#its all so expensive but i want it to be nice at the same time

[yupyupppippi]

sometimes Sundays are chill and sometimes there's so much to do that you're paralyzed and do none of it

[startaee]

its a sunday morning and you're entering the elevator with your little nephew. he's whining and stomping his tiny legs as you drag him by his little hand when the doors finally shut.

"c'mon sweetie it's okay...." you pout, crouching down to his level and meeting his wet eyes. you ruffle his hair with your spare hand and hold the newly purchased cap up with your other. "b-but...i wanted d-dynamight's cap!" he says, almost choking on his saliva. "oh, you..." you feel so bad for this little boy. he woke up (himself and you) at 7am on a sunday morning to go stand in the stupid line to get access to the limited edition hero merch. it was too bad that, that stupid dynamight happened to be everybody and their mother's favorite hero, because by the time you reached the entrance they were all sold out. "but, hey, you know, this shoto guy ain't half bad...?" you tried to chirp him up, opening up the cap as you point to the silly little picture of shoto. the elevator's reaching the penthouse, and you sigh when you realise you didn't even press the button for your floor. but hey, at least you finally get to meet the mystery man who bought the most expensive penthouse in your locality.

so your hands are gripping onto your little sad nephew's as he sniffles with his shoto cap on his tiny head and you turn slightly to look at, oh god.

a gorgeous man. tall and buff. a little scar on his right cheek. makes him look so much hotter. and then it hits you at the same time it hits your nephew. that's....

"DYNAMIGHT!!!!"

and you can't do much when the little boy throws himself onto him. dynamight's smirk turning into a worried frown as he wraps his arms around your nephew. "careful, kid." he chuckles as the little boy with wide eyes, tears completely dry now, speaks loudly about how much he loveeeessss him. you can't help but awe at the view infront of you as you realise how nice dynamight would look as a dad.

"you want that cap?" he whispers to the little boy who nods his head eagerly. to this, dynamight remembers izuku, and laughs a little at the memory.

then he takes the cap off of his head and sets it on the boy's.

"wow, you wear your own merch...?" you say as you try to be grateful and not cringe. and he immediately turns his head to you, with eyebrows furrowed, and a big pout on his lips, he's about to put you in your place for saying that.

but when his eyes fall on your face...the only voice that can be heard is your nephew's as he adjusts the cap on his head happily. his asks of an autograph go unheard by dynamight because....?

suddenly he's having heart problems again. and his ears are heating up, and he wants to know your name.

pt.2 pt.3

© startaee 2024. do not copy, translate or repost .

[loverboybitch]

1940s firefighter jacket via @/relocationtoronto on instagram.//.

[nereidprinc3ss]

weber's law

in which spencer reid comforts fem!reader when she's having a panic attack at the rossi mansion

fluff warnings/tags: panic attack lol, spencer is really cute and sweet my little perfect cutie pie angel baby, classic spencer info dumps bc they're pretty much his love language, established relationship, cheesy and sweet at the end a/n: this one is for my queens with panic disorders who are triggered by literally nothing and everything i see you have this ilysm

When Spencer had invited you to a small get-together at Rossi’s, you’d imagined a small get-together at Rossi’s. 

And maybe that makes you a complete idiot. 

Or maybe Spencer is just so used to FBI work functions that to him, this really is small.

But now you’re sitting on an expensive couch in a very nice house, and you’re surrounded by FBI agents who are all milling around and talking and laughing, and you’re worried maybe your outfit doesn’t look as nice on you as you’d thought it did, and you keep having very vivid visions of spilling your drink all over a furry throw rug that probably costs more than your rent does. 

Music that could reasonably be considered relaxing or at the very least not objectionable plays over the sound system throughout the whole house and thus is inescapable—not that you’d get up from the couch even if you could, because Spencer is sitting to your right and he has his hand on your thigh and it’s the only thing that has until this point been keeping you from a full blown panic attack.

Maybe that makes you a complete idiot, too.

Regardless, you try to focus on nothing but the weight of his hand as it travels slowly up and down from knee to hip over the jeans you’re not so sure about, and the feeling of your breath coming and going, as slow as you can possibly summon it without passing out. 

Spencer is laughing at something JJ is saying as she stands next to the couch with Will and you really like JJ but her voice seems so loud right now, and nothing is going particularly wrong but everything feels so, so wrong it’s scary. 

All the buzzing tension in your body telling you to run away because you’re unsafe and at the same time locking you into place builds until you have to express it somehow. So you revert to an old habit—bouncing your leg rapidly like a rabbit thumping its foot. It’s not entirely conscious, but it feels better than being completely still. That is, until Spencer’s hand strays inward and cups just above your inner knee, where he begins fanning his thumb back and forth over the fabric. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, head angled toward you and voice low enough to not draw attention. You force yourself to plant your heel to the ground even though it worsens the feeling of gears crunching in your chest. 

“Nothing. Sorry.”

That gets his attention. 

Because of course it does. He’s always telling you to stop saying sorry so often. 

His tone solidifies, still quiet but committed to this conversation now and no longer the whispery apparition of a quick aside. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I don’t know, it wasn’t—it’s nothing.”

You barely avoid apologizing again. 

For a moment he doesn’t speak, just watches you—and you make the mistake of raising your gaze to meet his. He has that curious, analytical look about him, concern tightening his eyes and knitting his brow. He’s doing that annoying mind-reading thing again, and as soon as he actually sees your eyes, he’s figured you out. 

“Do you want to go outside for a minute? Get some air?”

After examining his face for any clues that he’d rather stay in here, (not that you’d really know what to look for), you nod hesitantly. Spencer mirrors your nod and stands, holding out his hand for you to take as you follow suit after setting your drink on a side table (without spilling.)

JJ is now wrapped up in conversation with another agent and the two of you manage to abscond without attracting unwanted attention, which makes you feel slightly better as Spencer leads you deftly through rooms with high-vaulted ceilings and big windows and heavy, expensive looking oak furniture. It seems like you’ve been wandering through a maze when you arrive to a quieter part of the house and he opens a french door for you—which leads out onto an empty patio. 

A cool breeze immediately sinks into your skin, and your nervous system is so hyper-alert that it gives you chills. Spencer notices the way you shiver and steps closer after closing the door behind him, his hand finding the small of your back immediately. 

“You okay?” he asks, intentionally avoiding impeding your view of the sweeping backyard and the trees beyond. Sometimes focusing on something stationary is less overwhelming, but they’re so tall they seem imposing. Threatening, even. 

But then again, everything feels threatening right now. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Spencer seems unconvinced by your monotone—when you glance over at him he’s still watching you like you’re a puzzle to be solved. 

“Are you sure? You can tell me if you’re not.”

“Why are you so convinced something is wrong?” you laugh, but it comes out too manic. You cross your arms. He looks pointedly at the motion. 

“For starters, that. Often times crossing your arms is a subconscious way of comforting yourself when you feel defensive or threatened. And you could say it’s because you’re cold, but—” he pauses, reaching out to touch your cheek. “I can feel how hot your face is, and you shivered when we came outside even though it’s 71 degrees because your nervous system is overreacting to external stimuli. The leg-bouncing is also often indicative of an activated parasympathetic nervous system. Is me touching you okay?”

Again, you nod—unsure how to deflect when he calls you out so efficiently. 

Spencer’s hand slides down to just beneath your jaw, where he rests two fingers. Each second that passes has him looking progressively more worried. You wish you weren’t quite so catatonic—the fairy lights hanging from the pergola shine through his hair and make him glow so appealingly you want to kiss his cheek. 

“Your heart rate is really high, honey.”

That would be due to the sense of impending doom. Thanks for pointing it out.

But you’ve lost your words, and along with them has gone your sense of humor. All you can manage for a 30 second span is a meaningless shake of your head as you avert your eyes, staring at the sprawling carpet of blue-green grass soaked in night as each blade doubles with your tears. 

“I think I’m dying,” you finally croak.

“Technically, we all are. Very slowly.”

Ah. There’s that social tact he’s so well known for. 

“Spencer.”

“Right,” he kisses your cheek as you stare up at him, affronted, and pulls you into his chest. “Sorry. I was actually trying to be helpful. Changes in brain chemistry and hormonal activity associated with panic attacks change your perception of time and make things feel really fast which can contribute to feelings of anxiety. But in reality time is moving just the same as it always is. One second is always one second. Sometimes remembering that helps me to slow down. Not literally, of course. My gravitational pull isn’t great enough to have any discernible effect on the passage of time.”

You sniff, pressing your cheek to his tie. His words make your head spin, seeing as you hadn't been prepared for a lecture in psychophysics—but it spins in the opposite direction than it had been going previously. It's nice.

“Change your perception of time?”

“Weber’s law of perception. Stimulus sensitivity will increase proportionally with increased stimulus intensity. You’re only perceiving time to be going faster because your cortisol and adrenaline levels are making you hyper-vigilant and sensitive to all the markers of time passing.”

“Like what?”

Spencer hums, the bass of it a comforting resonance against your ear, and strokes your hair unhurriedly. 

“Like… your internal clock. Your body measures time with your heartbeat, so when your heart rate increases, time seems to go faster. Also environmental cues, which lead you to understand that the world is not stagnant and thus is not frozen in time. Like the sound of the wind chimes…” he pauses, long enough for you to realize that indeed, you can hear the gentle, sonorous ringing and tinkling of steel chimes bouncing against each other. “And the wind itself, which is coming all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. Some studies actually suggest that wind direction can affect your energy levels and mood.”

It’s a gentle breeze more than it is full-blown wind. It feels cool against your hot skin. 

Spencer’s hand on the back of your head, still rhythmically smoothing your hair, seems to slow down the passage of time as well. You focus on that, and the sound of the wind chimes and the breeze on your skin for a few minutes, until your breathing and your heart rate slow and soon you regain your footing in the temporal dimension, exactly sure of where you stand on Rossi’s patio and in your boyfriend’s arms. 

“You tricked me into doing a grounding exercise,” you mumble into Spencer’s jacket. 

“I did not trick you,” he defends, voice quiet to match yours. “I just wanted to make you feel better. Did it work?”

You pull away from him and he lets you, watching on as you sniffle and wipe your tears on your sleeves. 

“Yeah, it did. Thank you.”

For a moment, neither of you speak as you gather yourself. He leads you by the hand to a cushioned hanging bench at the end of the patio, taking a seat next to you and gently rocking the swing. 

“Do you know what triggered that?” Spencer asks, over the gentle creaking sound. You shrug, observing the dance of the fireflies in the grass. 

“Nothing. Sometimes I just feel like everything’s wrong and scary but I didn’t want to tell you and ruin your night.”

“Hey,” Spencer murmurs, pulling you into him with an arm around your shoulder. “You are not ruining my night. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“But all your friends and coworkers are inside, and you’re out here with me.”

He angles his head down toward you and you look up to meet his eyes, even warmer than the sticky summer night. 

“I am. Do you know why?”

“Because I suck,” you sniffle, more hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you attempt to look away. But Spencer’s not having it. He encourages you to sit up again so you can look at him properly, before wiping tears away gently with his thumb. When he speaks, it’s in soft, soothing tones. 

“No. I’m out here because if all my friends were inside having fun, and you were outside having a panic attack, I would choose you every time.”

You manage a laugh through the crying. 

“I don’t know if that’s healthy.”

“Whether or not it’s healthy is an entirely different discussion,” Spencer smiles wryly, before it melts into something softer and more sincere. “All that matters is that it’s true.”

For a while after that, you simply lay your head on his shoulder. Spencer controls the speed of the swing with his much-longer legs, kissing your head and rubbing your arm as you admire the expanse of Rossi’s lush yard bathed in moonlight and the black silhouette of the forest beyond. 

Eventually, Spencer speaks again, likely to make sure you’re not spiraling alone in your head. 

“Can I tell you an extremely classified secret that I've been trying really hard to keep to myself for three days?” he asks, and the mischievous edge to his voice catches your attention. You hum in assent, already wondering what kind of information Spencer would have a hard time keeping to himself. It could be anything. 

“Anderson is sleeping with Childers from Operational Tech.”

“What?”

Despite not working for the FBI yourself, Spencer and Penelope have you so filled in on the drama that you know exactly why that’s shocking. 

You pick your head up to look at him like do not fuck with me right now. 

His eyes sparkle as he nods.

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you tell me Childers was dating that girl in sex crimes?”

Spencer raises his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth twitches. You gasp. 

“No! What? Does Anderson know?”

“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“Wait—Anderson told you this?”

“Yeah!” He laughs incredulously at your complete disbelief. “People tell me things! I’m an excellent confidant!”

“If you’re relaying all of this information to me then you’re a terrible confidant,” you chuckle, still watery—but feeling light years better. 

Spencer brushes your hair away from your face fondly, leaning a fraction of an inch closer. 

“You don’t count. Telling you secrets is basically the same as keeping them to myself.”

“Basically,” you tease, angling your head up by a few degrees in invitation. Spencer says nothing, does nothing for a long moment—just studies you with soft eyes, continues stroking your cheek. When he takes too long to kiss you, you get impatient. “I’m still kinda anxious, you know.”

He smiles knowingly.  

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, looking pointedly at his lips. “You should kiss me better.”

“I think that would take more than just one kiss,” he murmurs through a smile, leaning ever closer until your noses are bumping. “I think I would have to devote several hours to that. Maybe even a whole day.”

“How does tomorrow look for you?” 

He’s laughing as he finally presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet and lingering. 

“For you? It’s wide open.”

[imaginaryf1shots]

Age | Lewis Hamilton

WC: 3.6K

Warning: Age Gap, cursing? kissing

Summery:(REQUESTED) When you fall for your boss who is much older than you.

Masterlist

Lewis Masterlist

Getting with Lewis wasn't what you sat out to do, you started working for his LH team, managing their social media and content. They felt like a younger person would best suit the job, Lewis wasn't involved in hiring you. In fact you hadn't seen him until a few weeks after you were hired. When you were sent to film him for content to post on Instagram. Lewis is a very nice man, it's a well known fact. Everyone that has ever

worked with him would tell you this(just don't ask Nico).

You haven't always been drawn to older men; you don't think about age that much. As long as you're both legal and mature, why not? But it wasn't like a kink or a plus in your books. Lewis just drew you in. Maybe it was his confidence, his maturity, or something completely different that captivated you. What you know for sure is that Lewis had your attention the moment you met and talked; there was no denying it. The pull you had, how easy it was for you to talk and have a laugh, was undeniable. Your relationship started professionally, but the more you met, the more you talked, and the more you got to know each other, the closer you got. And when you exchanged personal phone numbers, it was game over. You were calling each other all the time, texting, and FaceTiming. You hadn't reached the point of meeting when there was no reason to. But then Lewis had you travel with him under the guise of needing content, even though Mercedes had its own media managers.

You were denying your feelings. Lewis is an older, more experienced man, and he could have any woman he wants, why would he care or be interested in you, you found no reason for it. All the calls and texting you just convinced yourself is him being nice. Maybe he sees you as a mentee and nothing else.

You were at a hotel room in New York, Lewis had a shoot for one sponsor or the other plus a fashion event to attend. The sponsor stuff was already filmed and done the day before, so that was that. Meaning you'd only photograph Lewis with his outfit to the event and your day of work would be done. Your room was booked in the same hotel as Lewis, definitelydefiantly not as lush as his but it was a five star hotel, your room was amazing. You were lounging a bit in your room until you receive a call that Lewis was

done changing. You hear a knock on the door, you haven't ordered room service, so it came as a surprise.

Getting up from your comfy position on the bed, you open the door to see one of the hotel staff standing in front of you with a clothes bag in hand.

"Hi? How can I help you?" You ask the man, who had a polite smile on his face.

"I was asked to bring this to you." The man tries to hand you the bag but you step back.

"Are you sure you got the right room?" You're certain there must be a mistake why would you be sent a clothes bag

"You're Ms. y/n y/n, right?" You nod with a small yes. The man then smiled bigger and handedhands you the bag again. "Then this is for you."

You hesitate before taking the bag, thanking the man and then closing the door. You open the bag and a dress that is more expensive than anything you own is there waiting for you. Your mouth drops, the dress is stunning, you don't know the brand but it lookslooked amazing. After the shock of seeing the dress wore off you lay it on the bed and find your phone, pressing Lewis's name in the recently calls and press the phone to your ear

"Hello"

"Don't hello me." You say looking at the dress as if it just called you cheap in every language on earth, your tone is not happy and Lewis picks up on it instantly

"What's wrong, love? What did I do?" Lewis has an inkling why you're not happy with him and he's trying not to smile, but he's failing miserably

"You just sent me a dress, for some unknown reason, and I bet it cost an arm and a leg!" You exclaim and Lewis could imagine you pouting as you talk, he lets out a small giggle.

