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#there’s some great prompts and characters left
ambrosiagourmet · 2 months
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I love Izutsumi. She's got a great design, she's a fun addition to the main party, she adds some new tension, and she's honestly one of the reasons I read dungeon meshi in the first place. I mean, "the most cat to ever girl" is an extremely appealing hook to anyone who loves cats and girls (me, I love cats and girls).
However, while I have always liked Izutsumi, I finished the story kind of feeling like I didn't really get her. I felt like I had a decent grasp on her character an character arc (she's a traumatized teen given space to feel safe and open up, and because of that she realizes that she can't grow without letting go of the coping mechanisms she once needed). But I didn't feel like I really understood her role in the story as a whole.
She follows the group of her own accord, after a coincidental meeting and a misunderstanding of what they can do for her. She's never super invested in saving Falin, at least not compared to the rest of the group. Though they do help her escape Maizuru's shackles, and are clearly good for her in general, she doesn't really have a healing Moment with the group the way that Senshi does with the hippogriff soup.
And yet, she gets an entire chapter, the third-to-last chapter, dedicated to exploring her growth and future. She's the one who frames much of the falling action, who lets us check in with everyone. She's the one who helps talk Laios into accepting his role as king. She may join the story part way through, but she is there for most of it. So Izutsumi! What's your deal!?
Well, I think I've come up with an answer, at least for myself, that I really like. Two of them, even! Though they both really work together to form the overall point - Izutsumi is the character that most helps the story face towards the future. Here's why I think that.
So the first of these "ah-ha" moments was when I realized that Izutsumi really is the best supporting evidence for Laios' point about the good things that wouldn't have happened if Falin hadn't died.
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If Falin hadn't been eaten by the dragon, Izutsumi probably would still be a slave. It was because of Shuro and Laios' parties both being in the dungeon to rescue Falin, as well as Marcille's use of ancient magic in the resurrection, that she got the chance to escape. None of that would have been the case if Falin hadn't died. Shuro wouldn't have separated from the group and joined up with his retainers, Marcille wouldn't have revealed her knowledge of ancient magic, and Izutsumi never would have even met any of them. They are only part of her life because of Falin's death.
Though this isn't explicitly pointed out by Laios or Izutsumi in the scene, I do think you can very much feel the presence of it. For one, when Marcille reflects on the journey and how much it made her realize she didn't want to lose everyone, her relationship with Izutsumi is prominent:
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It's the main original group at the top and center, but when you read it right to left, it’s Izutsumi and Marcille who might catch your eye first. And it's specifically Marcille and Izutsumi's relationship on display here, not just Izutsumi's presence in the group in general.
Also, after Laios' statement about how none of their adventure would have happened without Falin dying, it is Izutsumi who gets the final word:
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Izutsumi is also the one here who is the most forward-facing. Chilchuck is trying to correct Laios, Senshi is focused on the immediate future, and Izutsumi is talking about her new goal.
And I want to talk about that goal in general as well, because it’s also interesting how it comes up. In that moment, everyone is trying to remind Marcille of her less destructive desires - to eat food, to share it with them, and to meet Chilchuck's family. All of which are previously established, existing desires. When prompted by Chilchuck to join in, however, Izutsumi offers something new:
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That's interesting, isn't it? It's kind of funny, of course, to see her rambling on about a completely new thing, her own personal motive, in the middle of everyone working together to reach out to Marcille. Izutsumi doesn't even know who Yaad is! But at the same time, it’s kind of meaningful. Amidst the focus on desires that everyone already had, she adds a completely new one to the mix. It’s even the final bridge that lets Laios reach Marcille.
It is, in fact, even an idea that comes back later to help out another lord of the dungeon. The idea of finding new goals and feeling new desires... this is exactly how Kabru reaches out to Mithrun, after the Winged Lion is gone
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So yeah, Izutsumi's presence here, both in what she's actively choosing to say as well as what she represents of the consequences of Falin's death, supports the story's ideas of moving forward. Of accepting the past, and finding new reasons to live.
Which is all really good, and that alone works pretty well as an answer to what Izutsumi's role in the story is.
But oh, oh. There's more. Something I realized after having thought of all this, because I still couldn't let go of the feeling that there was still something I was missing.
And as I reviewed the things I loved about Izutsumi - her sometimes unhealthy ways of coping with trauma, her struggles with isolation, her skill with fighting, her selfishness contrasted with the ways she grows to care for and protect the group, her perpetually guarded nature, born from the seeming impossibility of ever fitting in or finding a safe place to just be herself - I realized something.
Izutsumi...
is a foil to Falin.
Where Falin copes with isolation and trauma by being eternally caring and struggling to say no to people, Izutsumi copes by constantly saying no to everything she can. Falin is often considered selfless, but does have selfish desires that she can’t easily express until a moment of crisis. Izutsumi is delightfully selfish, but chooses to stick by her friends when they need her. They are both transformed, against their will, into partly monstrous hybrids, and they both will have to live with that - there is no undoing what has been done to them.
Falin anchors the group in the past. Izutsumi pulls them towards the future. Neither would find freedom without the other - it is Falin's death that leads to Izutsumi joining the party, and likewise, it is Izutsumi who inspires the realization of how they can save Falin.
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And Falin is her future, as much as Izutsumi is Falin's. Both learn to be a little more like each other, even though they never meet. Falin gets a little more selfish. Izutsumi gets a little more willing to bend.
In this context, I feel like I have finally started to understand just how important Izutsumi is to the story. She is a proof that they cannot just go back, and she is a clawed, happy-to-scratch-anyone-who-pisses-her-off reminder, at that. In any conversation about what the group wishes would have happened with Falin, she cannot be ignored or brushed aside.
She is a reminder that, even in the midst of a tragedy so big it feels like a shadow you will never escape, you have yet to met all the people you will love. Hell, some of those people might even be catgirls. We should all be so lucky.
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reiding-writing · 16 days
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Okay but cold!Reader being hit on at a bar during a team outing and Spencer over hears her turning the person down only to be called a rude bitch maybe he doesn’t realize he CAN be assertive when he defends her and even she’s like ???? Where’d that come from?
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BACKUP [ONESHOT]
/ˈbækˌʌp/
some men are assholes who only care about their own gratification, and some men are spencer reid.
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WARNINGS: fem!reader, alcohol, ‘nice guy’ character, misogyny, lots of swearing
spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff?? || 3.1k || series masterlist!!
a/n: genuinely hated the douchebag dude so much i had to take multiple breaks whilst writing this 😭
main masterlist!!
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The bar was bathed in a warm, golden glow courtesy of the overhead lighting, a faint aroma of aged oak mingled with the rich scent of brewing coffee creating an inviting atmosphere. The air hummed with the gentle murmur of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and laughter.
Behind the polished mahogany bar, shelves adorned with an impressive array of spirits gleamed in the dim light, the bartenders weaving amongst each other with practised ease, expertly crafting cocktails and pouring drinks for the patrons seated along the bar stools. “What can I get for ya?”
“I’ll get an espresso martini and a mint mocktail, thanks,” You lean your elbows against the top of the bar, leaning forward on them as the bartender gives you a nod, obviously satisfied with your taste in drinks.
You couldn’t entirely agree with her. Espresso martinis were great, but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the fact that out of every flavour he could’ve possibly chosen, Spencer wanted a mint mocktail. You understood the no alcohol part, that fit Spencer’s personality to a T, but mint? Really?
You didn’t have much time to question Spencer’s taste in drinks as somebody bumps into your side, and you shift over slightly to make room for them at the front of the bar. “Oh, sorry didn’t mean to bump you like that,”
The guy gives you a small smile as an apology, and you wave it off with a small shake of your head. “You’re fine, don’t worry about it,”
“One espresso martini, and one mint mocktail,” The bartender returns with your two drinks in hand, setting them on the bar in front of you with a smile. “That’ll be 32 dollars, cash or card?” Curse Washington DC and their ridiculously extortionate drink prices.
“Cash-” You grab your wallet out of your pocket to pull out the notes needed, only to be stopped by the stranger that’d bumped into you pushing your hands gently into your lap.
“Let me cover it for you,” He holds his hand out towards the bartender, card poised between his index and middle finger.
“No it’s fine-” You’re mildly caught off guard by the stranger’s immediate willingness to pay for your drinks, shaking your head as you try to move his hand away from the bar. He doesn’t listen.
“Take it as an apology for bumping into you,”
“Really it’s fine-” He cuts you off with a small ‘shush’ as he gestures for the bartender to take the card, which she does after a few seconds of prompting.
“…Thank you,” Your thanks feels a little forced from your end, not exactly thrilled at his insistence even if it did just save you 32 dollars that could then be spent on more drinks later. You know it was supposed to be a nice gesture, but the way that he ignored your refusal and then continued to shush you afterwards left a sour taste in your mouth.
“Anything for a pretty lady,” He gives you a small wink as he leans against the bar, turning his attention back towards the bartender before she can leave. “Two full pint craft beers, make it quick sweetheart,”
You and the bartender share a glance at his wording, a silent confirmation that you weren’t the only one getting an off feeling from the guy, and she gives him a small nod and an awkward smile before retreating to make his drinks.
You take that as your sign to leave yourself, but you barely get the glasses off the wood of the bar before you’re stopped. “Why don’t you come back to my table hm? We can get to know each other a little better,”
You turn your head in his direction with your lips pressed into a line and an awkward inflection in your tone. “No thanks,”
“Awe come on, what’s a guy gotta do to get a few minutes alone with someone like you?” he taps his fingers against the table, an overconfident smile on his lips and a quirk in his tone. “You don’t have to play hard to get you know, it’s okay to give in sometimes,”
“I’m gonna pass,” You take a small sip of your martini in the hopes that it’ll break up the awkwardness a bit, but you don’t really have any luck in that department, considering the fact that this guy seemingly cannot take a hint.
“Come on, I paid for your drinks,” He gestures his hand towards the two glasses in front of you.
“I asked you not to pay for my drinks,”
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
“Reid, you turning your head every two minutes isn’t going to make her come back any quicker,” Morgan shakes his head with a small smirk at Spencer’s demeanour, seemingly finding Spencer’s attitude hilarious under his lightly alcohol-induced haze.
“It shouldn’t be taking this long, the bar is pretty clear,” Spencer’s tone shows more concern than anything. He knew how some drunk people could act, and even though you weren’t entirely drunk yourself he was a little worried that you’d end up in fist fight with someone if you were left alone for too long in such a confrontal environment. “I’m just worried she might get into an argument with someone,”
“Quite the opposite by the look of it,” JJ leans into Emily’s side to point over at the bar where you were standing, speaking to somebody that none of them recognised.
“Aye, Ice Queen’s got game huh?” Morgan took a swig from his bottle with a laugh as he followed JJ’s finger towards you.
“Are we really surprised?” Emily clinks her bottle against Morgan like the two are celebrating the fact that you’ve seemingly got ‘game’ underneath your icy exterior. “She’s a total dominatrix,”
Garcia seems to find Emily’s statement particularly hilarious, actively hitting her hand against Morgan’s bicep with an enthusiastic nod of her head. “Oh 100%,”
Spencer doesn’t share the same enthusiasm towards your presumed sex life, not just because it made him feel icky to talk about something like that behind your back but also because from his point of view you weren’t having a good time.
You were stood straight up with your arms crossed over your chest in a behaviourally defensive manner, and although he couldn’t see your facial expression with how you had your back to the group, the way you stretched your neck only further illustrated that you weren’t enjoying whatever interaction you were having with the man opposite you, no matter how much he seemed to be.
Maybe it was the alcohol blinding the others to your behavioural tells. Maybe he’d just become accustomed to the smaller things when it came to reading you. Either way, you looked like you wanted out of the situation you were in.
He wondered why you hadn’t just walked away yet. You were usually good at establishing your boundaries and putting your foot down when you needed to, so the fact that you were still entertaining a conversation that you clearly didn’t want to be taking part in was more than a little odd to him.
Then a glass shattered on the floor between the two of you, and it was definitely time for somebody to break the conversation.
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“Come on don’t be like that, you might have more fun than you realise,” He didn’t even acknowledge the bartender carrying over the two beers as she set them down on the bar with a sympathetic look in your direction, absently holding out his card in her direction as he kept his gaze on you.
“I told you that I’m not interested.” Your tone harbours more assertiveness this time. You weren’t known for having the longest string of patience, and under the effects of the alcohol in your system that string was halting by the minute.
You’re tired of being nice and hoping he will go away, you were going to end this conversation now.
“Don’t get pissy with me now, I’m being nice here,”
“You need to leave before you see what ‘being pissy’ actually looks like.”
“Are you threatening me?” The guy looks like he’s about to blow a fuse at your response, seemingly dumbfounded at the way you’re standing up for yourself, which makes you feel inherently bad for any woman who has had to endure his self-entitlement in the past.
“I’m telling you to back off. I said no.”
You take Spencer’s drink from the bar top and turn to leave, but incessant as he is, the guy tries to catch your arm so you can’t, causing the drink to spill everywhere and the cocktail glass to smash all over the floor.
“Look what you’ve done now you stupid bitch,” If the sound of the glass smashing didn’t garner an audience from the patrons nearby, the way he raised his voice definitely did.
You turn your gaze from your soaked shoes to him through furrowed eyebrows, opening your mouth to begin your retaliation. Someone else beats you to it.
“That’s a horrible way to speak to somebody,” You knew that voice. Of course you did, he sits opposite you in the office every day rambling about star trek to anyone who so much as glances in his direction.
“Excuse me?” The guy turns his attention towards Spencer with just as much seething in his features.
“You shouldn’t speak to people like that,”
“Reid.” You grit his name out through your teeth as warning for him to not get involved, but he doesn’t listen to you.
“I can speak to whoever I want however I want, get lost you freak.” He takes a step towards Spencer, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt at looking more dominating.
“Have you ever heard of the Napoleon Complex?” Spencer looked down at the man with a raised eyebrow. “Studies have shown that men with shorter statures tend to be more aggressive and domineering in social situations to compensate for their lack of height,”
You raise your eyebrows in mild surprise at Spencer’s statement, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling at the look on the guys face at the accusation.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He takes another step forward, almost chest to chest with Spencer by now, although not exactly on equal ground considering that Spencer was at least a head taller than him.
“Common behaviours include loud, ostentatious, and aggressive attitudes, overly grandiose ambitions, and an attempt to be domineering when in the presence of other people, to assert your height advantage over those shorter than you and prove that your height disadvantage is irrelevant to those taller than you,” Spencer continues to state the details of the Napoleon Complex with no acknowledgement of the rising anger of the man in front of him, but you can see the beginnings of nerves in the way he wrings his fingers together behind his back.
Either way, Spencer was absolutely ripping this man to shreds in the most Spencer Reid way possible, and you found yourself not wanting to break this sudden streak of assertiveness he’d garnered, especially considering it had spawned under wanting to support you.
It was a surprising sight to be sure, but you wouldn’t say it was unwelcome.
You were glad that Spencer had an assertive side to him, it meant that he was capable of looking after himself (or you in this case) without the need for external backup. It was also nice to see that he didn’t lose the key aspects of himself in the process. He was still very much Spencer Reid, but he was using the aspect of himself that would usually be the subject of negative comments as the main form of his defence.
It was a perfectly Spencer move.
“You wanna see aggression? Because I will show you goddamn aggression,” The guy huffed in his seething contempt for Spencer’s attitude, rolling up his sleeves.
“Bar fighting is highly illegal, and you could receive a prison sentence of up to 3 years and 6 months for instigating one,” Spencer takes a small step backwards as an offer for the two to just drop the argument and move on, glass crackling underneath the soles of his converse.
“You think I care?” The tension in the air was palpable as the man clenched his fists, his face contorted in anger whilst Spencer remained surprisingly calm, his stance firm yet non-threatening.
He didn’t have time to actually start anything as the bartender from earlier returns, a bouncer stood to her left with a very unamused expression on his face.
"I think it's time for you to leave," She said in a no-nonsense tone.
The man's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected intervention. "You can't kick me out! I didn't do anything wrong!" he protested, his voice growing louder.
"You harassed another patron and broke a glass. That's reason enough," the bouncer retorted, his gaze unwavering as he uncrossed his arms. He wasn’t like Spencer. He wasn’t thin or unfit, he was built, arms barely able to rest properly at his sides from the muscle mass in his biceps.
Not to mention that he was even taller than Spencer was, and no amount of Napoleon’s Complex could convince someone that they’d be able to physically take on somebody like that.
Realising he was outnumbered and outmatched, the man reluctantly turned and stormed out of the bar, muttering curses under his breath.
With the tension diffused, Spencer turned to you, a concerned look on his face. "Are you okay?" He asked, his voice soft.
“I’m fine Reid,” You nodded gratefully, “Thank you,”
“Of course, I’m glad you’re okay,” He half-awkwardly rubs his hand over his arm, all semblance of his previous confidence slowly dwindling until he’s back into the shyly-endearing nerd that you’re used to seeing him as.
“I would say sorry about the drink, but you had it coming choosing mint as the primary flavour,” You look down to the remnants of the glass on the floor and the drink that was soaking your shoes.
“Mint has been shown to positively affect brain functioning,” Spencer holds his hand out to catch your elbow to stop you from stumbling as you walk over the shattered glass.
“Doesn’t mean it tastes good,” You don’t shrug off the small contact like you usually would, Spencer presumes it’s just the alcohol in your system dulling your awareness. It’s definitely not because because having a soothing presence after an altercation like that was comforting. Definitely.
Spencer gives you a small smile once you’re out of the shatter-zone before turning to the bartender. "I'm sorry about the mess. Let me help clean it up,"
The bartender shook her head, a grateful expression on her face at the offer. "Don’t worry about it, happens more often than you’d think,"
“You’re sure?”
