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astrophileous · 6 months

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ANYTHING with jealous Reid <33333

HI ANON ty for the request! I hope you'll like this one 🥰❤️

Warning(s): gn!reader, profanities, jealous spencer, that's it rlly this is mainly just fluff 💞

This blurb has a part two.

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

Supernovae had always been known for their extremely high temperature. Nearing the end of its life, a mature star would go through an explosion so stupendous, it would eject almost the entirety of its mass. During this stage of a star's life cycle, the core temperature of a star could potentially rise to be in the billions of degrees Fahrenheit, making it appropriate for a supernova to be credited as the hottest object ever known in the vast universe.

But as Spencer sat on the chair behind his desk, his fingers tapping impatiently on the surface, he was certain that not even the temperature of a supernova could rival the heat rising steadily inside his chest.

The flame raged unlike anything he had ever known. It flourished with every second Spencer spent staring at you from across the room. You were laughing at something your present company had said, and Spencer instinctively gripped the arm rest of his chair as the fire in his ribcage roared even wilder.

Spencer was on the edge of his seat, ready to prowl at any second, when a presence unexpectedly slid right next to him.

"What are you doing?" Emily Prentiss asked, perching herself on the edge of Spencer's desk without a care in the world.

"Nothing," the young man answered distractedly. "Can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you still had those ginger candies you shared with me last week?" Emily wondered as she began to rummage through his drawers. "Where do you keep it?"

Silently, Spencer opened his bottom drawer, pulling out a tin box where he stored the sweets Emily was looking for.

"You're an angel on earth, Dr. Reid." Emily grinned, popping a candy into her mouth. "Are you okay, by the way?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you've been throwing daggers at (Y/N) and Anderson for the past three minutes."

"I have not."

"Yes, you have."

"You're mistaken. Maybe you were just seeing things."

"Reid, you're literally glaring at them right now as we speak." At Emily's observation, Spencer begrudgingly tore his gaze away from the two people across the room. "Wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on. I told you," Spencer insisted, his eyes once again returning towards the pair on the other side of the bullpen. "Hey, do you know how (Y/N) and Anderson became close like that?"

"Haven't they always been friendly?"

"Friendly? Yes. But not like... that." Spencer pressed his lips, trying to contain the scowl when he saw you grip Anderson's forearm as you beamed at the other agent. "Since when does (Y/N) laugh like that with him?"

Emily flicked her eyes repeatedly between yours and Spencer's face. A smirk emerged on her lips when understanding finally dawned on her. "Oh my God, you're jealous."

Spencer didn't think he ever whipped his head so fast in his entire life.

"You're jealous of Anderson. Holy shit, that makes so much sense! You're actually jealous."

"What are you talking about? I'm not—I'm not jealous!"

"Of course you are. Why else would you get so hostile at the mere sight of those two talking?"

"I was just... asking a question. I wanted to know why they suddenly seemed so close, that's all."

"Of course you did."

"I'm telling the truth!"

"Right. Of course you are." Emily snickered. She got up from his desk and started walking away, all the while belting out a ridiculously jesty song she obviously just made up, "Spencer is jealous. J-E-A-L-O-U-S! Spencer is jealous. J-E-A-L-O-U-S!"

The young Doctor frowned at Emily's teasing. He glanced towards where you had been standing only to see you sauntering towards his direction. Spencer automatically busied himself with the random papers on his desk, acting as if he had only noticed your presence as you sat down on your desk right across from his.

"Working hard, Doctor?" you quipped jubilantly, rearranging the case files on your desk as you hummed an unfamiliar tune under your breath.

"Something like that," Spencer replied, closing the documents he wasn't even reading as his full attention landed on you. "What did Anderson want?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing. He was just asking if I was free this weekend, that's all."

Spencer unwittingly clenched his jaw at your reply. "What's this weekend?"

"A cricket game. Apparently, Grant has always been a big fan, so he was very excited when I told him I used to play back in college. Too bad I can't come to the game, though. I promised my mom I would visit her this weekend."

Spencer could merely nod at your explanation, pretending like his brain hadn't short-circuited when you referred to Agent Anderson with his first name. The fog in his head only started to dissipate when Derek called for the two of you from the bullpen doors, asking if any of you would like to join him for lunch.

"You coming, Doctor Reid?" you asked as you stood up from the chair, pocketing your phone and wallet in the process.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. I'll be right there. You guys just go ahead."

You flashed him one last bright smile before skipping all the way towards where Derek was waiting. A sense of calm washed over him when he saw you glancing back, offering a small wave in his direction. Spencer could feel the smile blooming on his face before it was soon chased away by the sight of Anderson standing by the door, holding it open as you laughed gratefully at him.

Fuck it.

It looked like Emily was right after all.

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janeyseymour · 1 month

Text

My Irish Girl

Anon asked for a fic where Mel and r celebrate St. Paddy's! Not edited in the slightest because I wanted to make sure I got it out before the day is over!

WC: ~2.3k

Melissa and you have been together for just about a year, and coming up was your holiday: St. Patrick’s day. As an Irish woman, you were delighted to tell her about all of the different traditions that you loved to do back in your homeland before moving here. You were more than excited to partake in some of the American traditions as well.