"Look it's from one of my favourite up and coming designers and I saw the design and I instantly thought of you." Lewis defends himself, it's the same designer that designed his clothes for the day.

"So you bought it for me?" You ask in disbelief.

"Yeah." Lewis replied as if it's the most normal thing ever

"Lewis!"

"Yes, baby girl." You instantly stop when you hear the new pet name, Lewis calls you love a lot but that's just because he's British. But this, this new, it got you blushing and struggling to say anything, you're feeling shy and speechless. Damn that man, he knew what he was doing "Seeing as you're not saying anything, I expect to see you in that dress when you come up, also I'll be done in 15 minutes or so."

Lewis hangs up and you're left there staring at the dress, before you sigh. Thankfully you showered this morning, so you just started on your make-up a simple look that will complement the dress nicely, and do your hair. It's more than 15 minutes, but you haven't gotten a call from Lewis or anyone else in the team. Once you're finished and with small heels on you're making your way up to Lewis's suite.

It doesn't take long before the door opens by the designer, she gasps looking at you and grins

"You look stunning" You blush at the praise and walk in

"It's all thanks to you." You wave her compliment off.

"Thanks, but it's the person in the clothes that brings out the beauty of the designs." She tells you and you can't fight the redness in your cheeks. "Lewis is in there."

You go to the room she's pointing at, you're holding your camera equipment bag in your hand. You walk in and see Lewis standing in front of the mirror, inspecting everything about his look. He doesn't look up when you walk in, so you take the moment to take him in, the see-through shirt allows you to see the faint outline of his abs and muscles, his tattoos on show.

Lewis feels your presence, he looks at you and you don't realise it so caught up in checking him out. Happy with himself he takes a moment to look at you, and you're stunning, the dress fits you like a glove, tight in the right places and loose in the right places. He's never seen you so dressed up. Lewis is out of his trace before you are. He clears his throat and your eyes snap to his

All you see in his eyes is amusement, the blush comes back to your cheeks but you ignore it and him and take out your camera.

"You're done right?" You ask him busying yourself. You already know where you want to take the photos, where the best lighting is for everything

"You look stunning, love." Lewis's words once more stun you, and you pause in your actions before you look up at him once more, meeting his coffee coloured eyes.

"It's not practical." You say and stand straight your free hand runs over the dress to smooth out any wrinkles, suddenly feeling insecure. Lewis is always having women thrown at him, models and beauty queens, all stunning, and here you are, just him social media manager/photographer

"It's not meant to be practical, besides after the photos, you're off for the night, and you're coming as my plus one." Lewis states and your eyes go wide

"W-What? No, Lewis I can't go as your plus one." You tell him with a shake to your head.

"Why not?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"Because... I just can't, H-I don't want to." You mumble, looking at the floor not meeting his eyes.

"You don't have to walk the carpet with me, just go inside and join me there." Lewis doesn't want to take it personally, he knows being seen with him comes with a lot of packages and you're not even dating yet.

"Okay, yeah, I can do that." You say and look at him and swallow, Lewis had a smile on his face, as his eyes held you in. You cough and wave your camera. "Let's take some photos now.”

Lewis knows how to pose and it doesn't take long before you have the shots you're both happy with, before Lewis leads you to the mirror with his phone in hand.

"Come on, one of us together." Lewis's smile makes it hard for you to refuse, his arm wraps around you pulling you close to his side, you gasp and his quick movement your hand falls onto his chest to stabilise yourself. You look up, and his face is so close to yours, he's facing the mirror, and clicks his phone to capture the look on your face as you look up at him, Licking your lips slightly you face the mirror and

smile, ignoring your fast beating heart, it's so fast Lewis must feel it. You both pose for a few more, all with Lewis's hand one you one way or the other.

The car ride is filled with small talk, as Lewis and the designer talk, they'll walk the red carpet and you'll be dropped at another entrance. You're sitting between Lewis and the designer. You pull at your cuticles an anxious tic you have when you're anxious. Lewis doesn't look at you, before he takes your hand in his. Your heart skips a beat. Lewis only lets go when you arrive, both their doors are open, and before he lets go of your hand he gives it a squeeze and he gets out

Your seat is next to the designer close to where Lewis is sitting, they have all the A-listers sitting next to each other. But Lewis does come to talk to you before the show begins, and makes sure you're okay. But you only get talking after the show. Where the music is playing, people are dancing and the drinks are flowing at the open bar

"Your first show, what do you think?" Lewis asks you, you're both deciding not to drink since you have flights tomorrow.

"It was great." You reply with a smile. "It was so much fun... thank you."

"No worries, did you take any pictures?" Lewis asked and you shook your head no. "We can't have that, come on, I know a spot upstairs"

Lewis doesn't wait or hesitate, he takes your hand in his and leads you through the crowds, he helps you up the stairs like the gentleman he is. The place he takes you to is empty, the lighting is good and the music is faint. Lewis lets go of your hand and takes out his phone.

"Okay, Mr. photographer, where do you want me?" You tease him and move your arms shyly.

"Right here." Lewis moves you to where he wants and you pose, Lewis hypes you up. "You look great love, a little to the right, yes, now move your shoulder to the front, right there, wow, this one looks amazing, look at you posing."

For the next 15 minutes Lewis takes all sorts of photos, the last ones being a close up of your upper body and face. You don't look at the lens for those you look at him, and maybe that's why they're his favourite. You stand even closer to the older man as you look at the photos he took.

"Look at you go, if you even want to switch careers, photography will do you good." You smile and then look up at him, he's already looking at you and for the hundredth time today, your heart starts beating faster. He's so close to you, you can smell his cologne. Is he? Is he moving closer? Or is it just your mind playing tricks on you? You lick your lips and his eyes move from yours down to follow the movement.

You're already wearing heels, so you couldn't tip toe to close the distance, but you didn't have to, because Lewis leans down and presses his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut, as a shiver went down your spine. Lewis's lips moved against yours once, twice, thrice before he pulled back all too suddenly. The warmths that overwhelmed you is suddenly gone. Lewis’s hands are gone and he takes a step back, your eyes flutter open and all you see is regret. The insecurity is hitting you hard.

”W-w…”

”I’m so sorry love, I didn’t mean to- I just- I’m sorry.” Lewis found himself unable to find the words, he has liked you for a long time, but here he is after kissing you suddenly doubting himself.

”No, no it’s okay, you don’t have to apologise.” You say and look to the side, your hands wrapped around your middle, you swallow.

”No, I have to, I didn’t ask and I don’t know if you wanted me to kiss you and I just did.” Lewis says and you realise why he stopped, why he looked so regretful. He thought you didn’t like it, that he forced you, he thought you didn't like it. “I’m your boss, and I may have pressured you into it and I never wanted to do something like this, I completely understand if- why? Why are you smiling?”

”Oh Lewis Hamilton, the man you are.” Lewis is now left confused, you step closer to him, and Lewis stands still with his hands down by his sides, as you place your hands on his chest, feeling the muscles under your fingertips. “If you only knew how much you affect me, I just thought it was one-sided, that you see me as a child or something.”

”Believe me baby girl, I see you as the woman you are.” Lewis’s voice drops a few octaves that have you shivering. His hand makes the small of your back home, he pulls you closer so you’re flush against him, a gasp leaves your lips, and his hand moves down to the top of your butt.

”Lewis.” You breathe out, your eyes fluttering.

”Sweetheart.” Those fucking pet names will be the death of you, this time you pull him by the back of his neck down to meet your lips. The soft moanes leaving your lips leave him wanting for more.

You don't know how long you stood there for but by the time you were done with the little make out session you both had to fix your lipstick. The lavish bathroom you both stand in front of the mirror, trying to wipe the lipstick. Exchanging smiles and giggles through the mirror, pumping hips and kisses.

”Lewis stop, we can’t kiss, I have lipstick on.” You say giggling halfheartedly pushing him away.

”Once I got a taste I couldn’t resist.” You blush and tell him to stop once more, before you both leave the bathroom. Going back to the event downstairs you both act as if nothing appended, and somehow you sell it.

Safe to say, you’re stuck to each other’s side. Lewis flies you everywhere and your relationship turns from professional to romantic slowly in front of the others, but to you two, after that night in New York you were dating.

You dreaded the time the media will find out, you know there’s two ways it will go, either they will go after Lewis or they will go after you. And you think they’ll go after you. Your appearance in the paddock was nothing new, but your appearance at dinners with other drivers and wags was new. No one said anything or commented, you got on super well with the wags. You did share your fears with Kika and Alex, they gave you as much advice as they could and told you what to expect. It’s always hard when a driver hard launches or even is just rumoured to be with someone.

You and Lewis didn’t get the chance to hard launch or soft launch, or do any of that sorts. A paparazzi somehow found you while you were on vacation and snapped a lot of pictures of the two of you in intimate positions. Kissing, cuddling, hands all over each other, there was no way of getting out of that one.

So during the next race Lewis walked into the paddock with your hand in his, the fans weren’t 100% who you were when the photos were leaked, but the moment you walked in all your social media was out for everyone to see. The things you were both scared of the most, happened. The fans weren’t happy with the age gap, you were both adults but it seemed like everyone knew why you were dating but you too. And that Lewis is just too nice to know that you’re with him for money. The almost 40 year old didn’t know any better. Like a lot of wags you received a lot of hate, and Lewis hadn’t confirmed a relationship in years, so you were an awaited wag.

You both expected all of this, what you didn’t expect is for every driver that interacted with Lewis to have their social media flooded with messages and comments of people telling them to tell Lewis that you were using him, and that the age gap is disgusting.

Lando was streaming once and he was talking about Mercedes or something when the chat took that turn.

”Come on chat, don’t be mean.” Lando said after he noticed all those comments. “You don’t know y/n and Lewis, they’re perfectly happy and there’s nothing to worry about. Let’s all just care about ourselves.”

Lily and Alex were live on Instagram for one reason or the other and they also got a ton of comments, especially since Lilly was seen hanging out with you a Friday of a race weekend.

“Believe me guys, y/n, is the nicest person ever, she’s so understanding and sweet.” Lilly said to the viewers, after seeing where the comments turned to.

”We’ve actually gone out with them a few times, and they look happy and in love.” Alex added.

”I haven’t been around LEwis much, but I feel like he looks… happier and more content?” Lily said and looked at her boyfriend.

”Yeah, I think George said as well, he looks happy and that this relationship is doing them both a lot of good.” Alex said and Lily nodded with him. “It’s good when you get into a relationship and you become better and happier.”

”Yeah.”

Things like that kept happening, and there were some videos of you and Lewis posted online just being lost in each other while dancing, having dinner or even just walking. The way you’d give each other all the attention when you’re talking is something admirable.

All those things online, affected you, you hated how negative your space online became, how much it became on Lewis’s accounts, and on the other drivers’ accounts as well. What it didn’t affect is your relationship with Lewis.

Lewis wasn’t happy, of course he wasn’t. You’re his girlfriend and his ‘fans’ are attacking you online, he can see how your smile never reached your eyes when you said you were okay. It affected you to some degree.

So he just hugged you tighter, told you he loved you more, and tried everything to keep you away from all that talk.

“What are you doing?” You mumble as you wake up from your slumber, you went back to the hotel after FP2, feeling tired, and Lewis having to stay back for a long meeting. It was almost midnight when he made it back to the room and found you sleeping in the middle of the bed. Lewis stripped to his boxers and slipped beside you. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer to him, this roused you from your sleep.

”Just want to hold you.” He said softly and kissed your cheek, you smiled and cracked your eyes open just a little, you turned around so you’re facing him. You cuddle more into him, nuzzling your face in his neck, as he laid on his back.

”How was the meeting?” You asked barely coherent, and Lewis knows you’ll ask again in the morning, that everything that will come out of your mouth right now is just your subconscious and that you will remember nothing.

”It was good, there’s going to be a few changes to the car tomorrow.” Lewis told you rubbing your back.

”Do we like it?” You ask, knowing that your stance on things is his stance on things, when it comes to driving and cars.

”Yeah, but we’ll see tomorrow.”

”Hmm, that’s good.” You fall silent and Lewis thinks you fell asleep before you say a barely audible. “I love you.”

”I love you too, baby girl.”

It took time, but the public came to accept the fact you’re here to stay and you’re not just using him for a week or two, for clout or anything of that sort. IT got better. But it never went away, and you don’t think it will. You don’t plan on breaking up with Lewis any time soon and you don’t think he will. And that’s all that mattered, you’re both happy and content with what you have.

Maintaglist:

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog

[lxnarphase]

satoru always goes over the top with his surprises because he likes showing off to you, taking you restaurants that have the best chefs in the country and serve some of the best wine. sometimes, he takes you to expensive resorts for a night or two so both of you can be pampered and just love on each other with hugs and kisses while watching stupid cartoons.

its no secret that satoru has a sweet tooth, so expect to go to different cafes and bakeries and sweet shops with him, the cutest grin on his face. he's so excited, a twinkle in his eye as he rambles about how badly he's wanted to go to this bakery, and that he waited for you to be free so you could do together. it just doesn't feel the same if you aren't with him.

satoru isn't always flamboyant. he loves his simple dates with you where he just feels like hanging out with you. sitting on a blanket from morning 'til sunset on a picnic talking the whole time, watching movies until you both fall asleep on the couch, or going to stores as he pushes you around in a cart.

if you’re ever up for it, satoru enjoys taking walks when the sun starts to set. doesn’t matter if you both dress up nicely just for a walk or if you both just throw on whatever is nearby. your fingers are interlinked, his thumb stroking the back of your hand as you talk about your plans for next week, any updates on your families, or just lame jokes that you throw back and forth. doesn’t matter what it is, satoru wants to know. your voice is one of his favorite things, after all.

satoru is the type to pretend he’s unfazed when you do something sweet for him. like that time you got him a cupcake with light blue whipped icing and sprinkles in different shades of blue. "satoru! i got you a treat! i know it's small, but it reminded of you because it’s blue like your eyes!” instead of getting flustered he just coos at you, telling you how adorable you are. but the second he’s alone, satoru’s trying to stop himself from being flustered because you had NO right being this fucking sweet and adorable.

satoru loves you, and it's so clear that he does.

[kentopedia]

dating port mafia boss dazai

contents: f!reader, implied violence, mostly dazai spoiling you so much, dazai is very soft in this, one litte nsfw scene !!

note: this reeks of self indulgence :,) my current obsession is pmboss!dazai being so sweet & gentle to his s/o

it goes without saying that if you're in the port mafia when you start dating dazai, he’ll probably want you to take less work in the field.

bc his main goal is keeping you safe, and he constantly worries about you when you're going on dangerous missions !!

though, sometimes you miss being in all the action. so, dazai will send you on missions with chuuya or akutagawa from time to time

he still worries, but he has no doubt they can keep you safe!!

he hates being nervous about whether or not you’ll come back to him, but he never wants you to feel like you're a prisoner in your own home.

if you want to go with him, anywhere or anytime, to any meeting, you just have to ask!

bc he trusts you completely <3 and he also knows you can take care of yourself.

if you want to work in other parts of the mafia, whether that be in training, intelligence, or behind the scenes work, dazai doesn’t care

he pretends to be uncompromising on some issues, but you can convince him of anything with a pretty smile.

but, if you're not in the port mafia, he (unfortunately) will make sure you have a bodyguard with you almost everywhere.

you insist its not necessary, but he knows he's made a lot of enemies that would love to use him against you. :(

though dazai has his moments of insanity (lol), he doesn't want to drive you away from him.

if you say its too much, he'll figure out something else. another way to keep you safe.

eventually, you come live with him, so that takes care of that.

dazai spoils you senseless !!

if he's ever late for a mission, he always comes back with something for you.

sometimes its flowers, sometimes its something even more elaborate

loves loves loves giving you jewelry

but everything he buys is very thoughtful!

he doesn't buy you expensive gifts just to flaunt money

its more that there isn't a price tag on things to him. if he sees something he thinks you'll like, it'll be yours, no matter the cost <3

"i'm home!" you said cheerfully, dropping your bag off by the door as you shouted to dazai through the penthouse.

the sound echoed back, and dazai didn't respond.

with a yawn, you headed towards your bedroom, stretching your muscles as you walked. the weather had been miserable that week, and between the heat and the rain, you were feeling more tired than ever.

what you longed for was a nice hot shower and a night in dazai's arms.