The bartender gives another simple nod as she retreats behind the bar, presumable to grab a dust pan to clean up the mess. “Give me a second and i’ll make up another drink for you guys,”
“Oh you don’t have to-”
“Don’t be silly,” The bartender waves him off with a small laugh. “It’ll only take a minute,”
“Thank you,” Spencer shoots the bartender a grateful smile before turning his attention back towards you. “You’re sure you’re alright? You didn’t cut yourself on the glass?”
“I’m fine Reid don’t worry about it,” You check yourself over despite the confidence in your words just to make sure that you weren’t actually hurt and just couldn’t feel it.
“So, Napoleon Complex huh?” You raise your eyebrow at him, suppressing a smile as you recall the way Spencer had hit the nail on the head assuming that the reason the dick from earlier was so aggressive was because of a height insecurity.
He gives you a small nod with that awkwardly endearing expression of his as his eyes also scan down by your ankles for any scratches you may have garnered from the glass. “It’s more common in men than you might think,”
“Napoleon was definitely a piece of shit that’s for sure, a fucking short one at that” Spencer laughs shortly at the crudeness of your assessment, although still agrees with you anyhow.
“Napoleon wasn’t actually as short as most people think he was, the translation of his official records misconstrued his height because french inches were actually longer than american inches and…” You weren’t going to remember any of what he’s telling you in the morning, but that didn’t matter right now.
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hyperfixatedbastard · 24 days
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one must grab the titty
Soft!Adam x AFAB!Reader
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It's no surprise that Adam's big on physical touch, but you expected it to be - well, sexual. Turns out that this clingy, hypersexual douchebag actually likes innocent, nonsexual intimacy. Like holding your boobs just 'cause they're nice to hold.
Word Count: 926
WARNINGS: SFW (I think?), AFAB!Reader with gender neutral pronouns, mentions of sex, no sexual content, nonsexual intimacy
A/N: I kinda hate this but I'm tired of working on it, so here ya go! Apologies if you have no tits, but let's be honest, that wouldn't stop this bastard.
Dividers
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Adam has some… odd habits, at least by Heavenly standards. Sometimes you wonder just how exactly he’s an angel, but you’ve learned to not question it. He may be a douchebag and an asshole, but he has his moments. He’s sweet with you, at least. You never expected him to be a doting, clingy boyfriend, but he certainly proved you wrong.
No matter where you are or what you’re doing, he’ll have an arm around your waist, or one of his wings loosely wrapped around you. Adam is a possessive guy (after hearing about the whole Lucifer debacle, you can’t really blame him), and he makes it clear with the way he interacts with you in public. And in private, he’s arguably worse—you’re lucky to sit down without him draping an arm over your shoulders to pull you in close, or practically pulling you into his lap. He’d never admit it, but you think he needs the reassurance that you’re still there, that you haven’t left him.
You’re not so sure about that theory once the touches go past cuddling.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
"Adam," you begin in a suspicious tone. "What are you doing?"
The angel in question blinks back at you owlishly. His mask and robes have been traded out for some sweatpants and a t-shirt that reads ‘I Got ADHD’ with the subtitle ‘A Damn Hard Dick.’ The two of you are cuddling on the couch in your shared apartment, with some shitty action movie playing on the TV as you sit wrapped up in his arms and wings with your back to his chest (you didn’t think that action movies would be allowed in Heaven considering the murder and whatnot, but once again, you don’t question it).
"Hm?" he hums innocently. "I'm watching the fuckin' movie, babe."
You glance down to where his hand is shamelessly groping your boob over your shirt. You debate whether or not to even confront him about it, considering he isn't actually doing anything other than just holding your tit, but you ask anyways.
"Why is your hand on my boob, then?" you prompt, your eyes shifting between his face and where his hand is idly groping your chest.
Adam chuckles and breaks out into a smug grin. "What? Can't a guy hold his partner's tits?" He gently squeezes your boob for emphasis.
Your face heats up at that, and your eyes narrow in confusion. "Why do you want to?" 
"Uh, because they're fucking great," he answers incredulously, like you're the weird one here. He then brings his free hand up to hold your other boob. He gives them both a gentle squeeze, but doesn't do anything more than that. The lack of a sexual innuendo, joke, or proposition doesn’t make sense to you—it feels out of character for Adam, even after learning about his love of cuddling.
You just look at him, confused. Sure, you've always known that he's a boob guy, but this doesn't strike you as Adam's usual horny antics. But if it’s not sexual (which you still find hard to believe), what the fuck is it? 
He seems to realize that his original explanation isn’t good enough. "Look, hot stuff, boobs are just nice to fuckin' hold, y'know? All soft n' squishy n' shit."
You raise a brow at that. It’s a fair point, you suppose. "So, what, my tits are like stress balls for you?"
Adam laughs—not that loud, boisterous laugh he does when pranking some poor soul, but that more genuine, softer one few people ever got to hear. "Yeah, pretty fuckin' much, babe. They're comforting!"
You roll your eyes at him, albeit fondly, as a smile pulled at your lips. "Whatever works for you, I guess."
His smirk grows, and he squeezes your boobs a little firmer this time. "Oh, these beauties are fucking workin' for me, sweet cheeks."
You scoff, albeit lightheartedly, and swat at his shoulder. "Shut up and watch your damn movie."
Adam doesn’t respond, but he pulls you a little closer and gives your tits one last good squeeze before returning his attention to the TV—for the most part, at least. His hands don’t leave your chest, but they don’t really do much either. They’re just resting there, occasionally groping or giving a light squeeze. Damn, this really isn’t a sex thing for him, is it?
You’d already been shocked when you’d first realized how clingy Adam is. You were even more surprised to discover that he’s a fan of nonsexual intimacy in general, like cuddling and hugging without it leading to something more. And here he is, surprising you once again by doing something that should surely be sexual in his mind, yet treating it casually and barely even making sex jokes about it. 
A few more minutes into the movie, you can’t hide your curiosity anymore. “This really isn’t a sexual thing for you?”
Adam’s eyebrows raise, and he looks puzzled at your question before breaking out into a smirk. “Why, do you want it to be?”
You scoff and shake your head. “No, I’m just… surprised, is all.”
“Hey! I can appreciate some nice boobs without it being sexual,” he protests, and he sounds at least partially serious.
“Okay, okay, I believe you,” you assure him with a soft laugh. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
“Good, ‘cause I fuckin' like this,” Adam remarks, once again squeezing your boobs for emphasis. You just fondly roll your eyes at him and go back to watching the movie.
Having a clingy boyfriend is pretty nice, actually.
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Taglist: @3sire-777
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kleewie · 3 months
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i don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you (and i)
summary: dating tip? just don't. for celebrities, romantic relationships are absolutely forbidden. the slightest hint of one could ruin your career. but are you even listening to the lecture? doubt it, 'cause you're doing the complete opposite. (alternatively, a celebrity au featuring secret relationships.)
→ featuring: childe, & ayato (you can really tell who my faves are)
→ warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, slight cursing, established relationship, mentions of alcohol and drinking, tension, actual cursing, unreliable reader pov, gender-neutral reader (i apologize if i missed things, i haven't proofread it yet)
→ a/n: so, hi! long time no see? i was pretty stressed with college and well, i'm back! i began writing this last year and finally got the courage to finish it. but here it is and i hope you enjoy it :> please let me know if you like it <3 it really makes my day!
credits to @dumplingsjinson for the prompts!
beware, lengthy post ahead! more under the cut!
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the debut.
“forbidden?” you repeat.
“absolutely forbidden!” your manager says. “a rookie with no fanbase? a scandal will ruin your reputation! you're absolutely forbidden from dating anyone.”
you sigh. he's being too overdramatic.
you will never be in a relationship, you're absolutely sure. how can you? with no time for yourself as it is, dating someone with the limited hours you already have sounds impractical.
besides, you're too busy training and practicing for auditions.
remembering it now, you want to laugh.
i told you so, your thoughts chastise.
god, you should've listened.
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childe, the actor
“that's a wrap!” the director cheers.
your eyes glisten as you hold back tears. it's embarrassing, you think. so damn embarrassing.
you've been repeating the same kissing scene multiple times now. obviously, the director cheers for finally completing the take and not because you did a good job.
childe pats your back. “you did great,” he says, with a smile.
but you know the gesture so goddamn well. the same nonchalant cold grin he throws at everyone that he now directs at you? oh, he's angry alright.
for what reason? who knows. you're too busy wallowing in self-despair over how terrible your acting is.
the scene is supposedly simple. it involves the second lead, who happens to be you, confessing their love to the leading man, resulting to a spontaneous kiss.
yet, you're fumbling over the lines, acting so out of character, tripping over set, incorrectly initiating the kiss at awkward angles—the whole time-wasting squander.
“what's going on?” childe eventually asks, once he arrives at your shared apartment. his bag drops to the floor with a flop. “you're acting strange. the entire crew sees it, i see it, the director sees it—what if he decides to fire you? what will you do then?”
you swallow dryly. you left the set early hoping childe's hectic schedule prompted him to forget the whole issue. yet, here he is finally bringing up the conversation after what feels like a month's worth of tension.
as you sit on the sofa chair, your fingers massage the bridge of your nose. breathe in, breathe out. you repeat. don't cry. you try to calm yourself down as a sob tries to break through.
eight months, you've been a couple.
but, there are some things you're afraid to say.
each year, the biggest tabloid newspaper in the country releases an article on celebrity dating scandals. a month ago they released one single page article about a popular actor dating a newbie actress. it barely had any juicy details, just a simple paragraph of a somebody dating a nobody.
yet, it did not end well for them. and you're terrified; for when it could happen to you.
you imagine it. dozens of messages and multiple missed phone calls on your cell as your name becomes the next talk of the town. the headline reads: revealed! a nobody actress, the second-lead from the northland bank saga currently dates the nation's boyfriend, childe!
it terrifies you. you could lose your job. lose what you love doing the most. and you could get tossed aside like an old sweater under someone's bed, left to rot and decompose.
so, yes. you hesitated earlier at set because you don't want anyone to connect the dots. to look at the kiss between you two and notice something amiss. to speculate that there's more to your relationship than what meets the eye. to realize you look at him as more than a co-star. to see how much you're in love with him. to realize the both of you are dating.
“it's not easy.” you say, releasing a sigh.
two years you've been in the business. rookies barely get any roles as it is. being in a well-received rendition of an old romance drama is a once in a blue moon opportunity and you can't risk someone finding out about your relationship.
“camera shy? no—you've kissed heaps of actors for that school drama.”
you mumble, “two people aren't heaps of actors, tartaglia.”
“then what is the problem?”
childe saunters to where you sit. he leans towards you and presses his palm on the head of the sofa, trapping your body between his and the chair. childe's eyes meet yours and you instantly look away.
he knows you well enough to comprehend that look on your face. the way you hide your clammy hands behind you, the manner of your eyes staring only at your feet, how your body tucks itself into the corner of the seat.
“me?” childe whispers.
he places a hand under your jaw. his thumb softly pushes your chin upwards so your eyes meet his.
“why?” he pleads.
“you won't understand.”
“i will if you tell me,” he says, holding your gaze. seeing how you relentlessly persist on keeping your mouth shut, he shakes his head. “oh, please tell me.”
you hesitate. you tell him and then what?
you could say: hey, childe! i'm afraid of our relationship being discovered. i'll be hated by your fans. you'll be constantly drained by my crying and whining. your reputation would take a hit regardless of how popular you are and—and then he'll finally realize how exhausting and annoying it is being with you.
your self-deprecation loves to pull you deeper into its sapping embrace. you're nothing, it mouths. childe would dump you and find some other actor or actress to date. god. it would be so easy. with his popularity, good looks, and charming personality, he'd find a better and talented rising-star the moment he chucks you out the front door.
so, you shake your head firmly.
“tell me, please.” he whispers.
you cross your arms, and look away.
“are you sick?”
you shake your head.
“somebody hurting you on set?”
again, you shake your head.
childe pauses, “...do you have feelings for someone else?”
“no!”
“then what is the damn problem?”
“nothing!” you exasperate, furrowing your brows together.
childe takes your reluctance as distrust and it ignites his irritation. do you not trust him? is he that insignificant to you? what are you hiding? hell, did you fall for the main lead of the show, zhongli? or do you not love him anymore? god, he can feel himself suffocate in resentment.
is he so unimportant that you'd prefer to keep the problem to yourself? it makes his blood boil; how he'd do anything for you, but you'd rather keep it to yourself and suffer alone.
“tell me.” childe scowls as he watches your lips quiver.
you keep your mouth firmly shut.
“fine, hold your tongue.” he sneers, “i understand. i really do, baby. it's not about the cameras, the flashing lights, the audience.”
childe brushes his lips against yours, “you wouldn’t kiss me like that in public, though, would you?” he releases his hold on your chin and his sharp eyes meet yours. “it’s only behind closed doors when you care to act like we’re each other’s.”
with a hooded jacket in one hand and a face mask in another, childe swiftly leaves the apartment with a slam of a door.
leaving you alone with your wretched thoughts.
more under the cut!
despite walking out the flat hours ago, childe still reverberates jealousy and anger; pure envy at how normal you act around everyone else yet, around him you're too guarded; and angry at himself for saying those awful words to your face.
he smacks his forehead on the steering wheel. childe acknowledges how childish he's been acting. you aren't ready to talk, and he shouldn't be forcing you to speak out your difficulties.
surely, the stress is piling up on you. he knows the hours you've been working on set, memorizing lines, practicing moves—again, he thumps his head on the wheel.
stupid, he curses. control your damn temper next time.
he reaches for the box of blueberry cheesecake on the front passenger seat. subconsciously, he drove two hours (and back) to the bakery's main branch as its side branches were sold out of your favorite cake. and he knows how much you love the pastry.
however, his body slouches in the parked car outside the apartment. the long drive works miracles with his anger, but the courage to actually walk inside and apologize never comes.
the ding of a text draws his attention. ‘go inside and beg for forgiveness, brat.’ yoimiya, a fellow actress from the same company as him, says. the woman is always in the loop and well-informed.
a shiver goes down his spine. if you told yoimiya about the argument, he's absolutely sure you're furious. you'd only speak to her as a last-ditch effort; knowing her personality she'd pummel him to bits while you watch.
as a result, he stands inside the apartment, one hand knocking on your bedroom door. however, instead of tasting blood, he hears your stifled sobs. the abrupt sound convinces him to turn the knob and enter the room.
the illumination from the hallway brightens the bedroom, shining a bit of light on your face. you lay on the bed with your knees to your chest, with a blanket over your waist. your reddened cheeks and tear-stained eyes makes his stomach churn.
“please don't cry, baby.” childe cooes, kneeling by your bedside. he leans over you, his fingers gently grip your cheeks. “i'm so sorry.”
the sudden apology sprouts pools from your eyes. his thumbs brush the water off your face and softly says, “i shouldn't have said—please, don't cry. it's my fault for taking my anger out on you.”
“i'm afraid of losing you,” you whimper. “if they find out—oh god—they'll tear me apart. i'm nothing compared to you. i'd lose everything. i might even lose you—”
“never, i will never leave you. no matter what happens,” childe interjects.
you furrow your brows, sobbing. “i'm no one—too difficult,” you hiccup. “you'll throw me away. i'm too whiny and too draining. if they find out... you'll see all the comments about how ugly—”
“breathe, baby.” he settles himself on your bed and softly places you on his lap. “you're gorgeous. you're not draining, and frankly, you're cute when you whine.”
you bury your face into his neck and continue, “i'm serious, childe. you'll get exhausted. the articles will talk about you too!”
“articles, mhm. they're just articles.” he hums.
irritation begins to set in. was he this clueless? you release another sob, “they're not just articles. they'll nitpick every single thing you do! oh—look at this newbie getting together with childe. oh, they suck at acting! why is childe even—”
childe gently places his palm on your neck, coaxing you to meet his gaze. “are you talking about the tabloid from last month?”
you sigh, “what else am i talking about?” and instantly you sense his laughter resonate. “are you laughing?”
“you're adorable, baby.” he breathes, nuzzling his face on your neck.
“you're making fun of me! what the hell, childe?”
he releases a sigh, pausing his laughter. “the tabloids every month. they're paid. companies pay them to talk about their idols for publicity.”
your face contorts into confusion, “who would willingly—they talked about lumine all month because of the article! you know she's my favorite actress. why would they willingly put her on the spotlight like that?”
“publicity, baby.”
you shake your head, “it makes no sense.”
“oh, it does.” childe hums. “of course, they'd seek permission first. it boosted views for her drama, didn't it? lumine did say she got extra for the views and switched apartments.”
“yeah, wait—you knew this whole time and didn't bother to tell me?”
he chuckles, “that's what you get for keeping these things to yourself for a month.” he squeezes the bridge of your nose.
“you're terrible.”
“love you too, baby.” he teases, “and besides, if a tabloid threatened to do something—” his thumb gently traces the skin around your neck. “—i'll keep you safe.”
a soft smile graces your features. “...i'm just not ready for anyone to find out. yet, anyway.”
childe hums, “we'll do it on your terms, okay? whenever you're ready.”
“sure, i guess you can keep me for a while longer. until you throw me away and find the next rookie to—”
childe's soft laughter sparks a flutter in your stomach. he would never do such a thing. the moment he first laid his eyes on you on set, heard your beautiful laugh between takes, listened to your jokes while practicing lines, and god, seen your angelic smile? the things he would do to keep you as his.
“never.” a cheeky grin appears on his lips, “i'll take care of you.”
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bonus: five years later
your phone rings. the vibration continues on and off, signaling multiple inbox messages. you swipe your phone to see texts from several of your close friends.
‘i know you told me you were okay with it, but i didn't think he'd try to do it so soon. i tried but he's too hardheaded.’ says yoimiya.
‘congratulations! when's the wedding? i'm kidding. don't kill childe.’ says thoma, an actor from your same company.
