Please, do not stop playing on our account; my sister and I are both lovers of music,” she told the young woman. “Over there is Eloise, and of course you know the Dowager Viscountess… Anthony is away on some business at the moment, but should be joining us for our meal. And, of course, the duchess is not present, as she is in Hastings.

“And here,” she said, bringing you to a table toward the end of the room, “are Gregory, Benedict, Colin, and–”

“Hyacinth!” The young girl announced, standing to do a quick curtsy to you. “It is a delight to meet you; we’ve heard so many great things!”

You couldn’t help the smile that began to blossom on your face. What had you been worried for? Only a few minutes, and you could already tell they were a wonderful family. “I’m so very glad to hear it,” you returned. You looked down at the table. “What game are you all playing?”

“It is a very simple game,” Hyacinth grandly explained, “in which one seeks the highest scoring hand by trading their cards until the round is over."

You smiled. "Trade and Barter?"

"Colin says it is called Commerce in France," Hyacinth responded, "which I think is a far more clever name." She looked up at you, and you thought that if this was how all of the family was, you would like the Bridgertons very much indeed. 

"Would you care to join us?" Colin offered.

"If there is room for one more," you said.

"Of course there is room," he replied, and there was a momentary shuffling of chairs, a command for Gregory to grab another seat, and suddenly you were sat between the youngest at the table and the oldest as your sister went back to sit with her mother-in-law.

Assuming, of course, that Benedict was in fact the second oldest and Hyacinth the youngest, if their names and your common sense had anything to tell you.

Another thing your common sense told you: the Bridgertons were a beautiful family. You read Lady Whistledown, of course, and had heard of the Bridgerton good looks, but seeing them in person…

You were being ridiculous, you knew. This was your sister’s family– Kate’s family. You should not have been noticing anything besides their friendliness.

You definitely should not have been noticing how you thought Benedict the most handsome, with his chestnut hair and gleaming eyes and soft smile, or how butterflies flapped in your stomach when your seat was placed next to his, or how nice he smelled when you sat down.

It was Gregory's turn to deal. Once your cards were dealt, you picked them up, glanced at them, and held them close to your chest.

Benedict leaned toward you ever so slightly. “Be sure to keep a neutral look about you. The younger ones do have eyes like hawks about these things.”

You let out a laugh. “You must remember my sisters,” you replied. “Edwina and Kate and I have had a fair share of card games ourselves.”

And so it went like that, around the table taking turns, watching the other players in hopes that their faces would reveal their hands, with laughter echoing in the drawing room.

“How is it that we haven't met you before today?” Hyacinth asked as she scooped over the pool of coins to her personal stash.

“I was traveling with family,” you explained. “Although I was at the wedding; it was just a busy day and so we did not get to meet.

“Where did you travel to?” and “So you are not out in society yet?” were the next questions asked, by, to your surprise, Colin and Benedict respectively. They then both apologized in tandem, and you pressed your lips together to stifle a giggle.

“No, I am not out in society yet–” you answered Benedict first– “but my debut will be this next season. And we were just in the countryside, mostly, but I did think it a rather splendid trip. There were many libraries and parks where we stayed, which I thoroughly enjoyed.”

“You enjoy reading?” Benedict asked yet another question, and you would be lying if you didn’t say that you were giddy by it.

“I would say that I rather enjoy all the arts,” you said. “Reading, writing, music… I can play the pianoforte, but not nearly as well as your sister. Her mastery is a true gift.”

“And what about visual arts?” Colin asked. “Drawings and paintings and sculptures… are you a fan of those as well?”

You nodded. “Of course. I was told there were great art exhibits in London. My mother and I are planning on visiting some of them when we are there for my season.”

“Perhaps Benedict could join you!” Hyacinth exclaimed. “He is a lover of art. In fact, he is quite the artist himself. He was a student at the Royal Academy of Art.”

Benedict let out a rather awkward laugh, and you felt your face grow flush. Hyacinth did not know what she was proposing– but a debutante and a bachelor on an outing, during the social season?

It was preposterous, and suggestive, and almost romantic.

Yet you loved the idea of it.

“A student?” You said, hoping to ignore Hyacinth’s other comment and continue with the conversation. “You must have very nice work.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he quickly responded, and then cleared his throat. His eyes met yours for a fleeting moment before you both looked away.

“It might be time for our meal soon,” Colin announced, standing up from his seat and saving you and his brother from any more embarrassment. “Hyacinth?”

“Yes, brother?”

“We shall leave it up to Benedict and our guest to determine what they would like to do during the social season.” He began towards the door, opened it, and turned to address the rest of the group. “Shall we?”

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #netflix #bridgerton fanfiction #x reader #romance #fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagines #bridgerton imagines #writing #family ties

[aquagirl1978]

Hi Aqua!! I love your writing! For your naughty or nice event, can I please request a nice Harrison using the prompt "carrying the other in their arms"? It can go naughty too if you'd like, entirely up to whatever you'd like to write!

Hi! Thank you - I hope you enjoy this - it starts out fluffy, then turns a bit spicy.

Make This Go On Forever

A/N: Part of my Naughty or Nice event Pairing: Harrison Gray x Reader Prompt: carrying the other in their arms Word Count: 796 Tags: fluff to spice

It wasn’t often when the castle was near empty and lucky for you, today was one of those rare days.

It was Harrison’s birthday, his second with you as a couple, and you wanted to make this day special. You knew he wouldn’t want some big, extravagant event, but something small – just you and him and a table full of his favorite sweets – should be more to his liking.

You were setting the final tray of pastries on the table, so focused on making everything perfect that  you didn’t hear him sneak into the room. Strong arms snaked around your waist, whispered words warming your cheek.  

“What’s all this for?” 

Twisting in his arms, you were greeted by the face of a very handsome man. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone whose birthday is today?”

He pursed his lips, pretending to ponder your question. “I have no idea,” he said with a mischievous smile. Reaching blindly behind you, you grabbed the first treat your fingers found. It was a cookie, one covered with lots of sugary icing.

You brought the cookie towards your mouth, your pink lips parted. “I guess I’ll eat this then.”

In the blink of an eye, Harri snatched the cookie from your fingers and took a big bite of it. “Not nice to tease me on my birthday.”

“Oh,” you replied, stealing a bite of the cookie, “so now you admit it’s your birthday?” 

Rather than argue with you, he tightened his embrace and pulled your body, closing the distance between you. Dipping his head, he silenced you with a sweet kiss. Head empty, your only thoughts were of the man kissing you as you deepened the kiss.

When the kiss was finally broken, Harri grabbed your hand, eager to sample sweets.

“Oh, wait,” you exclaimed, quickly pulling your hand from his, “there’s something I have to get from the kitchen.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he called out, as you dashed out of the room.

A few minutes later you returned with a tray. Harri was practically beaming when he saw what was on the tray – two glasses and a pitcher full of his favorite, strawberry milk.

He took the tray from your hands and placed it on an empty space on the table. Like the gentleman that he was, he pulled out a chair and gestured for you to sit. Smiling, you thanked him and waited for him to sit next to you.

“Now, let’s eat.”

******

After a few dozen cookies were eaten and a copious number of cupcakes were consumed, you and Harri both had your fill of sweets.

“I don’t think I could eat another bite if I tried,” you declared, pushing your plate away. Harri eyed you as you rose from your chair, a fox-like grin spreading on his lips. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’ve had too much to drink.”

“What? No, I haven’t. I’ve been drinking strawberry milk with you.”

He shook his head in disagreement. “You’re swaying, you clearly cannot stand up straight.”