"osamu?" you said again, but the apartment remained quiet. there was no one in your bedroom when you opened the door.

you sighed, disappointed that he wasn't home to lay with you as you took a nap. though, your attention was quickly diverted by the newest addition to your bed.

a soft brown teddy bear, the same color as dazai's eyes, held a card, and a dark velvet box, paired with a bouquet of fresh flowers on your nightstand.

the note was short, but it was enough, and you couldn't help but smile as you read it.

i have to go out of the city for tonight. i'll be back in the morning. sorry i can't be with you, my darling. here's a little apology gift. i love you. - osamu

as usual, the gift was anything but small.

you flipped open the delicate box to reveal a gold necklace, a deep ruby dangling from the chain in the shape of a heart.

for a moment, you did nothing more than stare at the glittering gem that was edged by smaller diamonds, and you swelled with more love than your chest could handle.

carefully, you set the box down, wondering what you ever did to deserve something so beautiful. as much as you wanted to wear it immediately, you'd wait until osamu was back so he could help you put it on.

instead, you placed the card and the necklace by the flowers, and climbed into bed with the stuffed animal. as you nestled deeper into the comforter, curling your arms around the bear, you realized dazai had sprayed it with his cologne before he left.

dazai isn't the best about telling you how he feels. he is so much better at showing it.

if it isn't obvious, he loves buying you gifts! he has so much money as the port mafia boss, and he has no idea what to do with it. why not spend it on you!!

if you see an outfit in the store window that you like, dazai will have it tailored to your precise measurements. (which he has memorized, of course).

he loves shopping for you.

when he buys you pretty dresses, lingerie, and so on, all the other women in the store are swooning over him.

he knows exactly what you like and don't.

even if he thinks you'd look so beautiful in something, he knows your sense of style.

dazai doesn't want you to ever feel obligated to wear something just bc he picked it out for you.

of course, dazai always gives you his card to go shopping

and to get your nails done! he's obsessed with how pretty your hands look after getting a fresh set <3

he's loves them whatever color/design you think looks best. but i'd be lying if i said he wasn't obsessed with red nails.

dazai really loves the way they looked wrapped around his-

you rested your head on dazai's shoulder, letting your hands gently splay across his knee, your fingertips moving in a listless, delicate pattern.

though a film played before you, it was forgotten quickly, dazai's breath catching as he exhaled a laugh. "what are you doing?" he asked, and you smiled innocently, drifting your hand further up his thigh.

"nothing."

he blinked at you with wide brown eyes and swallowed, his throat bobbing as you reached his hip. you wrapped a delicate finger around his zipper, pulling it down slowly.

"nothing, hm?" he countered.

you turned to face him, sweeter now, as you tugged at his waistband. though dazai feigned disinterest for a moment, you felt him twitch beneath the thin layer of clothing.

his focus drifted down to your much softer hand, perfectly manicured and smaller than his own. he seemed fascinated, for a moment, by the way your fingers were moving. "your nails look pretty, love."

"i know.” you grinned. dazai's hips shifted, and you lowered his waistband, pressing a line of kisses up his neck slowly, teasing him.

you freed his cock, aching and hard, from his pants, and wrapped your hand around him. dazai let out a small gasp, though he watched as you lazily stroked him, the action perfected from experience.

"you're so pretty, 'samu." you watched his face turn red as he tried hard not to fall apart under your touch.

it was reassuring, really, to know that the most powerful man in the city was wrapped around your finger.

"not as pretty as you, baby," he said, but the word came out strained, raspy as you tightened your fist, running your teeth across the taut vein in his neck.

you laughed and moved onto his lap, kicking the remote off the couch before straddling him. his eyes melted into hearts as he stared up at you, begging for a kiss.

"you’ve been so busy this week,” you frowned. “i wanna make you feel good."

dazai jerked into you, breathing stifled as you brush your thumb over the tip. "you always do." his smile was affectionate, but his touch was desperate, digging into your sides. he was already searching for some sort of release.

"so impatient," you said, but you indulged him with a kiss anyway, his hands fisting in your hair as your tongue met his.

he breathed into you mouth, hot and heavy. "fuck," dazai hissed, lifting your hips to slip off your pajama shorts. "it's hard not to be when you're so fucking perfect, sweetheart. i need to be inside you."

dazai loves loves loves taking you out to expensive restaurants <3

he's not a big fan of crowds, though, so he'll rent out the entire place instead, just to get a private room for the two of you.

and if you don't feel like going out, but you want a nice meal, he'll hire a chef for the evening. one that specializes in whatever type of food you want

dazai's not the best cook, but he’ll do often, just because it makes you happy

he gets so much better over time, though.

whatever you want, he'll make it for you! and if he can't, he'll definitely find someone who can.

but! back to dazai letting you use his account to buy anything.

when you go to any shop associated with the mafia, everything is on the house

bc if the boss is going to funnel money into their pockets, the least they could do is give his girl some gifts !!

"is this... going to be all for you today, miss?" the cashier said, looking at the stack of clothing skeptically. he rang up price tag after price tag, watching as the numbers grew exponentially on the screen.

you nodded, smiling politely as he read off the total, a number that no average person would be able to spend reasonably in one go.

but dazai said you could get whatever you wanted for your birthday, and you hadn't let yourself indulge in a shopping spree for a while. so you'd picked up anything that suited you nicely and decided not to worry.

"how will you be paying today?"

you handed over the card, and the cashier read the name, glancing up at you with skeptical eyes.

"dazai osamu?"

you smiled sweetly. "it's my boyfriend's card."

though, the name had caught the attention of an older salesman across the room, and he was to the cashier in two swift steps, knocking him on the back of the head.

"dumbass," the older man swiped the card from the cashier before he could swipe the payment. "don't you know who she is?"

it took the man three more times of reading dazai's name across the plastic for it to click.

"i'm so sorry," he said, wide eyes suddenly anxious. "i had no idea you were—"

"it's okay. don't worry." you smiled, shrugging. "i won't tell him."

you meant it as a joke, but that only seemed to make the younger cashier more nervous.

"we'll take care of everything for you." the elderly salesman said, holding out the card to return it. "it's on us."

"really?" you pinched your eyebrows together, concerned. the bill was steep. it seemed unfair to let them take such a hit to profits. "at least let me pay for some of it.”

"no, don't worry about it. the boss said it was your birthday, so whatever you want, its yours."

for a moment, you weren't sure what to say. though, realizing that this store was just one of the many in yokohama that partnerned with dazai, you finally succumbed to a smile, and accepted their kindness.

you took dazai's card back and slipped it into your purse. "thank you so much.” you said sincerely, turning to leave with a small wave as you gathered up the bags and bags of clothes. "it was nice to meet you. i'll come back soon!"

though they said nothing, they both stared back at you with wide eyes, as most people did when they found out you were the one that had captured dazai's heart.

when dazai finds out how much you love to read, he clears out an entire floor of the port mafia headquarters to make you a library

its done far too elaborately, with classical decorations, a very intricate chandelier, and a view that looks over the entire city

there are special editions, original copies of your favorite books, books in languages you can't even read and so on

he went a little overboard, but he was just so excited to show you :(

"osamu." you stare, blinking at the vast room, not really sure what to say other than his name.

"what?" he's pouting instantly, wondering if he made a mistake, and you didn't like to read as much as he thought. "do you not like it?"

you don't think your heart has ever felt so full before, and you manage a shaky smile, wondering how it didn't split your face in two. "this is too much. you did all this for me?"

and he seems surprised you would even ask such a silly question, because why wouldn't he give you something you've always wanted? "if it makes you feel better, i'll tell you i did it for myself."

you laugh, and then you're launching yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck in a warm embrace. you nearly cry, because even though he spoils you far too much, this is the most thoughtful gift you've ever received.

"thank you." you whisper, kissing him all over his face, and he smiles, his cheeks warm from your affection.

dazai leads you to a shelf after that, pointing out a few novels that have his name scribbled in the front cover, all with varying states of penmanship.

he's collected all his favorite books there for you, hopeful you'll read them first.

dazai places you next to him in every mafia meeting

if you're going to be his partner, you're also going to be his equal <3

and he knows that you can keep everyone in the mafia in line. he trusts you to be in charge when he's not there

bc everyone in the mafia likes you more than dazai anyway! (except maybe akutagawa)

and yes, dazai is the sweetest to you <3 but certainly not to everyone else

he disposes of people that bother you... far too quickly

the man at the store made you uncomfortable? he doesn't live in the city anymore. someone was too handsy? they'll lose a few fingers.

but if someone in the mafia says even one unkind word to you, you'll never see them again.

"sweetheart, what's wrong?"

you sniffed, wiping the tears from your eyes as his hands snuck around your waist. he pulled you closer towards him, sliding next to you on the bed.

"it's nothing." you swallowed, but your eyes were still glassy no matter how hard you tried to stop crying. "i shouldn't get so worked up about things people say."

"hey," he coaxed your hands away from your face, tilting your chin up. "if it's upsetting you, it's a big deal to me, my love."

you said nothing for a moment, but dazai remained patient, smiling softly at you as he stroked your cheek.

never able to resist the gentleness that he showered only you in, you sighed. "some people just said…” you trailed off, almost not wanting to tell him. it seemed embarrassing, in some way, to say something lewd about yourself, even if you were merely repeating the words.

“said what?”

you chewed the inside of your lip before sighing, knowing dazai wouldn’t let the issue rest until you told him.

“they just said that you only kept me around to fuck me.” you dropped your gaze to your hands for a moment, letting them rest limply in your lap. “that i was just some stupid bitch you’d leave behind soon.”

you watched the smile slowly fall from his lips, his eyes hardening with a fury that wasn't directed at you.

"you know that's not true." he held your hands tightly, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. "tell me that you know that."

you managed something of a smile. "i know. i really do know how much you love me. doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt my feelings.”

he nodded, somewhat satisfied as the cloudiness began to clear from your face. "who was it? if you don't know they're name, just describe them." his expression was icy, dangerous, even if his hands were soft.

"osamu, i told you it doesn't matter—" you frowned, looking away before he interrupted.

“it does fucking matter." his words came out sharp. "those men work for me, and i'm not going to let them treat you like that. they've got no business being here if they can't respect you."

at the end of the day, dazai's reputation remains very much intact. he will always be feared in the city, despite exposing himself as a man who's so so in love

but everyone in the mafia is secretly pleased to see him a little happier, even if its just around you.

[webslingingslasher]

Care less

for the frat!peter girlies.

Peter blames his aunt. 

May went and raised him to look forward to the middle of february. She would make little boxes and handwritten notes tied up with a fun-sized candy bar. May told him it was a day to celebrate love in its entirety. For a friend, for a teacher, for just the sake of love existing everywhere you went. 

Except, not everyone likes valentine's day. Some even hate it. Some would loathe the day so much that Peter feels like an idiot for caring. Dinner reservations that were going to be ignored, flowers that would go wilted and chocolates that were never going to get eaten. 

Peter has a handful of nothing and the one time he really wanted to outperform himself, it was brushed off and it was his aunt’s fault for getting his hopes up about valentine’s day. He had been so thoughtful too, planning weeks ahead to book a dinner slot and a fun date. Not to mention the mini fortune he spent on roses, not that you were a giant fan of roses but every girl deserves a bouquet on valentine’s, even if they triple in price. Peter even bought a second bunch of your favorite kind, just to prove he cared. 

It meant nothing. His efforts meant nothing and maybe he shouldn’t have assumed, but he never thought that you’d hate the holiday. It was a day entirely built around feelings, around love- and you just rolled your eyes at him. 

“I fucking hate valentine’s day.” You said it like it was nothing, taking two bites of a banana and handing it over to Peter. He asked if you were excited, maybe even hinting at that you should be excited. Peter Parker was about to romance the hell out of you. But not anymore. 

“Explain that one for me?” A toss, the peel falls into the trash can. You shrug as if you’ve never thought about it before, but it’s something you’ve held in your chest for as long as you can remember. 

“It was a holiday created by girls who didn’t feel loved enough by their boyfriends, or something. I think the practice is stupid, you should treat me good and do nice things for me everyday, not just once a year. And everything is crowded! Everyone has the same lame idea about dinner and a movie and flowers and… it’s just not something I buy into.” 

Peter feels every bit of him curl up and die inside. Valentines is his third favorite holiday, he adores the pinks, reds, and purples. He loves seeing couples of every stage, the beginning stages or lifelong partners. They all love the same; with everything in them. 

“Well, actually, I do have a confession. Chocolate covered strawberries. They’re outrageously expensive, but I buy them every year. If you’re wondering, I was hoping we could boycott the baby holiday and eat some strawberries or something.” 

A small lift in his heart, it’s something. You’d be happy with one thing and he could deliver that, but first he has to try and sway you, right? Peter needs to preach what valentine’s is about, he needs you to understand how lovely it is. 

“I’m surprised you hate it so much. I figured you’d love it, since it’s pink and feelings, and stuff.” You wink at him, you think it’s a joke and Peter’s in the same boat as you. “I know, right? It always seemed so gimmicky to me, I think.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s bad.” You pretend gag, Peter feels his heart sink into the hollow of his chest. “You’re right, it’s cringy and that makes it so much worse.” Peter doesn’t agree, not even in the slightest. Nothing about it is cringy, there’s nothing embarrassing about showing you love someone. 

“Right. It’s cringy and a gimmick and everyone who participates is stupid.” Maybe he’s a little cynical, it hits harder when you nod with exaggeration. “So glad you agree, petey!” He doesn’t. Peter couldn’t be further away from your opinion but he’s really not in the mood to be shut down or judged, so, he just changes the subject and tries to ignore everything crumbling apart in the back of his mind. 

“Isn’t this cute?” 

You squint your eyes when you read the card, a tiny smile shows. “It’s cute. Not worth…” You snatch the glorified cardstock and flip it, your eyes widen, you pretend to choke on the dollar amount. “Ten dollars, holy shit. For some glitter? Fuck that.” 

You want it out of your hold, scared that if even a speckle spread you’d be forced to buy it. “What happened to the good old days of making your own card? My mom used to eat that up.” 

Peter delicately sets the card down, he tries to see it how you do, but he can’t. Sure, it’s wildly marked up, but wouldn’t your partner be worth the price? Peter would buy the moon for you if he could, a ten dollar Hallmark card won’t be his holdup. 

But, maybe you’d like a handmade one more. He can do that. 

Peter’s trying to be mindful of your opinion while also planting the seed that valentine’s isn’t all that bad into your brain. It’s days away and all he can hear in the back of his mind is ‘I fucking hate valentine’s day.’ 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Peter- do you fucking see this?” 

A romantic gesture? A public display of love and admiration? Dozens of carefully inflated heart shaped balloons? A girl crying into the arms of her friend while her partner showers her with flowers. Is it the love? Is that what you’re pointing out? 

“Yeah, it’s-” 

“Disgusting.” 

“-cute.” Peter frowns, is that what you really thought of valentines? Nothing was swaying your mind, Peter thinks that you’re more solidified in your mindset than before. 

“I’m sorry, trouble, but I’m finding it hard believing you hate valentine’s day.” It’s like he just called you a slur, you pull your hand from his and stuff it into your jacket pocket. 

“I don’t hate it, I loathe it. What do you see watching that? Personally, I’m seeing gravel covered flowers and wasted space that turns into deflated balloons. Fuck that.” Peter shakes his head, you’re seeing it wrong. “It’s about the gesture.” 

“It’s about how you love someone so much, there aren't enough things in the world to buy to show it, and there are never the right set of words to say it quite right. I’ll buy all the flowers in the world for you, and I’ll use all the air in my lungs for these balloons but it’ll never match the love I have for you.” 

Peter clears his throat. “That's what I see, anyways. I think valentine’s day is an excuse to be a little cringy and basic because we all want that sometimes.” He might’ve finally broken through, but you crack a grin and bump your shoulder into his. 

“Ah, yes, because I’m so unfulfilled that a man has never gotten me a teddy bear for valentine’s day.” Would you want one? He could get you one. Or could that be a reason you might detest the holiday, not that he’d ever take your opinion for resentment or bitterness. 

“Have you ever had a valentine?” A small stumble, your hand is tied into his again. “Besides elementary, nah. And honestly, I should be happy so I don’t have to deal with all that stuff.” 

‘I should be happy so I don’t have to deal with all that stuff.’ But, now you do, don’t you? 

“Trouble, you do realize you’re my valentine this year, right? And I’m yours?” You feel your breath catch, no, you hadn’t realized. It’s always just been another day for you and you assume the same for Peter, it’s not like there was much to celebrate. 