‘sorrows, sorrows, prayers.’ says venti, your current co-star.
you even receive a message from childe himself.
‘good morning, baby. i'm completely fault-free. simply honoring your wishes as a devoted fiancé should.’
attached to a message was a link to a video entitled: please don't kill me honey.
you click the link.
the video's blurry, as if taken by a cellphone. you recognize thoma as the person videoing the whole scene, as he turns the camera to face him before focusing it on a woman—seemingly a fan of childe. she wears merch from his most recent drama.
a fan goes on stage chosen by a random lottery draw. the said fan wins the chance to interview childe, who was the guest of the day for talk show, and ask one question.
the girl hastily walks on stage, holding a microphone given by staff.
“um. hello, childe!”
the audience screams as the huge video screen focuses on your lover's face. he waves a quick ‘hello’ and the crowd yells louder.
the girl hesitates, “are you dating anyone right now?”
childe twists the microphone in his hands. “hm? right now... i'm not dating anyone.”
the crows sighs in relief, utterly happy their favorite leading actor continues to be single.
but you see the outline of a smirk flashing on his face, and you instantly know there's a deeper meaning to that sentence. “but, it's difficult to say... since we're not really dating as of the moment.”
quietly, you hear the voice of yoimiya whispering, “don't do it.” the camera now focusing on her, trying to get herself on stage. thoma flips the camera around to face it on himself, waving a hello, apparently enjoying the drama. he then focuses the camera on the wide screen, featuring childe's face.
to add mayhem into the mix, childe continues, “i don't think being engaged to your partner falls under dating. we're way past that.”
the interview ends with the audience screaming their lungs out in disbelief, while childe's laugh resonates the whole auditorium.
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ayato, company director
“oh, them?” ayato's steady gaze meet yours, pressing his lips in a tight-lipped smile. “they're a friend of mine.”
friend. it echoes in your mind, repeating incessantly. friend. friend. friend.
dread creeps into the pit of your stomach akin to a quick flick of a lighter. after all this time, your stomach lurches. is that all he thinks of you?
god, you need a drink.
the businessmen before you smile, prompting you to return the favor. subsequently, you humbly introduce yourself as just an ‘actor in the industry’. and they laugh. of course they do.
who wouldn't know you? a multi award-winning movie and television star with piles of nominations. so modest, they say. so kind, they praise. you grin, the smile not reaching your eyes, thanking them for their compliments.
but you're so accustomed to their fake smiles, ingenuine flattery, and sweet talk; you never truly know what's actually honest and real—eyes flickering to your azure-haired partner—no, who's honest and real.
you swallow the thought down.
as if aware of the invisible daggers thrown his way, ayato's gaze meets yours. his lips are pressed firmly together, eyes devoid of warmth.
not now, his expression conveys.
you narrow your own eyes, irritation burning through your corneas. as much as you want to start an argument in front of his investors, you agree to his silent insistence. after all it's his gala; one he's tirelessly prepared for over several months.
so you bite your tongue and smile: one honed by years of acting—fake yet strangely genuine.
it's not strong enough. you say, sipping wine with shaky hands. earlier, you left ayato to his fellow businessmen using the excuse of needing a bathroom break, a reason to which he obliged.
you stare at the elaborate party before you, wishing you could go home. the gala swiftly dissolved your social battery, aided by forced mingling and bitterness. a friend, your consciousness repeats. always a friend. so you sit on a chair by the wall, sipping drinks like water.
suddenly, the hairs of your neck stand on end. you sense his presence behind you, prompting a glance through your peripheral vision.
“careful, darling.” ayato's says, tone smooth yet laced with warning. “i'd rather not have you collapsing. your lovely face wouldn't compliment these filthy floors.”
you tense immediately, shoulders stiffening. “reverting back to pet names, i see?”
ayato's hand now rests on your shoulder, his thumb brushing your soft skin. “what seems to be the issue? i doubt it's due to the eight glasses of wine you've consumed in one sitting.”
you roll your tongue in your mouth, practicing the words. let's break up. you bite your tongue. let's see other people. besides, he wouldn't care would he? it's not as if he's been acknowledging you as someone he's been dating, has he? hiding your relationship from his business partners is one thing, but concealing it from closest friends? his family? that's an entirely different matter altogether.
a friend, he says to his business partners.
a star from the company, he answers to his closest friends.
a companion, he whispers to his family.
you're sick and tired of it. all of it.
raising the wineglass to your lips, you drown the drink in one go. you raise two fingers signaling the waiter for another drink.
ayato sighs and you think you feel his hand on your neck tighten, ever so slightly. “you've reached your limit with wine, dear.”
soon, the waiter arrives with three more glasses on his tray. ayato's disapproving glare compels the waiter to scurry across the ballroom floor, steering clear of you.
you click your tongue and begin, “who says so?”
“your fiancé,” he mutters, voice dripping with venom.
you immediately scoff. “sure. for your sake, i'll pretend you mentioned that earlier.”
before ayato could retort, the presence of another individual calls his attention; his younger sister, ayaka.
“brother, the sangonomiya heir's requesting your presence.”
he sighs, irritation etching his features. yet, you blink, catching a subtle shift in his expression—seemingly twisting from annoyance to something resembling relief at the mention of sangonomiya's name.
you swallow the bitter thought.
“watch them for me, could you? i'd rather not have them find a server willing to disobey my instructions and serve them a drink,” ayato whispers, his tone betraying a hint of tension that doesn't go unnoticed.
ayaka nods. her consent prompts the older brother to depart, heading towards the misty rose-pink heir who stands at the opposite side of the ballroom.
ayaka says the inevitable, “you should let him know it bothers you.”
“...i'm not sure what you're referring to.”
her gaze follows yours, observing the giggling and cheerful countenances of the kamisato and sangonomiya heirs. they seem to be enjoying their time together. as always, you remark.
“they're just close friends, you know.”
you click your tongue. “like how him and i are just friends?”
ayaka sighs, understanding your implication. “you know what i mean.”
sangonomiya's hand on your partner's shoulder elicits an exasperated sigh from you. “thoma told me they were to be married if i wasn't here.”
“the man always running his mouth—” she takes a calming breath before continuing, “—but brother's very fond of you. i'm his sister, i should know.”
“then how come after dating him for five years, he still calls me his friend.” you pause, a hand sliding into the right pocket of your outfit. you absentmindedly play with the engagement ring inside. “i'm his fiancé, aren't i?”
“he has his reasons. petty reasons.”
you bite your tongue. or he's embarrassed of you.
you met the kamisato company heir two years after your debut as an idol. as you shifted towards acting, you developed a close relationship with his sister, a seasoned actress from the same company. eventually, she became the bridge that strengthened the bond between the two of you.
you dedicated yourself nonstop, evolving from a rookie actor to a multiple-nominee and winning star; all in the pursuit of being able to openly show off your relationship with ayato without it tarnishing your reputation.
however, when you're prepared to finally reveal your relationship, he isn't.
and it leaves you wondering, is there someone else?
you mean, you're hesitant to doubt the love of your life. but considering he's kept your relationship a secret from everyone for years, it's obvious he's adept at keeping things hidden.
even from you.
and the thought sours your mood.
excusing yourself once more to use the restroom, using the premise of consuming ten glasses of wine, you bid adieu to your favorite kamisato (at the moment). you instead head towards a secluded balcony away from prying eyes.
you stare at the garden below. your eyes quickly blink back the tears threatening to fall. not now, you hiss. don't do this to me, not right now.
“i assumed you would have retreated to your room by this point.” his voice murmurs, unnervingly composed.
you turn around to see your partner holding a glass of wine. his features remain blank, inscrutable.
maybe it's because of all the wine you've been drinking. you can't seem to tell between what's real or not.
“what did you discuss with kokomi?”
“i wasn't aware you were both on a first name basis.”
“answer the question.”
he smiles, “business as always.”
you huff and wrap your hands around your arms. “of course. just business.”
ayato immediately picks up the anger in your tone. he lays his palm on your forearm, gently pulling you towards him. “look at me,” he pleads, with a subtle trace of irritation in his voice.
you turn to look at his face, eyes glaring.
“i felt your glares the entire night.” he begins.
you shrug, smiling innocently. “...what ever do you mean?”
“don't toy with me, darling.”
as he enunciates his answer, it's as if the final thread of your patience snaps. does he still continue to feign innocence and lie to your face?
last month he proposed and you were overjoyed. you then expected a shift in your relationship; the final unveiling of your engagement to the public. you gave him your permission, a definitive “i'm ready for everyone to know.”
yet thirty days later the engagement remains concealed leaving only a few of his friends (thoma) and a few family members (ayaka) knowing about your updated relationship.
if it was the ayato from two years ago, he would be delighted—ecstatic even—to reveal the truth. he might have used the gala today as an avenue to scream to the world, this person and i are in love.
but he didn't.
so the weight of your feelings began to drag you down; it almost feels suffocating in a way. as if a ribbon labeled, he's ashamed, tightly winds around your insides, intricately tying them all together into a sophisticated bow sowing distrust whispering; he's hiding something.
your suspicions, coupled with his frequent visits this month to the sangonomiya estate, fueled your frustration until it erupted. if only he ceased pretending innocent, perhaps you would able to smile through the whole facade.
if only he didn't ask.
“i'm not naive. if you developed feelings for kokomi then you shouldn't have proposed.” you snap. “was it out of pity? did you feel so damn guilty that you chose to go through with the engagement instead of being honest about your feelings?”
ayato furrows his brows, mouth tightening in anger. “what are you talking about? i discuss private affairs with kokomi. business affairs.”
you laugh; one infused with irritation and disbelief. “don't tell me then. keep your stupid secrets.”
“do you want me to jot down a damn list detailing every single thing i do in a day?” he growls. “i won't divulge company secrets just because you feel like throwing a tantrum.”
your hands drift to the tie around his neck, tugging the crooked tie straight. “no. go ahead and keep your secrets.” you pause and roll the words with your tongue, “you're clearly very good at keeping secrets. you’ve kept me—us—as a secret for so long, so of course you’d be good at keeping fucking secrets.”
anger flares across his face. “you desired our relationship to remain a secret, and i respected your wishes.” he sneers, “i wanted to let the damn world know how much i'm in love with you yet, it was the opposite of what you desired.”
ayato releases his grip on you and strides back into the ballroom, but he halts right at the door to the balcony. “so don't dictate when i should reveal the truth simply because you've grown sick and tired of keeping me as your dirty, little secret.”
he finally departs; and you stay, tears pooling, with a profound ache in your heart.
ayato waltzes around the room in a nonchalant dance; yes, good to see you. he lies. how's business? he couldn't care less. enjoy the party! no, he wants everyone in the damn room to feel his wrath.
although he yearns to set the entire ballroom ablaze, ending the party prematurely would be ill-manned of him. so, ayato continues being a gracious and honorable host.
but he feels hollow. he envisions himself freezing the entire room in an icy gust, everyone turning into statues. he wants to sprint back into your arms and plead for you to listen.
he doesn't understand what came over him. why he lost his temper like that. typically, he'd manage your outbursts with composure and understanding. what happened? he doesn't know.
he attributes his outburst to the mounting pressure. the chronic lack of sleep and continuous exhaustion coming from his title as heir. perhaps it's the truth gnawing his skin; despite his powerful position atop the company, it can easily be ripped away with the flick of a wrist.
instead of spending time with his fiancé—he doesn't know if he still deserves to call you that, you probably threw away his ring the second he left the balcony—yet here he is, engaged in conversations with business associates he cares little about.
“brother?” ayaka calls. she finds him leaning against a railing of stairs. “i closed off the gardens.”
ayato swallows. he last saw you sneaking towards the grounds. “they're still on the grass?”
“yes.”
“they'll catch a cold.”
“they will.”
he glances at his sister. “they think i'm unfaithful.”
“i know,” she says matter-of-factly. “have you offered them any evidence to convince them otherwise?”
ayato stays silent.
“i know you care about them, brother.” ayaka sighs, “however, surprising them with a specially crafted ring and being petty when your entire relationship is at stake may not be the wisest move.”
he sighs.
“most especially if they suspect that your frequent visits to the sangonomiya manor are fueled by romantic feelings for its heiress, and not for their own wedding ring.”
after a while, ayato spots you lying on the grass in a starfish formation, having finally swallowed his pride. his eyes glaze over your features: red eyes, cheeks marked with tear stains, and an exhausted expression.
“can we talk?” he begins.
you spare a quick glance before turning your attention back to the night sky. “there's not much to talk about.”
“i'm not cheating,” he asserts.
“i know.”
“do you know, or have you resigned yourself to not knowing?”
“hm,” you hum. “a part of me entertains the thought of you cheating. yet an even smaller part absolutely knows that if you were truly cheating, you'd be more discreet. who, in their right mind, would inform thoma that you visited her manor?”
he chuckles, a laughter-less sound escapes him. “i understand i've been secretive. you have every right to assume i'm up to something indecent. but i have my reasons.” ayato confesses, kneeling beside your body. he places his hand inside his suit pocket, pulling up a black small box.
you instantly sit up. “you're horrible,” you cough, eyes widening as he opens the box to show a ring. “this entire time you were—god.”
“i placed a special order,” he mumbles. “i visited each day to ensure it was flawless, right down to the smallest details.”
“i'm so sorry.”
“don't be, love.” he breathes, “you had your reasons, and i was insistent on keeping it a surprise.”
relief floods your features. “good,” you whisper before tears well in your eyes.
the sound of your sobs breaks his heart. he immediately wraps his arms around you, brushing his lips on your cheeks.
“i'm sorry, darling,” he murmurs, kissing the skin above your brow. “i'm sorry for worrying you.”
“goddamn sadistic,” you sob. “you knew i was freaking out, but you just watched!”
he grins, “i have to admit, you look cute when you're jealous.”
a groan escapes you. “don't make me throw away both rings.”
“is that so? i should've ordered twenty spares.”
“no.” you scold.
“oh? look at my darling, so jealous,” he smirks, nuzzling his face into your neck. you then feel his lips press into a straight line. “you're not something i would ever try to hide. i would never be ashamed of our relationship.”
you laugh, “prove it.”
your smile faces seeing the smirk on his face. in that exact moment, you know that kamisato ayato, the preposterous god in human flesh, plans to do something grand and explosive to prove you otherwise.
“do not.” you begin, “we've talked about this. you cannot—you absolutely will not bribe the government to declare our wedding date as a national holiday!”
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bonus: ten minutes before the clash
“is it getting warm in here, or am i sensing the intense gaze of your loving fiancé on me?” kokomi laughs, sipping a glass of champagne.
ayato takes a peek, and he chuckles upon seeing your irritated and jealous expression. “they certainly are.”
“please do not involve me in your lovers' quarrels. everyone knows we're just close friends.”
“they do.”
“have you told them?”
“...it may have slipped past my mind.”
kokomi shakes her head. “sadistic.” she slips a black box into his palm. “clear it up. i do not want to be murdered by your future partner.”
ayato glances at you from across the room as you engage a conversation with his sister. “mhm, i could, but their jealous expression is too endearing.”
“sadistic,” she repeats. “absolutely sadistic.”
he chuckles.
“also, kazuha mentioned that you've been referring to them as your companion. correct that.” she continues, “and stop calling them your friend!”
“they asked me to when we started dating.”
she rolls her eyes. “you're so petty. stop trying to provoke them!”
“anyways, everyone knows we're engaged,” he corrects. “their whining face is the cutest.”
“sadistic.”
“kokomi?”
she tilts her head and hums, “yes?”
“ever wondered how much it costs to propose a national holiday?”
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author’s note: lmao. so in this modern au ayato actually succeeds in turning your wedding date into a national holiday. the government actually appreciates his donation because a.) they always accept goodwilled (lmao) funds and b.) ayato's an important pillar to the gov and they don't want to upset him 'cause petty rich boy tantrums tilt the economy (how sadistic).
so, ayato's the heir of the company where you are employed at as an idol turned actor/actress. kokomi is the heiress to a big jewelry corporation. lmao they were both engaged together when they were like five but they instantly broke it off because well, they both threw five year old tantrums.
plus thoma telling you that they were to be engaged was just a fact he blurted out when you asked about kokomi (he manages to omit the five-year-old part because he's careless + he didn't think it matters because anyone can tell ayato's intensely in love with you)
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simpcityy · 9 months
Text
I’m Not Her (Father Miguel O’Hara x Teen! Daughter Reader)
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Summary: Miguel O’Hara is your biological father but it’s not great being his daughter when he’s hooked in the past still.
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters. This is very short as well! Just a little prompt I thought also, I know the song is about a girl who loves a boy etc., but I thought of it more as father and daughter way. *Ahem* Him thinking of Gabi rather than the present daughter he has…I’m sorry if I confused you.
Word Count: 500
Warnings: Use of female pronouns, Use of (Y/N), angst, Father Miguel, overall, it’s just sad. Uhhh I think that is all for now.
Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6
Being the biological daughter of Miguel O’Hara has its ups and downs but mostly downs according to you. Walking through the Spider Society, you held some reports from Jess, she was on her way to hand them over to your father but seeing the kind person you are, you decided to do it for her so she can rest. You're amazed how a woman so pregnant can still fight. Walking down the halls, you were alone with your thoughts. The time he left to be a father to another girl..a girl named Gabriella…were you not enough for him? What did Gabi have that you didn’t? So many thoughts running through your head only to be snapped from hearing Mayday giggling in the room. Taking a deep breath, you pushed in ready for the chaos. “Hey! (Y/N)!” Peter smiles holding an energetic child. “Hey” You responded before looking over at Miguel who was looking at the videos that hurt you the most. Videos of him and Gabriella. You only frown a bit before masking it. “I'll just drop this off” You dropped the files onto a flat surface before walking to the door. “Hey Boo! You going to ask him?” Lyla appears in front of you smiling. You look at her and back to Miguel before shaking your head. “No…he has better things to do” You whisper walking through her, leaving. Lyla watches you staying quiet before next to Miguel. “Files were dropped.” She brought him back to reality. “Hmm? Who?” He mutters looking at the AI. He goes down his platform and picks up the files you left. “(Y/N) did, she was here not long ago” Lyla looks at her phone scrolling through it. Miguel looks at the door where you left not long ago.
