#norman x reader

[deerd1iary]

[car-o-line]

I heard you wanted requests 😈😈

I hope you still write for tpn tho..

If you do, can I request the tpn trio (separately) reacting to reader asking "hey, what would you do if I got adopted?"

Reader doesn't know the reality behind the orphanage, and you can decide whether reader asks before or after Norman and Emma find out.

Tysm and take care!!

Hehehehheheheh you heard right :), let’s sayyyyyyy that y/n asks after Norman and Emma found out(bc writing convenience)👍👍

Full score trio with a reader who doesnt know about the secret asks them “tf would u do if I get adopted?”

EMMA:

It was when the both of you were in the midst of making breakfast for everyone in the orphanage.

Emma’s vibe had been a bit off to you since the night of Connie’s adoption, which was normal at first. Connie wouldn’t come back, she’s with her new family. Maybe she’d send letters but who’s to tell?

At least, that’s what you thought.

Emma had practically begged Norman and Ray not to tell you about the secret of the house, she insisted that “you couldn’t handle the truth” and that “Mama could tell easily that all 4 of the full scorers had caught on to the truth.”

They both hesitantly agreed to Emma’s whining.

It was true, what Emma said. You really wouldn’t be able to grasp let alone pretend that everything was fine if they told you that everyone was cattle, and that they’d all turn into another number of meat provided to demons.

Which is Emma had dropped the stack of plates she was carrying when you had just ask a simple question.

“What would you do if I got adopted?”

The plates had all fallen onto the ground right after you asked that question, and to your great surprise.

And despite your body rushing to the broken pieces of glass that had scattered across the ground, Emma herself did not move.

She did not say anything.

She did not cry, or pout, or yell.

She just stood. Right in her spot.

Thinking.

What would she do? It was a good question, even if you hadn’t meant it as a deeper meaning. She’d cry, she knew that. And she tried to get the escape moved up before your shipment. She also knew that.

But she couldn’t just say it, you’d be confused.

“I’d cry. And I wouldn’t move on from your…adoption until I knew that you’d be okay.”

That’s all she said, quietly, and with much thought put into it. She couldn’t be too sad, you’d suspect something.

So with a bright smile she bent down and took your hand that was about to reach a piece of glass and pulled you to a stand position.

“I’ll clean this up! Go tell Mama that there’s a mess and we’ll handle it from there!”

NORMAN:

During a test to see if you were the traitor, like in Emma’s, she insisted for him and Ray not to tell you.

And despite Norman eventually agreeing to her request, he knew it wasn’t the right thing to do.

You should know, you deserve to know the truth. Of where Connie was now, of where all your prior siblings are now.

And yet he rejected what his heart desired to tell you.

The only reason the test for your innocence in the matter is taking place is due to Ray persistence of how “we’d be sure y/n is safe to not tell”, but reality was the obvious once he himself was proven guilty later on.

Once the trap was laid for you(help I cannot physically understand wth norman’s trap was, and also wth to say about YOUR trap), Norman had decided that he’d be there with you.

He didn’t know why though, it was just an instinct.

However, while you were walking right into his trick, you said something.

“Norman?”

“Hm?”

“What would you do if I got adopted?”

Oh.

Oh he didn’t think about that question at all.

As soon as you finished the word adopted he whipped his head in your direction.

Tbh kinda made him slightly suspicious of you being the traitor-

He’d ask you question after question after question,

“Why would you ask that?”

“Why’d you think that would happen?”

“Do you want to be adopted?”

Poor boy’s just concern :(

He loves u too much to even register the thought of your shipment :)

But after you hastily answer his questions he’d relax a bit.

“You won’t get adopted, I know you won’t.”

RAY:

When you both were studying in the library.

He knew the truth the whole time, so seeing you behave so normally after Emma and Norman found out left a pang of guilt in his heart, but at the same time, relief.

Since you didn’t know, you don’t have to feel pain, you don’t have to pretend, and you don’t have to cry.