“It’s also just a day that ends in Y.” Is that really the answer you have? It’s just another day to you, even if you finally have someone to claim? You might not care about the holiday, but Peter does and he’s going to get his valentine’s day, no matter what. 

And you’re going to enjoy a handmade card. 

And a teddy bear. 

Peter’s finger-combing his hair after a shower, he’s had the reservation for weeks, but he also wasn’t aware of your detestment towards red hearts and arrows. 

“Wanna grab some dinner wednesday?” If he didn’t say it by name he’s hoping you won’t scream bloody mary on him. “Sure.” A smile washes over Peter’s face, it drops in a second. “Wait, isn’t that valentine’s day? Ha, yeah, no thank you. You, me, and the entire city? Fuck that.” 

‘Fuck that, fuck that, fuck that.’ Weeks boiled into nothing. “But, if you wanna cuddle and watch a movie I’m down.” It’s something. He’d get to give you flowers and a card and a teddy bear and he can’t forget the strawberries. You told him you loved them. 

“Good with me, trouble.” 

Peter tried to sway your mind, he tried to make you enjoy the love and glitter and colors. But you hated it all. So all he has to do is ditch the flowers and the dinner and just… do nothing. 

Peter’s first real valentine and all he has to do is… nothing. 

Three rose bouquets tossed onto his closet floor, it was haphazardly done. Petals scattered around the cellophane, some even reached to his shoes. They were thrown in without care, they were hidden. 

But they were beautiful. A few front buds have taken a beating, but the others were fully blossomed and lively. You’ve never seen roses in such a vivid red, their petals almost like velvet under your fingertips, their smell unlike any other. 

The thorns have been expertly shredded, nothing but smooth, soft stems in their wake. It doesn’t matter if Peter didn’t mean to have you see them, they were too gorgeous to leave locked away in a dark room. They deserved the affection water and sunlight would give them. 

You clutched all three in your arms, the weight welcomed. You laid them out nicely across his bed, the third bouquet dropped a small card and you picked it right back up. 

‘Trouble- 

This day was made for you. 

Charlie’s at 8. 

Yours, 

Peter’

You bit back a smile. Charlie’s? It’s nice, too nice. And expensive. Peter got you reservations at Charlie’s? Holding the card to your chest you nearly squeal, you have no idea how he kept the secret from you. Or the roses. 

When you hear his bedroom door open you spin, waiting for him to be in the doorway so you can place a thousand kisses. Instead it’s Ethan and he looks surprised. “You’re here?” He points to the flowers, “Peter gave you those?” 

“I found them in his closet, he just tossed them in here! And he must’ve forgotten to tell me about Charlie’s.” Ethan doesn’t smile with you, he’s not sharing any joy. For a second you start to wonder if you were the person who was supposed to receive the gifts. 

“He didn’t forget.” You scrunch your face at him, “I think he did and I need to start getting ready now. Ethan, do you know how nice Charlie’s is? It’s fucking fancy.” You’re not prepared, you don’t have anything that screams Charlie’s worthy in Peter’s closet. 

“No, you’re not hearing me. There is no Charlie’s and there weren't supposed to be roses. I was supposed to get them before you got here, but, here we are. No roses and no Charlie’s.” You smack at his arms, pulling at his fingers to drop your flowers. 

“They’re mine!” Ethan’s on a mission to steal them, and he’s not being gentle. 

“No, you didn’t want them.” 

You watch him for a second, how could he say that, of course you want them. Thirty six reminders of Peter, how could you ever say no? You fight for what's yours, Ethan allows you to keep one bouquet. 

“I do want them!” 

Ethan’s not being nice to you tonight, he’s gruff with his response. “No. You didn’t.’ 

“You keep saying didn’t! I never said I didn’t want…” 

Except you did. Just like you said you didn’t want to get dinner with Peter. You feel terrible, you feel like crying. He’d had this planned for weeks and the whole time all you did was poke fun and degrade the holiday not knowing you were crushing him behind the scenes. 

You wanted the flowers, but you didn’t deserve them. You hand over the last bouquet silently. 

“I think it’s best if you pretend you didn’t see these.” You can’t imagine the ache Peter must have in his chest, he planned something out just for you to stomp all over it. It’s not about the value, it was the gesture. He can’t tell you how he feels, but taking you out to one of the nicest places in the city, where you know it has a month minimum reservation list makes you understand him just a little bit better. 

“This is so bad, Ethan. This is so,” you suck in air, “so bad.” 

“It’s not terrible,” a crinkle when he shifts weight. “But it’s not great.” You wince, if you could, you’d go back in time and shove your foot in your mouth, or tell yourself to shut the fuck up. 

“Well, I mean, what the fuck?! It’s fucking Peter! How was I supposed to know he was pro valentines day?”

“How was he supposed to know you were anti valentines day?” 

You sink to the bed and hold your head in your hands, “I just want Peter right now.” You want to hug him and kiss him and tell him how sorry you were. Ethan hesitates for a second, before stepping closer to lay the flowers across your lap. 

“You found them. They’re yours.” You protect them from being taken, but still have self-pity. “I don’t deserve them.” Ethan scoffs, “of course you do. Everyone deserves pretty flowers.” 

You pout at yourself in the mirror and fix any smudges. Brushing out any stray wrinkles your newest dress might’ve made on the way over. Ethan had very kindly instructed a pledge to pick you up an outfit so you could change before Peter got back. 

With minutes to spare, he’s back and taking a deep breath at your appearance. “Wow.” A surprised hum when you kiss him, you wipe red from his bottom lip while you apologize. “I’m so sorry, petey.” 

“For what?” A look around the room, red roses give him the reason. “Oh. Hey, it’s no big deal and I-” A frown when you silence him by holding a finger to his lips. 

“I’m sorry. I found those flowers and all I could think about was you and how much it meant to me that you got those for me, then I saw the card and I couldn’t believe you got us reservations and I just felt… special. I’ve never had a valentine, but I get it now. It’s just a day you get to dote on me extra hard.” 

Another surprise kiss, “and if you didn’t already cancel I think we can get to Charlie’s on time. But if you did, that’s okay. Because I think those are the most lovely flowers I have ever gotten, and I might have seen a little teddy bear in there but I didn’t wanna get too presumptuous.” 

This time, Peter kissed you. “There’s also a homemade card.” 

“You didn’t!” You fall in closer to his chest, his hands can have free reign tonight, you wore the dress just for him. 

“I did. I even wrote a little poem.” 

A chaste kiss, “just when I think you can’t get better.” 

“There’s also glow in the dark mini golf planned for after.” A peck, “so thoughtful and handsome.”

A whisper, he’s got blown pupils and hoping he’d get another kiss. “And your strawberries are in the fridge.” 

Your hearts about to explode, “fuck, I love-” you stop yourself, but you heard it and so did Peter. He brushes it off, “love?” Fuck it, you’ll both keep circling around it. 

“Yeah, I love love.” 

A hungry kiss, a squeeze to the back of your thighs. “Yeah, I love love, too.” 

[jolapeno]

had to see you

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

summary: And then, he says, “It’s nice.” “You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.” “It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

an: eventual smut. angst with happy ending. will-they-won't-they, but they do. smut. he loves you 100%. word count: 5.7k || there’s a part two to this here

simon ghost riley masterlist

You love the rain. 

Not so much when you’re away. When you’re strapped up, weighed down by all your gear. The additional weight of being wet makes for an uncomfortable experience, with hair clinging to foreheads and mud sticking to your skin. It also forces things to rub more, chaff. Your skin is often raw from where the buckles and belts sit. 

But, at home, it’s refreshing. 

It’s why you never hated your nickname, the one given to you in jest—to remind you that you are a female, soft, emotional. Only for it to grow more fitting. Because Rain comes from above, sharp, falling where needed—catching people by surprise, and leaving traces behind, but never enough to know where you’ll land next. 

Rain is also one word. One syllable. Short, sharp and easy.

It can be spat, it can be sweetly said and affectionately called. 

On good days, it reminds you of long car rides, staring out of windows at passing traffic as you watch beads of its travel down—racing. On bad days, it reminds you of more unpleasant memories, ones born in moments you’d sooner forget, an emptiness in your chest from betrayal, loss and bad choices. 

At home, rain itself keeps you rooted. The scent, for one, not allowing your mind to whisk you off too old memories of war and enemy territories. The sound, for another, hits your windows and dulls the silence. All three senses are busied by it. It all blends perfectly together with the crackling of your candles and the low-light vibe you have going off in your flat. 

Plus, there’s nothing more British than bad weather. 

Each time you’re able to come home, you hope it’s raining. Landing back, greeted with cold and horrid rain. Preferably the kind which looks misty through windows and soaks you in seconds when you step into it. The kind which makes it hard to know which speed to put your car wipers on, and socks get drenched as puddles form quicker than people can account for.

You didn’t care that you looked like a drowned rat when you unlocked your flat door. Or that your wet clothes were difficult to remove as steam filled your bathroom because you were always going to have a shower. A routine—a tradition of sorts. 

Hands desperate to wash the months away, let your expensive soaps and scents soak into neglected skin and smother old scars and newly gained ones. Plus, the water was hotter at home, almost scolding your skin as you stood under it, letting each droplet massage a part of your neck and upper back as your living room music drifted through the cracked door.

You dress before you really prune, sliding on silk PJs—the ones which you buy as a treat and wear once, maybe twice a year. Your skin sighs in relief, thankful to forget sand, bullets and bruises, the same as your mind. Busying your hands with preparing a lavish dinner, a large dish too ridiculous for one person—but again, you’d missed it. Home.

The scent of gravy, potatoes and meat.

When asked, you’d been quiet about your plans with the others. Them only having a slight idea of which city you call home. It’s not that you didn’t want to see them—not even sure you’d be able to fall asleep without Soap’s snores, Ghost’s huffs and Gaz’s odd bedtime stories. But, you’d gained new nightmares on the last job—ones which you needed to make peace with before they stole another fraction of your soul.

That’s what it did, eventually. Even to the best of them. 

Bad choices, untested intel and wrong moves left little marks before they claimed a piece of innocence, kindness and happiness. 

It’s a little different with the 141. Without realising it, you’re sure you all help smother each other's struggles away. But it’s only temporary. You know it, you can feel it in the muscles in your back and in the knots in your stomach. So, if you saw them now when you needed to heal—if you relied on them—you’d go back weaker than when you left. And they needed you; you needed them. A team where you could only trust one another—having been betrayed so often, you were all each other had.

It’s why you were taken back by a firm knock. 

Short. Deliberate. 

Pausing, allowing whoever they were to realise their mistake. Even if the sound didn’t appear as though they’d chosen the wrong flat or someone who was cherry-knocking. It was purposeful, direct, and your hands quickly dried on the kitchen towel as your feet crossed the tiles and laminate to your front door. 

When you’d left, you’d asked a friend to check in on the flat—fix the peephole. Something having forced it to get stuck, leaving you blind to whoever was on the other side. Your friend is good, kind, and sweet but forgetful. Something which also reminds you of home as you snort, undoing the chain, and unlocking the door, half expecting them. 

Only to see him. 

“Ghost?” 

He has a hood up, and a scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face. 

His eyes fall over you, taking you in centimetre by centimetre, digging into you as if he’d not expected to see you.

You find it just as odd to see the skin around his eyes not tainted in grey or black and that his frame is still as ridiculously large, even in plain clothes, as he holds a duffel bag in his hand.

Suddenly aware of the thin layer covering your body from him. Especially as his eyes drop from your face to the silk shirt with its three buttons undone and then to your legs, where silk shorts did their best but were futile in hiding thighs, knees or legs from him.  

“You lettin’ me in?” 

Instinctively, you move, not even questioning it. 

Even if he didn’t say it like an order, he was still your lieutenant. Even on home ground, you slipped into your sergeant role too quickly. Watching him pass you, turning to face the direction he moves in before pressing your back against the inside of your door. Fingers sliding to the side of you, turning the lock, the sound filling the small space as you watch him stop at your key hook, slowly sliding his feet from his boots—finding him wearing thick, bobbly socks. 

He turns to face you, eyes washing over you again as his hood remains up as he undoes the scarf. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen his face a handful of times, each time, it still renders you silent, if only for a second. 

Clearing your throat, you rub the back of your neck. “I don’t mean this to come out as rude, but why are you—“

“Someone broke into my place.” 

You move, almost too quickly, from the door. Your hand brushing his shoulder, wanting—needing—to comfort him, soothe him like you would a friend. Before you remembered who this was. 

Almost surprised he doesn’t flinch. Even if he does shoot you a surprised look before you wrench your hand back. 

“S-sorry. Habit.” He frowns, and you wish the floor would swallow you whole. “Not with y—when I’m home, I’m… well, I—did they take anything?” 

“Not sure.” 

Right. “Do you need somewhere to stay?” 

He looks at you briefly before his eyes flick away, the tell-tale signs of him processing and thinking. You’ve seen him do it often, especially when Price is talking and when he reads files. As if he’s choosing where to store it in the filing cabinet, he calls his brain. 

“Please,” he says, the word almost coming out as a whisper. 

As if it’s so rarely ever said. 

You’re unsure what to say, even if there’s so much swirling around your brain. So many questions you want to pepper him with, but he’s not Soap, who’ll answer them all or Gaz, who’ll have already told you everything. 

He’s Ghost. 

Silent. Quiet, Ghost. 

Your oven beeps, his head turning to the sound. 

Sighing, you rub your arms, suddenly aware of how cold your hallway feels, as you cover your chest with your elbows. “You hungry?” 

Silence. 

A beat or two blossoming, your eyes unable to move from his face, even if you know you should, before he licks his lips, saying, “Starving.” 

You smile, “Good. It's not a lot, just some chicken, potatoes… a bit of veg. Nothing huge. And, not quite a typical Sunday roast, but enough to ease me back in.” 

He doesn’t laugh, not that you expect him to. 

“Bathroom is there, to your right. If you need it,” you say quickly, almost stepping past him to answer your beeping oven. “I just need to dish up, and… yeah.” 

You expect to feel calmer by the time he’s back. Especially with your dressing gown on, loosely knotted at your waist, covering more of you from him. 

But you’re more nervous. 

Doubting the food you’ve plated, the scent of the candles, whether the low lights make it romantic and whether you should turn up the acoustic songs playing or let the rain be the soundtrack of the evening. Suddenly aware of how fucking odd this is. 

Him being here. 

And yet, not that odd at all. 

“Hope it’s okay…” you mumble nervously as you place the plate down.

He looks like he belongs at your table, even if your table is small and usually for one-person. He’d helped, in as much of a way as a stranger can in someone’s home, grabbing glasses from cupboards you direct him to, making squash for you and water for him. 

His hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he waited for further instruction, catching sight of the hood still being up, having noticed he’d swapped jeans for dark joggers before you told him to sit. 

“There’s more gravy�� just wasn’t sure how you liked it,” you add. 

Ghost doesn’t answer, not even as you slide into the chair opposite. Your hands have a slight tremble to them as you pick up your cutlery, trying not to watch him take a bite—suddenly feeling like a contestant on a judging show. 

And then, he says, “It’s nice.” 

“You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.”

“It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the occasional sound of a fork grazing the plate and the knife slicing through food. It’s almost normal—as though this happens regularly. 

“Your place is nice, too,” he mumbles.  

Lifting your head, you find he’s looking at you already. “You don’t have to lie, Simon. You can still stay even if you think my decor is odd.” 

His eyes widen a fraction before it vanishes like it never existed. A brief moment of you wondering why, until you realise the slip—the way you used his name and not his alias. Making it feel personal. More so than the two of your knees occasionally butting under the table. 

“It’s not what I expected.” 

“You’ve thought about my place?” 

Ghost says nothing, hovering his fork over his dinner as he keeps his eyes down. 

You smile if only to yourself, pushing some meat and vegetables onto your fork, continuing—wondering if he’s hoping you would. That silence would settle over the two of you, the storm outside being enough background noise to keep it from being awkward. 

“I have to ask,” you say suddenly, keeping your gaze down, trying to still your pulse as you manoeuvre food around the sauce. “Why me? I mean… I don’t mind you being here, but I thought, well, I assumed you’d pick Soap—if you needed a place to stay.”

You try not to look, even when you hear a faint snort, seeing his plate—empty, only traces of broccoli stalks remaining—slide closer as the chair creaks in his movement. 

“You were closer.” 

Oh. 

Your stomach drops, suddenly feeling foolish for thinking there could be any other reason. 