Sitting out on the roof of your dimension, your thoughts only seem to be filling you up with anger. Why did he leave you to be a father for another kid…yeah, she lost her father but so did you…he left you to be with her. You groan out in frustration before looking at the time. “There is not enough time left” You mutter before getting up and going back to the house. A home where you stopped waiting for him to come home. Upon reaching your room, you changed into your pjs before walking over to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you pulled out a cake you ordered yourself from your favorite shop. Placing it on the table, you put the candles on and sat down in front of it. “Happy Birthday to me…happy birthday to me…” You began to sing before letting out a sob. Your candles were put out from your tears. Another year alone and many more to go.
“If I could be her…but I’m not her and she’s not me.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Authors note: This was just little one-shot. An idea that always comes to mind whenever I listen to that amazing song! I am working on part 3 of the Biomedical Engineer x Miguel. Hopefully this weekend it comes out along with the last part of my first father figure Miguel x reader. Please check those out if you haven’t. I’m stuck if I should make this into a full series as well, but I don’t know if people would interest in it. Anyways, as always sorry for any grammar errors. Thank you all for the support! Remember to stay hydrated and to keep on simping! (Simp City Population: 62!) Thank you so much for the follows and please you are welcome to reblog my works for others to be aware of this new Miguel O’Hara simp writer!
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chuuyasheaven · 3 months
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Hiii! (This is my first time requesting so sorry if I did it wrong. )
A threesome dom!character with chuuya and dazai prompts 1 and 4 with a afab!reader that was purposely trying to piss them off in public (like sitting away from them in a restaurant, running off into a crowd without them, giving them the cold shoulder, etc) so once they get home they decide to put her in her place.
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♡ Two in one ♡ (Chuuya Nakahara & Dazai Osamu)
1. "You wanted this, didn't you?" 4. "What happened to your bratty attitude, huh?"
Tags. Chuuya N. / afab! Reader / Dazai O., she/they for Reader, they're in a poly relationship, jealousy?, jealous sex maybe?, orgasm denial (once), does this count as dirty talk?, degrading and praising, rough sex, threesome, overstimulation, pet names ("baby, sweetheart" from both, "doll" from Chuuya, "pretty" from Dazai), teasing, fingering, creampie, blow jobs, might contain grammar errors, rushed, probably doesn't make sense, etc.
Notes. nghhh.. I wanna take them both so baddd (in the same hole too)
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It all started with a day out planned by them, just to spend time with you because none of you was busy that day. Chuuya wanted to take you somewhere to eat, Dazai wanted to just walk around the city. In the end, they settled doing both, going somewhere to eat and then enjoying the city in the evening. At the restaurant, you guys had a great time, that was until you met an old friend. They invited you to their table and you went over, Dazai and Chuuya didn't notice at first because of some stupid shit they argued over, but when they finished they saw you talking to your friend.
Even when you guys left the restaurant, you still didn't pay attention to them. I mean, they planned all of this for you but now you didn't even pay attention to them! Was this to rile them up or what? Because you didn't even say thank you for the food. It literally felt like they interrupted you right now, but luck has it that your friend had to go soon. As you waved them goodbye, Dazai and Chuuya already planned what to do with you. At home, they set their plan in motion. .
"Ngh— Dazai, please. .", you whimpered as Dazai let his fingers curl inside you. "Please what? I'm making you feel good, aren't I, pretty?", Dazai asked, feeling his fingers do god's work while you laid in Chuuya's lap. He was stroking your hair, your moans turning him on. "Are you close, baby?",, Chuuya asked, you nodded as you shut your eyes at the feeling. Before you could get even closer, Dazai's fingers just stopped and were pulled out, you whined at the loss. "Trust me, you'll be cumming soon enough, sweetheart.", Dazai said before licking his fingers clean in front of you, which made you wetter. "Come on, get on your fours, doll. The real thing is about to start,", Chuuya ordered you, you obediently obliged and got into the position he asked you for. Now being on your fours, Chuuya kneeled on the bed, unbuckled his belt, and looked down on you. When his dick was finally unclothed, he held it in front if your face basically telling you to suck, and he didn't have to tell you twice. You opened your mouth and Chuuya pushed as much of his dick could fit past your lips.
Starting to suck on his dick while looking at him, you suddenly felt Dazai thrust into you, which made you moan out of surprise sending vibrating moans around Chuuya's cock. Dazai only waited a few seconds before continuing to thrust inside your wet cunt, and he wasn't particularly going soft either. His hips slammed against your ass making obscene slapping noises, you almost could've choked on Chuuya's cock with the pace Dazai chose. You tried to not let yourself get distracted, trying to please Chuuya as well. "Pay full attention to this, how good am I making you feel?", Dazai grunted as he slid in and out of your cunt, with the way Chuuya also groaned as you sucked him off. But Dazai waited for a answer from you, even though you mouth was stuffed. "Damn slut— you wanted this didn't you? We made plans for you and you didn't even say thank you, it's like you're asking for punishment. .", Dazai sped up as he spoke to you, the amount of pleasure overwhelming you a little. Chuuya then grabbed your hair and made you focus on him again. "Nuh uh, keep suckin' me off, you can handle this, sweetheart. We've fucked you like this once,", Chuuya told you, just then your tongue ghosted over his tip. He groaned through gritted teeth as a quick rush of pleasure rushed over him. "Good girl, just like that.", the ginger praised you, shoving an inch more past your lips.
"You want me to cum inside you, hm? Want me to fill up your slutty little cunt, baby?", Dazai huffed as he bent down to your ear, letting you hear every grunt and low moan, he let you hear how good you felt. "Oh, you'll like that? 'Cause you clenched down on me.", before he could say anything else, you clenched down harder and eventually came, this was also the reason Dazai got sent over the edge like five minutes later. Chuuya wasn't very far either, it took only five more minutes for him to empty his load inside your mouth. He released you from his cock and you took in some deep and heavy breaths. You closed your eyes to calm down from your first orgasm. As soon as you opened them again you saw that Dazai and Chuuya switched places, which meant that it was probably Chuuya's turn— "You're still wet? Wasn't it already enough?", Chuuya teased, his tip now being dragged along your folds to tease you, slick already dripping down his tip. "Fuck, do you want us to continue until you become cockdrunk? Until our cum is dripping down down your thighs? Fuckin' slut.", he teased you further, his tip now slowly going in. "Go on and suck 'Samu off, just like the good girl you are,", Chuuya cooed as his cock was halfway in.
You opened your mouth for Dazai so he could place his dick inside your mouth, just like you did with Chuuya earlier. You start sucking him off and Dazai was already grunting and cursing to himself, precum already leaking out. Meanwhile Chuuya just let you get adjusted to his size and started to move, like Dazai, not particularly gentle. Not only did his hips slap against your ass, but his hands found themselves spanking you right now. Now you had Dazai in your mouth, Chuuya in your cunt and barely any power in your arms left to hold your upper body. You focused on Dazai a little more than on Chuuya, which resulted in him thrusting up hard to gain your attention. "Hm, arch that back for me, sweetheart.", Chuuya groaned into your ear, Dazai was getting closer by each suck, if you licked his tip then he'll—
"Ah— shit! J–just like that, you fucking whore. .", the brunette moaned while cumming inside your mouth, this time a little more than earlier. You struggled slightly with swallowing but made it, just some cum rolling down from the corner of your mouth. Dazai held your face, looking into your eyes and cleaning up the drop from your chin. Suddenly Chuuya's thrusts got deeper, as if that wasn't enough, his finger was circling your clit! "Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it, doll? What happened with your bratty attitude, huh? I didn't fuck you dumb now, have I?", you started to tighten around his cock, giving signs of your upcoming orgasm. Chuuya kept going faster, his thrusting got sloppier meaning he was reaching the edge soon. Minutes before cumming around him, Dazai started to rub your nipples, helping your release come quicker. "Ch–chuuya— fuck. .", you breathed out heavily, all the pleasure overwhelming you. "F–fuck, I'm gonna fill this cunt up, gonna make you leak our juices.", this was the moment you knot snapped, you just squirted. This was all Chuuya needed to cum inside you, all the cum inside you slowly gushing out of you.
"You did so good. . think you could give us one more, baby?"
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GUYS MY AIRPODS ARE SUFFERING THEY'RE ONLY ON 5 PROCENT RN.
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hollythius · 10 months
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IT’S A SYMBOL OF OUR FRIENDSHIP! | secret relationship headcannons
featuring | alhaitam, kaveh, tighnari, childe
prompt | as secret lovers, your favorite pastime is buying incognito matching items for you and your partner. but after so many grandiose, lovingly picked items start to alert your friends— well, what do you say?
tldr | i love secret relationship tropes 🫶 especially when it’s by choice and not necessity. reader is gn, i tried to be funny (it didn’t work), help i cant write any of these characters, uhh enjoy!! reblogs help btw! this got way off topic, uhhhh i’m having fun with these hehe
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ALHAITAM — matching rings
the great sage was rarely fond of people, and even rarer was when he purposefully went out of his way to do something for another person. thus, after you had gotten over the initial shock of his confession— wham! he had pulled you aside to hand you a box that held matching rings. you almost fainted, the insanity of your precious haitham not understanding the implications of such jewelry threw you for a loop. however, you accepted it as a sort of promise ring, the silver band wrapped with green, vine-like markings. kaveh was the first to notice. “what’s that you’ve got there?” he smirked. his pointer finger directed at alhaitam’s middle finger where the ring rested. “oh, and what’s this? y/n has one too? oh my!” and alhaitam, sweet, red faced alhaitam, simply said, “it’s a gesture of our friendship!” you shook your head, smiling. kaveh laughed. you knew he was starting to suspect you anyway.
KAVEH — matching earrings
having your boyfriend’s roommate intrude on the two of you was rare, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. you were beginning to think it was on purpose— alhaitam was smart, and it wouldn’t take a genius to realize your relationship. (especially with how affectionate kaveh was sometimes) “y/n, help me put them in,” kaveh whines. “hold on, kaveh. here,” you finished putting your own earrings in, before coming over to kaveh. you press a kiss to his temple, which leads to him kissing your wrist— soon the earrings are left forgotten on the vanity and your collective priority is to kiss each other to death. these ministrations hold your attention so tightly that you don’t hear the knock at the door. or the ‘i’m coming in’ from alhaitham. well, he was bound to find out one way or another.
TIGHNARI — matching bracelets
tighnari’s tongue stuck out a little when he was focused— a cute habit of his that you had yet to comment on. now, he was focused on latching a clasp on a bracelet he had bought you. on his wrist was a matching one: gold and green with incredible luster. he was struggling. “need help, nari?” you ask, giggling. “no. m’fine.” he was certainly not fine, with how long it was taking him. “you’re so cute,” you say softly, tighnari looking up at you annoyed. “and?” you laugh again, the clasp on your bracelet still not closed. you kiss the top of his head, chuckling. “i think you need some help, hon.”
CHILDE — matching scarves
the chilly weather of snezhnaya warranted thick coats, long bottoms, and heavy boots. hats or earmuffs were common, but scarves were practically a staple fashion item. they could be worn multiple ways, styled impeccably, and still keep you warm. so when childe gifted you a red scarf that perfectly matched his own, you melted. “is this for me?” you whispered, childe chuckling at the awe in your tone. “uh-huh. look, it matches mine! and red’s a common color here, so it doesn’t look suspicious,” he said. but the real test would be when he was out in public. the red on his face could easily be explained away as from the cold, but you knew that the rosy tint was him blushing. you buried your face in your own scarf, embarrassed. childe just thought it made you look cuter.
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minimickzy · 6 months
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Oh My God || Hazel Callahan
Listen- I believe in loser hazel and I find her to be perfect- I know this isn't my best fic but I've been in serious bottoms brain rot
dialog prompts:
"Hold my hand" "Absolutely not"
Characters: Hazel Callahan x Reader, the whole club
Word count: 2359
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Hazel Callahan was your mortal enemy. Did she know? Probably not. It was honestly beside the point. Because what mattered was that bitch seemed to have it out for you since the start of high school. First, it was taking your topic for a history project. Whatever- no big deal. Then all the “accidents” spilling coffee on your backpack (she had given you money for a new one but still), tripping you in the walkways, and hitting you in the face with a volleyball (multiple times). After that, she got the better parking spot for senior year, and finally, the great big plump cherry on top, she took the lunch table you had practically reserved since freshman year. 
At the end of the day, the whole ordeal may be a bit over-dramatic… but that table was perfect. In the corner, you could either hide or have a great undisturbed lunch with your friends. Hazel had sat there one day with Josie and PJ. which was weird in itself because they never had eaten in the cafeteria before and you didn't even remember them being friends. 
For how much you didn't care about Hazel Callahan- she sure took a lot of your attention.  
If anyone else had done any of those things- you probably wouldn’t have thought anything about it. But this was Hazel Callahan who despite your best efforts you could not stop crushing on. 
The stolen table was a very recent development. As in on Monday and it was now Wednesday. You sat at the next best table with Sylvie and Krystal, watching as Hazel feverishly wrote something in her notebook as PJ seemed to make a grandiose speech. 
She had no right to look that attractive while sitting in your spot. You groaned and face-planted into your crossed arms on the table. 
“Are you good dude?” You rolled your head to the side to look at Sylvie and then let out another frustrated groan. 
“Everything is awful and I hate it here.” 
Krystal patted your back while Silive sighed, “You know what you need?”
“Hmm?” 
“To hit something.” 
You laughed from inside your arm fortress, “Okay Sylvie- what should I hit? A fucking tree? Jeff? A Huntington player?” 
“No, you should join the fight club! It’s for women empowerment- I’m trying to train up to deal with my stepdad ya know?” 
You lifted your head and gave your friend a questioning look. “Fight club? For women empowerment?” 
Sylvie and Krystal both nodded excitedly. 
“When and Where?” 
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Of fucking course. 
When you walk in behind Krystal and Sylvie to the gym, the first person you see is Hazel.
Your body immediately fills with rage. At this point, it’s starting to feel like you're more angry at yourself for crushing on someone you barely even know. But you believe in self-love so you plan to continue projecting your anger onto someone else. 
Everyone was milling about and chatting, you left your bag on the bleachers by everyone else’s and followed your friends to the middle of the gym. 
Stella-Rebecca caught your eye and waved, which you gladly returned before PJ stomped as hard as possible on the floor to get everyone's attention. 
“What time is it?!” She screamed and was answered by a chorus of “3:15”s 
“That’s right you sluts! It’s time to get down and dirty!” 
You couldn't help the look of mild disgust that passed across your features. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. After al, Sylvie made some seriously questionable choices- you thought you could trust Krystal though. 
“Alright cunts- who wants to start us of-” PJ started by being cut off by Hazel who whispered something to her and then directed PJ’s attention onto you with a point of her pen. “Well look what the cat dragged in.” PJ gave you an unimpressed look which made you roll your eyes. 
“I can leave if this is a closed cl-” You started to point behind you to the door but Josie stopped you by waving her hands
“No- no you're more than welcome. PJ just gets a little into it- you know flashbacks to juvie and all that.” Josie gives a reassuring (and awkward) smile.
You pursed your lips and nodded, “Cool.” out of the corner of your eye you could see Hazel giving Josie a thumbs up. 
“Well, Since you’re fresh blood let's see what you got,” PJ says while smiling at you. 
“Okay,” you shrug. “I really don’t know what I’m doing though so don’t expect much.” 
PJ just brushes you off, “Don’t worry. It’s mostly just instinct.”
You nod and step into the center of the circle of girls. Okay, maybe this was a stupid fucking idea. 
“Let's see…” PJ looks around the circle, trying to decide who to pair you up with. “Hazel- why don’t you hop in.” 
Hazel looks nervous, but she still nods and enters the ring, giving you a small smile and nod. 
You look at her blankly, “Now what?” you ask.
“Now you hit each other.” PJ claps her hands together, “Fucking beat each other the fuck up!” 
“What-” You can’t finish your question because Hazel deals a hard hit right to your gut. “Fuck!” you double over in shock before gathering yourself again. “What the fuck.” 
Hazel looks a little confused but motions to herself, “Hit me now- that's how this works.” 
You give her the best “what the fuck” look you can convey before settling into a fighting stance. You thought there'd be a little lead-up or something.
You swung and got in a decent hit to the side of Hazel's face. It left a stinging sensation on your knuckles but you tried to shake it off. 
The two of you exchanged a few more punches and kicks back and forth before Hazel managed to catch you completely off guard and- 
BAM 
Your ass hit the ground hard. “Fuck!” you couldn't help the curse from leaving your lips. You let yourself unfurl onto the ground and stared at the ceiling. The girls around you clapped as you tried to catch your breath. 
“Good fight,” Hazel said, reaching one of her hands out towards you on the ground. 
You just looked at her, “Yeah. Good...” Suddenly your head hurt a lot more than it did a minute ago. “Fight.” This was definitely a stupid fucking decision. Maybe this is what killed you. RIP the girl who got her lights knocked out but the girl who was both the love and hate of her life. 
You tried to sit up but the world was kinda spinning. 
“Hazel, how hard did you hit her?” Josie asked as she joined Hazel looking down at you. Hazel looked like a lost puppy. 
“I didn’t think it was that hard- are you okay.” 
You laughed not handling the embarrassment of the situation well, “I am so good actually.” You went to stand up but stumbled before your legs gave out putting you back on the floor. 
Hazel tried to grab at your hand to help you up but you retracted your hand on instinct. “Hold my hand.” 
“Absolutely not.” 