“So, why do we wear green for St. Paddy’s?” your girlfriend asks you as the two of you roam around Walmart, chuckling at the different apparel that was set out for the upcoming holiday.

“Wearing green makes you invisible to the leprechauns… the mischievous things- going around pinching those who aren’t wearing green,” you chuckle.

She hums. “Good thing I look good in green then.”

“Damn right you do,” you grin as you kiss her cheek.

You continue to peruse the aisles, throwing various things that you need for your living space together, as well as a few little trinkets for the holiday. It’s the usual things that you throw in- four-leafed clover glasses, a few festive shot glasses, the ingredients to make irish potatoes and the dinner that the two of you will be having on the day of corned beef and cabbage.

You’re heading for the checkout with the cart when you realize Melissa isn’t following you anymore. No, she’s stopped in front of the shirts that are there for the Irish day.

“Look!” she grins. The redhead is holding up one of those shirts that says, ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish!’ on it in a font that looks quite similar to the Lucky Charms cereal font.

“I think people know I’m Irish just by looking at me,” you roll your eyes playfully as you gesture to your clearly natural ginger hair and freckles. “And if they can’t tell by looking at my complexion, when I talk, they definitely know.”

Your girlfriend shrugs. “I’m buying it anyway.” She throws it in the cart before taking it from you and steering it towards the checkout area.

She pays for it, of course she does (always spoiling you), and the two of you head home to make some of the treats you want to make for your students.

You’re in the middle of mixing together the cream cheese and butter for the Irish potatoes when your mother calls you.

Immediately, you switch into your native tongue as you pick up the phone, balancing it between your ear and your shoulder as you continue to beat together the ingredients.

Your girlfriend looks over to you, still in awe at the fact that you are bilingual. The conversation is short, mostly just explaining to your mom that you’re doing just fine out in Philly, that yes you are still going to church and are celebrating St. Paddy’s day. You also let her know that Melissa says hello, and that the two of you are quite looking forward to coming out to visit during your Summer vacation.

“Hi, Esther,” your girlfriend pipes up as she settles behind you and wraps her arms around your waist, setting her chin on your free shoulder.

Your mother switches to English, greeting Melissa kindly. “Hello, dear. Are you taking care of my daughter?”

“Mam,” you groan. “I already told you that we are doing just fine over here.”

“You know I have to check,” you can practically hear your mother’s smirk.

“I’m taking care of her just fine,” Melissa promises. “We’re in the middle of making Irish potatoes for the kids at school as we speak.”

“Oh, how lovely. I suppose I’ll let you go, but give me a holler on St. Patrick’s day- preferably before you decide to get intoxicated with that blasted green alcohol,” your mother tells you.

“Will do, Mam,” you roll your eyes. “I love you, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Bye, Esther,” Melissa singsongs.

“Chat later,” your mother says. “Love to you both.”

The two of you finish making the sweets for your students before settling on the couch.

“So tell me more about your own traditions,” your girlfriend requests as you take a sip from your wine glass.

You do. Your eyes light up as you tell her what your family used to do, and how you’re quite thrilled to be able to share the traditions with her- even if some of them are silly.

“What do you usually do?” you ask her.

“Get piss drunk,” the faux redhead grins. “Go down to all the skanky dive bars and drink some green beer to pregame the parade.”

“And what do you do with the kids?” you roll your eyes. “I kind of assumed that was what you did.”

“Oh,” she laughs. “Sometimes we make leprechaun traps, I’ll put a few gold coins around the classroom, and whoever finds them gets a prize. They usually all get a baggie of Lucky Charms… and sometimes I dye the toilet water green in the morning and tell the kids that I guess we were struck.”

“That’s cute,” you say as you snuggle into her. “I’m sure they love it.”

“They have for the last… however many years I’ve been teaching at this point,” she sighs. “But I’m sure this year, they’ll all be more excited when you bring in the potatoes and when you teach them the basics of Irish dance.”

“Oh, god,” you groan. “Don’t remind me that Ava practically blackmailed me into doing that.”

“I think it’ll be good. The kids like interactive stuff… you see how they still talk about Tariq and his short lived career with F.A.D.E.”

“I guess,” you roll your eyes.

Your girlfriend is right. The kids are delighted to learn from you and learn about you and your country. You don’t think you’ve ever seen their eyes light up the way they did when they each got a few of the potatoes you and Melissa made last night.

You teach them a few steps, and they love it.

“This is so cool, Ms. Y/N,” one of your sweet students tells you.

St. Patrick’s Day at school comes to an end, and the two of you go out to happy hour with your crew to celebrate a successful school wide holiday.

The Philly streets are already in the spirit, with green painting the town. Most are wearing their Eagles gear to get into the green spirit, and a chorus of ‘Go birds!’ can be heard at any given time as you walk through the streets with your girlfriend and work friends.

You find your usual little pub and order a round. The beers are already dyed green.

“So, what are your plans for this holiday?” Janine asks you.

You wrap an arm around Melissa as you speak, “Get hammered? Make dinner drunk, and then show up to church on Sunday hungover as hell?”

“Sounds about right,” Gregory rolls his eyes.

Saturday morning rolls around, and you and Melissa get ready to head out for the day. You bought those little shamrock tattoos and place one on each of your cheeks before grinning.

“My Irish girl,” Melissa grins as she kisses you softly.