Almost wanting to kick yourself for allowing yourself to consider another option, one which you’ve been stuffing down for weeks, months… 

It isn’t as though you were meant to fall for him. The man who originally kept his face a higher guarded secret than his own name. But, it stemmed naturally and out of nowhere. He made you laugh as you moved into an enemy building—nerves humming in your bones. He made it worse when he flung himself in front of you before a car exploded, gripping you tightly against him, not letting go for minutes later before his hand cupped your cheek, mouthing words you couldn’t hear as ears rang and rang.

Smiling, you nod, not sure what else to say as you take his plate and yours, turning your back to him as you hear him clear his throat. 

“I had to see if you were okay.” 

You don’t place the plates down, not immediately. 

Eyes trying to peer at him through the corner of your vision, slowly lowering the porcelain to the counter—too afraid to break the moment with a single sound, even as your heart hammered in your ears, in your chest, and throat. 

He had said it so softly, you have to wonder how long it’s been churning on his tongue. 

Slowly turning, you face him, finding his eyes already on you with an awkwardness in his shoulders as he looks up at you. 

“Well, I’m fine.” 

“Had to be sure.” 

You smile, pulling your dressing gown around you tighter. “Well, that’s because you’re a good lieutenant.” 

His brows knit, lips spreading into a thin light before you notice the subtle shift in his nostrils as though he’s sighed before Ghost nods with his usual professionalism. That’s when your stomach drops, fluttering ridiculously near your feet as you feel you’ve made a mistake.  

“Tea?” you ask. 

Ghost’s face shifts and you’re almost sure there’s a faint smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry, I know how you like it,” you add, pulling open a cupboard as you retrieve two mugs and flick the kettle on. “I’ve heard you berate Soap for his piss-poor tea skills.”

You make him snort. 

And it does nothing to stifle the fluttering.

If anything, it adds to it. 

Shit. 

Even though it’ll be his bed for the night, Ghost refuses to sit on the sofa and doesn’t allow you to sit in the armchair. Practically insisting you sit how you would if he wasn’t here. Even if you’re worried he won’t be comfortable, the ridiculous chair was bought as a filler—an accessory, rather than something people actually used.

“Fine,” you mumbled, grabbing your blanket and curling up across both seats as he clutched the mug in his hand. 

You put something crap on the TV, the volume low—just in case he doesn’t feel like talking. Your eyes flick to it occasionally, half-listening as you softly wiggle your toes under the blanket—needing something to focus on. Because you couldn’t keep looking at him. 

Not with how your mind was running away from you, imagining ifs and buts and everything else in between. 

He fits here. Your home rarely feels warm and comforting, but with his presence, it does. As though your place has always wanted to be enjoyed by two people, not one person who rarely ever visited it. 

It doesn’t feel weird, even if it should. It makes you feel unsteady, and dizzy. Suddenly unable to stop focusing on the fact there’s a six-foot-something amount of feelings in your chest, twisting and tightening, trying to unlock everything you stuffed down. 

That same instinct and set of emotions which made you try to rip yourself from Soap’s grip when Ghost had entered a blazing building just for a stupid USB; how you’d been so angry, feral—as Soap called it—not able to think, how it had filled you, consuming you. How you’d even told Price you needed benching, unable to even look at your lieutenant, never mind be in the same room. 

He eventually cornered you on the base, pushing you, mixing between berating and taunting you until you slammed your small fist into his shoulder as you called him an idiot, a fucking cunt, a liability, a heartless cunt. How your tiny fist hammered into him with each array of insults until he grasped it tenderly, staring at you until tears bubbled in your eyes. 

You cannot die.

Why?

But, he had to know. His eyes followed a single tear down your cheek as he released your wrist, allowing you to walk away from him and begin the process of stuffing everything down again. 

Then you’d been shot. Through and through. Fire, gasp and fucking pain, your mind rendered uselessly, but he was still the person you called for. Not Soap, who was closer, not Gaz, who could actually stitch you. But Ghost. 

Ghost who came in a flash, telling you what you needed to hear—ordering you to do things like look at him, gripping his arm. 

“What?” 

Blinking, you didn’t even realise you’d been looking at him. Your mind blanking excuses tumbling from your grasp as you offer the quickest smile and a ‘nothing’. 

You forget how good he is at reading people. 

Especially you. Almost sure you make it easy for him, even if everyone else says they struggle. 

Ghost always knows, as though he’s in your head, digging his way through each time he stares at you. You wonder how much you let him in, whether he finds it easy before you want him in there—in your mind, in your heart. 

Now, he’s giving you a stern look, one which makes the truth rattle in your chest and snakes up your throat. 

Sighing, you shake your head. “Fine, I was thinking about how weirdly normal it is that you’re here. That it doesn’t feel weird, alright? That was it.” 

Anyone else, you’d think they’d smirk. 

But with him, it’s the slightest movement of his lip which tells you he has heard you. 

Ghost takes a sip, purposefully holding your gaze as he does so before filling the silence with, “You thought about it, then? Me being here.” 

“Of course I have,” you answer too quickly, wanting to kick yourself as the words hit the air, his brows raising as he sips his tea. “Not… Not like that.” 

“How then?” 

Shit. Swallowing, you sigh, trying to buy yourself time. Shit, bollocks, shit. 

“Should tell you, lying to your lieutenant isn’t smart.” 

You give him a sharp look of your own, and he snorts—actually snorts. Your eyes are all set to roll until he says your name. 

Your real name. 

Not your nickname. Not sergeant or soldier. 

“Fine. I’ve thought about it.”

“It?” 

You groan, pulling the blanket up further—not that it’ll hide the obvious warming of your cheeks or embarrassment. You’re sure that’s painted across the room, likely even doing a jig at your expense. 

“Us. You, me. In a bed,” you mumble. “Happy?” 

Wanting to hide your face, almost about to when the sound of his mug meeting your coaster makes you freeze. Your armchair—the one his frame has somehow fit into comfortably—groans as he moves, and you let yourself see him from the corner of your eye. His forearms leaning on his knees, his hand sliding his hood down as he watches you. 

He’s silent. 

So silent it almost kills you. The adverts in the background do nothing to stop it; the rain, now hammering against the windows, was not stifling it. 

Slowly breathing as you place your mug down, standing before you can even consider the options. “I didn’t realise how late it is,” you say, forcing a yawn. “I should… go to bed. Let you make your bed.” 

You fold the blanket, throwing it over the arm as you try to shrug, and play it off, but he’s quicker at recognising you—he knows you better than that. His hand comes to touch your wrist, like he did months ago, eyes scanning yours.

For what you’re not sure. 

Not wanting to get your hopes up. Not wanting to lose yourself in dreams and imagination. 

So, you smile. As sweetly and as believable as you can as you point to the coffee table chest. “Blankets, pillows, the lot are in there,” you say, almost breathlessly, as he releases you. “Have a nice sleep, Gh—Simon.” 

He swallows, his face remains unreadable as he chokes out, “You too.” 

But you’re already moving, desperately seeking your room—throwing the door open and shutting it as you place your back against it. She’s closing, chest hammering so hard you’re sure it’s trying to escape. 

Go back. 

Go back to him. 

Your eyes slowly open, catching sight of yourself in the mirror as the street lamps partially light your room.

He came to check on you. You. 

Rolling your neck, your fingers flex at your side, twisting your wrists, wanting to shake it all from you. Trying, desperately to rid yourself of the tension and adrenaline. Almost doing so until you hear the floorboards outside your door creak. 

It doubles your heart rate as a lump forms in your throat, suffocating you. You don’t want to give in, but wish to all at once. Your hand cupping your mouth, trying to hide the extra breaths the sound has forced you to make. Needing him. Wanting his calloused fingers to leave marks over your skin, his stubble to slice against your cheeks as his lips capture your breath, words and soul.  

It’s that which makes you shift from the door. Not sure what you’re expecting, what you’re going to see, as your hand twists the doorknob, coming face to face with him all over again. 

His hoodie is gone. 

Expression torn—that same awkwardness in his shoulders.

Your hallway light touches his unreadable expression, highlighting all the lines and shading of his tattoo that stand out against his skin. 

“Tell me to go back to your living room.” 

Inhaling sharply, your hand drops from your mouth and falls limply to your side. 

You are not thinking, thoughts all scattered, scrambled. Not even sure you can find words to tell him you want anything but. That you want him here, right in front of you; you want him to be rough and also kind, you want him to kiss you like he’ll never have the chance to again. 

As though reading you, he moves closer, not even touching you, but your body yearns for him, muscles tensing and spasming at the endless thoughts of what could be—what he could do, what you already know he’d be good at. Suddenly wanting to rid yourself of your dressing gown, of your PJs, of the thin lace between your thighs you’ve already ruined. 

“Words, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart.

Your legs almost give way, a smile wanting to bloom and spread across your lips, up your cheeks until it's radiating from you. 

“Tell me. Or I’ll kiss you.” 

Speechless, your lips part. 

Yes. Please, yes. 

Not even sure you are even breathing as you imagine his hands on you, his mouth against yours, against your neck, descending down and down—

His hand cups your cheek, pulling your eyes to his as he examines you. He studies you like he’s capturing every fucking inch of you: the curve of your cheeks, the position of your brows, the way your lips are waiting for him. The clear crisis you’re going through is rendered and broken at the mere thought of this becoming a reality. 

“Simon…” you manage to whisper.

Hoping it's enough. Needing it to be enough. 

He blinks once more before he lowers his head, his lips planting against yours and you’re sure you explode. Your heart furiously beating, ears buzzing and burning all at once.

Barely focusing on the way his arm snakes around you as your mouth moves to meet each one of his movements. His lips are soft, even if his tongue is rough; his grip tight, purposeful—desperate, even if yours are gentle, nervous. The pads of your fingers slide past the healed scar on his cheek, moving into his hair, his groan vibrating against your lips. 

Gh—Simon is almost lifting you, moving you back as his foot kicks your bedroom door shut behind him, blocking out the light from the hallway. Only the streetlights dance shadows across your room as kisses grow messier, fingers brushing over skin as he hooks a finger in the waistband of your shorts, then sliding, freeing you, until you’re stepping out of them. Your robe next, falling with a thud as your hands slide under his t-shirt, feeling taut, hard muscle and silver scars which paint stories as your legs find your bed. 

He smells different than usual.

Less sweat and fireworks, and more some combination of Ghost meeting sandalwood and amber as the two of you bend down onto your bed, the frame hissing at the weight and movement—not even aware of what’ll be expected to support soon enough. 

“Shit, woman. Y’know how beautiful you are?” 

His teeth nipping, sucking, leaving an answer to your prayer before you feel him unbuttoning your top, all slow and gentle, as if undoing a present he’s waited desperately for. 

“Rip it,” you moan, his teeth grazing over the space between your breasts before he lifts up. 

His eyes burn into yours, the smallest evidence of a smirk on his mouth as he slowly shakes his head. “I’ve waited too fuckin’ long to get here, I’m takin’ my damn time.” 

If you weren’t already soaked for him, that did it. 

All slick, swollen and hungry for him. Not sure if it’ll even take much, not with how precise you can imagine him being—how fucking thick his fingers are, how he’s staring at you like he wants to break you in all the ways he can before sunrise.

And you want it. Desperate for it. So much so that just the fan of his warm breath against your exposed nipples makes you rub your thighs together, needing friction—something he can tell, he must do. 

“Wait.”

It’s sharp, authoritative, and he’s going to be the death of you. 

Your body is so tense, you’re sure it’ll snap if you keep any more still as he undoes the last button and exposes your skin to the cool air and his breath. So focused on his eyes, you’ve forgotten all about his hand until you feel lace dig into your waist, tightening and tightening—snap.

And he smirks.

The devious bastard smirks. 

Your lips part to make a remark—one you’re not even wholeheartedly sure will come out right—but it dies when he touches you, one finger, one thick calloused finger sliding between your thighs, brushing where you need him. 

“Fuck…”

“Part them, sweetheart.”

And you do.

You do it like he’s said open-fucking-sésame. Two fingers sliding against you, diving between your folds. It’s intense, teasing and everything all at once. It’s making you burn and shiver, sweat building on your brow as you pant and whimper. His name falls freely, almost chanting it, like a song you’re the only one who can sing it. He captures what he can, tasting each syllable you say of his name until you’re tightening and clenching, and he whispers in your ear how good you are, how perfect you are, and you meet your orgasm with blinding lights and arched back. 

The sight of him licking your want from his fingers brings you back, his mouth crashing against yours as you pull him down, knee bent against his hip as his hand comes to rest on your hip—the one you hope he’s bruising. Wanting, wishing for him to leave literal fingerprints as your hand slides between the two of you.

You knew before tonight Simon Riley would be big. 

Almost too big. 

The weight of him against your palm is something else, the thickness of his cock in between your fingers as you make him hiss, thumb swiping over the head as he groans. 

He mixes kissing and nipping at your neck depending on what your hand does, the groans of your name making you desperate—needing him inside you, suddenly empty and desperate all over again, but not for his fingers. 

You want him so deep in you you’ll forever feel empty without him. You want to feel every inch of him, want to rock against his hips as you press half-moons into his skin as nails dig into him. 

The ache growing, worsening as his tongue draws a line from your neck to your earlobe, his fist clenching around your bed sheets at your side. 

“Fuck… stop. Stop,” he groans, a hand smothering yours, halting you as he stares at you before pressing his forehead against yours. 

Letting him go, touching his cheek—his eyes full of lust, searing into you. 

“I want you.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod, his lips sliding up into a half-smirk—a Simon special. “I’ll go slow.”

“I hope you fucking don’t.”

His eyes harden. “I’m going slow. I’ll ruin you later,” he whispers darkly, before capturing your lips, a hand gripping the back of your thigh—shifting it just over his hip.

You're set to argue, and comment you can handle it until you feel him lineup, the head of his cock pushing against your folds. 

You gasp as his hips move forward, slowly pushing himself in, your nails digging into his shoulder, into his waist as shivers run down your spine. The stretch being both too much and everything all at once, your toes curling, him slowly burying his cock all the way in as his fingers stroke your jaw.  

“So fu—tight. Fuckin'-shit, sweetheart.” 

“Simon…” 

Your hips roll, moaning at the way it feels, having never felt so full. Never felt so stretched. 

He’s slow, as he has been since he stepped over the threshold. His determination to take things slow, to take his time, not lessening now that he’s deep inside of you. 

You’re sure you’ve left an array of welts and half-moon marks into his shoulders as he begins to roll his hips, his thrusts purposeful, desperately seeking that spot he already knows. 

“Eyes on me,” he says, thumb against your jaw as your eyes lashes beg to flutter, but land on him all the same. “There’s my girl.” 

It’s sinful the moan you let escape at his praise, your legs almost jelly as he steals it with a kiss—as though to taste it. Your mouth grasping for him when he pulls his head back, gripping your hip, helping you both to find a steady pace.

He does ruin you.

Not the first time, the second, but on the third.

Legs so sore, boneless and aching you can barely walk without his aid to the bathroom. 

You’re not surprised he places you down on the side of the bath, taking a cloth you point him to as he cleans between your thighs as your hisses feel the space. You catch sight of yourself, an array of colours developing across your neck, collarbone and waist—just like you wanted.

A painting in colours of his own design. 

You expect awkwardness once you shuffle back, giving him a moment. Finding underwear, sliding it over shaky legs before surrendering the idea of PJs as you slid between your duvet and sheets. When he returns, you brace for regret—for words you wish he’d swallow, face hidden in the scarf or behind a mask, but he’s in boxers and shuts your door with care. 

Simon crosses the room, lifting the duvet as he slides in next to you, reaching out, tugging your back to his chest as he places a single kiss on the space below your earlobe. 

You want to tell him everything. That you like him, could even love him by now. That you look for him too, that you worry, that you care. You'd tell him that he has pierced your heart, and you welcome the sting, that you'd be there, whenever he needed it. Even with knowing he likes space and distance and everything else in between.

"Stop thinkin' so loud," he grumbles against your skin.

Smiling, you fix your eyes across the darkness, finding the outline of your dresser as his hand finds your hip. Whether to soothe you or silence you, it makes your hands clammy.

Unsure if he knows that someone loves him. Someone wants him alive, wants him uninjured.

“I have feelings for you…” you whisper, fixing your eyes on your dresser as you swallow. “In case it wasn’t obvious.” 

He doesn’t tense, doesn’t move. 

Blinking, you try to trace the shapes of your handles, keeping your mind busy, the silence building and building. 

"Say that again." You turn your head, meeting his stare, watching as he raises his knuckles before he traces your cheekbone. "Please."

His touch is so gentle, so soft that it makes your heart swell—your face relaxing as you repeat it again. "I have feelings for you.

"I care about you and...I like you alive, Simon."