Silvie barked out a laugh- “damn rejected!”
Hazel looked at you- her big blue eyes filling with hurt. Fuck. You didn't want to have to see those sad puppy dog eyes. You took hold of her hand and let her pull you up. If you thought the world was spinning when you were sitting, now it was like you were on a tilt-a-whirl. “Shit.” you couldn't keep yourself upright and leaned into Hazel so you didn't fall back to the ground. 
“Uh- I’m gonna take her to get some water.” Hazel sounded very concerned but you giggled. This was so embarrassing. Not only were you weak in front of your enemy- but also your crush. “Oh my god, I think I broke her!” 
PJ scoffed, “You just gave her like a concussion- she’ll be fine.” You nodded to agree with PJ. 
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god…” Hazel mumbled as she walked you out of the gym.
“I’m so so sorry.” She continued to apologize to all the girl's bathrooms where she propped you against a sink. “I didn’t think I was that strong.” She gathered some paper towels and got them wet, dabbing them to your forehead. 
In all honesty, you feel fine now. The dizziness was gone and replaced with a dull ache. But you were kinda enjoying Hazel being all over you. 
“It’s fine. Don't worry about it.” 
“If you want to hit me I get it- I deserve it.”
You laughed, “Yeah you can say that again.” You needed to practice biting your damn tongue. 
“I’m so sorry- I can’t believe I did that- I always do something stupid around you. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard- I just can’t like to focus with you around and I’m sorry-” Hazel continued to ramble and you started to zone out a little before saying the only thing running through your mind. 
“You stole my table”
Hazel stopped talking and looked at you. “No, I didn’t”
“Yes, you did.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve never stolen anything let alone a table- I don’t even know where I would’ve put-”
“No Hazel, my seat. In the lunch room.” 
She just stared at you and blinked. 
“You stole my spot- where I have sat every day for the last and you spilled coffee on my backpack and hit me in the face with volleyballs and… and… and now you gave me a concussion with your fists.” 
Hazel groaned and moved away from you holding her face in her hands, “Oh my god you must think I hate you.”
“Well yeah!” 
Hazel just groaned again. “I just like you.” 
“Oh yeah sure- wait- what did you just say?”
“I just like you okay,” She kicks the floor and starts to pout, “You’re just like really cool and like always around and you make me nervous.” 
“Oh my god.” 
“I know- i’m sorry- I knew you hated me cause of all that stuff”
“Oh my god-”
Hazel made more inhuman nosies as you started to laugh.
“Hazel what the actual fuck- you like me? You like me? For how long?” 
Hazel stopped with the noises “I don’t know? Like freshman year? Why?” 
“Despite all of the mishaps, and how much they pissed me off- I could not stop crushing on you… since freshman year.” 
Hazels jaw literally dropped, “What, no way?” 
“Yes way. Why didnt you just like talk to me?” 
“Well everytime I did I would somehow manage you hurt you.” 
You shook your head and laughed lighty, “thats actually fair, I can’t blame you for that.” 
She cracked a bit of a smile, relief from the last few seconds flooding over the both of you. 
“This is crazy.” 
You laughed, “it is. And to think all it took was you punching me to the ground.” 
She groaned, “god I really am sorry-”
“It’s fine- definitely worth it.” 
She smiled, “now what?” 
You shrugged, “I don’t know- we’ve wasted almost four years it seems like so theres no point in wasting any more.” 
She gave you a dopey look and figeted with the rings on her fingers.
“Hazel come here.” She followed your instructions obditally and stood in front of you- close enough that you could feel the gentle wind of her breath. 
You placed your hands on her shoulders, not entirely sure the right way to go about this- and maybe this was moving a bit fast and the common sense had gotten knocked out of your head but at this point you were kicking yourself for not making a move over the entrieity of your highschool career. 
Her eyes were open, glued to your lips. 
“Gotta start making up for all that lost time.” you leaned forward, barley brushing your lips together, when you pulled back Hazel stood completely still with her eyes shut tight. You smiled to yourself. “Do you want to..” Hazel keep her eyes shut but nodded. 
You leaned again, this time trying to add in some movement. It was painfully obvious that neither of you really knew what you were doing. Hazel seemed to have a sudden surge in confidence after accidentally (maybe?) bitting your lower lip which drew some type of sound from you. She stepped forward, pushing you aagint the bathroom sink and putting the two of you in a much more intainte position. 
Despite the awkwardness and surprise, it felt nice- or good? Something like that. You stopped anazlying everything and instead focused on the fact that their was a very attractive girl running her hands down your back and letting your shirt cover her finger tips as she explored you. 
The second you started to thank whatever god was a above that it was after school hours so the building was essentially vacant- the door brust open, followed by two very loud “fuck”s. 
Hazel rushed back away from you, her face already blushing a bright pink. 
PJ and Josie stood in the doorway- matching faces of shock painting their features. 
“No fucking way Hazel is getting puss before us.” PJ rolled her eyes. 
“Uh- sorry we just uh- you know- wanted to make sure you were good.” Josie was doing a horrible job hiding her uncomforatbleness as she questioned you with a thumbs up. 
You bit your lip to stop from laughing and gave her a thumbs up back, “Doing great in here. Thanks- but if you wouldn’t mind leaving-”
“Oh yeah! Yeah! For sure- we’ll let you two lovebirds get back to it.” Josie did a half bow before turning and pushing PJ out the door. 
You laughed as hazel just looked mortified, “we’ll continue this later, I think we should get back to the club though- kinda wanna see you lay some bitchs out.” 
She took a deep breath and patted down her shirt, before looking in the mirror and fixing her hair. 
You gave her another thumbs up before the two of you left the bathroom to go back to the gym. 
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Send me requests please 🙈
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cozage · 7 months
Note
Hi Coza! Congrats on the milestone! You so deserve it! Can I please have a Law x female Strawhat reader who reunited after they spent the two years together, how do they explain to the rest of the Strawhats that they ended up starting to date during that time (they are still dating now) and how do the strawhats react to the news? Thank you and congrats again!
A/N: I could’ve spent another 12 pages writing about this UGH great prompt friend. (also going to tag @nico-the-witch since they sent me a very similar request FOREVER ago <3)
Characters: female reader x Law Total word count: 1.1k
The Hats or the Hearts
You were dodgy when your crewmates asked you about your two year gap. You were certain that Luffy would feel betrayed by your decision to travel with other pirates, even if it hadn’t been your intention at first. 
You and Law had fallen in love. There was no other way to put it. Your two years had been spent training, but also learning about yourself, and in the softest hours of the night, learning about him. You hadn’t planned to fall in love, especially with another captain. But that was the way your heart chose.
And yet, at the end of the two years, you returned to Sabaody. You couldn’t abandon your family, and Law had respected that. He had business to attend to, anyway. A personal mission he needed to take care of. So you left the crew behind, just the two of you had headed off to Sabaody, and then he left you there to wait for Luffy. 
You should’ve ended things. Both of you knew how impossible it would be for two members of opposing crews to be together. But neither of you could bring yourself to end such a good thing, so you promised to call when you could, and that was that. 
And yet, you still weren’t sure how to break it to Luffy and the others. How do you admit that you spent your two years falling in love while everyone else was isolated on an island, solely focused on their training?
“Luffy, there’s something I need to talk to you about,” you finally said, once the two of you were alone. “It’s about our two year gap. I was-”
“Look!” Luffy shouted, pointing out to sea. “A volcano is erupting! Let’s go there!”
“Listen, Luffy-” you tried again. 
“Wait a minute, Luffy!” Nami shouted over you. 
“Let’s go!” Luffy shouted. He didn’t seem interested in having a heart to heart, though you couldn’t blame him with a fiery sea laid out right in front of him. 
A little while later, you were on the island of Punk Hazard, traveling with Zoro, Luffy, Robin, and Usopp. Your confession and explanation would have to come later. 
Only a few hours, as fate would have it. 
“Oh! It’s you!” Luffy called from atop the beast you rode. “Do you remember me?!”
“He’s the guy we met at the Human Shop in Sabaody,” Zoro murmured. 
You scrambled up to get a better look. A spotted hat and a black cape. But that was impossible, why was he here? He had personal business to take care of. Punk Hazard wasn’t anything important to him. 
“Luffy,” your voice filled with urgency. “There’s something you should know.”
“He’s Trafalgar Law,” Robin reported. “He’s now…”
“Torao!” Luffy shouted. “He helped me get away from the battlefield and treated my wounds.”
“Luffy,” you said again, your eyes still locked on Law. “I need to-”
But he took off running toward Law without listening to your words, and the two captains spoke for several minutes. Your heart sank watching them, watching Law’s eyes flick occasionally to you. This was the last way you wanted your captain to find out about all of this. 
But when Luffy returned, he didn’t say anything about his conversation with Law. You kept waiting for him to bring it up, but you all were being chased by the Navy. Perhaps he knew it was a conversation for later. There were more important tasks to be done. 
Your group raced around the lab and found the rest of your crew, along with some very large children. Ones who appeared to be giants. 
You didn’t rest until everyone was safe in a snowcave, and that’s when you began to notice your crewmates personalities were a little…off. 
“Law switched your minds, didn’t he?” You held back a laugh. Of course he did. He knew the Strawhats wouldn’t be able to leave without being put back into the correct bodies. And you would finally be able to see him again.
“How’d you know?” Nami asked.
“Of course he did!” the random head shouted. “That warlord is the one who cut me up, too!”
“Warlord?!” Luffy shouted, emerging from the snowball he was in. “When did Torao become a warlord?!”
“Within the past two years,” Robin said.
“About ten months ago, if I remember correctly.” Everyone gave you strange looks, and you let out a deep sigh. “Luffy, I really need to talk to you.”
Luffy’s brow furled. He didn’t like the sound of your voice. “What is it?”
You looked around the circle. Better to just tell everyone now and get it over with. “During our two year training time, I sailed with Law and the Heart Pirates.”
There was a long pause. Everyone was looking at their captain, waiting for his response. 
“Torao? Are you sure? He didn’t mention it when I talked to him earlier.”
Law not mentioning or asking about you was odd, but you had to assume he was only doing it out of respect. 
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Luffy. I was just scared of what you would say. I was afraid you would kick me out of your crew.”
“Why would I kick you out?” Luffy scratched his head in confusion. “Do you want to leave?”
“No!” you cried out. “No, I want to stay with you and everyone. I just…wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”
“Can’t say I blame you for sailing with him,” Nami said. “He’s an interesting character.”
“And quite skilled,” Robin offered up.
But Zoro eyed you warily, trying to figure out your true allegiance. You couldn’t blame him. 
“Luffy, I swear I want to see you become King of the Pirates,” you said, your words genuine. “I think you deserve it more than anyone.”
“Yeah!” Luffy shouted. “But I really don’t know why you were scared to tell me about sailing with Torao. We all did cool things during our time away. Brook toured, Robin joined the Revolutionary Army, and you sailed the sea. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Except that she served under another captain,” Zoro said, still locked onto you. “Another captain who is coincidentally a warlord who helps the government. And he’s coincidentally on this island with us now.”
“I had no idea he was going to be here, I swear!”
“See Zoro?” Luffy shrugged, clearly not caring about the idea Zoro was alluding to. “She says she didn’t know. She’s still a part of our crew. That’s what matters.”
And you were loyal to the Strawhats. But you were also loyal to the Heart Pirates. You just prayed you’d never have to make a decision between one or the other.
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katsu28 · 4 months
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"send ☕ along with a prompt from any one of the lists below and a character of your choosing, and i'll write you a one shot to satisfy your craving!"
☕: prompt 23 from list e for rafe!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻
it pains me to paint my pogues in a not so great light but i will forever love protective rafe <3 thank you for requesting!
rafe cameron x reader, minimal swearing, 1.9k
“Look who it is! The Princess Kook, slummin’ it on our side of the island for once.” 
Your grip tightened around the pack of beer you were holding at the voice coming from behind you, because you already knew who it was. There was only one person ballsy enough to speak so critically of you, and you were pretty damn sure he was standing right behind you.
Lo and behold there he was, flanked by a more bored looking John B. 
JJ Maybank was and always had been on your case, though you suspected it had more to do with your family name than with you yourself—always spouting off about money and wealth and eating the rich. You understood where he was coming from, of course, but that didn’t mean it stopped being irritating.
It just seemed like he was always riding you about being some little rich girl with daddy’s money, not an actual person, with actual feelings. But after a while, you’d grown used to it. JJ was all bark and no bite. 
“Hi, JJ.” You sighed, shifting your weight to one leg. You nodded at John B, who did the same back to you. “How’s it going?” 
“Didn’t know our booze was good enough for Her Majesty’s taste.” JJ sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. You rolled your eyes at his dig. “Rafe know you’re over here?” 
“He’s not my keeper.” 
“What’re you even doing here, Y/N? They don’t got beer on Figure Eight?” John B sounded a little bit nicer, more tired than bitchy like his blond friend. 
“Cheaper here.” 
“Like you don’t have enough fuckin’ money.” JJ scoffed. John B jabbed a sharp elbow into his side, a sign for him to shut up. 
“Look guys, I’m not looking for any trouble. I just wanna get some beer and go home, that’s it.” 
“How ‘bout you leave the beer here and run back to your little princess castle instead?” 
“You’re a real prick tonight, JJ. Something got your panties all up in a bunch?” You shouldn’t have snarked back, that you knew, but he was really getting on your nerves tonight. You weren’t sure why. His words usually just slid right off you. 
JJ’s expression darkened and he scowled, brows furrowing. “Maybe ‘cause I just got fired from the Club this morning.” 
“What, why?” You asked, surprised. It was a genuine question. JJ was a definite pain in your ass, maybe with an attitude problem but still a good employee. 
“Oh, drop the clueless act. Pretty sure it was one of your stuck up friends who complained.” 
“I’m sorry you got fired, JJ, I am, but I had nothing to do with it. And there’s nothing I can do about it either. I don’t have that kind of pull with anyone at the Club, neither does my family.” 
You figured it would be better if you left now before JJ came up with another retort, or you'd likely be here trading snippy insults with each other all night, and you had better things to do with your time. There was some sympathy in you for him, but your statement was still true. There was nothing you could do for him, even if you wanted to. And besides, Rafe was waiting on you for a movie night. 
Leaving the conversation and the beer you were supposed to get behind, you hurried back to your car. The quicker you got to Rafe’s place, the quicker you could forget about it. 
Only a couple minutes into the drive, headlights flashed in your mirror. No big deal, probably just someone heading the same way as you. You were on the main road to the other side of the island, after all. 
Then the car sped up a bit, coming dangerously close to your back bumper before retreating a sizable distance behind—once, twice. By the third time, you were starting to get a little pissed. 
“What the fuck?” You muttered, squinting to get a better look at it. A big camper van, old from what you make out in the darkness, faded orange—oh fuck. You knew that van, John B’s old clunker of a car. And if you squinted a little harder, you could almost make out the same blond head of hair that was antagonizing you back at the store. 
So JJ did have a little bite in him. You sure as hell weren’t going to stick around to find out. 
Stepping on the gas a little harder, you took the long way back to the Figure 8, weaving through the backroads you’d known like the back of your hand since before you were able to drive. Back then, you’d done it on your bike, peals of laughter echoing through the overgrown fields of the Cut turned clean lines of pristinely cut lawns the closer you got to home, as Rafe chased after you on his own. 
Still, the van followed you on your way. With every glance at it in the rearview mirror, you grew a little more worried.
JJ’s driving was erratic, like he was playing a game of cat and mouse with you. If he really wanted to hurt you, this would be the ideal place to do it. There was nothing but grass and weeds around here. Nobody would find you for hours, even days if he were to run you into a ditch or something. 
That thought alone spurred you to drive even faster, driving and driving until you took one more look in the mirror to see that the van had stopped. You watched the headlights grow smaller in the distance, forcing yourself to keep driving until you got to safety—to Rafe. 
You screeched to a stop in front of Rafe’s townhouse, barely giving a backwards glance to see if they were really gone before hurrying the rest of the way to the front door. Hands trembling, you balled them both into fists, raising one to knock as loudly as you could. You could barely hear the thud of your fist on the wood over your thundering heart. 
The door opened in an instant, Rafe’s smiling face greeting you. It quickly faded when he took in your wide eyes, your hard breathing. He pulled you inside immediately, sliding the locks home behind you before gathering you into his arms. “What happened?”
You explained as quick as you could, but the adrenaline from the whole thing was starting to die down. Your previous thoughts were starting to seem silly at this point. JJ was a hothead, but you didn't think he’d go so far as to take out his anger on you. He was probably just trying to scare you, nothing more, nothing less. 
Rafe, on the other hand, was livid. 
“Did they hurt you?” He asked, voice dangerously low. His eyes searched you for any visible injuries, hands sliding over your body with the utmost care, a stark contrast to the storm creeping into his beautiful blue eyes. “I swear to god if those punks even laid a finger on you—” 
“No, no, they didn’t hurt me, Rafe. I’m okay now, I promise. Just a little shaken up is all.” You assured him, stopping his search by lacing your fingers through his. He still looked unsure. “I’m fine, baby. Honest.” 
Rafe’s brows furrowed long and hard, and you reached up, attempting to smooth out the deep wrinkle between them with your thumb. 
You traced above one of them, trailing down over the skin under it before letting your palm settle against his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut for a split second as he leaned more into your touch. The wrinkle disappeared. 
“Okay. But you’re not going home tonight. You’re gonna stay here, with me, and I’m gonna have a talk with my sister in the morning, okay?” He was calmer now, you could tell. The sharp edge to his voice was gone, his shoulders relaxed the more you stroked along his skin. You nodded, satisfied. “Can I make you something? Tea? A snack? I’ve got those cheese puffs you’re so obsessed with, though I don’t really see how good—” 
“Rafe,” You chided, smiling warmly, “You don’t have to dote on me. I’m fine.” 