“Harri, what is – hey! What are you doing? Put me down!” You let out a little yelp as your feet lifted in the air. 

“That’s better,” he said with a sly smirk, your body cradled in his arms. “You would have never been able to walk all those stairs to my room in your condition.”

Catching on to his trick, you threw your arms around his shoulders and clung to him, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek before he ascended the stairs with you in his arms. 

*****

With a nudge from his foot and a bump from his hip, he had the door to his bedroom opened without needing to put you down. The moment he crossed the threshold,  he finally set you down.

“That’s better,” he mumbled as he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a more passionate kiss than the one you shared earlier. Hands roamed, fingers fumbling for laces and buttons; the temperature in the room was rising and you both were wearing too many layers. 

Lips parted, his tongue invaded yours, the taste of strawberries from the milk still sweet. He ran his hands down your arms, your loosened blouse falling from your shoulders.

He laid you down on the bed, your arms circled around his shoulders, gazing into his darkened eyes, eyes you could so easily get lost in. He paused, his eyes locked on yours, as if he was simply savoring this moment, soaking it in for as long as he could, before he lowered his head, his lips seeking your heated flesh.

Wrapping your fingers in his milk-tea locks, holding him close, you wondered what you could do to make this night go on forever.

Tagging: @redheadkittys @themiscarnival @coral-relevium @cyberk1ee @kookie-my-little-sunshine

@pathogenic @ellisgivesmelife013 @ikemen-writer @nightghoul381 @judejazza

@xbalayage @xenokiryu @alydra @drachonia @ranhanabi777

@silver-dahlia @lunaaka @ikesenwritings @sh0jun

#naughty or nice #ikemen series #ikemen villains #ikevil #harrison gray #ikevil harrison #ikemen fanfic #ikevil fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic

[xxsycamore]

KING'S GAME

╰┈➤ ❝ I just need to know in case…❞ ❝ In case what? In case you take it a little too far in role-playing? In case you go down on me and the words mon emperor leave your lips? ❞ - After a round of some silly drinking game, MC can't help but have certain thoughts about Napoleon and how easily he takes on the role of someone in power. Naturally, she wants to know his boundaries of it.

Napoleon Bonaparte/MC • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Drinking Games; Alcohol; Shenanigans; Humor; Sexual Tension; Massage; Kink Negotiation; Sexual Roleplay; Power Play; Dominant Napoleon; Dom/sub; Master/Servant; Blow Jobs; Oral Sex; Choking; Dacryphilia; Stripping; Dirty Talk; Vaginal Fingering; Begging; Vaginal Sex; Creampie; Aftercare • wordcount: 6,055 • masterlist

a/n: The idea for this fic was conceived long before an event of the same theme came to Ikevamp EN... We ended up not seeing them all play together in the game so I hope this right here fixes that, maybe? I have no idea how it ended up being that long. I guess I've been looking for the right opportunity to explore this part of Napoleon's character in a smut fic, namely his feelings about being called emperor and the likes in the bedroom. Hope you enjoy!

"Oh, I know! How about we play the Ousama game? It's a popular drinking game back home, in my era!"

It's rare for MC to be the one initiating activities on game nights, so naturally, all eyes are on her. Dazai is quick to give his enthusiastic approval, wanting to know more about a game that came after his time but originates from his homeplace. Sebastian smiles in a similar fashion.

"Good pick, MC. I think our residents are going to like it. Will you please excuse me for a second?"

As Sebastian stands up from the table and dashes out of the room, someone's comment oh my god, he's totally fetching his diary, can be heard. But really, there are no hard feelings. Everyone's more than happy to welcome Sebastian at the table and see him being more open and relaxed around his masters for once. Maybe it does have to be documented.

"It's not something like Arthur's games, I assume?" Isaac directs his gaze at MC, almost pleading under the surface for an affirmative response.

She rubs awkwardly at the back of her neck. As much as she hates to disappoint him…

"Erm, it's basically a game of dares… but don't worry, you can always refuse a dare!"

"That's it, if you want to take the punishment, Newt." Arthur seems ready to dance on the physicist's nerves with a complimenting chin-cupping stance, elbows rested on the table and all. Theo rolls his eyes.

"Let me guess. Refuse a dare and drink a shot."

"That's correct." MC nods before Arthur can take more liberties at orchestrating her own game, even if they happen to be thinking in the same direction. "Let me go get what we need for the game!"

By the time Sebastian is back and patting his breast pocket suspiciously, so is MC, with a handful of… chopsticks. And a fountain pen.

"So, what I'm going to do now is write a number for each one of us… Vincent, Theo, Arthur, Isaac, Mozart, Dazai, Sebastian, Napoleon, and I…so that means numbers 1 to 8, and on the ninth chopstick, I'm going to write Ousama - which means 'King' - and then we shuffle the chopsticks in a cup - Arthur, can you pass me the empty cup next to you? - then we each take one but without showing our numbers to the others. Whoever gets the Ousama chopstick becomes King and he places a dare for someone, using the numbers! Is everything clear?"

"Uh. What kind of dares are allowed?"

Napoleon nods at the direction the question originates from. "Good point. Hey, maybe tone it down with the sexual stuff. There are taken people at the table."

Arthur snaps, "Why are you looking at me? I wasn't intending to. Besides, if a dare doesn't stand right with you, you can always drink and avoid it!"

Memories of other game nights seem to flood multiple minds at once, so MC lets out a half-chuckle half-sigh and moves on. She does take a mental note of the hint of possessiveness in Napoleon's comment just now who instantly got worried about another man being prompted to touch her inappropriately. As if anyone has the balls to touch Napoleon's woman, she thinks to herself… and kind of likes the way it sounds in her head.

It's a shame that Leonardo and Comte aren't joining them tonight and are instead enjoying a more sane way of getting alcohol in their system, in some quiet corner of the mansion. And Comte is totally not smoking a cigarillo right now while talking to his old friend, claiming that he hasn't had one in forever, again. And for that matter, Jean's presence is missed as well, but sadly (although understandably) he dislikes partaking in such activities. He's a lot like Mozart in this regard, with the difference that Mozart becomes another person when he drinks some. And that person loves joining drinking games with his buddies!

"If we're all ready - here we go!"

MC gives the cup a rather unnecessary bartender-style shake, assuring the chopsticks are well shuffled and ready to make it to all the wrong hands.

Once placed on the table, a crowd of hands quickly reach into the cup and sneakily withdraw in order to hide their new secret identity, with the exception of one person who has nothing to hide.

"I'm the king. My, I wasn't prepared for this."

As Sebastian holds up the chopstick of fate high in the air for all to see, a few pairs of surprised eyes catch his own. And something like a shimmer lights up in Sebastian's ones.

For someone as unprepared as him, he surely doesn't waste time on thinking about his next move. Not at all.

"Number 6, exchange a clothing item with number 1. Number 3, take off your pants without using your hands. And number 4 must do a handstand."

"By Jove, Sebas, your fetishes are showing!" Arthur blinks, both surprised and somehow entertained by the turn of events which (in his own head) kicks him off the position of number one most perverted person around the table. Or at least for the time being. He's only smiling now because he's safe, being the lucky number 7 and out of Sebastian's fantasies.

Isaac and Theo can't say the same. They exchange a look - eyes traveling up and down each other's frames - looking for a convenient clothing item to exchange, given their different builds. Theo is done with his choice first, and he reaches over the table to undo Isaac's necktie. The smaller man averts his gaze, turning his head away as much as he can so it's not in Theo's way, or perhaps out of embarrassment, but it's over before it ever began thanks to Theo's rough but effective methods of freeing the cloth from under his collar. Using the chance coming with the shortened distance, Isaac snatches Theo's scarf in return as the most adequate thing to take.