You don't expect a reply, a declaration of his own. The fact he hasn't moved and hasn't pulled his knuckles from stroking your cheek, is enough of a declaration. Your lips turn, meeting them, pressing the softest kiss to them as if saying I know, I don't need to hear it. I know.

Letting your eyes ensure the message lands as you hold his gaze, ever-so-slightly nodding.

“I texted him. Johnny," he says. His fingers spread, cupping your cheek, thumb stroking your cheek. “But, I had to see you. Had to be sure.” 

Your eyes lower briefly, feeling your heart almost stammer at his words. “Because I’m your sergeant or because I’m your girl.” 

You’re my girl. Mine. Fuck, you’re mine. Mine. All mine. You hear me, sweetheart? 

His thumb pauses against your cheek, likely remembering the same words he chanted over and over as he fucked you senseless. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as his lips twitch, and yours try not to smile.

“The latter.” 

You nod. Feeling your body flush with warmth, turning your head back away from him, grinning as he pulls you flush against him.

Your heart thumping mine, mine, mine. Hearing him get comfortable against the pillow, a soft sigh blowing past his lips and kissing your skin.

“You make shit tea, though.” 

read part two

a huge thank you to @ghostaholics for this absolutely gorgeous graphic. I can’t believe how much it encapsulates the entire piece and is just so me, and so pretty. thank you so much, I appreciate it so much 💕!

[zephyrchama]

Hey! Uhhh, my birthday is in two days and most my friends don’t want to celebrate with me. So could I get some comfort for an MC who is sad their human world friends don’t wanna celebrate but has the brothers by their side? I’ve been reading your fics and headcanons the whole night yesterday and they’re really good!

(Thank you!! Hope I made it in time, and I hope it's okay if I changed things up a bit to be an MC who wasn't expecting any sort of celebration. Please have a lovely day! Happy Birthday!) (Anyone who reads this, please be sure to wish seerachii a happy birthday!)

Your alarm was beeping. Just like every other day, you raised an arm and fumbled around in the sheets until your hand made contact with the alarm, turned off the noise, and sighed into the pillow. Waking up in a realm where the day-night cycle doesn’t exist was tough. Your body had a hard time keeping track of its natural rhythm.

It was a normal day. You had homework to do and errands to run. You decided ten more minutes in bed couldn’t hurt, as a treat, and felt around one more for your D.D.D.

New messages from all of the stores you frequented appeared in your inbox overnight. Fifty percent off today only! Buy 5000 grim worth of product and get a free present! Stop by in person and show this message to get a free sample! That last one vaguely intrigued you. Maybe you would stop by after the errands were complete. The kitchen was running low on trash bags, you needed a new notebook after spilling some caustic potion on your old one during class, and Satan asked you to pick up a pack of dental floss when the opportunity arose.

You slowly dragged yourself out of bed and over to the wardrobe. You wondered if it would be weird to dress a little fancier than normal, or if anyone would even notice.

Now that you were closer to the door, an odd sound caught your attention. Some kind of scuffling and movement on the other side of your bedroom door. Muffled voices. Your heart froze. Were you supposed to be on breakfast duty? Some of your housemates liked to be up early, and some of them got real cranky when their breakfast wasn’t prepared on time.

You hurried to put on whatever outfit was front and center before opening your door, expecting to see one or two grumpy demons waiting for their food. You were met with everybody, dressed in suits, in the midst of another sibling squabble. Things seemed tense and as soon as you opened the door, all of their attention turned towards you.

“You’re awake?” Beelzebub asked. “Good morning.”

This was a rare sight. Maybe your alarm clock was set to the wrong time and you woke up far later than usual. You rubbed an eye and opened your mouth to apologize for oversleeping but got cut off.

“Hold it! What in the three realms are you wearin’? You wore that same thing last week,” Mammon exclaimed, holding an arm out in front of the others as though holding them back.

Asmodeus shoved a decorative box overflowing with tissue paper into your hands. “Put this on! Go, go!” He nudged your back into your room, and they shut the door behind you.

What?

The muffled squabbling started back up. You heard Belphegor in particular complain, "I didn't get to say good morning."

"We'll do it properly the next time," Lucifer said, right before your attention was directed elsewhere.

Inside the box was a a stunning outfit. Far fancier than anything you thought of wearing that morning and custom-tailored exactly to your size. You admired it in the mirror, conflicted. This definitely seemed like a gift, but was it really? The material felt expensive. You didn't want to get your hopes up. It could be a coincidence, some new idea that Diavolo cooked up or an event you forgot to write on the calendar. But even if that were true, what a nice coincidence it was.

A hush fell over the brothers as you gripped the door handle. This was definitely weird. You swung the door open again and asked, "What's going on?"

"Happy Birthday!" a chorus of voices rang out. Some of them followed it up with "good morning!" Someone temporarily blinded you with a confetti popper.

"Sorry we forgot to say it before," Leviathan said, clapping.

Satan and Lucifer came forward to pick confetti and glitter out of your hair, congratulating you while Asmodeus fussed over your new outfit. "As I thought, it suits you! Hehe."

A mix of emotions welled up. Mostly shock. "You remembered? Or rather... you guys knew? I don't think I told you..."

"'course we knew!" Mammon boasted.

"Who do you take us for?" Belphegor took one of your hands while Beelzebub grabbed the other. They went ahead and intertwined their fingers with yours before anyone else could object.

"We have a lot planned for today, but first, was there anything on your schedule?" Satan asked. "I hope you didn't make too many plans."

"Yeah," you said truthfully, "if there's time I was going to pick up that floss and maybe some new stationary."

Asmodeus laughed and slid an arm around your shoulder. "Oh, you're so funny!"

"You can do that another day," Lucifer chuckled. "We have better things in store for you."

"I especially can't wait for dinner." "Beel, that's a surprise," Leviathan chided, poking the glutton in his side. "Oh, right. You didn't hear that."

They had a whole day of activities planned, just for you? You teared up a little. It was impossible to cover up with your hands being held, so you looked at the floor to try and collect yourself. Just for a moment.

Of course they noticed. Leviathan was alarmed and rushed to ask, "What's wrong?"

Lucifer's confidence wavered ever so slightly, a rare happenstance. He stepped forward with a worried expression and a handkerchief if you needed it.

"Mammon, what did you do?" Belphegor eyed his brother suspiciously.

"Why me? Nothin'!" he stammered, kneeling to get a better look at your face. "What's wrong, huh?"

These guys belonged to a big family. They might fight, but they always had each others backs and supported one another when the time came. You belonged to their big family. They might be overwhelming and needy, but they always had your back and supported you when the time came. You were an inseparable part of them. It was an inscrutable realization.

What was there to say? Thank you? That sounded far too simple to express the complex emotion pooling in your gut. You squeezed the hands that had reached out to you first. They squeezed back. Maybe it was okay to be a little selfish on your birthday in the Devildom.

A wavering smile spread across your face. "I can't wait. What are we going to do?"

[absolutebl]

Love Sea - A Trash Watch Smolder

Well my BLabies, do you have your drinks ready?

Are your smores stabbed on dildos, ready to roast over the stinking flames? (Or whatever one prods smores with, I missed that weird American tradition in my misspent youth.)

Can you smell it in the air? The smell of burning trash?

Let the dumpster fire begin. Another Mame offering is upon us.

The Background

The Mameverse tends to interlock, but all signs point to these being entirely new characters. (Click on that link if you want my thoughts on this author/producer and what I feel she does well and poorly.) Meanwhile, here's the brief:

Who?

FortPeat - established couple from previous Mame offering Love in the Air AKA LITA (trash watched here).

How do we feel about them? We likie. They a great pair. Steady, established actors, good a promo, but not too good. Bit one note but can't ask for too much when it comes with such great chemistry.

What do we know about them as actors? Fort is legitimately in Engineering (hilarious). Peat and he started in the industry around the same time with bit parts, but Peat is 4 years older. They do high heat and they do it well. They were quite popular after their first series and have received sponsorships. So they wisely stayed branded and it's nice to see them on our screens again.

What?

Love Sea

While travelling a writer has a one night stand with a very irritating man.

When?

Sundays

Where?

iQIYI (AKA icky)

Why?

Mame

To what degree?

Stick your thermometer into that fire, we gonna find out. 102°C I expect.

Episode One - That's An Outfit We'd All Wear to a Tropical Island

Here’s the thing. Icky has decided (in its infinite wisdom) that it will no longer allow screen caps on mobile devices. Which means you’re going to get my loquaciousness on this dumpster fire with no respite from the unmitigated madness via photos of pretty boys saying stupid things.

So. Read at your own risk.

I have a bottle of sake and a maple doughnut (don’t knock it 'til you’ve tried it) so let’s get started!

Hold onto your dildo smores BLabies we are in Mame Country. And apparently that country has its very own baby drone to film with now. (Look, the one thing BL rarely needs more distance shots. That’s not what we’re here for, people. Certainly not from FortPeat.)

Rak, baby, I'm loving the all-black western meets goth-rocker look but that eye make-up is the true star. This is how I shall dress when I visit Thailand next. (Oh, you think I'm joking? Gotta work on my smokey eye.)

Meanwhile, if your suitcases are that expensive, why aren’t they matched?

P'ABL asking the important questions for once.

Speaking of important questions:

Why are siblings always trying to pimp each other out in Mame’s stuff? Does anyone else find this creepy? I think it’s odd to be your sibling's wingman when he's chasing tail. It’s edging into the incest taboo. Oh dear, I said edging and incest in the same sentence, I’m probubly giving Mame ideas.

I’m getting Hometown Cha Cha Cha vibes from Mut.

Rak is such a cat, very picky and stand-offish. Mut is such a puppy. Very conflicting personalities. Not a bad combo. Also Rich/poor. Country/city.

The "let’s get it on" music is hilarious. But at least Mame doesn't use egregious sound effects in her shows. Well, not as many as GMMTV. Small mercies.

I will say, FortPeat do hurt/comfort very well. Peat is good at prickly fragile baby-girl. Fort is good at cocky arrogant prick. They are good at bouncing off of each other and still showing desire. Frankly, chemistry is not one of their problems. They’re fine little actors. It’s just the story is going to betray them. Characters are going to be inexplicably evil for no good reason. And we are going to feel manipulated as a result.

But right now?

It’s fine.

And that's it, that's how I feel about Love Sea.

All in all, I’m quite drunk and it wasn’t warranted.

Waste of sake. Not a waste of a maple doughnut. No such thing. Maple donuts are always put to good use.

Okay, so Mame? Just keep it on this level and we'll remain fine. Some light terrorizing and stalking, a smidge of breaking and entering. Nothing more offensive, okay?

But that’s my eternal optimism (and the sake) talking.

Right now I’m not feeling very strongly in any direction about this show. I haven’t been whipped into a verbal frenzy.

This has been a lackluster start.

Kortord tukorn

(sorry all)

This trash watch has started off as more of a dumpster smolder. A light recycling. (Like Mame and her character archetypes.)

We smokey rather than flaming (Like Rak's FANTASTIC eye makeup.)

Oof, I feel faintly ill. I think that is the sake, tho, not the eye make up. Which was on point! Although when he started to cry, it should’ve started running down his face. Life has very few stand out moments of glory apart from an adorable young man with eye makeup running down his face.

Catch ya next week. More sake, less doughnut.

su su na

Episode Two - Rack's Green Knit Shirt is Kinda Cute

I seriously cannot fault FortPeat's chemistry. And the opening sequence for this ep was intriguingly full of banter and then...

Surprise, BJ!

I do hope that beach is private. Starting with a BJ is very unusual in a BL. We certainly lick live in interesting times.

I feel like I haven't quite been warmed up to a sex scene yet. Kinda came out of nowhere. I mean it IS quite gay, making the prick front and center before the relationship gets going. But I was oddly indifferent to this start.

I'm on gd roll tonight apparently.

You know why? (Well, I'm me, but also...)

I feel like I have license. This show is kinda rude. Is that the word I’m looking for? Yes, rude. It's not very sexy, and it's not quite dirty, it's something else. Rude.

I’m not upset about it. It’s just odd. Like Thailand is trying on some Japanese button pushing for size.

I’m not mad just mildly confused.

Meanwhile, the GL sides are a "whipping girl" trope? Not sure I’ve ever we seen that combo before. Gay mean girls or something?

On an entirely different note, BL universe, I just thought I'd tell you that’s not where a gay man of Rak's caliber puts his perfume. Just FYI. 

I love claiming.

I love a public claiming!

I don’t care if this is Mame.

I LOVE A CLAIMING. 

Also, I am very much enjoying MutRak banter. Actually, I’m pretty much enjoying this episode.

OOOO, I typed too soon.

The second half is kinda dull.

Mame's little moment of "Author insert" was awful ham-handed and on the nose. On the prick? On the ego? She compared her own rampant mischaracterization and audience manipulation to the presence of dragons in a fantasy world? Basically saying: in BL my characters don’t have to be consistent, because that’s part of the genre.

I assure you, sweetheart, there are plenty of BLs and plenty of authors who have honest characterization that stays consistent throughout, and GASP actually bolsters faithful stories and drives plot with a conflict sourced in that consistency. Wandee Goodday... to pluck a randomly contemporaneous example out of thin air. You should try it sometime.

Ooo, now I'm salty.

Episode 3 - But Now, I'm Bored

Before we start....

Linguistics Corner!

Because I got an Ask here's a bit on these two and their pronouns! (We can see if my predictions are correct during the course of this trash watch.) We are in the realm of adult characters not school setting or friendship groups so Rak is using chan/nai and khun with Mut. There is a class & wealth difference with them, + Mut starts out as a kind of employee, so chan/nai makes perfect sense. It's an old fashioned but polite way of speaking that dodges age negotiations. Rak likely doesn't know their respective ages (he could be the older one). To even begin the discussion implies a willingness to use more intimate language so Rak likely doesn't wanna open that can of worms pronouns. He is using both chan/nai and his lack of flexibility around their use as a distancing tactic. Probubly instinctively. Pom or own name would be both intimate and status lowering for him to use. With most adult characters, phi/nong takes longer to establish (if ever), particularly if they start out as strangers. Also, it has much more intimate connotations. And by that I mean: emotional vulnerability not sex. It's fun to pay attention tho, because when these two pronoun shift (and they will) it's likely to be a significant moment in their romantic arc. If I'm lucky we will get a negotiation but that's not really a Meme thing so I suspect Mut will soften his language first. Because of Mut's characterization, and in order to ramp up the romance, I would actually expect these two to (eventually) parlay into rao/ter instead of phi/pom or guu/mueng. But I am looking forward to finding out how it's handled.

And now onto the episode.

...

..

.

Over a quarter way through and I have absolutely nothing to say. I apologize, this muse be a very boring trash watch. (Imagine how I feel?) I’m too tired to drink but even if there were alcohol in my system, I still think I would have nothing to say. 

Oh. Is that? Do I sense.... *GASP*

Traumatic backstories for our characters?

From Mame? Who seems to believe that no character can have depth without suffering?

Say it isn't so?

OK we’re now halfway through this episode and apparently there’s been a Time-lapse of some kind? A couple of weeks?

So this little cat & dog game they’ve been playing has been going on for a while?

Meanwhile...

I had a huge grin on my face at the moment Ja showed up. I guess I really miss him on my screen. Hi tall drink of water.

Oh, hydration.

Back to the show.

Just two boys with abandonment issues learning how to turn a vacation fling into a relationship mistake.

Also it’s a bit too early for that level of confessional. Isn't it? Well pacing-wise for a BL it feels that way. Are we now about to turn into a country mouse narrative?

On an entirely different note, it’s fascinating to have FortPeat and MosBank airing to high heat BLs at the same time. Especially as they're running on about the same release schedule. I’m enjoying watching 2 pairs both like in chemistry.

WAIT.

I sense a parody coming on.

Two branded pairs, both alike in chemistry, In fair Thailand, where all the cute boys yearn, From ancient grudge to suffer new Mame, Where trash watches make dumpster fires burn. From Fort the fatal loins of these two hoes (I HAD TO). A pair of branded pairs take on the heat; Whose narratives will oft include no clothes, Do with their smooches fight Tumblr critique. Such shameful usage of the dub-con trope, (Contrasted to others thirsty scenes,) Which, but for Mame's brand, all would say nope, Is now 12 eps of angst upon our screens. To wit, if you want sex without my diatribes, Give this a pass and watch Sunset X Vibes.

Thank you thank you. That is for the 3 people reading this who care.

Where was I?

Or right, no fault to FortPeat. Both pairs are working with the characters and scripts that they've been given.