“I know. My girl’s strong.” He murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to the soft skin of your palm. “Just had me worried for a bit, that’s all.” 
You kissed him, short and sweet, before tugging him towards the living room. Your gaze landed on the snacks he’d laid out on the coffee table first, drifting to the heaps of blankets and pillows on the couch right after.
Everything was already set up perfectly, and with all that had happened in just the past hour, sent a warmth flooding through your body, a sense of safe and love and home that you only ever felt when you were with Rafe. 
Rafe suddenly looked bashful, scratching the back of his neck with an embarrassed grin at the way you were looking at him. “What? I was excited to see you.” 
“You saw me yesterday, Rafe.” You chided lightly, completely failing at a stern look in favor of something much fonder. 
“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you.” 
“Rafe Cameron, are you going soft on me?” You hummed, settling onto the couch. Rafe threw himself down next to you with a nonchalant shrug, resting an idle hand on your knee when you threw your legs across his thighs, but the answer was a resounding yes.
Yes, he was soft for you. Yes, he loved you more than he loved anything and anyone in this world. 
He knew it, you knew it, and that was what prompted him to speak his next words. 
“Y’know, I’ve been thinking.” 
“Uh oh.” You snickered, drawing a roll of his eyes with a lopsided smile. 
“Hilarious. Anyways, um, what would—I mean, what’re your thoughts about maybe…moving in with me?” 
“Here?” Maybe you sounded a bit more skeptical than you meant to, because Rafe quickly backtracked, sitting up straight. 
“Doesn’t have to be here. We could get a new place, if you want.” He replied, shaking his head. “Top’s uncle works in real estate, I could probably get him to show us some places within the next couple of days—”
“No.” 
Rafe’s expression crumpled. “No? No, as in no, you don’t want to live together?” 
You amended your rather blunt statement with a hand placed over his. “No, as in no, I don’t want to get a new place. I wanna live here. With you.” 
“You do?” 
“Don’t look so surprised, Cameron, your place is way nicer than mine.” You teased. Clearly amused, he scoffed, giving your calf a playful pinch. 
“That the only reason?” 
“‘Course not. I’m also looking forward to that fancy shower head in your bathroom.” 
Rafe snorted, pulling you close against him, pressing his forehead against yours. He looked a bit funny like this, nearly bug-eyed because of your close proximity, but you thought he’d never looked cuter. “And me?” 
You peppered kisses to his cheeks, chin, nose, the corners of his mouth in lieu of an answer, loud and over dramatic and definitely obnoxious, but it made him laugh. Then you kissed him right where he wanted, firm and loving against his lips to say yes, always you, and he smiled. 
Moving in with Rafe meant getting to hear your favorite laugh, see your favorite smile, every single day waking up next to him. You hoped you’d get to experience it for the rest of your life, starting now. 
follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new fic :)
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em-dash-press · 2 years
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Game-Changing Sites for Writers
A recent search for a specific type of site to help me build new characters led me down a rabbit hole. Normally, that would make me much less productive, but I have found a treasure trove of websites for writers.
Bring Characters/Places to Life
There are a few different places you can use to create a picture of something entirely new. I love this site for making character pictures as references, instead of stock photos or whatever pops up on Google Images.
thispersondoesnotexist: every time you reload the page, this site generates a headshot of someone who doesn't exist. This is great if you're thinking about a character's personality or age and don't have specifics for their facial features yet.
Night Cafe: this is an AI art generator that takes your text prompt and generates an image for it. I tried it for various scenery, like "forest" or "cottage." It takes a minute for your requested photo to load, but no more than maybe five for the program to finish the picture.
Art Breeder: this website has endless images of people, places, and general things. Users can blend photos to create something new and curious visitors can browse/download those images without creating an account. (But if you do want to make an account to create your own, it's free!)
Find Random Places on Earth
You might prefer to set a story in a real-life environment so you can reference that place's weather, seasons, small-town vibe, or whatever you like. If that's the case, try:
MapCrunch: the homepage generates a new location each day and gives the location/GPS info in the top left of the screen. To see more images from previous days, hit "Gallery" in the top left.
Atlas Obscura: hover over or tap the "Places" tab, then hit "Random Place." A new page will load with a randomly generated location on the planet, provide a Google Maps link, and tell you a little bit about the place.
Random World Cities: this site makes randomly selected lists of global cities. Six appear for each search, although you'll have to look them up to find more information about each place. You can also use the site to have it select countries, US cities or US states too.
Vary Your Wording
Thesauruses are great, but these websites have some pretty cool perspectives on finding just the right words for stories.
Describing Words: tell this website which word you want to stop repeating and it will give you tons of alternative words that mean the same thing. It typically has way more options than other sites I use.
Reverse Dictionary: type what you need a word for in Reverse Dictionary's search box and it will give you tons of words that closely match what you want. It also lists the words in order of relevancy, starting with a word that most accurately describes what you typed. (There's also an option to get definitions for search results!)
Tip of My Tongue: this website is phenomenal. It lets you search for that word you can't quite place by a letter in it, the definition, what it sounds like, or even its scrambled letters. A long list of potential options will appear on the right side of the screen for every search.
---
Hope this helps when you need a hand during your next writing session 💛
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dailyadventureprompts · 4 months
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Homebrew Mechanic: Meaningful Research
Being careful about when you deliver information to your party is one of the most difficult challenges a dungeonmaster may face, a balancing act that we constantly have to tweak as it affects the pacing of our campaigns.
That said, unlike a novel or movie or videogame where the writers can carefully mete out exposition at just the right time, we dungeonmasters have to deal with the fact that at any time (though usually not without prompting) our players are going to want answers about what's ACTUALLY going on, and they're going to take steps to find out.
To that end I'm going to offer up a few solutions to a problem I've seen pop up time and time again, where the heroes have gone to all the trouble to get themselves into a great repository of knowledge and end up rolling what seems like endless knowledge checks to find out what they probably already know. This has been largely inspired by my own experience but may have been influenced by watching what felt like several episodes worth of the critical role gang hitting the books and getting nothing in return.
I've got a whole write up on loredumps, and the best way to dripfeed information to the party, but this post is specifically for the point where a party has gained access to a supposed repository of lore and are then left twiddling their thumbs while the dm decides how much of the metaplot they're going to parcel out.
When the party gets to the library you need to ask yourself: Is the information there to be found?
No, I don't want them to know yet: Welcome them into the library and then save everyone some time by saying that after a few days of searching it’s become obvious the answers they seek aren’t here. Most vitally, you then either need to give them a new lead on where the information might be found, or present the development of another plot thread (new or old) so they can jump on something else without losing momentum.
No, I want them to have to work for it:  your players have suddenly given you a free “insert plothook here” opportunity. Send them in whichever direction you like, so long as they have to overcome great challenge to get there. This is technically just kicking the can down the road, but you can use that time to have important plot/character beats happen.
Yes, but I don’t want to give away the whole picture just yet:  The great thing about libraries is that they’re full of books, which are written by people,  who are famously bad at keeping their facts straight. Today we live in a world of objective or at least peer reviewed information but the facts in any texts your party are going to stumble across are going to be distorted by bias. This gives you the chance to give them the awnsers they want mixed in with a bunch of red herrings and misdirections. ( See the section below for ideas)
Yes, they just need to dig for it:  This is the option to pick if you're willing to give your party information upfront while at the same time making it SEEM like they're overcoming the odds . Consider having an encounter, or using my minigame system to represent their efforts at looking for needles in the lithographic haystack. Failure at this system results in one of the previous two options ( mixed information, or the need to go elsewhere), where as success gets them the info dump they so clearly crave.
The Art of obscuring knowledge AKA Plato’s allegory of the cave, but in reverse
One of the handiest tools in learning to deliver the right information at the right time is a sort of “slow release exposition” where you wrap a fragment lore the party vitally needs to know in a coating of irrelevant information,  which forces them to conjecture on possibilities and draw their own conclusions.  Once they have two or more pieces on the same subject they can begin to compare and contrast, forming an understanding that is merely the shadow of the truth but strong enough to operate off of. 
As someone who majored in history let me share some of my favourite ways I’ve had to dig for information, in the hopes that you’ll be able to use it to function your players.
A highly personal record in the relevant information is interpreted through a personal lens to the point where they can only see the information in question 
Important information cameos in the background of an unrelated historical account
The information can only be inferred from dry as hell accounts or census information. Cross reference with accounts of major historical events to get a better picture, but everything we need to know has been flattened into datapoints useful to the bureaucracy and needs to be re-extrapolated.
The original work was lost, and we only have this work alluding to it. Bonus points if the existent work is notably parodying the original, or is an attempt to discredit it.
Part of a larger chain of correspondence, referring to something the writers both experienced first hand and so had no reason to describe in detail. 
The storage medium (scroll, tablet, arcane data crystal) is damaged in some way, leading to only bits of information being known. 
Original witnesses Didn’t have the words to describe the thing or events in question and so used references from their own environment and culture. Alternatively, they had specific words but those have been bastardized by rough translations. 
Tremendously based towards a historical figure/ideology/religion to the point that all facts in the piece are questionable.  Bonus points if its part of a treatise on an observably untrue fact IE the flatness of earth
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noxturnalpascal · 4 months
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Dancing is a Dangerous Game
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(FrankieMorales  x  F!Stripper!Reader)
A/N & Warnings: Sexual Content below - 18+ only, Frankie doing what he do (iykyk), unspecified age gap (anywhere from 10-15 yrs), talk of stripping/dancing as a job that pays the bills. The photos on the Moodboard are just for fun, the female Reader is not specifically physically described so you can imagine her however you want. Thank you to @saradika for the divider.
Did I make this prompt up myself for me and some fellow writers? Yes. Did I set the word count limit? Also Yes. Did I stick anywhere even close to that limit? *laughs hysterically.
PROMPT: Pick a Pedge Daddy character - Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Dave York, etc. (it can be Canon or Non-Canon/AU/No Outbreak).
PPCU Daddy is surprised - and excited - to learn that the grad/postgrad student he hires to watch his child sometimes also works as a: stripper/dancer/cam-girl/onlyfans-model/dating-or-escort-service (or straight-up SW) 
*1000 word Minimum - 2000 word Maximum
WC: 4749  (I have a problem)
Frankie’s mouth was hanging open. He knew he should close it. He knew he looked like a weirdo. He knew he was about to get a “Catfish, lookin’ like a fish” joke from his friends. But for the life of him he couldn’t take his eyes off the stage, or close his gaping jaw.
Not since his babysitter walked on stage and started taking her clothes off.
To be fair, you're not his babysitter anymore. Not since he called you three weeks ago asking if you could babysit for him tonight and you broke the news to him that you'd gotten a new job and couldn't babysit anymore. At least now he understands why you left the not-so-lucrative world of babysitting for an arguably better-paying gig. 
You've only been dancing for two minutes and he already sees more money on the stage than he would've paid you to sit his kid tonight. He’s been watching as you undulate your body across the stage, bending and dipping, stripping down to your underwear. Even though part of him thinks he should, he definitely doesn’t look away when you divest yourself of your lacy little bra.
He always thought you were hot. He was a newly-single dad, interviewing you for a semi-regular babysitting gig. He tried to focus on your resume and your qualifications. He tried to breathe through his mouth so he couldn’t smell your delicate perfume. He tried to ignore the dewy pink lipgloss you had spread across your mouth, which is in stark contrast to the bright red lipstick you are currently sporting.
He was very motivated by the fact that you, as a graduate student in your mid-20’s, seemed more responsible to leave his kid with than the other applicants to his babysitting ad, all of whom were literal teenagers. But truth be told - you were also really fucking hot. Horny dad and the hot babysitter, what a fucking cliche he was.
However, in the eleven months you babysat for him, he never acted on his inappropriate attraction to you. He never treated you as anything other than an employee. You’d show up to his house, hair in a messy bun, wearing comfy clothes, ready to sit on the living room floor all evening playing with his kid. He was polite, and respectful, and was almost positive you never caught him staring at your tits.
Your tits that he’s most definitely staring at right now. Holy shit you have great tits.
“Fuckin’ A Fish, if you’re gonna keep your mouth open, you could at least pour some beer into it.”
“Huh?” Frankie snaps his head back to the table he’s sat at, surrounded by his friends. They all chuckle. 
“We’re about to order the next round and you didn’t even drink any of that one yet,” Benny says as he points to the dripping bottle in Frankie’s hand.
Oh, sorry, Frankie mumbles as he pushes the now-warm bottle to his lips and begins to drink the beer down, his eyes moving back to the stage. The entire club is lit only by colored lights that coordinate with the twirling lights and lasers pointed at the stage, pulsating to the tempo of the music you’ve picked. Fog rolls across the floor of the stage, cascading over the edge. 
There’s a single golden pole at an outcropping of the stage that you’re now gripping with both hands, sticking your ass out towards the audience and giving it a wiggle. You let go of the pole and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties. You slowly begin to push them down and just as the crack of your ass comes into view Frankie momentarily forgets that he can’t swallow liquid and breathe at the same time. 
He begins to sputter and cough, choking on the bubbly liquid and spurting it across the table onto the faces of half of his friends. He’s met with groans, curses, and several swats to the back of his head as he attempts to get his wheezing under control, and the fluid out of his trachea.
Santi, who somehow managed to avoid Frankie’s beer-foam projectile, slaps a palm on Frankie’s shoulder and says,
“Guys, Frankie’s real sorry, he’s just never seen a naked woman before.”
The laughter at Frankie’s expense serves as some form of forgiveness, and everyone slowly goes back to flirting with the wandering dancers and ordering their second round. Santi keeps his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and leans into Frankie’s personal space.
“You alright?” Santi asks, squeezing his friend’s shoulder firmly.
Frankie manages to mutter a strangled yeah before several rounds of trying to clear his throat. The lights have dimmed, sinking the club temporarily into a hazy darkness. He briefly registers that the song you were dancing to has ended, so you’ve most likely left the stage.
Santi laughs, shaking his head. He moves his mouth right to Frankie’s ear, almost whispering.
“When I convinced Will to have his bachelor party at this club I thought you’d be the one making your hot babysitter choke, not the other way around,” and he claps Frankie on the back hard, “if you know what I mean.”
Frankie’s eyes go wide as he meets Santi’s crooked grin, but his friend offers nothing more as he moves to the other side of the table, turning his devilish smile on the waitress. He orders two beers and three shots for each man, dismissing the groans of protest from the table. Bachelor Down!, he shouts at Will as everyone does their shots and chases them with cheap beer.
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You approach the table full of men with seven other dancers, each of you assigned by the club to give a 20-minute private dance to one of the members of the bachelor party. You’re each in various states of dress, but most are only half-dressed. You’re back in your lacy underwear set - panties and bra - but the sheer nature of the fabric leaves little to the imagination. 
Your previous job as a part-time nanny worked while you were an undergrad. When you started law school it became too much and you had to switch to more infrequent evening babysitting gigs so you had your days free for school and studying. Unable to keep up with school payments you recently had to find something new. Something that only required night and weekend availability, but paid really well.
Enter: Stripping. 
You’ve only been doing this job for a little over a month but you’d quickly gotten very comfortable with being naked in front of strangers. You had your little dance routine and could easily make flirty banter with the club’s customers. Your boss was impressed enough that he’d started assigning you party gigs with some of the other girls, like this bachelor group.
You walk up to the group of strangers, the rest of the girls fan around the table as you’re left standing just behind a broad-shouldered man with a baseball cap on, curls sticking out from under the back strap. You turn to the man with a big smile on your face.
Holy Fuck. 
Not a Stranger.
It’s Francisco Morales. The hot dad you until-recently babysat for.
He looks at you sheepishly. Your hands immediately fly to cover your breasts, suddenly mortified that your nipples are showing through your nearly-transparent choice of outfit. 
“Mr. Morales!”
“Oh I- I already,” he begins to stutter. Is he telling you that he’s already seen your tits? 
You look around at the collection of empty beer bottles and shot glasses on the table and figure that they’ve all been here for much longer than just your dance. So covering your nipples does nothing for your modesty as hot dad has probably already seen everything. You drop your arms to your side, attempting to look relaxed and casual.
“So I-uh. I guess you found a babysitter for tonight.”
He laughs. He actually laughs at your awkward attempt at diffusing the tension. Thank god. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can say anything one of his friends is speaking to the group. He explains that “everyone gets a private dance” and no one can object - and he looks right at Mr. Morales when he says this - because “it’s all been paid for already.”
Following the lead of the other girls you gently grab Mr. Morales’ hand, missing the looks back and forth between him and his friend. You do your best to confidently lead him back to the private rooms with the rest of his group. There are a dozen rooms in the hallway and eight of them have been held in reserve for this bachelor party group. Pulling him inside the last room on the right, you close the door behind you. 
The room is dim, save for the red glow of the lights. The ceiling and floor are both painted black and the three walls without the door are mirrored. Towards the left is a single high-backed black leather chair facing a brass pole that sits in the exact center of the room. On the far side of the room is a curved loveseat against the wall.
This should be easy. Not just because this is your job but because unlike any other man you’ve ever led back here, this is a man you are extremely attracted to. 
This is a man you have fantasized about.
You’ve imagined his curls between your fingers when you’ve grabbed a fistful of a customer's hair, imagined that it’s his stubble scratching between your breasts when you’ve pressed them close. You’ve envisioned his wide chest as you ran your hands down their front, his massive paws in your hands as you’ve taken their sweaty palms and placed them on your rolling hips. 
You’ve wished they were his thighs that you were grinding your ass onto and his erection that you all-too-frequently felt pressing into you. That should make this easy. But instead you’re super fucking nervous. Even more nervous than your first night here, when you dragged your panties down your legs and bent over, exposing your pussy lips to a packed room of strangers. 