"Aw, you two are boring." Napoleon mocks for change, drumming his fingers on the table with a smirk. Theo muses with the thin black tie in his hands, turning to Napoleon with an empty look and silently wrapping it around his forehead instead, tying it off at the side.

"Is this better?"

"Snrk. I don't know, what do we think, Sebas?"

"I approve of your new look, Master Theodorus. Or should I drop the 'Master'? I'm the King now, after all."

MC gasps, "Sebas! Oh, this game is dangerous…"

"Tell me about it. My first dare and I already have to drink. Woe is me." Dazai weeps, rising up from his seat to point at his hakama, making it impossible for him to complete the take off your pants without hands dare.

"Guess that leaves me." Napoleon sighs, pushing his chair back audibly as he stands up.

"Ooh! Go for it, Naps!"

"Good thing it went to someone who's in good shape. I bet it's a piece of cake for him."

"We'll see now." Napoleon smirks to himself, rubbing his hands together as he prepares to tackle the handstand. His eyes get serious for a second as he calculates it all, and in the next moment, his hands are flat against the floor changing the center of his weight. While he's upside down, the gravity makes his partly untucked shirt expose his abs.

Someone whistles, and MC finds herself staring. As if for the first time.

All too soon, Napoleon is back on his feet again, dusting off his palms and retaking his seat by the table. Sebastian is beaming. "I like this game. Thank you for the idea, MC."

"Thank you, MC." Mozart chimes in, for some reason, oblivious to Sebastian making history tonight as opposed to quietly observing it from the side like usual.

"Haha, you guys are welcome… so, let's do it again, shall we? Let's see who will be King this time around~!"

After the new shuffle of chopsticks, everyone seems a little more lively, a little more hopeful - some driven by revenge and some simply by the contagious evil brewing in the air.

"Who is King?"

Out of the people looking at their newly acquired chopsticks, Napoleon is the one who speaks up.

"I guess that would be me."

"It's Napoleon, huh…"

"Oh, how fitting! You were born for it, Naps."

"Haha, not really."

"My bad. You're an emperor, not a king. I'm so sorry, Your Majesty."

Napoleon snorts, not playing along - or perhaps his dismissing the extended apology is his way of playing along. MC raises an eyebrow, studying his reaction. Napoleon's attitude towards these things is… rather complicated, as he seems to both loathe his so-called days of glory and simultaneously accept them for what they are, a part of him. She's been confused more than once about what's a good way of navigating through the situation when the topic is brought up in their conversations. On one hand, she hates the change of expression on his face that makes her feel like winter has returned - even if it's never going to feel to her like how it felt to him, the cruel winter - on the other, she knows he hates it when people walk on eggshells around him.

But now they're all at least half-drunk and merely goofing around. No one's bothered to care about these things, and maybe Napoleon prefers they don't anyway.

"Number 5, hold three ice cubes in your mouth until they melt. Number 4, confess about a fetish you have in front of everyone. Number 2, crack an egg over Number 7's head. Number 1, give me a massage."

"N-Napoleon is a sadist!!"

"So cruel…"

And he's laughing too. Sadistic tendencies aside, his laughter sounds every bit as genuine (and loud) as MC always remembers it to be, and it's strangely soothing. Maybe she should refuse a dare just for the shot, just to drown her worries a little more… Taking a look at her chopstick again because she thinks she heard her number, she sees a 1.

Theo goes somewhere, for ice presumably, despite Sebastian's offer to do it in his stead, and Arthur follows. "Wait, I'll go for the eggs."

"Who got the fetish one?" Napoleon browses the faces of the ones left at the table to spot the flushed one. Vincent raises a hand.

"My fetish is, um… I don't really-"

"Come on Vincent-kun, we all have fetishes~"

"I think I could say… maybe… um.."

"Yes? Go on, say it. We won't judge."

"I'd love it if my partner would touch themselves and let me watch."

"That's perfectly normal, Master Vincent. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"Woah, it's both very vanilla and somehow kinky at the same time..." MC muses out loud. "Oh, but nothing to be ashamed of, certainly!"

Arthur and Theo return, with the latter immediately taking note of Vincent's beet-red face.

"What did I miss? Broer?"

"The fetish dare… Don't worry, Theo, I just had a shot instead."

"Oh, that's good. I mean, no it's not! Napoleon, how dare you make mjin broer take a punishment!"

"It wasn't really- Anyway, Theo, let's shut you up now."

Theo groans, dragging on every move as if giving the ice a chance to melt as much as possible before the inevitable contact with his mouth. At last, there's nowhere to escape and he pops the cubes in his mouth, thankfully they fit.

"Okay, I've been waiting for this. Who gets an egg in the head?"

"It's me… I hate this game…"

Isaac cards his fingers through his strawberry locks, as if for one last time while they're still egg-free. In the meantime, Theo's expression twists, less out of sympathy and more because the ice begins to torture him from the inside out.

"And the executioner?"

"Master Isaac, I'm truly sorry, it's me." Sebastian raises his gloved hand.

"Ahahaha! Haha!" Mozart laughs at the turn of events seeing a servant disserving his master. Or maybe the reason behind his laughter is nowhere that complex. One thing is certain, for some reason, he always gets out of the bunch's drinking games taking no damage in the form of nasty dares and punishments.

Sebastian stands up reluctantly, then sits down again. "Should I just drink? But I have to remind, I can't hold my liquor very well, I'm afraid."

"Just get it over with. I won't be mad at you or anything."

Sebastian sighs to show a little more reluctance before committing the deed. He looks like he's trying to miss his target, but unfortunately the raw egg still perfectly lands on Isaac's head, quickly descending down his face. Isaac's grossed-out expression mirrors Theo's current agony. As someone hands Isaac a handkerchief to wipe off the sticky mess with, another jokingly calls the sight erotic…

"Alright, I'm ready for my massage. Who shall serve the King?"

Napoleon relaxes back in his seat demonstratively in anticipation. It's a bold invitation, and everyone looks up to see the chosen one.

"My king."

MC stands up, showing her chopstick marked with the number 1. She tries to mute the sound of the others' reactions in her head as suddenly her pulse speeds up.

Napoleon flashes her a grin.

"Very well. The King is expecting you."

He lifts his glass to his lips as he hasn't touched it since the beginning of the game, probably deeming it worthless with the nature of the game. Not that he's expecting to be drinking anytime soon - he's simply not the type to back out from any dare unless it's too ridiculous even for him. Maybe that's why he started to miss the warmth at the back of his throat.

As MC makes her way to where he sits, she witnesses the singular bobbing of his Adam's apple when he gulps down the liquid, and she watches dumbstruck for a second as he motions for her to take a sip if she wants to, from the same glass. Well, yes, she finished her own drink a while ago. She accepts the glass from his hold.

"Now, what kind of massage should I request? Hmm…"

Arthur's dirty remarks fall on deaf ears as MC focuses on not choking on the liquid in her mouth.

Napoleon is a giver.

But there's something damn attractive when he allows himself to take from others.

"The king orders you to rub his shoulders."

And it's damn attractive when he's commanding like that. She sees now what the others were referring to in their provocations earlier - it rolls so, so easily off his tongue when he gives an order like this. Even if it's for a stupid game, the sharp look he gives her feels rather… real.