Do you deserve to know?

He didn’t think so.

You don’t deserve to know the sorrow that had sprouted all throughout this so called home.

Perhaps he was too deep in thought that he couldn’t feel you shaking his arm and calling his name, but once he did look at you it almost just looked like a glance of pity.

“Ray!”

“What?”

“Answer my question!”

“What was it? I wasn’t listening.”

“I can tell. It was, what’d you do if I got adopted?”

He’s shook, shaken, baffled, flabbergasted, dumbfounded-

Why are you asking that now?

Did mama tell you something about being adopted?

He’d ask that, and you denied.

Oh good.

Oh wait.

Are you even telling the truth?

Would you lie to him?

Maybe he should just tell you right now?

About everything.

Maybe all those thoughts clouding his mind caused him to ignore you again, is that why you stood up from your chair?

Wait don’t leave him.

What if it’s the last time he sees you again?

“Wait y/n.”

[technicallyburningfury]

Lambda's Finest —

The Superhuman Reader Reunion

Summary/Warnings: Reader possesses superhuman physical and mental abilities (strength, speed, agility, enhanced senses, genius intellect) as a result of a successful Lambda experiment. The trio believed she was dead for years. Emotional reunion, years of grief, revelation of experimentation, childhood memories. Yandere versions include possessive obsession, dark protectiveness, subtle manipulation, and intense emotional fixation. Reader does not initially recognize the trio during the rescue.

They called you a miracle. The scientists at Lambda, in their cold, clinical language, designated you as the only fully successful product of their enhancement program. Strength, speed, agility, intelligence, sensory perception — every metric exceeded their projections. They did not know what to do with you. So they sent you to Grace Field Plant 3, a high-quality farm where your intellect could be further cultivated before harvest.

You were four years old when you arrived. Mama Isabella was told you were a transfer from another plant. She was not told the truth. She simply noticed, over the years, that you were extraordinary. You never lost a game of tag. You found every hiding spot within seconds. You beat her at chess when you were seven years old, and the look she gave you that day was the first crack in your childhood innocence. You did not understand why her eyes went cold.

Emma, Ray, and Norman fell in love with you the way children fall in love with sunshine — naturally, completely, without question. You were their champion, their unbeatable rival, their best friend. They marveled at you. They adored you. And then, one day, you were gone. Shipped. Mama told them you had been taken to your new home. They knew the truth by then. They believed your brain had been devoured by demons, your brilliant mind consumed, your laughter silenced forever.

They grieved you for years.

They never knew you were simply transferred. To another Lambda. For further study. The scientists there were not as gentle as Grace Field. They pushed you to your limits and beyond, testing every enhancement, documenting every result. You endured. You survived. You escaped. And years later, when a group of human rebels found themselves surrounded and outnumbered by demons in a ruined city, you intervened. Not because you knew them. Because it was the right thing to do.

You took down twelve demons in under thirty seconds. You moved faster than their eyes could track, struck with enough force to crack demon bone, and landed silently in the center of the carnage without a single scratch. You did not look at their faces. You simply nodded, turned to leave, and heard a voice call a name you had not heard in years.

Your name. Your real name.

You turned. You looked. And you remembered.

EMMA — NORMAL VERSION

Emma's legs give out.

She does not even realize she has fallen until her knees hit the rubble-strewn ground, her hands trembling as they press against her mouth. The demon bodies are still dissolving around you, wisps of dark matter curling into the air, and Emma cannot breathe. She cannot think. She can only stare at you—at your face, your eyes, the way you tilt your head slightly, the way your lips part in dawning recognition.

"You're alive," she chokes. "You're alive. You're—how—we thought—you were shipped, they told us you were shipped, I saw your name on the list, I—"

She cannot finish. She is crying too hard, great heaving sobs that shake her entire body. Ray and Norman are frozen beside her, but Emma is already pushing herself upright, already stumbling toward you with the same reckless desperation she has brought to every impossible fight.