“We should probably call my mom now before we go out,” you chuckle. “We can do it while we get ready.”

You dial her, greeting her in your native language before switching back to English. You and the redhead chat with her for a few minutes, also getting to say hello to your father, before she lets you go to ‘participate in juvenile activities’.

Melissa has all of her eagles gear on, complete with the jersey that she has signed by Jalen Hurts, and you have on the ridiculous shirt that the redhead threw into the cart at Walmart.

You head down to the pub the two of you frequent, and while it’s busy as hell, even for 10:30 in the morning, you’re able to get seated due to the staff knowing you.

Melissa looks away from you to order you a Guinness and her a Yuengling before spinning back around to look at you. She pecks your lips quickly.

While it’s not unwelcome, you do raise a brow. She’s not usually so big on PDA.

“Your shirt,” she chuckles.

Your bartender hands her the drinks and then she turns back around and kisses you again.

“I think I see how today is going to play out,” you chuckle. The two of you clink glasses and chug your first beers.

By the time the parade starts at noon, it’s safe to say that both you and your girlfriend are intoxicated. She’s yelling ‘Go birds!’ at anyone she sees who is also clad in Eagles gear, and there are a lot of people wearing the football team apparel. She holds your hand tightly as you roam the streets around city hall trying to find the best spot you can to watch the parade.

The two of you are delighted to watch as the parade goes on around you. You spend the next hour and a half smiling and laughing so hard your faces are red. Each time she turns away from you and turns back to you, she kisses you- and the more intoxicated she is, the harder she kisses you. There’s something in the back of your mind that tells you at some point today, you’ll end up in bed.

There’s only one hiccup during your outing. Melissa has let go of your hand and is doing her best to sound as sober as possible when one of her old students comes up and gives her a hug. She’s engaged in conversation with the child for a bit, and when she turns around, there is a man who is very clearly trying to hit on you. His lips are puckered, and he’s telling you that he’s just trying to follow the directions on your shirt.

“Hey, asshole, she’s very much spoken for,” Melissa shoves him away from you.

The man stumbles slightly. “Her shirt says to kiss her.”

“I’m the only one who gets to kiss her,” your girlfriend says as she pushes him again. “If you wanna try again… well, fuck around and find out.”

He backs away with his hands raised in surrender, and before he can turn around to run, Melissa’s lips are on your own. She kisses you deeply, throwing up her middle finger in the direction of the guy as she dips you just slightly.

When she pulls away, your cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are filled with lust.

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

You follow her quickly as you head back in the direction of your apartment.

“Fucking asshole thinks he can get my girl,” the second grade teacher grumbles. “No way in hell.”

“Hun, it’s fine. I could’ve handled it myself,” you tell her as you squeeze her hand gently. “But it’s nice to know that you would fight a man in my honor.”

“Like hell,” she tells you. “Ain’t no way anyone else is gettin’ my girl.”

As soon as you’re inside your apartment, she has you pinned up against the door. Once again, her lips are on yours aggressively, and her hands quickly roam to other parts of your body. She squeezes gently, and you have to bite back a moan when she bites down on your neck. She grabs you by the thighs and lifts you up, taking you back into your bedroom.

By the time the two of you are finished, you’re breathing heavily. That was… wow.

“C’mon, baby,” she whispers as she holds you close. “We gotta start making dinner.”

“I’m gonna need some time to gain feeling in my legs,” you sigh out.

She chuckles as she kisses you softly- much more softly than she was earlier. “That’s fine. I’ll get it started.”

When you finally catch your breath again and the shaking in your legs subside, you make your way out of the bedroom. You still have your ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish’ shirt on, but you have her denim shirt on overtop of it and a pair of her shorts.

“Damn, baby,” she licks her lips. “You come out looking like that and expect me to be able to focus on dinner?”

You roll your eyes and head back into the bedroom before returning wearing a pair of sweatpants. She pouts, but that quickly goes away when you wrap your arms around her waist and kiss her cheek.

“What all have you done?”

“Gotten a beer,” she says cheekily as she cranes her neck to kiss you.

You roll your eyes. “I was in the bedroom for like forty minutes.”

“Okay,” she sighs before confessing, “So I had two beers while I looked at the pictures I took of you. Sue me for getting distracted by my gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Get the cabbage,” you swat her away from you. “And grab me a beer, please?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she grins as she kisses you again.

Dinner is delightful, and the two of you drink a few more beers before heading out again to meet up with the Abbott crew, aside form Barbara and Gerald. You end up getting absolutely hammered, chugging green beer after green beer with your girlfriend.

By some grace of God, the two of you get home without Melissa getting into a bar fight for all of the creepy men trying to hit on you.

That outing ends much like the first outing earlier in the day. But after, she holds you close and the two of you drift to sleep.

The next morning is brutal, both of you hungover as hell and promising you’ll never drink again (until the next time you decide to drink). You both get ready for church, moaning and groaning the entire time as you drink pedialyte and try to rehydrate yourselves.

While the hangover is killer, this Saint Patrick’s Day is one that will go down in the books.

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

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imababblekat · 3 months

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Getting You Air

Anon, "Hello! Sorry if this is weird, my first request ever, but can you possibly do something with Bayverse Raph with a s/o who goes nonverbal while overwhelmed please?"