Not that this is anything new to her. For all Napoleon's gentleness, in the bedroom, he has this side of him that colors him rather dominant. And she'd be lying if she said she's gotten so used to it by now she doesn't feel anything between her legs right this moment. Instead of being a liar, she blames it on the alcohol.

Standing behind Napoleon, MC puts her hands on his broad shoulders… and really, it's been a while since she last gave him a massage. Usually, it's the other way around, as Napoleon added it to his ever-growing list of skills, even if initially it was something he'd never done before, given his status in his past life. Now she has his shoulders all to herself to knead and push at, and she catches herself putting selfishness in the act of service. Because she can't help but have impure thoughts.

Napoleon groans. It's quiet but she catches it over the cacophony of other noises in the room coming from the rowdy bunch. They're already setting things up for the next round, and here she's still stuck on her dare. She doesn't want to go back to her seat. Maybe Napoleon can read her thoughts like he always does and offer her his lap for the rest of the night; maybe he will go further and excuse the two of them for the night-

One hand at work, she reaches the other into the cup because they tell her to, and it appears to be Isaac's turn to be King. Good for him, but bad for everyone else. Seems like it's going to be a long night…

Later in the night and a few more rounds down the line, apples have been eaten without hands, glasses have been downed, a few mounts were the targets of unpleasant substances, either deadly spicy or deadly sweet, some clothes have been removed, some eyes filled with tears - and the collective level of soberness in the room has been drastically lowered.

It's a surprise how they even managed to put an end to it before the sun came out when naturally there's always someone who didn't get a chance to take revenge on someone else. Napoleon and Theo, being the best at holding their liquor as per usual, felt it their duty to help the others to their rooms.

MC didn't have much to drink, otherwise she'd be asleep on the pile of residents by now. Not that she intended to retain some of her soberness, it simply happened - because the bubbling feeling in her chest wasn't caused by alcohol, to begin with.

Napoleon, always the caretaker. Maybe if she throws herself at him he'll carry her to her room as well.

"Goodnight, Theo, go get some sleep." The sound of him returning after separating from Theo interrupts her daydreams.

Once he sees he's all alone with MC, he offers her a smile.

"And we're the last ones again. C'mon Nunuche, let's go to our room."

"Carry me?"

MC tries her best puppy-dog eyes at him, and he tests her for a second like it doesn't work on him. He then gawks at her laziness, hoisting her up his shoulder and giving her ass a little spank. "Let's get you to bed, naughty Nunuche. Some of those guys will be mad at you for weeks, you know? But you better not give them those eyes. Only I get to see them."

"Mm…Napoleon?"

The varnished floorboards creak under Napoleon's steps as he makes his way down the hall, holding MC's weight securely. "Yes?"

"Do you really enjoy it? You know, being treated like a majesty."

It's a short trip, and MC's perspective soon goes back to normal as the floor and the walls swap their places once more before her eyes. Not that she's interested in it, so she throws herself at the bed in the next second, sinking in the welcoming embrace of the comforter, not bothering with removing it at least for the time being.

"Pfft, where did that come from?" Napoleon says while closing the door behind him. The crickets are still singing their songs under their window, it can't be that late in the night.

"From the game. For a second I was worried it left a bad taste in your mouth."

"Hmm." Napoleon fake-muses, kicking off his shoes before sinking one knee on the bed. "I think I liked it when you were the one treating me like a majesty."

"No, don't joke, tell me seriously."

"I am serious though."

Somehow they end up in this position that doesn't help resolve the tension poisoning the air around them one bit; with him caging her with his body on the soft mattress and her having nowhere else to look at but right at his penetrating gaze. Her fingers twitch, nails catching into the fabric of the comforter, seeking a sense of stability.

"I just need to know in case…"

"In case what? In case you take it a little too far in role-playing? In case you go down on me and the words mon emperor leave your lips?"

Like a spark to the kerosene pooling low in her belly, Napoleon's words make beautiful explosions bloom behind her eyelids that have fallen shut amidst the last sentence. She takes a breath but it only feeds the fire as she can't help the way her exhale sounds raspy.

"Would you like that?"

"Would you?"

MC bites on her bottom lip. "This is not about me."

"I thought you wanted to serve your King."

She averts her gaze, because if she looks a little longer at this alluring jade gaze that reeks of sex, she'll be able to feel herself losing her composure, and she's trying to have a serious conversation here.

"I do."

"Hmm." Napoleon plays with her, trailing a hand down her modest home dress, prodding at the buttons at the front. "This is bad, I don't know what to ask for first. I've lost shape."

"Liar. You were perfect at it earlier."

"Someone's been paying attention. Were you also fucking me with your eyes? Right there, at the table?"

MC takes two sharp breaths, and it resembles panting, all too soon. It's out of irritation and not arouse, not yet. When she pictured their little game, she thought she'd just have to bow her head obediently and indulge in her desire to serve. Not enduring Napoleon's verbal teasing as any other night.

"Is it that bad? Will my King punish me now as he sees fit?"

Napoleon looks at her. For all the things that may be at the tip of his tongue, MC imagines most vividly the tone Napoleon would speak them in and how much he's cut for the role. Her soul sings at the thought, but it's nothing holy.

"Get up then. Don't you think it's a little rude to be lying down in my presence?"

That's fair. With renewed vigor, she pushes herself off the bed and waits readily by the side of it.

"Remember to not look me in the eyes. It's forbidden. You'll only look when I allow you to, if I allow you to. You'll have to earn my grace."

Instinctively, MC wants her nod to be accompanied by eye contact, but she corrects her mistake before it can even take place.

"Present yourself. Take it all off."

MC blinks surprisedly at how fast things are happening but isn't against it at all. She has the feeling that he is capable of making her do all sorts of dirty things with a mere flick of his tongue, undressing for him is nothing.

She makes a show of it, despite not having many articles of clothing on her to take off seductively - before long, she's stepping out of her dress that has pooled at her feet, and she retakes her previous position.

"I'm pleased with what I'm seeing. Come closer. Kiss me."

He doesn't have to ask twice. It's something familiar and yearned for since they crossed the threshold of their room—hell, no, since they took a seat at the table for that game. It's welcoming and fulfilling and it's just what she needed-

Or so she thought, until she terribly embarrassed herself with a rather awkward and rigid pressing of lips against lips, and no movement. In her selfishness, and out of habit, she left her mouth open for Napoleon's invasion. But she's forgetting to consider that kings get tired of their conquests too.

She summons her boldness and turns the desire in her veins into fuel for action. She shoves her tongue in Napoleon's mouth, but gently, not with the intention to dominate, but rather to serve. To kiss him until he gets enough. Her tongue swirls against his own, the movement rather clumsy, the making out of a juvenile rather than that of a skillful lover… but it's what he wants. He wants to see her seduce him, use every millimeter of her body for his pleasure, and keep going until he has his fill.

A thin string of saliva connects their lips upon her withdrawal, and her eyes are shut tight. She has to keep them shut, otherwise she'll look right at him. Napoleon chuckles.

"You may open them."

She does, and the sight is not kind on her fragile composure. Locking eyes with Napoleon has never felt like this, like a privilege, and exploring this new feeling is exciting.

"You're not half bad with your mouth. Undress me and put it to use."

Heartbeat thumping in her ears, MC finds it impossible to conduct herself in that moment; to sturdy her hands into performing the task and to break her gaze from his piercing pools of jade. She starts with the shirt, more tugging at the buttons rather than precisely undoing them, before pushing it completely off his shoulders, and finally letting it fall to the floor. He's glorious with just his trousers on and that scrutinizing, almost cold gaze. She opens the fly enough to take his hardness out, and her stomach tightens instinctively.