What makes you most nervous is probably that the fantasies didn’t stop in the club. It would be one thing if they were just here, serving as a comfort, self-soothing by putting a familiar face in place of a groping stranger’s face. But that’s not the truth. You’ve imagined him at home too. 
In the shower, pretending your hands were his hands as you pinched and plucked at your wet nipples. Daydreaming about his weight on top of you, fucking into you, as you drove one of your toys in and out of your wet cunt. 
And if you’re being perfectly honest, you can admit that it’s been going on for almost a year, since shortly after he hired you to be his babysitter. Remembering the times you’d made yourself come on his couch, hours after his kid had fallen asleep, waiting for him to return home from a night out with his friends. Your hand stuffed down the front of your pants, petting your clit to the thought of him on his knees in front of you.
You never thought you’d actually be naked in front of your fantasy-DILF. This is like being slapped in the face with your own wet dreams. This is kind of a nightmare.
“Listen, you don’t have to-” he begins just as you start to speak as well.
“Mr. Morales I know-” and you both stop and let out breathy, nervous laughs.
“C-Can you please stop calling me Mr. Morales?”
“Oh sorry! Is that weird?”
“It sounds like the start of a bad porno,” he groans, laughing again. “Please just call me Frankie.”
“Of course, I’m so sorry Mist- Frankie. Sorry. Frankie.”
You both break out in laughter again, loudly this time, hoping to finally diffuse some of the tension. A knock sounds at the door and a deep voice - security - asks if everything is alright. You shout back that everything is fine and the room quiets down.
“I should start the music and get going,” you say quietly, motioning for him to sit on the curved red velvet seat against the far wall.
You press a button above his head and music starts up, the first of three songs forming a 10-minute loop that will repeat for this booking. You look into the mirrored wall to your left and notice how nervous you look. Then you meet his eyes in the mirror. Why does he look just as nervous?
You straddle one of his legs and shakily reach back to undo the clasp on your bra. You meet his eyes again. Fuck he can see how your hands are shaking. You look like such a fucking kid. A goddamn amateur. This is going to be the least-sexy lapdance he’s ever been given. 
You can’t stop the gasp that leaves your lips when you suddenly feel his hot hands covering yours at your back. 
“You can leave this on if you’d be more comfortable,” he says softly, barely heard over the pumping bass of the music.
“No I’m fine, I’m just…” you don’t know how to explain to him without embarrassing yourself but suddenly you’re making an admission and the word-vomit has left your mouth before you can even do anything to stop it. “I just always thought you were hot.” 
There it is. It’s out there now. 
He opens his mouth to say something and your nerves bubble up and come out as more words and why the fuck are you talking more?
“I know, I know,” you spit out before he can get a word in, “the babysitter thirsting after the hot dad, how prosaic, right? Talk about a bad porno.”
His warm hands still touching you, he slowly moves his fingers around yours, deftly undoing the clasp of your bra for you.
“It’s okay, I kinda… thought you were hot too,” his admission slips out in a whisper.
You really want to kiss him right now. But that would be a very bad idea. Security patrols the hallway and the door has a small window towards the top of it. It allows security to peek inside and see from the shoulders up. Usually if they can see your shoulders, all is good. If they can’t see your shoulders, it gives them an idea if rules are being broken or if the girls need help. 
Kissing - among other things - is against the rules.
You barely turn to look at the windowed door but you’re embarrassed to think that Frankie must know what you’re thinking because it’s like he can read your mind. Or maybe he’s just thinking about kissing you too? Either way he puts his hands back down to his sides and lets you lean into him, allowing your bra to slowly shift down your shoulders until it falls into his lap.
Your tits are right in his face. You’re half naked in front of the hot dad whose child you used to babysit. The hot dad who you’ve pictured doing this exact thing with - and more. But he’s not even looking at your tits. He’s looking you right in your eyes and making you feel more naked than you’ve ever been in your whole life.
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He shouldn’t be here, not doing this, not with you. He should ask for a different girl. He should tell the security guy to kick him out. He’s making you so uncomfortable, he can tell by your twitching movements and halting breaths. He can’t stop staring at you like he’s some kind of lonely creep, what a fucking weirdo he’s being.
You position your legs on the outside of his, keeping his legs slightly open and his hands obediently face-down on the couch next to him. You’re straddling him but hovering above his lap, seemingly careful not to touch him. When you put your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself you begin to stiffly roll your body towards and then away from him.
He doesn’t know where to look. He can’t keep looking at your face, he knows the eye-contact is getting very disturbing. Why the hell did he tell you he kinda thought you were hot too? At least he didn’t admit the truth, that he thought you were fucking supernova-hot. He’s had to bite his tongue countless times to stop from asking you out.
He focuses his eyes at the hollow dip that lies at the base of your throat. It has a dance of its own, moving slightly with your pulse and rolling with your shallow breaths, the rise and fall of your chest a baseline rhythm. He tries not to think about your bare breasts just below, breasts that he’s thought about putting his hands on every single time you’ve walked into his house for the last year. 
He can see your deep red lips in his peripheral vision, and immediately the image of those lips on his skin is conjured. He pictures a chaste kiss planted on his cheek followed by a less-chaste thought of his thumb pressed into your mouth, your eyes looking up at him while your lips leave a red ring on his hand. He needs to fucking calm down. This is just a dance. You’re at work doing your literal job.
He suddenly notices you’ve almost completely stopped moving. He looks up at your face and you’re wearing a tight, pained expression. His brows furrow. Oh no. What’s wrong? Is his erection noticable? Is he creeping you out too badly? Do you want him to leave? He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay but you silence him with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders.
“I think I’m gonna die if you don’t touch me,” you squeak out in a strained whisper.
In the back of his head a part of him thinks that he shouldn’t immediately cave. It shouldn’t be this easy. Part of him thinks he should need more than just you saying that. 
But he doesn’t. At all.
He slowly slides his body down the sofa, pushing his frame between your legs. You move your feet apart to accommodate his wide shoulders once you realize he won’t fit otherwise. He stops when his ass is sitting on the floor and his head is just above the seat of the sofa, you towering over him. He reaches down and begins to take off your platform heels one at a time. 
As your bare feet hit the floor you run your hands up your neck, over your face, and through your hair, your knees knocking at his shoulders. Touching you gently with only two fingers on each hand, he pushes on the backs of your thighs, guiding you even closer to his face. He grabs your feet and holds them in his hands, forcing your legs to fold and pushing your knees past his ears as his head rests back on the seat.
You’re kneeling at the edge of the sofa, shins on the cushion, feet dangling over his shoulders, your toes curled in his massive hands on his chest, and his head between your thighs. Your face still looks uneasy, and he can just make out whining noises over the music. High-pitched and breathy, the way a dog would beg for scraps at the dinner table.
“Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna touch you now,” he growls.
You grab the brim of his hat and twist it off his head, immediately diving your fingers into his locks. He squeezes your toes and you take his cue, lifting your hips and canting them towards his waiting mouth. Latching his mouth onto your underwear, he runs his tongue up and down your covered seam. 
He feels you begin to rock your hips into his face, rolling your body above him. Any security who looked in the window would see your shoulders moving to the beat and assume you were kneeling on the couch and giving a lap dance. He can only barely see you from his angle, sees the lace of your panties, sees your wrists grabbing at his hair.
Letting go of one of your feet, he grabs at your wrist, dragging your hand from his head to the front of your own underwear. You run your fingers down yourself, parting them around his mouth, letting his tongue tangle in them. Then you grab the edge of the gusset and pull it to the side.
Wasting no time, he immediately begins to lick at your folds, tasting the wetness that has gathered there. A lot of wetness. Christ, you’re so fucking wet. His nose touches just below your clit and a string of your arousal attaches him to you when he pulls back slightly.
A slight pause in the music has his heart stop and his stomach in his throat. After a couple seconds - that seem to stretch on forever - the first song begins playing again, restarting what must be a looped set of music. 
That must mean this private dance-time is halfway over. Ten minutes left but since you two probably started after everyone else you might not have the full ten minutes of privacy if his friends decide to burst in the door. Which, if they’re led by Santi, is a real possibility.
Less than ten minutes. No problem.
You must also feel the sense of urgency because you adjust your hand that is holding your panties to the side. You take your thumb and pointer finger and move them over yourself, parting your lips to open yourself more to him and pulling up slightly, exposing your nub. He flattens his tongue in response and drags it over your sensitive bundle, noting the way your body trembles when he does so.
He knows he doesn’t have the time to edge you as he’d like to, but he can’t help himself when he moves his head lower and twists his tongue into your hole, thrusting it into you. You are bouncing yourself slightly up and down, helping him fuck yourself on his tongue. He feels your wetness pouring over his lips and dripping down through his whiskers.
He feels your hand leave your own body and tangle back in his curls along with your other one, grabbing two fistfuls of hair tightly in your grip. Having had enough of his teasing you’re apparently deciding to take matters into your own hands.
Frankie loves eating pussy but this? This might be his favorite thing in the whole world.
He angles his head perfectly, opens his mouth, and sticks his tongue out stiffly as you begin to grind your pussy against his face. You’re using his nose, his tongue, his chin, even the bristles of his facial hair. You’re using whatever you can to get yourself off as you ride his face. It takes everything in his power not to break out in a giant smile.
He doesn’t hear you, you’re still being the quietest you’ve been since you got in this room, but he feels it. Shit, does he ever feel it. He feels your body tense, then your legs quiver, feels the pulsing in your cunt as you press yourself firm into his still-open mouth. He gently laps up your gushing orgasm as you release the grip on his hair and whimper softly above him.
Knowing you’re short on time, he has you climb off him much sooner than he’d like you to. Your heavy-lidded eyes meet his and then yours go wide. You bend down and grab his hat, plopping it back on his head and attempting to tame his just-fucked-hair back underneath it. You run to the corner of the room and grab a small robe hanging on a hook, skipping back over and roughly wiping his face off with it the way you would a toddler after a meal.
He quickly adjusts himself, tucking his protruding hardness under his belt in an attempt to conceal it as he watches you adjust your askew panties. Still topless, you throw the robe back towards the corner in a panic just as there is a quick knock at the door. Without a signal to enter the door flies open anyways, no less than three of his friends bursting through the doorway drunkenly, shots in hand for Frankie to partake in.
They make Frankie drink the shots before he even leaves the room and then they drag him away from you, hollering obnoxiously. All he can manage is an apologetic look over his shoulder as he hears the final song finally come to an end. Time’s up. Luckily you’re laughing at their antics and don’t seem to be upset. Maybe you were just flirting with him because that’s your job. Maybe you just wanted a good tip.
A tip! Shit.
Being dragged down the hallway Frankie grabs Santi by the arm and asks in his ear how much he should tip you. Santi says he usually tips $200. Frankie is shocked that a 20 minute dance would garner that big of a tip, but then again it’s been a long time since he’s been at a place like this. And to be fair, you - albeit unknowingly - let him fulfill a long-time fantasy of his.
$200 is more than he would have paid you to watch his kid tonight. No wonder you’re not his babysitter anymore. He fishes around in his wallet and takes out all the cash he has, $236. He manages to break off from the group of guys after they do another couple shots and he looks around for you. 
Unable to find you he spots one of the girls you came to the table with and she lets him know you’re on a break but she can get the tip to you. He hands her the folded bills and she thanks him by leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. When she pulls back from him she widens her eyes at him and flashes him a knowing smile.
“I’m sure she’s very appreciative… of the tip,” she winks.
Frankie tries not to blush and resists the urge to high-tail it to the bathroom and wash his face off, opting instead to keep the scent of you on him. He returns to the table of his too-drunk-to-notice friends and finishes out the night of revelry.
.
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3:03am
Hey
Hi
3:06am
Sorry
3:09am
You’re probably asleep
3:10am
Hi
I’m just getting home actually
3:11am
Oh cool me too
Sorry to bother 
I just wanted to make sure you got your tip
I left it with your friend
3:14am
I did, yes. Thank you so much.
3:14am
Cool 👍
3:16am
Don’t take this the wrong way…
But how drunk were you tonight?
3:18am
Idk
Why?
What did I do?
I’m so sorry
3:19am
No, don’t be sorry!
I’m not trying to be rude.
I just….
Did you mean to tip me that amount?
3:25am
Oh my god
Was it not enough?
I can give you more
I’m really sorry
Do you have Venmo?
3:27am
No! OMG. It was plenty!
Literally the most I’ve ever been tipped is like 40%
You tipped me 118%
3:30am
Oh
3:31am
Yeah so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get too drunk
And accidentally just give me everything in your wallet
3:35am
Is that what happened?
3:37am
Because I can Venmo some money back to you
It’s really not a problem
3:40am
Sorry no
I just tipped what my friend told me to
3:41am
Well I checked with the other girls….
NONE of your friends tipped that much
And they were all very generous!
3:44am
But none as generous as you
3:45am
He’s such an asshole
I’m sorry
I didn’t know
I feel like an idiot
3:46am
Again, please don’t be sorry
It was VERY generous of you
And I’m very grateful
3:50am
I was in a giving mood tonight I suppose
3:51am
Mr. Morales, is that you being flirty?
3:53am
Oh we’re back to Mr. Morales now?
3:55am
Can you get a babysitter on Wednesday night?
3:55am
I don’t have custody this week so no babysitter needed
Why?
3:56am
We should go out to dinner
3:57am
Oh we should?
3:59am
Yeah we should
Frankie
4:01am
MY treat
4:01am
LOL I should hope so!
4:02am
Pick me up at 7 😉
4:02am
I will
See you Wednesday
302 notes · View notes
biggestsimp12 · 2 months
Text
Cheesy woo attempts!
In which they (or you) are trying to seduce you with cheesy pick up lines!
Characters- Itto, Cyno, Lyney, Xiao.
Prompt- none. Just some cracky idea I got.
(characters+rule list here-feel free to request anything!)
-------–––––———
Lyney
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GIF by c6jpg
“Are you a magician? Because when I’m looking at you, you make everyone else disappear!”
Confused. It took him a few good seconds before realizing what you did there.
He proceeds to have the biggest smug smile on his face (with a hint of blush as well,) persuaded to join in your little game that you're playing.
"Not sure dear. But I know something else for sure I can make disappear~"
He winked mischievously and sets his arm around your shoulder before continuing his phrase.
"And that's your dating availability, my dear!~"
He snickered before planting a big smooch on your lips, making a rose appear behind your ear. This checky bastard knows all too well he left you speechless and flustered. After all, that's the way he likes it.
--––——
Cyno
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GIF by k0komis
The pair of you were patrolling together through the Sumeru's desert Great Red Sand, enduring the painfully annoying heat and the flying wind which was like purposely aimed straight in your guys' faces.
Cyno seemed to be used to this since he carries out these patrols daily, unlike you, who's only joined him in the range over recently.
Therefore, you kept sneezing from the flying sand that entered your nastrals, proceeding to make your nose runny and eyes watery. Seeing this, Cyno being the person he is, logically attempted on making your mood better.
“I’d say God bless you, but it looks like he already has!”
Typical Cyno joke. It made you blush a little so I guess he thinks it was worth it?
----––——
Xiao
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“Do you believe in love at first sight—or should I walk by again?”
Another one who's confused. However, this time, this unfortunate fella has barely a tiny idea about what love is yet, so he isn't really thick with the concept. You have some explaining to do since this guy will assume it is another one of those mortal shenanigans you like to pull on him.
What type of mortal.. What was the word again? Firt? Uhm no, that's not it.. Oh, right.. "Flirt." What kind of mortal fir- "flirt" are you doing again? Am I supposed to laugh or..?
Why so cold and dry answer dear? No you need me to warm your heart up?
You officially broke Xiao lmao
--––——
Itto
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You were walking through Inazuma, the land of Electro. You spotted a sweet and lollipop stand, which reminded you of Itto and his favorite treats. The shop also had his colors, which were red and white. You couldn't help but think how much Itto would love this place, and mutter that you wished he was there.
As you purchased two lollipops, you didn't realize that Itto was behind them. He startled you by jumping to you in a goofy way.
"Granted! Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?"
You turn around and chuckle at him, asking what he's doing here. Itto responds with another cheesy line, saying that he came for something amazing, but found you instead.
You roll your eyes, but couldn't help feeling slightly flustered. You shove one of the lollipops into Itto's mouth, who continues to say cheesy pick-up lines to flirt with you.
Itto's goofy and smug behavior continues, but you're slightly amused. They eat the other lollipop, and they proceed to banter with each other as Itto continues to flirt with them. You can't help but feel a little flustered, but at the same time, you can't help but admire Itto's charm.
---———–
The end <3
(requests are always open and welcomed!^^)
203 notes · View notes
scorpiussage · 7 months
Text
The Robin to My Batman (Neil Lewis/Fem!OC)
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Pairing: Neil Lewis/Fem!OC 
Summary: A comic book store opens up next to Gumshoe Video prompting a hot and heavy feud between the two businesses and their nerdy owners. 
Theme: Romance - Enemies to Lovers 
Warnings: Nerds being nerds, smut 
The early morning walks to open Gumshoe Video are always enjoyable for Neil. He loves getting coffee from that family owned Armenian coffee shop down the street, greeting the old man who owns the hardware store across the street, and contemplating what the day’s theme should be. 
However, his gorgeous, peaceful morning comes to a screeching halt as he spots a large moving truck parked in front of Gumshoe— no, parked in front of the vacant store to the left of his. He quickly darts into the alleyway across the street and watches with mounting horror as some—so far unrecognizable—new business moves in. 
“No no no no no,” Neil mutters to himself, already picturing the worst case scenario. What if it’s a competing video store? Or perhaps on of those Christian shops that sells over priced bible themed tchotchkes? Both are miserable possibilities and he has no idea what he’ll do if either of those ends up being the case. 
When the coast is clear of movers, Neil goes sprinting into his store and making a made dash for the phone to call his friends. 
He has a bad feeling about this. 