~xXx~

He could tell, from a mile away, Raphael could sense that something was wrong. He knew you all too well to see that, even in the dancing hues of party lights and through the bustling crowd, that you were not okay. It didn't take long for him to make way to you, his large stature made it easy to push through people, them all to aware of the mutant terrapin even if occupied in conversation.

“Hey, you good?”, his voice rang out over all the bustle.

You barely registered him. Your pulse was racing, mind rushing with your heart at the overwhelming of your senses from what was supposed to be a time of celebration for the turtles and NYPD. Through the muffled sounds of varying voices and blaring music, it was a miracle you found the strength to focus in on your red banned friend in front of you. However, that seemed to be the only thing you could muster to do, unable to conjure up the ability to speak and only respond with a barely focused gaze.

Your lack of words and spaced out appearance had Raph feeling even more concerned. Taking the un touched food you held, he was quick to place the paper plate on a near by desk before ever so gently taking hold of your much smaller hand in his.

"Come on, gotta get you some air.", Raph spoke aloud, hoping that his words reached you through your jumbled senses.

You followed with out hesitation, your body subconsciously following Raphael's guide through the crowd with up most trust.

Finally making way to the roof of the NYPD building, the chilly night air was a refreshing welcome to your heated body. A small garden table was set up in the corner, presumably a get away break area for employees that Raph was quick to seat you down in. Pulling a chair he barely fit in himself closer to your side, Raph placed a comforting hand to the space between your shoulder blades and worriedly period down to gauge any change.

"Looked like ya could use some peace from everythin'. Feelin' any better?"

You still spoke no words, just continued to stare ahead at nothing, but at least now taking some breaths to sooth yourself. However, this did little to reassure Raphael. This was the first time he'd ever experienced you such an overwhelmed state. Usually you were so strong, facing danger head on or even being able to withstand the pounding music of Mikey's playlist when you'd visit the layer. Was it the jammed space? The flashing, multi colored lights? The cacophony of conversations flooding in and out of your ears that made it hard to stay clear minded? Whatever it was that had you overstimulated, it'd be a lie if Raphael said it didn't have him mildly freaked out over your wellbeing. He'd just hoped that bringing you out to the roof top would help in some way. Hell, if you needed to go home, for you he'd leave the party in a heart beat to make sure you got back safe and sound. Whatever just to make you feel better.

Just as he was about to offer up the option to take you home, Raphael was surprised to suddenly feel a ginger hand rest upon his knee. You still couldn't find the energy to speak, so instead you offered the burly man a soft, grateful smile as thanks.

The relief in your tired eyes was all the Raphael needed to feel a sense of his own ease wash over him. Of all the things he's done in his life, he was beyond comforted in knowing that he had at least done right by you tonight.

~xXx~

#bayverse raph x reader #bayverse raphael x reader #bayverse tmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #bayverse tmnt #aged up tmnt #anon request #imababblekat's writing

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gingerbreadmonsters · 1 year

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when is this james audio set? i havent listened to it yet ik its meant to be a flashback thing?

my morally questionable nerd has a partner omg

under the cut for minor spoilers, also some theorising on the project meridian timeline:

you've probably seen it by now, so this might be redundant, but yes it is a flashback! it sounds like this audio takes place the night before james leaves to go and oversee project meridian, but i don't know if we know when that is?

it's unclear exactly when in the timeline PM takes place - whether it's taking place in real time, or in the past (e.g. like how everything with the balance storyline (the elliott and sunshine and closeknit one) is happening about a year in the past), or maybe even in the future!

we also don't know how much time elapses between this audio and the first time we meet james - i think we can probably assume that james has been involved with PM for as long as ETS has been in charge, considering how important to this project he says he is to DUMP, but it's unclear how long that is.

in 'Your Owner Takes Matters Into His Own Hands', james says the following:

this suggests that ETS has been in charge of PM for at least 18 months, and it's implied that love must have been capable of some kind of complex thought and speech at that point, so who knows how long PM was running before that! later in that audio, james says this:

which implies that ETS has only been paying particular attention to PM for about a year and a half - so maybe that's when james comes in, and thus when this audio is happening?

however, he also says (across various other audios):

so it looks like ETS was always pulling the strings, and ETS seems to be directly controlled by (or at least moving at the behest of) DUMP - james says in this most recent audio that:

which implies that he's pretty important at DUMP, or if not important then at least valuable - it's entirely possible that james has been involved in this project ever since its inception at DUMP, which means that this audio could literally be happening at literally any point in the last however-old-james-is! it doesn't seem like the project was his IDEA, just that he's been assigned to it, so he's probably only been called in to oversee the actual PM site and make sure everything's going to plan and nobody is breaking covert - however, we have no idea how long that site has existed, or how far into the project he's being called in.

i imagine that if james is being called away for an indefinite period of time (he doesn't know when he'll be able to come back to his listener, saying only that it'll be "god knows how long"), it's probably no more than a few years at MOST? including the roughly-18 months since ETS revealed themselves? but that's pure speculation on my part based on the information we have so far.

tldr: this audio takes place the day before james leaves to go and work on project meridian, but as far as i know we have no idea when (i.e. what date) that actually begins, or indeed when the 'present day' is for the PM storyline in general.