You catch her before she trips on the debris. Your hands are gentle, impossibly gentle for hands that just tore through demons like paper. Emma clutches at your arms, your shoulders, your face, her green eyes wide and wet and terrified, as if you might dissolve like the demon corpses.

"I looked for you," she whispers. "Every shelter, every base, every record we found—I always checked for your name. I never found it. I thought—we all thought—"

"I know," you say quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were looking."

Emma laughs, a strangled, tear-soaked sound. "Of course we were looking. You're family. You're—you're—" She cannot finish. She pulls you into a hug so fierce that a normal person's ribs would have cracked.

Later, after the shock has settled and you have all found somewhere safe to talk, Emma sits as close to you as physically possible. Her knee presses against yours. Her hand keeps finding your sleeve, your wrist, your fingers, as if she needs constant proof that you are solid.

She listens with wide, horrified eyes as you explain the truth. Lambda. Not a farm, but an experimental facility. They made you what you are. Enhanced you. And when Grace Field was done cultivating your mind, they brought you back for more tests.

"They hurt you," Emma says. It is not a question. Her voice is low and trembling with barely contained fury. "They experimented on you. On a child. For years."

"Yes," you say. There is no point in lying.

Emma's jaw tightens. She looks down at her hands, clenched in her lap, and you see the war playing out behind her eyes—the part of her that wants to weep against the part of her that wants to find every scientist who ever touched you and make them pay.

But when she looks up again, her expression softens. She takes your hand in both of hers and holds it tightly.

"Thank you for saving us," she says. "And thank you for surviving. I know—I know it must have been horrible. I can't even imagine. But you're here now. You're alive. And I'm never, ever letting you go again."

Her smile is watery but real. The same smile you remember from childhood. The same smile that made you believe anything was possible.

EMMA — YANDERE VERSION

Warnings: Possessive obsession, emotional intensity, dark protectiveness, subtle threat toward anyone who hurt Reader, Emma's desperation manifesting as control.

Emma does not cry. Not at first.

She stares at you with an expression you have never seen on her before—something wide and hollow and hungry. The demons are dead. You are standing in the middle of the carnage, barely winded, and Emma looks at you like you are a ghost she has been chasing for her entire life.

Then she moves.

She crosses the distance between you in a blur of motion almost as fast as your own. Her hands grip your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks hard enough to hurt a normal person. She tilts your head this way and that, examining you with an intensity that borders on frantic.

"It's really you," she breathes. "Your eyes. Your face. You haven't changed at all. How—how is that possible? You look exactly the same. You look —"

Her voice cracks. The tears come then, but she does not sob. She does not collapse. She simply stands there, gripping your face, tears streaming silently down her cheeks, and smiles. It is not her usual bright smile. It is something sharper. Something that has been waiting for a very long time.

"You're alive," she says. "You were alive this whole time. They took you and I thought you were dead and you were alive and I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't come for you."

"Emma—"

"No." Her grip tightens. "No, listen to me. I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone forever. I mourned you. Every single day, for years, I carried that grief. And now you're here, and you're telling me they had you in some—some laboratory—" Her voice shakes with rage. "They hurt you. They experimented on you. They made you into this, and then they kept hurting you, and I wasn't there."

You try to speak, but Emma is not finished.

"I'm never letting you out of my sight again," she says, her voice dropping to something almost feral. "Never. You're coming with us. With me. Wherever we go, whatever we do, you stay right next to me. I don't care if you're invincible now. I don't care if you can tear demons apart with your bare hands. You're mine to protect. You always have been."

She pulls you into a hug then, her arms wrapped so tightly around you that you feel the tremors running through her body.

"I love you," she whispers against your shoulder. "I've always loved you. And I'm never losing you again. Never. Anyone who tries to take you away from me—demon, human, I don't care—I'll destroy them. I'll destroy everything."

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her green eyes dark with something that makes even your enhanced instincts prickle.

"You believe me, right?"

You do.