The first time he sees her is at the grand opening of Golden Age Comics, the new comic book store next door. The first thing he sees when he walks in isn’t the life sized cutouts of various comic book characters placed strategically about nor the wall display of rare figurines. 
No, the first thing he sees is her, Bailey Taylor, the owner of the shop. She’s dressed like Wonder Woman, displaying these long shapely legs that have Neil’s jaw going slack in awe. She flutters about the store, greeting customers and advertising the big grand opening sale she’s running. 
Johnathan and Lucien, who came into the store with him, start needling each other excitedly, muttering about how hot she is and Neil can only feel dread. This can only spell bad news, he just knows it. 
Not at all like a coward, he quickly flees the store before she can approach him. 
The first time he actually meets Bailey, she comes into his shop. Today Gumshoe is having a deal on westerns and so Neil is dressed accordingly as a cowboy. When she walks into his store, it creates a rather comical juxtaposition as it appears her own store is having a sale on Japanese manga. 
Sailor Moon Bailey and Cowboy Neil stare each other down. 
“Um, hi,” she greets with an awkward little wave, her smile bright despite the uncomfortable mood, “I own the comic book store next door. My name is Bailey.” 
Neil nods stiffly, doing everything in his power to not stare at how hot she looks in that cosplay. When Neil fails to respond, an irritatingly adorable frown mars her features 
“Okay,” she mutters to herself before saying, “Well, I just wanted to see if you’d be willing to do a team-up and have a collaborative sale.” 
Neil scoffs, “And what? Hock old Adam West Batman tapes?”
She perks up and nods enthusiastically, “Yes! Exactly! I actually have this really great id-.”
Neil shudders at the thought and cuts her off before she can get going, “The old Batman show is absolute garbage in its cinematic delivery— no way would I subject my customers to that.” 
The glare she gives him could cut steel and admittedly makes his happy bits stir in interest. 
“Garbage?” She snarls, “That show was a pioneer for superhero media! Just because some over hyped alcoholic wife beater didn’t direct it, doesn’t mean it’s not good!” 
Neil’s eyes narrow at her and he crosses his arms, trying to appear more authoritative than he usually looks, “Oh believe me, the director has nothing to do with the bad editing and poor visual shots!” 
The woman looks like she’s visibly holding herself back from launching herself over the counter and decking Neil in the face. His cock makes another inappropriate twitch at the thought and he internally scolds himself for these reactions. 
Without another word, Bailey storms out of the store and stomps her way back to her own shop and Neil breathes a sigh of relief. 
God, he really needs to get laid if some uneducated comic dork is getting him riled up. 
After that disastrous first encounter, a Cold War of sorts settles over the two businesses. If Neil is having a sale, Bailey will have a better one. If Neil does a midnight showing of a movie, Bailey hosts a free-to-join D&D party. If Neil dressed up, Bailey does too but does it better. 
It’s aggravating. 
Neil doesn’t even know what it is about her that has him going absolutely insane, but it’s beginning to be a problem. For instance, last week she dressed up like Cat Woman and strutted about both in and out of her store, placing herself in full view of Neil boredly manning the register of his own shop. He had to go and jerk off in his office like five times; and he was still horny afterwards!
Like he said— problem. 
And it’s only getting worse. 
“Dude, oh my god! She’s dressed like a school girl today!” Johnathan says while rushing into the shop, a lecherous grin on his face, “Her skirt is so short!” 
Lucien cheers and Neil rams his head onto the surface of the checkout counter repeatedly. 
He’s gonna die horny and infuriated by her subpar taste in cinema, it’s inevitable. 
Lucien just gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and leaves him to his melancholy while he and Johnathan go next door. 
“Ugh what do I do?!” He laments pathetically to himself. 
The second interaction that Neil has with Bailey happens on a slow night for both businesses. 
Neil is parked on the shop couch, watching Lady in the Lake and barely staying awake when she comes into his shop. She’s dressed normal today in a worn Captain Marvel t-shirt and denim shorts and he’s a little too tired to properly hide the slow up and down he gives her. 
A little blush settles on her face when she catches him doing that. 
“Slow night?” She asks after clearing her throat awkwardly. 
“Yeah, you?” 
Bailey blows a raspberry and nods, walking over to the couch and throwing herself down onto it next to Neil. He quickly scoots over, giving her room while trying to smooth his shirt and hair down to look less like a mess. 
“What are we watching?” She asks. 
Things sort of devolve from there. Whether it was one innocent comment taken the wrong way, or an intentional dig, it prompts a fresh new screaming match between the two of them over the cinematic quality of the Adam West Batman series. This woman will not let go of that trash TV series, Neil realizes.
Bailey gets up from the couch at some point, Neil hot on her heels as they move their heated argument about the store. It’s when they’re next to the wall that Neil pushes her against the surface and pins her arms high above her. He’s not thinking when he kisses her, pushing his tongue into her mouth to taste her— he’s running purely on adrenaline and instinct. 
That first kiss they share is not a gentle one; it’s rough and filthy and hot. 
“You are such a brat,” Neil bites out scathingly, his hands slipping away from her wrists to start running over her chest, cupping those perky tits of hers in his hands. 
“You are an obnoxious tool!” She sneers in return, her now free hands making quick work of his belt buckle and the button on his jeans. 
“I can’t believe how terrible your taste is in cinema! A rock would have better opinions!” Neil helps her push his pants down and then reaches forward to yank her shirt off. The bra she’s wearing is just a simple navy colored one but it has him physically biting back a moan at the sight. 
She smirks up at him, then pushes him away with a rough shove, sending him into one of the shelves. She gets into his space, wrapping her arms around his neck and initiating another one of those blood racing kisses. 
He reaches down and grabs her under her thighs, hoisting her up to wrap her legs around his waist. He starts walking them back towards his office, fully intent on throwing her down onto his couch in there and getting all this frustration out of his system. 
Sex has always been pretty gentle and by-the-book for Neil, he’s never had a desire to be rough or for a partner to be rough with him, but Bailey makes his head fuzzy. She makes him want to do things he’s never done before. 
“Fuck— Neil!” She gasps when he puts her down and immediately sticks his hand down the front of her shorts and starts rubbing along her slit. It’s so wet and he groans, his cock twitching in anticipation. 
“Can’t wait to shut you up,” he tells her, his long fingers alternating between rubbing vicious circles on her clit and slipping down to enter her with harsh thrusts, “Been thinking about this for weeks.” 
Her fingers scratch lightly across his stomach as she pushes his shirt up, “Well, you’re going to have to do lot better than this to make that happen.” 
His eyes narrow and he pulls his hand out of her shorts, ripping the button open and yanking them down her legs. He grips her around her hips and flips her onto her stomach, climbing onto her legs to keep her from kicking about. 
“I am so sick of that smart mouth,” he tells her before laying a loud slap to her right ass cheek, making her cry out in surprise that dissolves into a moan. He would spank her in earnest, but he’s been so fucking horny for so long that he only gives her a few smacks before slipping his fingers up under the edge of her panties, rubbing the buttery soft skin of her ass. 
Trailing his hands up, he unhooks her bra and climbs off of her so that she can turn over onto her back. She’s quick to shuck off her bra and panties, exposing herself entirely to his hungry gaze. 
“You said you thought about this for weeks,” she remarks while slipping her fingers down to her folds, “How many times did you jerk off to me?”
He groans and goes down to his knees, leaning forward and shouldering his way between her thighs. 
“So many fucking times,” he admits shamelessly before licking into her with enthusiasm.
Her fingers thread through his hair, tugging him forward and using the leverage to grind against his face. He could die here, smothered between those shapely thighs, and it would be in total bliss. Her moans are the sweetest thing he’s ever heard and he endeavors to hear them get louder. 
“Are you gonna cum for me, baby?” He asks, his fingers returning their journey of entering her and his eyes watching with hooded rapture as her cunt sucks them into her. 
“Neil,” she gasps his name, chanting it like a prayer and he picks up the pace with his fingers. He sucks on that hard little bud of hers and feels her cum around his fingers, that soaking cavern gripping him tightly. 
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “please let me fuck you.” 
Her thighs are shaking as she comes down from her orgasm high, “Yes, fuck yes.” 
He doesn’t need any more encouragement— he’s barely got his underwear down before he’s pushing into her. She’s tighter and wetter than any other pussy he’s been in and he tells her as much, rasping filthy things into her ear as he begins a brutal and unrelenting rhythm. 
“Thought about bending you over the front counter and fucking you stupid so many times.” 
Her nails dig into his back, raking along the surface and certainly leaving their mark. 
The thought alone of her marking him could make him cum. He bites his lip harshly to try and wrestle back some control, unwilling to see it end so soon. 
It barely works as his hips stutter in their thrusting. 
“Can I cum in you?” He asks— no, practically begs her.
Her arms snake around his shoulders, tugging his head forward to rest against hers, their mouths finding each other hungrily. Between filthy, tongue filled kisses, she gasps, “Please!” 
Permission granted, he buries himself as deep as possible inside of her, the head of his cock nudging her cervix, and he cums. He groans loud and long as those warm, wet walls squeeze every last drop from his cock, sucking it better than any blow job could manage. 
He pulls out of her slowly and almost reluctantly, sad to part from that perfect cunt of hers. A flow of white cum follows his departure, dripping from her opening and over her ass in thick globs. 
He’s never seen something so sexy in his life and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesn’t get to see it again. 
Stepping back from Bailey, he grabs his shirt off the floor and uses it to wipe her clean, chuckling at the deadpan look she gives him for the effort. Tossing the shirt aside, he climbs onto the couch and lays himself out next to her, pulling her to rest against his chest. 
They lay like that for a long time, catching their breaths and basking in the after glow. 
“You don’t really hate the Adam West Batman series, do you?” Bailey asks, her eyes looking up at Neil imploringly. 
Neil about answers the way he normally would but when he looks down at her and sees the earnest expression she’s wearing, he doesn’t have it in him to be an asshole. 
“No, it’s not that bad,” he lies and feels his heart flutter when she shoots him a beaming smile in return. 
He thinks he can stand mediocre cinema for her sake. 
483 notes · View notes
merakiui · 8 months
Text
re: pathetic virgin riddle who gets off to your notes.
(cw: nsfw, yandere, unhealthy behaviors, obsession, riddle has a big imagination and an even bigger crush on you <3, also he’s very gross with your notebook)
riddle knows it’s wrong. when he steals your notebook, that is. theft is a very real crime with very real repercussions. but he couldn’t help it! you’d left it on the desk and the classroom was devoid of students and he only happened to peek inside the room as he was passing…
he’ll return it to you. of course he will; he’s not a criminal! stealing breaks the rules and he is not one to break the rules. it will be a cold day in hell before he does something so brazen. so filthy and against the rules he upholds. so he tells himself he’s just holding onto your notebook. he didn’t steal it. sure, he’d lied when you asked if he’d seen it because he wasn’t ready to relinquish something so precious. but lying doesn’t break any specific rules. lying is a means of skirting around the truth. he’ll give you your notebook when he sees you in class next. he promises himself this.
but it sits on his desk for the week, and you’ve been asking around. riddle almost doesn’t want to touch it. he fears he’ll leave fingerprints and you’ll know he was the one to take it. but he can’t resist the urge to flip through a few pages. it’s late at night; studying is wearing him down. normally he’s not one to pull all-nighters, but with final exams approaching he needs every spare moment he can get to organize a study guide for himself.
it’s not like he’s studying anyway. he can hardly focus, not when his hand is slicked up and wrapped firmly around his half-hard cock. it’s a haze; he’s used to it—getting off to release some pent-up stress. it’s normal. still, he feels a sliver of gross shame when he reaches for your notebook, peeling the cover back to peer at your alchemy notes. you’re a messy note-taker. it’s obvious you get bored in class; there are doodles and scribbles in the margins. you’ve written your name in fancy lettering. you’ve crinkled the page edge. you’ve even started a few games of tic-tac-toe with your seat mates. there’s so much character in this notebook. he’s fascinated with the way you write, the way you transcribe notes, the way everything is so genuinely you.
riddle runs his hand up his shaft and a shudder races up his spine. slowly, so slowly, he sets a pace that mirrors his scandalous thoughts. he thinks about you sitting in class, pen between your fingers, watching the professor lecture or maybe dozing off in the back. maybe you occasionally tap your pen against your lips—your pretty, plush, kissable lips. he wonders what you taste like. how do you kiss? is it starved and desperate? sweet and slow? dominating and determined? would you kiss the same mouth that’s tasted the teeth marks in your (now missing) pencil? not that you’d ever know… but would you? would you love him in spite of filthy infatuation?
he hums low in his throat, easily pleased by these fantasies. kissing and touching… it’s vanilla, but it’s everything he wants. he wants to press himself against your body, fuck into your tight warmth in the confines of his canopy bed, enshrouded in deep vermilions, and hold you close as you cry through your climax. you’re the prettiest in red. he would know. he’s thought of you in red, slept with thoughts of it like it’s a vision granted by the stars.
he flips the page in your notebook. his grip tightens; his thumb runs over his soft, pudgy tip, where the smallest amount of pre-cum beads. sensitive, as always. he sighs like it’s been squeezed out of him, prompted by visuals of you in red, of you pressed into the mattress, of you on your knees and locked in a collar, your mouth open to receive him. great seven, your notes are a mess. he should tutor you. god, he should. he should bend you over the desk and pound the answers into you so you’ll never forget a thing. maybe your notes will become more organized then.
he sucks in a breath through grit teeth. you’re cute when you focus. you’re cute when you let your mind wander. you’re cute when you lick your fork clean at the unbirthday parties and voice your satisfaction, sugared words falling from your lips like the sweetest honey. he’ll feed you lots of sweets if it means you’ll always smile. he’ll lay you down on the table, ruin the pristine tablecloth, and indulge in you all to prove you’re sweeter than a strawberry tart. who cares about the rules. he really should, but sometimes he wants to break a few with you. sometimes, though he knows it’s wrong, he wants to defile the rose garden. let it reek of sex and sweat. let everyone know you’ve been claimed. let them see the impression he’s left on you, whether in the form of bruises or love bites or a wrinkled, disheveled uniform. let them hear the way you’ll sob in pleasure when he fucks you like an animal who knows of nothing but the primal instinct to breed and breed and breed…
riddle flips to a new page. he whines, arches in his chair, grabs at the desk with his free hand. sweat rolls down the valley between his shoulder blades. oh, the things you do to him. your notes are so messy. he loves it—loves you. loves, loves, loves you. he thinks of locking you away in his room. you’d be like his pretty doll, accessible to only him. he’d dress you accordingly—put you in prim, modest outfits, only to tear them off like they never even mattered. if there’s anyone he’d willingly uproot his life for, it’s you. you drive him mad. mad with love. mad with lust. mad with envy. mad with every single emotion he’s ever felt. you have such a chokehold on him! he’ll never let you go. he’ll never let you out of his mind. you’re stuck in the little cage he’s constructed in his head, living more than rent-free. you live willingly, mostly. but then he’s certain you’d disagree with his affections.
he flips the page.
your notes are uniquely you. if he brings the page close enough to his nose, he’s certain he can smell you. sometimes he’s envious of the beastfolk and their keen sense of smell. he wants to engrave your scent onto his being, pin it to his nostrils so he’ll always know you. he wants to keep you in the queendom of roses so that, eventually, you’ll smell of roses and every other sweet bloom like him. and then it will be a shared scent. then it’ll feel like he’s imprinted something on you. he’ll stake his claim, keep you as his, treat you just as you deserve to be treated. he’ll love you more than you’ll love yourself.
riddle’s a mess. he’s panting, bucking into his hand as he chases an orgasmic high, thoroughly desperate to cum (although ideally there’s a carnal part of him that wishes so fervently to do it inside). there are so many secret spots strewn throughout campus, each one perfect for a lewd tryst or two. he thinks of the time you watched him during equestrian club. you asked so many questions about horses and he’d answered all of them. you wrote some facts down; he finds them in this notebook. your way of writing is wonderfully enthralling. he could read your words forever. you could ride him forever. what he’d give to be beneath you on a bed of straw in the stables while you fuck yourself on his cock. he’s filthy; he knows it’s wrong. he knows you could get caught, but that’s what makes it so appealing.
his grip on your notebook is bruising. he’s not reading any of your words anymore; he’s too dazed to commit anything to memory—although most of it is information he already knows. seven, you’re going to be the death of him. he wants you so badly.
riddle, caught in a spiderweb of lustful daydreams, fucks faster into his hand, squeezes himself in a desperate attempt to simulate the constrictive embrace of your walls, all while gasping and groaning. he cums with a shiver; it spills over, sticky and thick and plentiful. he’d feel humiliated if he wasn’t so overcome with an exhilarating relief. he’s hunched over his desk, his heart beating like a drum. blood rushes wildly in his ears.
it’s only when he’s come down from his high that he realizes he came all over your notebook. it’s messy and filthy. he stares blankly at it, wondering if it’s possible to magic away. it is. but then… no, it’s wrong. very wrong. he shouldn’t. he really shouldn’t.
it’s wrong. he should clean it or overwrite it with a simple spell. he shouldn’t. it’s so wrong. and he’s good. he’s supposed to be, at least.
riddle catches you after class the following day. he tells you a student recently turned your notebook in to him and he’s returning it on behalf of the unknown student. you thank him sincerely, sigh about how you’re so relieved it’s back in your possession. you thought you’d never get your notes back. you need these to pass. riddle offers you a smile and tells you to keep it closer next time. your notebook might not be found so easily if you lose it again.
but if you do lose it, he’ll make sure to keep it out of range when he’s masturbating. at least only one page was tainted. you’ll stumble upon it; he’s certain of this. but then he wants you to. he wants you to see the proof of what you do to him. the way you get him so worked up. you’ll never know it’s him, but that’s for the best. next time, he won’t be so careless in handling your things.
next time, he’ll cum where he’s meant to: inside you.
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