#apologies for the late reply anon i'm sorry #the perils of living in the gmt zone + i had dance today and woke up late #hope you're having a lovely weekend!#redacted asmr #this is probably a much longer and involved answer than i think you wanted #so i do apologise #i got a bit carried away lol #ginger speaks to anons

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stuffeddeer · 5 months

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thinking about extremely whipped and easily jealous pm dazai with a big crush on reader who keeps talking to chuuya. he assumes this means they have something that he and reader doesn’t have and gets sad about it. he goes to the bar just to vent about it to chuuya who spits his wine everywhere and tells him how stupid be is because y/n likes HIM more than any other person

extremely whipped dazai… anon you’re speaking my language

Dazai had been drinking more than usual, Chuuya had quickly noticed. While the two were quick to claim that they aren’t friends, it was common to see them sitting next to each other after a particularly long day sharing a bottle of wine and venting. Today was no different, the men relaxing in the ginger’s office on his expensive leather chairs, crowding around his desk. The bandaged man poured himself another heavy glass of the bottle Chuuya had been saving for a while, causing him to grumble under his breath.

“I dunno why you’re so angry…”

The short man scoffed at that, deciding to top off his glass as well while he spoke. “You purposely picked the bottle I was savin’,” reddened cheeks give away his slipping sobriety, “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Wasn’t tryna hide it,” Dazai had let out a scoff of his own, chin resting on the hard wood of Chuuya’s work desk. He glared down at the many signed documents, huffing angrily at the signatures of his rival. “You owe me this, at least.”

Chuuya’s eyebrows furrowed pensively. Owed Dazai for what? “I don’t remember makin’ a bet with ya…”

“Not a bet,” Dazai let out a frustrated sigh. “Listen, you owe me.”

“And I’m askin’ for what!” Chuuya’s hat slipped off of his head as he stood up suddenly, the wine in his glass sloshing as he glared down at the usually-taller brunet.

Dazai chugged the rest of his glass. He’d never been a wine-guy, much preferring a nice scotch to Chuuya’s choice of alcohol, so he stuck out his tongue in distaste after the liquid passed his throat. The sight of Dazai’s disgust made Chuuya grit his teeth. If he doesn’t like it, then he should drink something else!

The two were completely plastered. With Chuuya being a lightweight and Dazai finishing off a few bottles on his own, it was destined to happen at some point. Because of their inebriated states, the shorter of the two misheard what Dazai had poorly slurred out after downing his drink. “One more time?” He asked, still unsure what made Dazai so angry with him.

Dazai’s cheeks flushed pink, and not just from the alcohol. How dare this slug make him repeat himself? “You heard me!”

“Did you say— “

“Yes!”

Chuuya’s mouth opened to an understanding o-shape: so he had said your name. “Okay, but, why do I owe you my expensive wines?”

Dazai grabbed the neck of the wine bottle before standing up himself, towering over the ginger. “Whatever! I don’t even wanna be here!”

“I’m not kicking you out, you moron! Just don’t know why you’re actin’ like this!” His hand reached out to grab Dazai’s shoulder, stopping him from leaving.

“You’re pulling them away from me,” he turned to Chuuya with a pout. “You two are always together acting all buddy-buddy. What do you have that I don’t? Why don’t they like me?”

Glass shattered on Chuuya’s nicely wooden office floor, swearing to himself as the wine within the glass splashed up on his shoes and the legs of his nice desk chair. He was too drunk to be embarrassed over dropping his drink, still shocked someone so smart could be so stupid. “D-Dazai, you’re a moron!” He sputters out, jumping away quickly to grab a broom.

“Yeah,” Dazai sits back on his seat with a sad and defeated smile. “I guess I am a moron.” He takes a big swig from the expensive bottle, finishing off the last few drops. The bandaged man’s eyes closed, letting the now empty bottle fall from his hand and onto his lap.

He barely notices Chuuya kneel back down by the desk, gently using a towel to suck up all the wine in between the broken glass pieces. Just as he begins to brush the shards to the side (he’d clean up properly tomorrow), he looked over to see Dazai’s somber look.

“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Chuuya sighs. “I’m not sayin’ you’re a moron for thinking you have a chance with them. You’re a moron for thinking I do.”

Dazai rolls his eyes. The last thing he wanted was Chuuya’s pity. “Hey,” he grabbed the empty bottle again, shaking it in front of the ginger’s face. “We’re outta wine.”

“We?” He scoffed in reply before continuing. “I’m bein’ serious, Dazai. They’re pretty much in love with you. We talk a lot because they’re nervous you’re gonna figure out their secret. Always tellin’ me about how perceptive and smart you are… Makes me sick, honestly.”

No one knows Dazai as well as Chuuya, and same with the inverse. Dazai knew Chuuya wouldn’t lie about something like this to him, especially after recognizing that he was being vulnerable for a tiny moment. Realiing this, Dazai’s heart fluttered. He turned to look at his rival with a glimmer of hope in his eyes, not saying a word as he silently pleaded for Chuuya to be telling the truth.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that, mackerel. They like you. Dunno why, but it’s true.”

Fumbling with his discarded coat, Dazai stands up abruptly. The wine bottle tumbles towards the floor, causing to Chuuya to panic and quickly catch it. “I need to see them!”