She wets her lips and parts them, taking in the head of his cock, letting it rest on her tongue. Even when her world narrows down to the hot pulsing flesh in her mouth, she catches herself dividing her focus between pleasuring her lover and.. the position she's doing this in. There's a little bit of getting used to it being required, and it makes her realize how unfamiliar that is - her being on her knees, on the hardwood floor, and Napoleon standing upright. When was the last time they've found themselves in that exact arrangement? It could've happened once or twice before, in the heat of the moment, or when the space had limited them. But never intentionally. Not because MC has anything against it - rather, it would be Napoleon who changes the position whether he's about to receive oral. He makes sure he's at least sitting down at the edge of the bed, where MC can rest her hands on his hips, or on the bed. Where he can see her better, to check up on her. Now she has to look up to see him, and he seems so far away, or maybe her eyes are doing tricks on her, or maybe her vision is blurring because she accidentally took his cock too deep down her throat and now tears are gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Napoleon brings his hand over her head and collects a fistful of her hair, one unfamiliar thing after another - but before intimidation can mix into her blood, she breathes in deeply, because it's not him forcing her down his cock, it's him forcing her off it.

He holds his cock firmly by the base as he directs it at her parted lips again, but doesn't breach the gap between them. He simply rubs his cockhead on the soft cushion of them, gathering the saliva that starts to droll down and smearing it back on her lips.

"A pretty mouth indeed."

MC can only look at him. She looks at him like she's looking straight at an open flame.

"Next," Napoleon begins, cupping her chin and caressing with his thumb where his cock used to be just a second ago. "I want you to go on the bed and show me the position you want to be taken in. Can you do that for your King?"

MC finally averts her gaze; it happens involuntarily, purely as a reaction to another surge of surprise and embarrassment.

"I— Yes, my King."

Napoleon angles her chin up, a signal for her to rise to her feet. Yes, that would be a good start.

The bed is just two steps away from where she is but MC feels like she can trip thrice on the way there with how much her legs have turned to jelly. Still, she makes it. There's not much room for thinking this through, for deciding on what would work out best for both of them - normally it's him who takes these decisions, anyway - so once she leans forward on the bed, she gives way to impulsivity and the way it saves her from having to give it any more thought. If she has to name the reason, it would be that it aligns with everything that Napoleon is tonight. Of course it would be fitting if he were to take her on her hands and knees.

"Does this… please you?"

She hears the rustling of clothes behind her back, probably the sound of Napoleon getting rid of his trousers, before he approaches her. He doesn't say anything about approving the position or not, and MC can't decide if his silence is worse. He comes to stand right behind her, and she crawls a little closer to the edge of the bed to make sure their skin is touching. Napoleon lets one hand roam from the fold of her knee up to the curve of her butt, and MC jumps lightly at the touch. Needless to say, she's sensitive and oh-so neglected. Her insides throb at the mere proximity of Napoleon's slender fingers close to her sex - it's a miracle she doesn't come undone on the spot as he actually directs his touch to the apex of her thighs. Wetness catches on his fingertips and he wastes little time caressing her folds before plunging two fingers inside.

"Nnghhh…" MC tosses her head, trying her best to enjoy the feeling of finally, finally claiming some pleasure but without losing herself completely in it. Napoleon twists his fingers until his open palm is facing upwards, thrusts in and out a few times in a way that doesn't intend to bring pleasure but rather to prepare - and then his fingers audibly and briskly exit her wetness.

MC whines at the loss of his fingers but finds a new fire sparkled to life inside her, and she's more than happy she wouldn't have to wait any longer for the next dose of intoxicating pleasure.

"Good girl. Do you want my cock?" Napoleon asks, openly and greedy. He's not risking having her beat around the bush by posing a more generic question like what she wants next. They both know the answer to that already.

Not that he spares her the torturous reminder of what she'll get by saying the right thing. He rubs his flushed tip on her glistening folds, pressing it in enough to just barely catch on her entrance; to make her bite her tongue and assume he just might show mercy and put it in without her pleading for it.

"I- Yes, please, Napoleon— take me, fuck me! Please…"

She only realizes once it slips out that she used his name and not the object of their little game of pretend that is his title, but there's no going back.

Napoleon doesn't punish her for it. Instead, he rewards her, giving her what she wants most. The groan he lets out as the familiar warmth and tightness enfolds his aching cock is telling of his own desperation.

MC cries out at the intrusion, only now understanding the difference of not having him finger her for longer prior to this. It doesn't hurt - she just feels a little fuller somehow. A little on edge. He gives her time to adjust, however, and she just basks into this dangerous feeling for as long as it's there until he carefully withdraws only to give it another thrust.

"Ahh!" Her insides squeeze around Napoleon again, as he goes in deeper this time. She blames the position, trying to reason out why she feels him in her guts. Napoleon withdraws again, and then pushes in, trying to fit even more of himself inside.

"You're taking me so well. I'm so deep inside you, I bet you can feel me in your deepest parts."

She groans at his words and their truthfulness as his thrusts grow rhythmic, the place where they're connected burning with the delightful friction, and her arms soon give out. She buries her head between her hands, enduring the change of angle as her rear sticks out, and Napoleon keeps pounding at her. His own sounds of pleasure are barely masked by the sounds of skin on skin, but he's not hiding them either. He lets her know how good she's making him feel, telling her something dirty in a low voice that she can barely register over the drumming in her ears.

"You feel so good- merde- Ngh. I want to stay inside you forever."

He's always holding her tightly when he fucks her, his grip being strong enough to leave marks the following day, but there's something about the way he takes hold of her hips now. At first, MC thinks nothing of it, lost in euphoric pleasure. It's only when she feels her knees being lifted off the bed that she understands what's happening.

Napoleon rises up her bottom to meet his hips, in his standing upright position, taking full control of her body in that moment. He's so strong, making it all seem effortless; and it's not a matter of matching his thrusts anymore - she can't do anything. She's facing away, with one pair of limbs immobilized and the other grasping uselessly for purchase at the covers. Her whole body rocks back and forth, feeling like a ragdoll in Napoleon's arms. There's something primal and simultaneously embarrassing about how good it feels to give herself over to him like that; about the trust she puts in him to have her completely at his mercy.

And then Napoleon stills inside her. And he groans. And before she knows it, a warm spray of come hits her walls. Her eyes widen, only now realizing they've already been going at it for a while, for a while enough that he seemingly couldn't hold back and—

And maybe he just didn't feel like waiting for her to come before he does.

The realization makes her dizzy in an unexplainable way, and she moans so loudly she feels herself pathetically falling into that bottomless fit, just like that, just as Napoleon takes his cock out of her. It's petrifying, coming without him inside her, but strangely the pleasure never ceases. His hand finds his way between her quivering thighs and shoves them apart in a quick manner, beginning to rub at her clit; whispering praises against the skin of her nape, enveloping her smaller body with his own from behind as she presses into the bed so violently, chasing after her peak.

"Come for me. Come for me and scream my name."

And that's enough to tip her over the edge. Coming with Napoleon's load inside her intensifies the feeling; the way her insides are still remembering his shape, the way she's so full yet so empty. It makes her see stars.

"Napoleon— Ahhhhh!!"

"I'm here. I'm here, mon amour."

Napoleon holds her trembling form as he draws out the last of her high, gently moving her into a spooning position. He keeps touching her everywhere, her belly, her breasts, the curve of her shoulder, caressing all the spots that went unloved in their game.