But right now the sexitimes in this show just feel a lot more service and a lot less genuine (for lack of a better word) then Sunset X Vibes. Now, I know that the characters, narrative, and production company preferences are completely different, but the consummate interplay between surrender and hunger and consummation are oddly similar between these pairs, and yet they're reading (from this side of the screen) completely differently.

I don’t know where I’m going with this.

I just think we have an interesting study in heat and chemistry airing double down right now. And I wonder is anyone else is sensing what I'm sensing.

Writing that sonnet (or whatever) has utterly exhausted me. Nighty night. Don't let the guy-who-took-a-copy-of-your-hotel-key-and-broke-into-your-room bite.

Episode 4 - And Now, I'm Bored & Annoyed

I rushed back from the wilds of foreign climes to trash watch what exactly?

All this time spent establishing Mut as a

pillar of his community

really important lynchpin for oceanic conservation work

striving for his independence

building local friendships and surrogate family

the de facto mayor of this island

And he just leaves for Bangkok to be a boy toy?

And they JOKE about it?

Is the stuff between Mook and Mut supposed to be funny? It's not.

I got so bored I started looking up ways to organize my sunglasses.

Why is Mook so worried about Rak? He’s clearly an asshole who can take care of himself.

What is Mut doing with his life?

What am I doing with mine?

Too early in the series for an existential crisis.

I definitely need to start drinking again for this one.

Episode 5 - In which I simultaneously got even more bored & more annoyed

This time I armed myself with both booze and sugar. Unfortunately, there are some things even alcohol and chocolate can't cure. Mame is one of those things.

The bullying GL subplot is just BAD.

I’m getting an overall EPIC SQUICK from the fact that the two rich privileged characters are essentially taking advantage of the two lower class poorer characters. It’s not a power dynamic I enjoy at all. Ever.

So... everyone in Rak’s family is an extreme bitch, including him? Okaaay.

I mean Rak is pretty and all but I fail to understand the appeal. Maybe Mut just likes bitches? Maybe the sex really is that great?

I tell you, I wouldn’t put up with it.

ARGH. I'm just I’m not finding any of the character dynamics appealing in this show. I never thought I’d say this, but I wish I were back in LITA territory. 

I’m honestly sorry this trash watch is so bad.

This show isn’t inspiring me into anything but a general feeling of mild annoyance and slight fury.

It's like this rash I had in Stockholm one time.

Startlingly unpleasant, not what one might hope for, but also it could be worse, I suppose.

Episode 6 - In which I get very upset about jealousy

Tonight I'm combining my sugar with my alcohol and drinking chocolate soy milk with chocolate liquor in it. I'm aware that I have a child's taste in booze. The secret is I don't actually enjoy alcohol, I simply need it to survive Mame.

OK let’s do it.

Rich boy shops when sad.

Frankly, that always makes me feel better too. I prefer the snack aisle myself.

Oh. Goodie. You get to now watch ABL completely losing an entire brain due to raging at the machine because of one sentence.

Ready?

Chapter 6: Jealousy is a Sign of Love

Jealousy is a sign of love?! You absolute fuckers. Jealousy is not a sign of love, jealousy is a sign of possession, insecurity, insanity, and often abuse. Jealousy is a sign to dump that shithead as quickly as possible.

I mean, we all understand the story beat: in BL possession is revered and admired and used to drive plot when all other avenues have been exhausted. But you can’t just say it as the title of an episode! That’s too blatant.

TOO FAR!

Returning to the traumatic backstory. 

No, actually. Let’s skip that part.

I do like it when Rak gets all bossy. I love it when a spoiled boy manipulates his man's body to be his bolster pillow. Taiwan is particularly good at this.

Should I just go watch We Best Love for the 1millionth time instead of this show?

Too tempting.

Where was I?

It’s not even halfway through and I’ve already finished my drink in desperation. And am day dreaming of better shows.

Honestly, I have had many feelings about Meme over the years, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this bored with any of her stuff. I’d rather feel something than nothing.

Meanwhile, the GL moves on from bullying to outright manipulation and gaslighting. Cute. Added French for flavor.

I do like a smile kiss. And a lap sit. And so forth. So Fort.

Yes these two do sex scenes very well.

Give me something more.

Anything.

On the bright side... so far... no singing.

Episode 7 - I'm Too Drunk for This

This time, I decided to pre-game. So I went in tipsy. I’m hoping this improves my mood.

Look, I'm doing my best for you here. (Or am I doing my floppyest for you? Eh, same difference.)

Frankly, what’s really annoying me is that I am neither upset nor pleased with this flipping show. Turns out, I like to be driven one way or the other by Mame. But this show? Nada. It's a VOID.

At this juncture I'd prefer to feel rage than indifference.

I gotta say that thinking about this purely as a soap opera makes me understand it more. I don't like it any better, but I get what's going on. These are the Days of Our BL.

Oh hey, I know that convention center! Best food in the biz.

The revenge bit was fun I guess?

Ooo. Now I kinda wanna rewatch Shelter. It’s been ages. Such a great movie. 

Where was I?

Oh, right, the crazy cousin character. I don’t understand what’s going on with her. Why do we need her? Why is she here? What’s her motivation?

I’m too drunk for this shit.

I'm going to bed.

Episode 8 - I'm Not Drunk Enough for This

(I detect a theme)

Okay so the hotel wifi is not awful, we gonna try watching icky with it. Always a challenge. Wish me luck!

Wouldn't it be fun if Mut has been conning Rak with this good guy persona the entire time and he really is just after money? I kinda love the idea.

Sadly, I think this is way more boring.

Rak is just a bitch, not even a sublime bitch, but a boring bitch. That's worse than a basic one.

The drama with the dad just seems manufactured. I mean what does the dad want except to be evil?

I mean I know what Mame wants, an excuse for Rak to break Mut's heart.

And now, I'm annoyed and hungry. Imma eat hotel snacks and disappointment in equal measure.

Episode 9 - Perhaps I'm the problem?

I did this already and then tumblr ate it so this time around it's not as witty. Trust me that in the first assessment I was all charm. Now I am all sarcasm.

I enjoyed the random fight scenes. At least something happened. Also the collapsing in his arms was very dramatic.

I can see why Mame reused this pair for this show, because Peat is so good at being broken & fragile (see previous role).

But also… I feel like I’ve seen all of this before. Oh right, the psychotic breakdown scene in TharnType. The fragile broken uke from Love By Chance. The seme with a heart of gold and fists of steel from… all of them. 

I find this exhausting.

Is anyone else exhausted?

They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again (AKA watching Mame) and expecting a different result. I must be certifiably bonkers at this juncture.

Second half of this show I begin to wonder one thing. (Well my mind wanders a lot but this particular thought bubbled to the surface.) 

Is this show actually an okay Thai BL?

Wait! Hear me out.

If this were ones first Meme, would it be… fine? In other words, if I didn’t have this storied (or lack of story, nash) history with her creative endeavors, would this bore me this much?

Is this actually just an average mildly enjoyable high-heat Thai BL to others, who are coming to her stuff for the first (or maybe the second) time?

Is it over-exposure or the has traumatized me in this way?

Am I corrupted through overindulgence?

Is this all my own fault?

Should I be taking a break from her? Should I not watch the next 3 productions that she does, and then return to her with fresh feelings of openness and amenable temper?

Is it me who is the problem? 

Yet the act of asking that last question makes me feel like I’m in the same kind of abusive relationship with Mame that Rak was with his father.

Then I feel like I need to drink more. Or see a therapist.

So that’s enough philosophy for one evening.

And then, at the very very end A THRILL DESCENDED UPON ME.

Watching the stinger for next weekI was all… 

Is this a 10 epper? Oh my God it is! Fantastic. Next week is the last one! I SEE THE LIGHT. 

Episode 10 - The Lingering Scent of Disappointment

Today I am drinking a soju cocktail. Which I can highly recommend. If you're a lightweight but you like vodka, Fresh Soju is actually a pretty decent substitute with a lower alcohol content. 

This has been your bartender lesson for today, moving on.

Wait. 

If the Maa could’ve fixed this all along by throwing the Dad in jail, why didn’t she? Why did she put her kids through all of this bullshit with stalking and abuse? Also the mom character was basically a deus ex machina, except she didn’t even happen on screen. It was action taken to solve what little plot there was... entirely off screen. How weird. I don’t even have a term for that. Bad writing? Recon explanation? Of screen resolution?

OK, Fort is acting so well in the breakup scene. I adore that “how much do I need to pay you to fall in love with me” parrots the original “how much do I need to pay you to sleep with me”. I must give props for that level of emotional manipulation in a romance drama of this type. 

That said, I feel for Rak, it’s rough to learn that someone else is playing a long game with feelings while you were playing a short game with d**k.

Meanwhile... I have run out of alcohol and I am now eating brownie bites. Because life (and d**k) is too short and so is my patience. 

Why is that tattoo so absolutely terribly obviously fake?

Someone take tattoos and wigs away from Thailand. Just strip them out of all wardrobe departments in the entire Thai film industry. Clearly they can’t handle that level of POWER. It’s giving me trauma.

I do like that the solution to the drama of the break up was an actual sincere and abject apology. Very mature and grown up of you Mame. 

I wish they’d woven the number 8 throughout more of the show, like into the pattern of Rak’s shirts and maybe an earring or cuff.

Did they entirely forget about the GL side not-plot? Or is it just me not paying attention because I’m distracted by brownie bites? 

Regardless, I genuinely let out the biggest yawn during the very ending scene. It’s nowhere near my bedtime.

And… that’s it I guess.

I’m going on the record at this point. I don’t think I can do a trash watch of Mame again. It’s exhausting. And also is it really worth my (or your) time? This screed was so lackluster.

Final thoughts? 

This is probably a solid 8/10 show but I’m mad I wasn’t madder at it, and mad I was so bored throughout.

So It gets a 7/10 and let us not speak of this again. I’d like to simply forget about it.

Conclusion? I’m left residually upset that FortPeat and all their talents are wasted on Mame. That seems unfair to them. And to us, quite frankly. 

************************************

All my trash watches are here:

(source)

[macsimagines]

Izana, Kisaki + Mikey finding their girlfriend sleeping in one of their shirts, like willingly? 🧡

TW: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR, NEGLECT, MENTION OF KIDNAPPING

Yandere!Izana Kurokawa

It started off with him kind of... not letting you leave his place. You came over for a late night booty call, and instead of demanding you get out of his face he wouldn't let you go that night.

Come the next morning and you wake up before him and you decide to dip before he can wake up and tell you to fuck off. Izana has never been overtly affectionate with you and you don't want to push him too far afterall.

But then you get a call later that day and he sounds...off.

"Hello-," "Just where the fuck are you, Y/N?" "O-oh? I woke up and left?" You tell him and you're so caught off guard by the slight annoyance in his voice what could you have done wrong?

"Why?"

And that throws you completely off. "Wasn't I supposed to?"

He doesn't answer. Just hangs up and you're left wondering what the hell happened, but you just shrug it off as maybe him not liking that one of his possessions left without permission...

The next time you two hookup, its the same thing. He's not trying to let you leave, and so you sleep over naked and just plan on wearing the same clothes you came in tomorrow. Except...

"I want you here when I get back, Y/N." He tells you before he leaves the next morning. And for whatever reason that look in his eyes means not to test him so you just sit around and wait for him all day.

But your clothes are kind of uncomfortable and its getting so laaaate. Izana wouldn't mind you borrowing one of his shirts right?

He really doesn't come back until 1am, and he's very happy you listened like a good girl, and even happier to see you dressed in one of his shirts while you sleep.

Izana thinks that he probably won't have to get your clothes from your old place. You could just use his. Ya. That'll be fine. Its his gift to you, for finally moving in with him where you belong.

Yandere!Kisaki Tetta

You're a true fucking brat. No really, you've somehow become the single biggest pain in the ass he's ever had to deal with. You throw out everything he buys you, you scream and demand your freedom at every turn, you're constantly trying to escape him...

But he loves you, really and truly adores you, and you're not going anywhere now that he's got you locked in his penthouse. He won't make the same mistake, he's going to keep this one alive. You'll just have to learn to love him.

Oh but your latest tantrum has him rethinking it all. You set fire to the apartment, burning all the clothes he bought you in the bathtub and almost getting the cops called.

But he was smart, smoothed over the situation and had you sedated before you could throw an even bigger fit. Honestly, some small part of him doesn't think you're worth the trouble but he comes home the next day and those thoughts are all dashed.

You're laying in one of his silk shirts, bundled into the sheets so sweetly he thinks he can feel his heart actually ache at the sight of you.

You're so precious, and perfect to him. "That was expensive," he'll try to say dismissively, he doesn't want you to think he's forgiven you for your little fit just yet, "I burned all the other ugly stuff you got me. At least your clothes are comfortable." "..."

He won't say anything after that, but he does make a mental note that perhaps the Gucci and the Balenciaga are probably not to your tastes. He should just get you things in the same style as him. Couples matching outfits could be nice.

Yandere!Manjiro Sano

Douchebag does not let you wear clothes he does not approve of. You belong to him and every aspect of your life belongs to him too, even what you wear.

And sometimes it's fine. Sometimes he's not around and you don't have to wear the skimpy dresses and designer shoes that hurt, sometimes you get to be comfortable and just chill out in your pajamas.

But you got too comfortable. He'd been gone for weeks again, because Micky comes and goes as he pleases, so you thought your usual fits would be fine.

Then he returns and for some reason he's pissed. It could be because the cops are on his ass, something didn't go his way or maybe his underlings were pissing him off, but for whatever reason for his rage he's decided he's going to take it out on you.

"What, Y/N? All the money I spend on nice clothes not good enough? You don't like the pretty thing I buy you?" "M-Mikey please-," "Too fuckin' good for the shit I give you?"

You're stripped bare and naked. For days. If you won't wear what he so graciously and lovingly gives you then you don't get to wear anything. And you're just shivering cold for a week straight trying to curl in yourself for any kind of warmth and comfort.

But after seven days of this hell you can't take it anymore. He doesn't even let you have sheets or blankets in your room anymore how the hell are you supposed to survive.

Thankfully, you find one of his discarded sweaters near the bed you two share and through it on without a second thought. You're nauseated because it still smells like him, but you can't bring yourself to take it off and be cold again.

You just snuggle into the fabric and finally find enough warmth and comfort to sleep that night. When Mikey comes home and sees you he realizes he's no longer angry. In fact, he's more than pleased.

"You just wanted to wear my clothes this whole time? That's fine. We'll share a wardrobe."

[sky-high-standards]

Yandere!!! Millionaire!! x Fem!!Reader

(thanks for 400 followers edited thanks for 1000 love y'all)You were in a very poor family but somehow you caught the attention of a crazy Millionaire.

You were working at a local coffee shop to feed your family when a man with jet black hair wearing a expensive looking suit came in, he was undeniably attractive but his cold black eyes made you feel a chill run down your spine.

Then he made eye contact with you before smirking, he then came up to ask for your name and number but when you refused he tried to take you by force but you managed to escape and run into the break room.

He kept coming day after day yet somehow you managed to weasel your way out of talking to him but your luck soon ran out when you were suddenly cornered and pinned by your wrists, you looked up to see him with a smug smirk on his face.

"I know you've been avoiding me sweetheart."

"What's wrong with you? What do you want from me?!'

"Don't you get it? I want you~"

"You dot even know me!!!"

"Oh I know everything about you Y/n"

you gasped and tried to escape for the hundredth time but his grip was too strong.

"I know that your family is starving and are soon going to get evicted, I know that you work overtime just to feed your family and I know that you need a miracle to save them and I'm that miracle Darling~ Just do as I say and make it easier for everyone Sweetheart."

"No you're just a spoiled brat who gets everything he wants and you're not gonna get me!!!"

you said in anger and stormed off while he just stood there and smirked.

"Okay my dear let the games begin"

A few weeks after that encounter you stopped seeing him and genuinely thought he lost interest and left you alone but you felt something much worse was coming and you were right. As you came to work the next day your boss came and fired you on the spot you were shocked of course since you've been employee of the month for the past 6 months and your boss seemed terrified as he spoke to you almost like he was scared to say the wrong thing and constantly looked to the side as if some monster was here in the shadows and as soon as he fired you he ran inside.

This was terrible for you because without a job how could you feed your family but when you looked for new jobs the manager would fire you shortly after with the same look of fear as your former boss but when you finally found a job that paid well you immediately took it you were hired as an assistant for a wealthy business owner, you came to work the next morning in your best clothes and started working but as you went to your bosses office who were horrified to see the same creep from the coffee shop you stood there with your jaw dropped as he smirked and caressed your cheek.