“Sit down, asshole!” He gently puts the empty bottle on his desk, letting out a huff of annoyance. “You’re shitfaced, y’know. Sober up. Talk to ‘em tomorrow.”

Dazai’s heart was beating out of his chest. How could he wait until tomorrow to talk with you? All he wanted in that moment was to hold you close - feel the warmth of your skin, bury his face into the crook of your neck, tell you how much you mean to him and how much you are his…

“Hey, drink some water, ‘kay? Whatever you’re thinking, remember they’re probably asleep right now.”

He groaned in annoyance. What does chibi know, anyway? Chin resting against the wooden desk once more, Dazai’s eyes shut in defeat. “Okay…

“...do they really like me?” He opened one eye for a moment, gazing over once again to see if Chuuya was being honest.

“More than they’ve ever liked anyone, apparently.”

A big grin pulled at his lips once Chuuya spoke, smile barely contained as his non-bandaged eye shut again.

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freeuselandonorris · 2 months

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I wish you’d write a fic where lando tries different antics to get oscar to lose his cool a bit (both in the bedroom and out ig)!

HELLO ANON thank you for this delicious prompt! i actually ended up going off in a slightly different direction to what you asked for because it sort of ran away with me, so i hope you still enjoy it ❤️

The first time he does it, it’s an accident, although Oscar doesn’t seem to think so.

It’s a couple of minutes before the start of FP2 and the garage is a hive of activity. Ted Kravitz is stood about ten feet away, pointing energetically at something from the mouth of the garage. There are at least three cameras within shooting distance. So Lando doesn’t think much of it when he squeezes past Oscar, shifting him out of the way by the hips to get to his cubbyhole, because there’s no thought behind it other than Oscar is standing in the way and it’s too loud to say excuse me. When Lando’s hands make contact with his racesuit, Oscar jumps. Lando laughs, pats his back and carries on, thinking nothing more of it.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Oscar asks accusingly, after the session when they’re waiting to leave.

Lando squints, mystified. Racks his brains to figure out whether he’d accidentally cut Oscar up on track or blocked him on a fast lap. “Do what?”

“In the garage,” Oscar says. He’s watching Lando with a funny expression, eyes locked on his face. He wets his lips. “When you—” He stops, eyes snapping to his feet.

“What?” Lando says. It’s funny — for all Oscar looks supremely unbothered by basically everything, reacting to stress and joy alike with little more than an eyebrow raise, he does have one tell. He blushes more easily than almost anyone Lando’s ever met, except maybe Morgan, who’s got the excuse of being ginger.

“Never mind,” Oscar says. He’s so red. “I just thought — when you came past me. I thought you were too close on purpose.”

Huh. Lando tilts his head, studying Oscar. “Nope. Sorry, mate. Won’t happen again.”

“No,” Oscar says hastily, before Lando’s even finished speaking. “It’s fine. It wasn’t — It’s fine.”

His face is scarlet now, the flush spreading right across his nose and cheeks. Even his ears are pink.

Interesting.

The second time he does it, they’re alone. In a lift, to be exact, which means Lando only has about fifteen seconds. By virtue of being in the executive suites, they’re both posted to the top floor, and the lift that had been full of various team personnel empties out suddenly on floor seven, leaving them leaning against the back handrail, alone.

Lando leans over, tips his head onto Oscar’s shoulder and yawns exaggeratedly. “Wow,” he says airily. “I’m beat.”

Their heights don’t match up properly for this at all. Lando’s ear is squashed against Oscar’s shoulder. He feels Oscar go still for a few seconds, and then, abruptly, his shoulder drops. Like he’s listing deliberately to one side, lowering his shoulder for Lando’s head to fit.

Lando bites back a smile, nestles into the curve of Oscar’s throat. Twists his head so his breath gusts out against the soft skin. Breathes in deep. “Wow, Osc, you smell good. New cologne?”

His head jiggles as Oscar swallows hard. “No. Nope. Same one as always.”

“Hmm,” Lando says, and presses his nose into Oscar’s shoulder, revelling in Oscar’s shuddery inhale. “Maybe I’ve just not been close enough to notice before.”

The third time, they’re being filmed. They’re in a conference room downstairs at the hotel, sun streaming through the windows, backing out onto some tennis courts Lando quite fancies getting onto later, if he gets chance. They’ve been positioned next to each other on an uncomfortable sofa, answering quickfire questions for some YouTube channel Lando’s never heard of. His back is killing him, or at least that’s the excuse he’ll use if anyone asks why he he swings his feet up off the floor and drops them into Oscar’s lap.

Oscar stops halfway through a sentence, stammering to a halt. His hands hover in midair, awkward.

Lando wriggles his feet, feeling the muscles in Oscar’s thighs. They’re so firm, even through the rubber of his soles.

“Sorry,” Oscar says to the interviewer, who’s looking at them bemusedly. He turns to Lando. “Really, mate?”

Lando shrugs, doesn’t move his feet. Smiles the smile that let him get away with being a little shit at school. After a moment, Oscar’s hands settle on top of his trainers, curled tentatively around his feet.

“Okay,” the interviewer says. “Let’s go again.”

Afterwards, Oscar stands up quickly, dislodging Lando’s feet so fast his trainers squeak on the polished floor when they land. He yanks his hoodie down over his hips, but not before Lando sees it. Hard not to, really, given that he’s still sat down at crotch height. The front of Oscar’s jeans, stretched out, just a bit.