"I felt— so good I thought I might die—"

Napoleon huffs out a breathy chuckle, and it tickles the babyhairs at the base of her neck.

"I'd be lying if I said this doesn't stroke my ego, Nunuche.", he whispers, and it's somehow more shiver-inducing than anything he's said that night. "I think you might be right. I might be enjoying myself a bit too much when I'm calling the shots."

MC turns her neck just enough to look at him from the corner of her eye. She studies him again, with his disheveled hair and boyish smile and his low tolerance of putting up a front now that he gave voice to his most basic instinct and let it rob him of the ability to give anything more thought than he needs to. She leans in for a kiss and he takes the initiative enthusiastically but ends up drawing it out to make the remaining endorphins dance slowly between their bodies.

Letting the tiredness in her limbs settle in just like the fact that the room is several shades a brighter blue than how they entered it, MC only nuzzles back onto Napoleon's chest, trying not to give voice to the heat between her legs beginning to awake again without a sense of the time.

"And I might just love to see you like that. Mon emperor."

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @devonares @galaxyprison @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning ​ @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @judejazza @my-day Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikemen vampire napoleon bonaparte #ikemen napoleon #ikemen series #ikeseries #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevamp smut #ikemen vampire smut #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp theo #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp mc #ikevamp mozart #ikemen vampire arthur #ikemen vampire theodorus #ikemen vampire mozart #ikemen vampire dazai #ikemen vampire sebastian #ikemen vampire vincent #ikemen vampire mc #ikemen vampire isaac #cybird #otome games

[cypherthesuccubus]

Dirty Little Secret

Alastor x Lucifer/ RadioApple -Part 2- (NSFW) (MDNI)

Warnings: 18+, smut, slow burn, eventual smut, cock worship, glory hole, enemies to lovers, murder, blood kink, bondage, tentacles, marking, breeding kink, size kink, S&M, Dom/Sub, switch, facial

Other Tags: Fluff and Angst

Aftercare forever!!✨

Here’s part 2, y’all!! Wonder what Alastor is gonna find when he sees where our short king is going. Let’s find out together~ 😈💕✨

It’s been a good 5 miles since Lucifer had started walking from the hotel to his destination. Every so often when a denizen passes by him, he makes sure to pull his hood down enough to hide his face; looking down at the ground for extra measure. He really didn’t need anyone recognizing him, especially where he was heading. He doesn’t need to be made a fool out of than he already was. The day Lilith left, he was pretty much a laughing stalk that his wife would up and leave without saying a word. This was definitely one of the many reasons why he struggles with depression so badly; thinking he did something wrong to have her leave the way she did. Being alone for 7 years definitely has taken its toll……in more ways than one. He can’t have anyone find out what he’s been doing these past few of weeks since extermination day.

Lucifer looks around before making a sharp turn into an alley way between some large colorful buildings; navigating effortlessly through the twists and turns of each building being mashed together in such a manner. It almost feels like going through a maze everytime coming here, but he knew his way after coming here so many times. He felt a shiver run up his spine, as he feels like he’s being watched. He turns behind him look at every nook and cranny to see if he was being followed, but turned up nothing. With a sigh of relief, he turns back making his final turn around a tight corner; slowly walking towards a black metal door with a sliding peep hole and a bright neon pink sign above. The sign’s light flickered a little, saying the same thing everytime he comes here, “Employees Only”.

Lucifer approaches the door, knocking on it rhythmically like a secret code, as he takes a step back; waiting for the bouncer to show. The sliding peep hole opens abruptly, showing a pair of red glowing eyes as a voice spoke in a low gravely voice “I-D?” He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a matte black card with the place’s logo, saying “Employee ID-Exclusive Private Stall User.” The bouncer a-ha’s in acknowledgement, closing the peep hole and opening the door, gesturing him inside. “Hurry inside, before you’re considered late.” He quickly puts the ID back in his pocket as he makes his way inside; keeping his head down as the bouncer closes the door behind him. As soon as the door shuts, an inky black shadow forms from the ground, now revealing a very curious Alastor. He hums as he glances to the bright pink sign above the door, thinking to himself. “How interesting.~”

His grins widens at the possibilities of ruining the king of hell himself. What business did his majesty have in this lowly establishment? Whatever this secret may be, can be of use to him to finally finding a way to pull all the strings sort of speak. But unfortunately, this means the only way to get the full details of his majesty’s scandal, is to be in disguise himself. He wretches at the idea of wearing such clothes, but he has his own reputation to uphold and can not be recognized either. With a disgusted sigh, he snaps his fingers as his normal attire dissipates; revealing him in such common looking clothes. He summons a mirror to fully look at himself; making sure no recognizable features are present. He practically gags at the sight of himself; thinking about how this is not what a proper gentleman should be wearing.

He wore a similar black hooded jacket, except he kept it unzipped; showing him wearing a black loose fitting tank crop; his chest fluff slightly protruding over the neckline. His pants were slightly baggy with at least 2 outward pockets on each leg; including the inner pockets at the waist with the fabric feeling of a Capri like texture. The hem of the waist hugging his nicely; tastefully showing a bit of his v-line. The shoes itself were heeled, looking as if a scandalous soldier would wear them. Alastor then puts the final touch; a black clothed mask to cover his ever present smile. “I look like a common harlot….this is not gentlemen like at all.” He thinks to himself as he dissipates once again into the shadows; reappearing in the dark corner of this “night club” of some sort.

Alastor looks around at the noisy setting of this establishment; thinking of what predicament has he gotten himself into this time. He glances over at the counter where he spots Lucifer straight away; talking to the receptionist as he then takes his leave down the hallway adjacent to the desk. His grins widens once more under the mask, as he makes his way to the front desk. He stops a few inches from the counter, as he turns his radio effect off before speaking. “Hello there, miss. The man that was just here before I approached, could you tell me his name?” The woman then looks up at Alastor with a confused look.

“You mean Lance? Yeah, he just started his shift actually. If you want to know prices, you can look at this here under “Private Stall Exclusive.” A what now? He looks at the laminated paper taped to the desk; scanning to where the woman was pointing at. He reads as follows:

Private Stall Exclusive Tonight’s Host:Lance

Paying Members Only!!!

Prices

1 hour: $280

2 hours: $350

3 hours(Max): $495

Thank you for your purchase!!!!

Enjoy~

Taken aback by this, for once in his life, Alastor starts to get anxious; thinking to himself. “What did I just get myself into?!” Nervously drumming his claws on the counter, the woman starts to get alittle annoyed with his lack of decision. “I really need you to make a choice, hun. You’re kinda holding up a line a little.” He glances over his shoulder to see two taller, muscular men behind him; staring down at him hungrily. One being a lone shark and the other a hellhound. Alastor turns back around as one of the men spoke. “Hey Jackie, is this the host for tonight?” She shakes her head as she thumbs to the adjacent hallway next to her. “Oh no, he’s already in the back.” The man chuckles as he steps a little too close for comfort behind Alastor.

“Too bad, cause I was kinda hoping to see what this one’s mouth can do.~” He feels one of the sharks hands snake on his shoulder; feeling this wretched creature’s breath near his neck. If Alastor’s teeth weren’t grinding hard enough from this disgusting behavior; his eyes flickered between dials to pupils as he balled his fists. This thing had the nerve to run its claws along his tail! Quickly, Alastor lets a tentacle shoot out of him and into the lone shark’s chest; coming out of the shark’s back before retreating back through to Alastor. The shark falls to floor with a heavy thud as the hellhound backs away in fear. “I think I’ll come back another time.” The hound says as he quickly speed walks to exit.