"Well isn't it my lovely new assistant its nice to see you again y/n~"

All you could do was grit your teeth and greet him since he was your family's only hope now and you couldn't afford to get fired not again.

As worked days past he became far more touchy and would take any opportunity to touch you in any way possible this was tolerable until you came to work on day to find your seat was gone and he offered you to sit on his lap which sounded more like an order than an offer so you begrudgingly agreed while gritting your teeth and giving him a forced smile. He smirked back satisfied at how powerless you were with him now.

"Good girl~"

He said and you could here the satisfaction in his voice as you dug your fingernails into your palms in rage.

Though you constantly got harassed by your boss the job wasn't so bad due to the many friends you made and because your family was happy and healthy but good things don't last. One day after you came back from your break which u spent with your friends you boss went crazy and fired everyone that was with you because "they were only bringing you down." and "they made you loose sight of what was important" (which was him) and when you attempted to quit realized what he was capable of.

Sir I quit I'll clear out my desk now.

He then grabs you by the wrist and pins you to the wall where you're caged by his muscular arms and he whispered in your ear where you could feel his hot breath fanning your lips.

"You know you cant do that Dear you don't know what I'm capable of that sweet little family of yours wont be around much longer is you disobey me dear."

You gasped in fear and shock but he smiled at your reaction.

"Now be a good girl and do as I say"

He said as he pulled away and went back to his usual demeanor. Every time you found someone new they would go missing so you isolated yourself not wanting anyone else to get hurt but when your brother got really sick and you had to take care him for a few days but your boss didn't like that.

You came home to find the read stains? No it was blood but not just anyone's blood this was the blood of your family leading the way to their lifeless bodies the moment you saw that sight it was permenantly burned into your mind you still see that horrendous sight when you close your eyes...you broke down in tears and got on your knees devastated but you then got picked up by a pair of firm strong arms and felt a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I know you loved them Dear, but they kept you away from me and besides we'll have our own family soon enough~♥

[elsbunny]

— els with a hyper feminine gf!

warnings: hyper feminine reader, ellie being a nerd, gf!ellie, LOSER els, ellie being a meanie in the beginning just because shes a idiot in love, overall just fluff <3

when ellie first met you she thought you were shallow, and she still curses herself for it

with that let’s say she didn't get along with you at first, always getting irritated when you demanded more time to get ready

there was no way to get away from you because you guys had the same group of friends, so in time ellie learned that you weren't just some fancy doll who only thinks about pink and glitter

she even learned that you get extremely frustrated when you forget your lip gloss, so she bought one to always keep in her pocket

ellie who became obsessed with the perfume you wear and always manages to smell you up close

ellie who thinks you are the sweetest girl in town

ellie who still tries to pretend she doesn't care about you, but every time she sees a cute stuffed animal she buys it and has it delivered to your house

ellie who always rolls her eyes every time you start talking about the expensive bags you like, even though she loves hearing you talk about things that amuse you

ellie who loves that your not afraid to perform your femininity

ellie who finally accepted that she adores that your always so giddy and jumpy and pretty like a doll

ellie who got close to you and started giving you the sweetest nicknames (dollie, sweet face, pretty girl, angel, princess, bambi and pinkie)

ellie who had about fifty existential crises before asking you out and sending you a paper at the end with a "do you want to be the only mouth I kiss, yes or no?" and of course she put a little heart on the side

gf!ellie is the type of girlfriend who sends you pictures of marceline and princess bubblegum saying "that's so us"

gf!ellie who would just sit there, smiling like a idiot watching you ramble about some new cute outfit you bought for yourself, always nodding her head to make sure you know shes following along

gf!ellie who stays up all night watching tutorials on how to do cute hairstyles

gf!ellie who became a MASTER at styling your hair, always adding cute little pink bows because she knows you’d love it

gf!ellie who took some time to fully understand your fashion sense

gf!ellie who became your personal skincare product tester

gf!ellie who learned how to paint your nails

gf!ellie who patiently waits for you to get ready and smile widely when you show up all pretty

gf!ellie who always appreciates the way you take your time to always be neat

gf!ellie who was extremely happy when you bought matching pajamas, yours being pink with bunnies everywhere and hers being green with little dinosaurs everywhere

gf!ellie who grew a bit possessive after she realized that everyone finds you attractive

gf!ellie who always sends you links of cheap, but nice, clothes expecting you to spend less

gf!ellie who associates you with everything thats cute

gf!ellie who saw a cute bunny and immediately sent you a picture saying "that's literally you babe”

gf!ellie who loves that you both are the perfect example of polar opposites

gf!ellie who deeply loves everything about you and would do anything to make HER sweet girl happy <3

MIGHT MAKE A PART TWO BECAUSE HYPER FEM X LOSER MASC ITS MY KINDA OF THIIIING BABES

[osachiyo]

𝕱𝖆𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖈 𝖆𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖗 · dazai, chuuya & fyodor .ೃ࿐

· 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𐙚 none, gn reader, sfw content, fluff, petnames, headcanons + little scenarios, not proofread

· 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰 𐙚 sorry these are really short, im just trying to clear out as many requests as i can for now :') i was gonna add sigma n fukuzawa too but i wanted to get it out asap so i can work on my other wips. also ! i might focus a little more on fluff for the time being :) happy reading and hope you guys enjoyed !

𝖘𝖞𝖕𝖓𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖘... just some cute scenarios with some of the bsd men ᡣ𐭩

dazai.. was an interesting man. he never got flustered no matter how much you flirted with him, not even blushing when you did provocative actions like sitting on his lap, or whispering dirty words into his ear.

instead, he somehow counters your lines with his own — leaving you the one flustered.

but when you give him genuine compliments, or do something nice for him genuinely from the goodness of your heart, the same man who's seemingly unaffected by your advances, somehow turns into putty — melting in the clutch of your warm grasp.

in the quiet sanctuary of your shared bedroom, you hummed sweet words against dazai's dark locks, your lips finding solace on the crown of his head. "you're so pretty," you whispered, a genuine compliment that seemed to momentarily lift the weight of his rough day.

"darling, not as pretty as you," he chuckled, his voice muffled as he buried his face in your chest. the day had taken its toll on him, a tough mission leaving him with more than a fair share of injuries. but those details could wait for another time.

for dazai, these moments were treasures. lying in your arms or having you nestled in his, the simple pleasure of each other's company became a haven. the absence of distractions allowed him to savor the rare peace he found with you, a feeling that almost made him giddy.

your words, genuine and warm, were like a balm for his weary soul. in these moments, he set aside his usual snarky quips and jokes, content to bask in the embrace and scent that spoke of comfort and home. the sincerity in your praise quickened his heartbeat, and for once, dazai didn't need to hide behind humor.

though his face was hidden from your view, dazai couldn't conceal the flush of pink spreading across his cheeks. it was a secret shared only with the solitude of your embrace — a silent acknowledgment of the vulnerability and affection that blossomed in these stolen moments of peace.

considering chuuya's job, you two don't get to spend too much time together. but you had already known and accepted that when you started dating him.

though, when you two do get to spend some quality time together — it's all worth it. he makes sure to spoil you with his affection and attention when he has the chance — making up for all the time he's neglected you.

and after a whole day of getting spoiled by him — visiting fancy and expensive places, tasting amazing food, drinking the finest wine, you finally get to relax at home with your favorite person.

"quit scrunching that handsome face, babe," you sighed, smoothing the furrowed lines of his brows with your thumbs, delicately working the cleanser into his skin. chuuya simply hummed, surrendering to the soothing sensation and leaning into your touch.

"and what's the deal with this?" he asked, his arms enveloping your waist — right where they belonged. "it's just cleanser, does what it says — cleans your skin." chuuya hummed again, drawing small circles on your hips, "just make sure it stays out of my eyes, okay?" you rolled your eyes, adjusting yourself on his lap for better comfort, "obviously."

after rinsing off the cleanser and following through with the skincare routine you'd picked, chuuya stared at his reflection in the mirror — bunny headband adorning his head, bangs swept back and away from his face, which now felt surprisingly soft. "holy shit, my face feels so...smooth?" he blinked, gently squishing his own cheeks. you approached from behind, planting a tender kiss on his neck — "i did tell you my skincare routine works wonders."

"heh, yeah," he chuckled, turning to face you, playfully squishing your cheeks together before planting a soft kiss on your lips, "now it's your turn, love. your skin deserves some of that magic too."

fyodor was a busy man, you always catch him in that dimly lit room — typing away while staring at his monitors. with all the plotting, scheming and hacking — he never really has any time left to take real care of himself.

and that's exactly what you're here for — dragging him out of the dingy room, not paying any attention to his complaints or threats, you know he doesn't mean them.

taking off his ushanka, you wonder how much time had it actually been since he's properly washed his hair — but you didn't ask him that, knowing he'd be even more irritated.

fyodor's complaints ceased once you proposed a shared bath, both of you disrobing before slipping into the warm water. the temperature, meticulously adjusted to his liking, showcased your thoughtful consideration. though the usual positions were reversed, with him against your chest, it was necessary for you to tend to his hair.

"right there, love," fedya sighed in content, tilting his head back and savoring your touch. your fingers massaged the shampoo into his hair, focusing on his scalp. "feel good, huh?" you smiled, placing sweet kisses on the pale skin of his exposed neck before gently rinsing away the shampoo from his raven locks.

these tranquil moments held a special place in his heart. simple yet profound, they kindled a warmth within him. your loving gaze had the power to thaw even his typically cold heart. in those tender glances, he found a promise to himself — to craft the perfect world for both of you.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

tags ・ @hopefulpain @inkmooon @constant-existential-terror @nda-approval @mellieellie @seiiushi @lynxxyyy @kentopedia

@sorasushik1 @himebwrries @nopethenope @neviex @fyodorisbbg @stygianoir @saharei @x-lunawrites-x @munnaitorei @emyyy007 @dearhoney-31 @the-foreigner @angoisfine @osaemu @honeycombflowers-blog @yuiiasathesilly @kaithegremlin @squigglewigglewoo @cupidszvlvr @ashthemadwriter-archived @bloobewy @mrs-bakugou @hauntedsol @ask-me-or-not @hanakotateyama @kissesmellow21 @dazaichuuya69 @xxsilverjackalxx @gettinshiggywithit @deaths-presence @sugaredpersimmon @rjssierjrie @iheartpieck @angelof-darkness @dazaisimpletmereadfanficspls @hellokitty-4-lele @scinclaitnoir @aly-insanity @kemis-world @bisexuawolfsalt @thateldribitch

[heyaheiya]

Will you write something about single dad bakugo falling in love with his child’s daycare teacher and her or them feeling the same 🥺🥺 -🦕

Sorry this took so long 😭😭

— — — — — —

Katsuki didn’t plan on ever getting into a relationship again; just him and his darling daughter was enough for him. That was until your stupid face somehow wormed its way into his mind.

His girl, Bakugou Chiyo, had been going to daycare for a few months now, but he’d never met you officially.

As much as Mitsuki loved having the little one over most weekdays, she didn’t have all the time in the world to spend babysitting. Eijirou encouraged Katsuki to enroll Chiyo and had recommended the daycare he used for his kids. Despite Katsuki’s hesitation towards it, Eijirou wouldn’t stop pestering the man to give it a chance. Something about ‘socialisation’ or whatever. Still, Katsuki put up a good fight.

“Fuck no, you know how disgusting other people’s kids are?? I don’t want Chiyo catching rabies from those things.”

“It’s expensive, I’m not exactly rich right now you know!”

“How do I know those teachers are qualified?”

“I’m sure Chiyo’s gonna hate it so what’s the bother.”

Unfortunately, Chiyo loved it, waking up early and being pretty self sufficient for a 4 and a half year old. She even packed her bag herself before bed so it was ready the next morning. Yes it was filled with just stuffed animals, and what.

“Baby, do you seriously need all of your friends? Why not pick one?”

“But they’ll be lonely :(“

Katsuki had to write out a whole schedule of which plush goes to daycare on which day. This rotation made sure the toys all got an equal amount of days.

Chiyo had been getting chattier in the recent days. Perhaps shitty hair was right about the socialisation bit… However, at dinner that night, a new name kept coming up.

“-and I was really sad. But then, Smiley came over and made it better!”

“Who’s ’Smiley’, princess?”

“Silly daddy, you see her every day at pickup!”

That was helpful. One out of the army of children he has no time to notice.

“Tell me about Smiley. She nice to you?”

“Mhm! Today she secretly gave me a chocolate from the teacher desk :D”

Alarms went off in Katsuki’s head. Chiyo’s friends with a thief. Chiyo’s gonna turn into a criminal. Chiyo’s gonna get arrested in the future. Chiyo needs to stop being friends with this ‘Smiley’ kid!!

“What??”

“Yeah. She told me not to tell anyone or she’ll get in trouble… But you won’t tell, right daddy l?”

The next day and drop off, Katsuki stomped in, all geared up in his hero suit, with a massive scowl decorating his face. Usually Mitsuki and Masaru drop the sweetheart off in the mornings, and by the end of a long work day, Katsuki doesn’t have time to chat. So other parents and teachers had basically never had a proper conversation with the man. That sure was gonna change.

“Who is this ‘Smiley’ kid??”

The receptionist looked befuddled.

“Oh no.. what did she do?”

“Nunya goddamn business. Point me to ‘er”

A shaken older hand pointed towards a young and surprisingly pretty face across the room. Must be the kids mother.

Katsuki stomped his way over to the woman. Either she shrunk back in fear of the pro hero, or his anger made him grow a few inches.

“Oi! Who do you think you are? Letting your kids behave like that? I swear, don’t give me some shi- stupid excuse!”

“I’m so sorry! Has someone been picking on Chi-Chi?”

“Chi-Chi? Seriously nicknaming a kid that doesn’t belong to you? That’s so fuc- freaking creepy.”

Chiyo yanked at her father’s pant leg a bit.

“Don’t yell at Smiley like that >:(“

Huh. Smiley.. is the teacher. Oh. A normal person would instantly apologise, but Katsuki? Pro hero Dynamight?

“What kind of relationship do you have with my daughter??”

He made you look like a child predator in front of your entire classroom, their parents, and your boss +coworkers..To say he felt bad was an understatement, the look of your terrified and embarrassed face scarring his mind for days.

Then, Chiyo came home balling her eyes out.

“Miss Smiley wasn’t there! She left me!”

Fuck. He knew what he had to do.

+81 XXX XXX XXX: Meet me at the restaurant down the street in 10.

Y/N: What the freak

When he saw you walk in, his jaw dropped. Unfortunately, you were beautiful, like the girls on the covers of magazines. However, your cute and almost squishable face quickly turned to a glare, eyes shooting lasers through his face.

It’s silent for a long time.

“This is the part where you apologise for getting me fired.”

“Right, I’m really sorry.”

…

“Look, I love Chiyo so so much. She’s a good kid and I’m sure you can tell she’s grown an attachment to me. If it’s because you or her mother feels jealous-“

“I’m single, the mother is out of the picture.”

“Oh so you just felt like being a dick?”

“Mind your language, Sensei. Wouldn’t want any kids to develop a fowl tongue.”

“I’m the reason Chiyo doesn’t have some of your key vocabulary. Watch it, Dynamight.”

“Oh I’m so scared😒”

You instantly stood up and grabbed your purse. “If you’re just here to rub salt in the wound, I think we’re done.” Fuck. Katsuki yanked you back down into your seat, eyes begging.

“No, fuck- I can’t stop fucking this up. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Wanna add another f-bomb to that statement?”

“Fuck off.”

“There we go.”

Katsuki groaned to himself, wanting to kill himself right there and then.

“I came here to apologise and fix things, but I’m stupid and can’t fucking communicate!”

“There are other swear words y’know?”

“Take me seriously.”

Your face softened slightly. You seriously thought he might cry in the middle of some random ramen restaurant.

“How do I fix this??”

“Well..”

You didn’t ask for too much really. Shopping spree (clothes, jewellery, cosmetics, skincare, shoes, hair pins, the works), official apology to everyone who was in the room at the time, get job back, and a bunch of tiramisu.

After all that, you were nothing but smiles. Then it clicked. Always smiling. Miss Smiley. Damn, that was a lazy nickname.

“Chiyo was the one who came up with ‘Miss Smiley’.”

It’s the best goddamn nickname anyone has ever made.

“Is there anything else you wanna add to that long ass list of yers???”

“Perchance..”

“Well??”

“A second date?”

— — — — — — — — — — —

This is not my best, I’m sorry 😭😭 hope you enjoyed! And requests are still open. Please, I need inspiration 🙏🙏