“Oh,” Lando says stupidly.

“Shut up,” Oscar says tightly, out of the corner of his mouth. “Swear to God.”

Lando nods and struggles to his feet. Prays he hasn’t taken it too far. He’s half-expecting Oscar to make his excuses and disappear, but he sticks around to exchange pleasantries with the team. Makes jokes like nothing’s up, beckons Lando when they’re dismissed and strolls out alongside him, whistling between his teeth. Lando’s just starting to think that maybe he’d imagined the whole thing, when Oscar turns to him.

“Come to my room,” he says. Just like that, no preamble, no beating around the bush.

Lando nods, falls into step alongside him.

Lando’s barely got the door shut before Oscar’s shoving him up against it. Pinning Lando back with his hands bracketed around Lando’s biceps, staring down at him. And then he stops. Uncertainty flickers across his face.

“What is this?” he says, quiet and tense.

Lando blinks. “What do you—”

“No,” Oscar cuts him off. “Don’t bullshit me.”

He doesn’t look angry. His gaze flicks between Lando’s eyes and mouth. His lips part. Goosebumps break out all down Lando’s arms, starting at the point where Oscar’s warm hands wrap around him.

“Do you like it?” Lando says, squirming against the doorway. Looking up into Oscar’s dark eyes.

Oscar kisses him. Same way he’d asked: no fucking about. His teeth click against Lando’s with the force of it, tongue dipping inside Lando’s mouth and retreating, a maddening tease.

Lando’s gasping for breath by the time they break apart. His skin burns, prickly like he’s starting with flu, only good. He grabs Oscar’s wrist, wrenches it away from his arm and shoves it under his hoodie. They both gasp when Oscar’s hand touches skin, Lando sucking in his belly involuntarily.

“You’ve been driving me fucking mental,” Oscar says, a low growl. Lando shudders and lets his head thud back against the door. Oscar’s fingers curl into the soft space below his ribs. “You know that? Can barely think straight, sitting there wondering when you’re gonna do it again.”

“Hardly even done anything,” Lando mutters.

Oscar scoffs, but his eyes are soft. He grips the bottom of Lando’s hoodie and the shirt underneath, pulling them up far enough to expose his stomach, and looks at the skin on display. Lando arches his back, squirming under the scrutiny.

Holding the fabric up, Oscar scrapes the nails of his other hand in one long line down Lando’s stomach, letting them snag in the waistband of his joggers at the end of the trail. His nails leave streaks of fire down Lando’s skin. He can’t help but imagine it, even though he can’t see past his clothes: pink lines, marks on his skin, put there by Oscar.

Oscar ducks in again, kisses him for a few destabilising seconds. This time, when they separate, he stays close enough that Lando can see the tiny, distorted reflections of himself in Oscar’s dark eyes. He brings one hand up, cupping the back of Oscar’s neck, where the hair is short and soft.

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes. Abruptly, Lando realises he’s trembling, his entire body shivering with desire. He might have wanted this for a lot longer than he’s let himself think about. “Yeah, I like it.”

#prompt fill #landoscar #lando norris/oscar piastri #ln4 #op81 #mctwinks #answered

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gingerbreadart1 · 2 years

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ZIB!!! Oh wow it looks so good. Love Number 2 just hanging out in the back. Great Job!

Awwww thank you!!!!!! I really appreciate that! 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

#invader zim #asks #ginger speak #anon #zib

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orens-advice-corner · 2 years

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hey oren, my boyfriend is just being a little shit, i'll try to solve this problem by myself. Thank you for all the advice, you are an angel - 🐈

....Fine, don't take my advice then.

#ungrateful readers #smh #oren speaks #ginger anon

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savorypink · 3 months

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need late sias!alex as a barista and u as the annoying customer who comes in during closing time. he angry fucks you in the bathroom cuz u annoy him

“cuz u annoy him” makes me giggle, but here you are anon!

“...and that’s why I stopped paying my taxes!”

You speak into your phone’s speaker, swinging the doors of the small cafe open. Caught up in a conversation over the phone, you miss the scowl on the barista’s face as you saunter towards the counter. The lights of your favorite coffee spot have warmly dimmed, the minimal lighting enhancing the coziness of the atmosphere. This lighting, however, is an indication that closing time is near. To the dismay of the night shift barista, Alex, you have always made it your business to show up right before the doors close. Your horrible timing isn’t entirely your fault, though; 1) you’ve got things to do, 2) the cafe has become rather popular recently, and your patience isn’t the best. Why would you want to wait in line?

Your conversation continues even when faced with the barista, completely ignoring the chairs sitting on the empty tables, the lemon scent of cleaning products breezing past your nose entirely. The barista’s cute, large doe eyes look up at you from the counter he’s wiping down with a bleach-stained rag; he doesn’t seem happy to see you.

“Hold on just one second...” you say to the barista and your rambling friend on the phone. Digging into your bra, you pull out the crumpled-up bills and coins for your usual drink, all in exact change. You hand him the money with a warm, lip gloss-coated smile. You’ll see if he’s worthy of a tip.