Alastor then pulls out a wad of cash as he hands it to the one called Jackie. “An hour should suffice, thank you.” She timidly takes the money as she puts it in the register. “Of course, I’ll buzz Lance to let him know you’re here. Just go down the hall to the door that says private. You can’t miss it.” Alastor chuckles as he makes his way to the hallway entry “Much appreciated, Miss Jackie.”

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor smut #hazbin alastor #alastor #lucifer smut #18+ content #18+ only #18+ mdni #18+ account #18+ post #18+ blog #hazbin smut #alastor x lucifer #radioapple #appleradio #radioapple smut

[class1akids]

Japanese reactions to the MHA 424 Shouto panel

I went through the Japanese Shouto tags last night on Twitter because I was curious about their reactions to Shouto's panel and what it may mean. The comments were around 5 main topics:

1. Sad that he's alone

ここでは1人でいてほしくないなって思いました - I didn't want you to be alone here, I thought

1人になるなーーッッ！！！囲め囲め！- Don't be alone!!! Surround them, surround them!!

🍰くん後ろ姿で1人なの辛すぎ 誰か……誰か近くに行ってあげてくれ

🍰-kun, it's so painful to see you all alone and looking at your back. Someone... Someone please go and get him.

2. A general sense of unease, wondering what kind of fallout he'll get and if he'll be blamed for the rest of his life for Dabi

🍰くんの後ろ姿が不安で仕方ない… I can't help but feel uneasy about 🍰-kun's back

轟くんが心配 - I'm worried about Todoroki

🍰家こそ……戦いの終わりが憎しみの終わりじゃないんだよな……の背中… 🍰 The end of the battle is not the end of the hatred...

Ahhhh, I wonder if 🍰will continue to be blamed by the citizens as I've often seen in fan fiction. Seriously,🍰 's path to becoming a hero is too harsh.

本誌　ヒロアカ 轟家はこれから先地獄と言われてるし覚悟してるけど轟くんの後ろ姿で泣く Magazine: It's been said that the future of the Todoroki family in My Hero Academia will be hellish, and I'm prepared for it, but seeing Todoroki's back makes me cry

No matter how hard 🍰-kun tries, there will always be a certain number of people who will unreasonably hurt 🍰 -kun, and it's really painful to think that this will never go to zero. People will probably say all sorts of things about 🍰-kun without knowing how much resolve he had and how much pain he fought to overcome. But I guess that's the reality. I hope he'll be happy.

tdrkくんだけ後ろ姿なの辛い しかも「けれど」っていう言葉と同じコマなのはやっぱりまだtdrk家はまだ終わってないし終われない、これからどうしていくのかっていう方が大事なんだよね だからとぅやくんも生きてるんだよね It's sad that only tdrk is shown from behind Moreover, the reason it's in the same frame as the word "however" is that the TDRK family isn't over yet and can't end, what's important is what to do from now on, and that's why Touya is still alive.

しょとくん、これから「俺の顔見たら遺族や被害者家族が苦しむと思うから」という理由でテレビ雑誌などの媒体に一切出ず、給料も莫大に入ってるのに最低限だけ残して全部ダビの遺族への慰謝料に当てて、俺は幸せになっちゃいけないからヒーロー業だけ専念するんだ…という生活を送ったら…どうしよう… - Shoto, from now on you won't be appearing on TV, in magazines or in any other media because "I think the bereaved families and the victims' families will suffer if they see my face", and even though you're making a huge salary, you'll only keep the bare minimum and use it all to pay compensation to Dabi's victims' families, and you can't be happy so you'll focus only on your hero work...what should I do if I live that kind of life...?

🍰くんだけ背負ってるものが大きすぎるし、ヴィランではなく世論を相手にしなくては行けない未来が待っているのは必至だし、もちろん 🍰くんはその業を進んで背負うんだろうけど、ちょっと辛いなと思った時に思い出せる仲間たちがいて、折れない起源をちゃんと家族以外で作ることができてよかった

🍰s the only one who has to carry a heavy burden, and it's inevitable that a future awaits him in which he will have to deal with public opinion rather than villains, and of course 🍰 will willingly bear that burden, but I'm glad that he has friends he can remember when he's feeling a bit down, and that he was able to create an unyielding origin outside of his family.

とどろきくんちどうなっ…ウ……顔見えない…なにを思ってる…しょと……What's going on at Todoroki's house... I... I can't see his face... What are you thinking... Wait...

tdrkくんはdabiのこととかあるしそこらへん描かれるかな dkくんとも喋ってほしいな！！！tdrk-kun has things to do with dabi, so I wonder if that will be depicted. I'd love to talk to DK-kun too!!!

冒頭の明るい雰囲気は「5歳の読者」に向けての先生の心遣いだと思うけど、「元には戻らない」ということが繰り返し描かれていて、そこはよかった…。 デも勝も現時点でいったん何かしらを失ったけど、ショは大丈夫ですか…？　ショは30巻からもうだいぶ失いっぱなしだから、これ以上はないすか…？I think the bright atmosphere at the beginning is the teacher's consideration for the "5-year-old readers," but I liked how it repeatedly depicts the idea that "things can't go back to the way they were." Both De and Katsu have lost something so far, but is Sho okay? Sho has already lost a lot since volume 30, so is there anything more he can do?

3. The meaning of the Ochako - Shoto - Spinner panels and the villains fate (also, JPN fandom was also really confused about the Spinner scales panel - many thinking it was oysters or the remains of Dabi)

とどろきくんとお茶子ちゃん、単純にこれで良かったにならない2人のエピソードもやってくれそうで嬉しいな。 それは2人だけじゃないのは大前提やけど、今後周りから受けるものが賞賛でも非難でも、2人の中でこれで良かったともならず、これで終わりとはしなさそうなので、真っ直ぐ明るいものだけじゃな

I'm glad that they will also have episodes about Todoroki and Ochako that don't simply end with the ending. It's a given that they're not the only ones who feel this way, but whether they receive praise or criticism from those around them in the future, it doesn't seem like they're happy with this or that this is the end, so it's not just about being straightforward and bright.

爆豪勝己 緑谷出久が笑いあってるよ。 お茶子ちゃん、轟くん心配だな…トガちゃんと荼毘くん…轟くん『一緒にうどん食べる』って言ってたもんね… Bakugou Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku are laughing together. Ochako-chan, I'm worried about Todoroki-kun... Toga-chan and Dabi-kun... Todoroki-kun said he wanted to eat udon together...

救えたとか救えなかったのか、デとお茶子と轟くんはこの先一生考えていくんだろうし、やっぱ今後の個性社会と同じで元には戻れないね

Deku, Ochako, and Todoroki will probably be thinking about whether they were able to save him or not for the rest of their lives, and just like in the future society of quirks, there's no going back.

mdryizkとbkgktkが主軸で、それにtdrkshtとurrkochkを合わせてくれたのが嬉しい　みんながどうこれから歩んでいくのかめちゃくちゃ楽しみ　tdrkくんがね、心配だけど　hrks先生だからきっと大丈夫

I'm glad that mdryizk and bkgktk are the main focus, and that tdrksht and urrkochk were added to them. I'm really looking forward to seeing how everyone will move forward from now on. I'm worried about tdrk-kun, but I'm sure it'll be fine because it's hrks-sensei.