“You know what to do.” You finish with a wink before he takes the money out of your manicured hands. Your perfume's pleasant candy scent lingers when you turn your heel to the tables behind you, dizzying and addictive to his nostrils, but he scowls as soon as you pick up a chair. Plopping down, you continue entertaining your friend on the phone, and you aren’t quiet about it.

“Yeah, I’m at the cafe now. It’s so cute!” you squeal. “You should totally hit it up sometime. Make sure the Elvis-looking guy makes your drink, though. He’s the best.”

Your words wash away the barista’s annoyance as he prepares your drink, knowing your preferences like strings on a guitar, pure muscle memory. Your loud mouth quickly tarnishes this somewhat peaceful moment.

“It’s the ginger-haired girl you gotta watch out for. Ugh, she’s the worst! Can’t make a drink for shit. And guess what? I found a hair in my muffin! When I flipped out on her, she kept saying, ‘Calm down,’” You do perhaps your worst impression of the nasally lady, “and she was like, ‘Do you want another muffin?’ No! I want my money back, Ed Sheeran!”

Your friend on the other line laughs alongside you, a bubbly yet ear-piercing cackle that makes Alex almost crush the mixer in his hands. His brain bounces from wanting to hear your laughter again to shutting you up with a kiss. As your gums continue flapping, you allow your eyes to examine the barista behind the counter. His backside is as cute as his front, the lean muscle of his shoulders contracting under his white t-shirt, strong arms flexing as he scoops up the ice and pours it into the mixer. You put a gelled nail between your teeth as you watch him, shifting in your seat as your panties become uncomfortably wet.

“Hey! Are you still there?” Your friend calls on the other line.

“Yeah!” Your cheeks warm up at the interruption, “Like I said, make sure Elvis makes your drink. You’ll know exactly what he looks like. If his back is turned, just look for the one with the cute butt.”

Alex is thankful his back is turned, your words tinting his face a rosy red. The silver bell on the counter dings once your drink is prepared. You don’t bother putting the chair back as you approach the counter. You thoroughly look through the transparent cup, ensuring the amount of ice and the number of dried fruit is accurate; you have no notes. Taking a sip, you let the liquid linger on your tongue before swallowing. Cold, sweet, and punchy; you couldn’t ask for more. You reenter your bra, dig out some change, and place it into the tip jar near the register. Your sunny, warm smile conflicts with the barista’s snowy, freezing shoulder.

“Thanks, Alan!”

“Alex.”

Your eyes dart to the pastry case behind him, a croissant drizzled with chocolate catching your eye. “How much for that croissant? It looks tasty…”

“For you? Free of charge.” He’s more concerned with getting you out of here before you give him gray hairs.

“Wow, really?” you beam in amazement. “You’re so kind! Alan, you’re the best! You’re way nicer than that ginger chick who tried to poison me. Ugh, she doesn’t work here anymore, does she? So unprofessional. She’d be better at scrubbing toilets than making drinks.”

Alex smirks at your remarks as he hands you the pastry in a white paper bag. “You mean my boss?”

“That’s your boss?” You immediately take the pastry out of the bag, biting into the flaky treat. “She’s in the wrong line of work if you ask me!”

“Oh, yeah? Do tell.”

Your mouth moves before you can detect the sarcasm in his voice. You’re oblivious to the flakes falling into your shirt, decorating your cleavage as you continue munching and talking. Alex second-guesses giving you a napkin before handing you a few from the dispenser. If he didn't, he’d have more reason to stare at your chest. Flakes and chocolate stain the corners of your mouth and lip, and he hates to admit it, but you’re looking very…cute.

“Anyway,” you finish, wiping yourself clean, “You should totally be running this place, Alan. It doesn’t hurt that you’re super hot, too. Just work on the resting bitch face, and you’ll be amazing!”

Your final comment digs painfully into his skin, and it’s a shame. He was starting to like you.

“You’re too pretty to be talking with your mouth full,” Alex crosses his lean arms over his chest. “ I could teach you proper etiquette if you’d like. I’m a tough teacher, though. Be warned.”

Offended, you blink wildly before smiling at the compliment he snuck into his invitation. You gladly accept.

“You think I’m pretty?”

---

The cold marble of the bathroom sink raises the tiny hairs on your skin. You claw at it to no avail, sheepishly bent over the sink with your thong and velour tracksuit pants hugging your ankles. The empty bathroom echoes a slapping sound, a mixture of wetness and the noise of your ass against Alex’s relentless hips. His cock drives in and out of you at a brutal pace; each thrust angrier than the next.

“You’re awfully quiet,” his large palm comes down on your ass with a vicious spank. “Come on…you were mouthin’ off about a muffin just a minute ago.”

Your cunt gushes at his words, the tight walls of your core needily squeezing him in a vice grip. Lust clouds your brain, unable to form a witty comeback to his statements, your weak moans becoming a new language. Before you lay your head on the marble, Alex fists your hair in a ponytail, tugging you upwards to face the mirror. Ignoring the messy reflection, you allow your eyes to roll into your skull, heat beginning to pool in your stomach, his cock hitting the right spots repeatedly and harshly.

“We’ll figure out a use for your mouth in the next lesson. You're doing a great job at taking me, muffin.”

#mickey is typing…#alex turner fanfic #alex turner smut #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #so much fun to write! apologies for the wait!

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