何でお茶子ちゃんと轟くんの間にスピナーの鱗？なんだろ、と思ったけど明るい未来を示すキーパーソン的な意味での並びかな- Why are Spinner's scales between Ochako-chan and Todoroki-kun? I wondered why, but I guess it's because they're key people who represent a bright future.

4. If Shouto lost his voice

い、嫌じゃ！嫌じゃ！🍰くんから「mdry」の鳴き声が失われるのは嫌じゃ！！（いいぞやれぇ！やっちまえぇhrks先生ぇ！）

I, I don't want that! I don't want that! I don't want 🍰 to lose the cry of "mdry"!! (Go ahead! Go for it, hrks-sensei!)

轟くん親子赫灼熱拳のシーン技名心の声で叫んでるのか実際声に出して叫んでるのかどっちなんだろ… In the scene where Todoroki-kun and his father use the Burning Fist, are they shouting the name of the technique in their minds or actually shouting it out loud?

これはちょっとズレた想像かもしれないけどtdrkくんの喉が心配…で…… 一次戦でも喉焼かれて声ガスガスになってて今回も耐えられる身体にって備えて戦ったけど、気絶前喉やられてたし最後集合した時の足場作った時大口開けてたけど特に声を出していた描写なし……。 ………………………、This might be a bit of a stretch, but I'm worried about tdrk's throat... so... In the first battle his throat was burned and he was speechless, so he fought this time prepared with a body that could withstand it, but his throat was damaged before he passed out, and although his mouth was wide open when he was building a foothold for when they all gathered at the end, there's no depiction of him making a sound...

tdrkくんマジで喉やられてたりしたんかな〜 倒れる前はわりと話してたけどそこからほんま言葉発してないもんな I wonder if tdrk's throat was seriously damaged. He was talking quite a bit before he collapsed, but he hasn't really said a word since then.

5. Shouto deserves praise and happiness too

誰か 🍰くんのことも褒めたげてよぉ…

Someone praise 🍰 too...

🍰-kun also showed his true, honest and hardworking side in the letter during the final battle, so I just want him to be happy and laugh.

轟くんの幸せを祈るしかねえよかっちゃんみたいにいつか落ち着いて轟くんも泣けるといいな All I can do is pray for Todoroki-kun's happiness I hope that one day Todoroki-kun will calm down and be able to cry like Kacchan

#todoroki shouto #bnha 424 #japanese fandom reactions

[jovieinramshackle]

Happy pride from Ramshackle!!

🦐 Jess (they/them), 🎀 Jovie (she/they) and, of course, 🐱 Grim!

I find it funny they're both non-binary and bi, hmm I wonder why (I'm projecting)

Some rambling about myself and my identity undercut if you're interested lmao

So this year I found out I’m both bisexual and non-binary, gotta admit that wasn’t in my 2024 bingo list but sure!!!

Okay but for real, it’s weird to realise these things about myself. For years I struggled with my sexuality thinking I wasn’t “bisexual enough” since I tend to be more into guys, but recently realising in reality it was me suppressing my feelings towards women has put a lot of things in my life into perspective. Simply, I was in denial. 

I wish I could say I was simply in denial about my gender too, but unfortunately, that goes much deeper. In simple words, I have dealt with internalised transphobia since I was 13 to 15, I used to carry very harmful beliefs about both binary trans people and non-binary folk. 

Looking back on my life, the signs were there. I always had the feeling that the role of a “girl” didn’t fit me, and the mere idea of growing into a “woman” terrified me. When I found out about non-binary, a part of me connected with it, but my internalised transphobia rejected it and I forced myself into being a “girl. 

I can now say I have grown out of that hate, I’m still working on unlearning my biases and being as accepting as possible, and I’m proud to say I’m far better than how I was 2 years ago. Not everyone in my life knows about my identity, but I'm grateful to those who have been very accepting and supportive. The idea of coming out to my family sounds scary, but I know they love me and want the best for me, I’m certain they’ll be confused once I tell them but I’ll be prepared to help them understand, to understand me.

Happy pride montn, ya’ll are valid. 🌈

tagging: @ramshacklerumble @thehollowwriter @summerspook @scint1llat3 @skriblee-ksk

@cyanide-latte

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #twst mc #twst ramshackle #twst persona #twst grimm #jovie j. jovinston #jess ariti #truesona #twst fanart #pride month #nonbinary #enby #bisexual #nonbinary pride #transgender #lgbt+ #queer #happy pride 🌈

[oliver-crow]

hii i really liked your tags on the OM fishie boys, can you talk more about them? or maybe which aquatic animal you would personally headcanon each? no pressure =w=bb <3

Hi thank you ! I’m just a ocean nerd who looks too deep on mermaid designs

So for these guys I’m going to give them a shark and a different sea creature , mainly because I love sharks so much know more about them but also I have ideas for other creatures.

Obey me cast as sea creatures!

Lucifer:

• so for a shark I think he would be best as a bull shark

•bill sharks are territorial and can kill (even if accidentally)

•other animal wise he would be a vampire squid

•mainly for aesthetics but also since vampire squids are seen as not actually squids and of their own genus . Like how Lucifer was a demon but not anymore and is something different

•idk it’s hard to write for him T-T

Mammon:

• I know what you all are thinking for shark mams, ‘he’s obviously going to be a mako’

• NO. mammon is a lemon shark through and through .

• why? Well lemon sharks sometimes form bonds with certain divers and get incredibly possessive and greedy for the divers attention to the point they will actively drive away other sharks .

• who else is possessive and greedy but also sweeter than most other shark demons well mammon of course

• he could also be a bluefin tuna cuz really fast but idk

Leviathan:

my bias will show here lmao

• Levi is absolutely a thresher shark I mean he has the same energy as one !

• thresher sharks attack schools of fish ..schools of normies maybe?

• noooo it’s not just because thresher sharks are my fav and Levi is also my fav whattttt/s

•as for marine creatures Levi is an octopus

•they hide away and can change colors when scared

•Levi hides away in his room and changes colors when embarrassed!/hj

Satan:

• Satan gives off big oceanic white tip shark vibes

•Both are incredibly territorial and can act aggressive.

•for marine animal I’m just kinda throwing stuff at a wall here and hoping it sticks

• he’s a dolphin . I’m debating making him an orca but I have a specific sleepy demon I have that idea for.

•dolphins can be aggressive but sadistic when hunting things

•dolphins are also incredibly smart .

Asmodeus:

• ok to be honest I do not know what shark to throw at this guy so this will be vague

•he gets a leopard shark since they are considered one of the prettiest shark species

•and of course for sea creature he is a jellyfish , specially a sea nettle jellyfish!

•sea nettles may not be deadly but they can cause painful stings while also being incredibly pretty

Beelzebub:

•there’s no doubt in my mind that this guy is a tiger shark!

•tiger sharks are big strong and beautiful but they will eat literally anything

•like. Anything. Some have been found with license plates in their stomachs

•as for another creature he’s like a giant grouper

•they also eat anything they can fit in their mouths but also get huge .

Belphagor:

• so shark wise he is a pacific sleeper shark

•they are supposedly known for their sluggish and dozy nature

•for a sea creature he is absolutely an orca !

•orcas are intelligent and methodical.

•they also have never hurt a human in the wild and only in captivity

•belphie was in captivity and then hurt a human so he’s an orca to me.

Holy crap I’m sorry this took so long I’ve been busy and I also wanted to make this as perfect as I could lol .

Hope it’s okay , I might make this an au , maybe . If y’all want that lmk lol

#im cringe but im free #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me mermaid au #obey me mermay #late mermay post