RAY — NORMAL VERSION

Ray does not speak your name. He just says, very quietly, "It's you."

You turn. The three strangers you just saved are staring at you with expressions ranging from shock to disbelief to something that looks almost like grief. The dark-haired one —Ray— is looking at you with an expression you cannot immediately read. His face is pale, his dark eyes wide, and his hands are shaking at his sides.

"I know you," you say slowly. The recognition is flickering at the edges of your memory, stirred by the sound of your name on his lips. "I… remember you."

Ray makes a sound—not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. "You remember me. That's— that's good. That's more than I expected." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it makes your chest ache. "We thought you were dead. All these years. We thought—I thought—"

He stops. Swallows. Collects himself with visible effort.

"We need to talk," he says. "Not here. Somewhere safe. There's a lot you don't know, and apparently a lot we don't know either."

Later, in a secure room with the door locked and the windows shuttered, Ray listens to your story in silence. He does not interrupt. He does not cry. He just watches you with those dark, analytical eyes, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.

When you finish, he exhales slowly.

"So that's why you were always so strong," he says. "The speed, the agility, the way you could hear someone coming from three rooms away. It wasn't natural talent. They made you that way."

"Yes."

"And they sent you to Grace Field to develop your mind. To make you smarter. To make you a better product." His voice is steady, but there is a bitter edge to it. "And then they brought you back to Lambda to study what they'd created."

"Yes."

Ray is quiet for a long moment. Then he looks at you, and his expression shifts—something raw and vulnerable breaking through the calm facade.

"I looked for you," he says. "After we escaped. I went through every record I could find. Every shipping manifest, every transfer log. I never found your name. I thought maybe—maybe they'd destroyed the evidence. Maybe you were just gone."

"I was in a different Lambda," you say. "Not the one Norman was in. A smaller one. Off the records."

Ray nods slowly. "Of course. They wouldn't want anyone finding their perfect experiment." He pauses. "You beat Mama at chess when you were seven. Do you remember that?"

You blink. The memory surfaces— a chessboard, Isabella's cold eyes, the stunned silence of the other children. "Yes. I remember."

"She hated you for that," Ray says, and there is something almost like satisfaction in his voice. "She was afraid of you. That's why she shipped you so early. She knew you were dangerous."

He reaches out, hesitates, then takes your hand. His grip is firm and warm.

"I'm glad you're dangerous," he says quietly. "I'm glad you survived. And I'm glad you're here. We have a lot to catch up on."

His thumb brushes across your knuckles, a gesture so gentle it makes your heart ache.

"Welcome back."

RAY — YANDERE VERSION

Warnings: Possessive obsession, dark protectiveness, calculated manipulation, emotional intensity hidden beneath calm exterior, Ray's grief transforming into something dangerous.

Ray does not react the way you expect. He does not cry. He does not run to embrace you. He does not even look particularly surprised.

He just looks at you with those dark, fathomless eyes, and says your name like it is a prayer he has been repeating every night for years.

"There you are," he says. "I've been waiting."

Emma and Norman are still frozen, still processing, but Ray is already moving. He walks toward you with the same deliberate, measured stride he used to use when approaching a problem he had finally solved. He stops inches away from you, close enough that you could count his eyelashes, and tilts his head.

"You're faster than you used to be," he observes. "Stronger, too. Those demons didn't stand a chance. That's not normal. That's not even close to normal."

"I can explain," you start.

"You don't have to," Ray interrupts. "I already figured it out. Lambda. Experimentation. Enhancement. They sent you to Grace Field as a test run, didn't they? To see how you'd develop in a controlled environment. And then they brought you back."

You stare at him. "How did you—"

"I've had years to think about you," Ray says flatly. "Years to analyze every memory, every detail, every inconsistency. You were always too fast, too strong, too smart. I told myself it was just you. That you were special. But after I learned about Lambda, I started putting the pieces together."

His hand lifts to touch your face, his fingers cool against your cheek. His expression is still eerily calm, but his eyes—his eyes are burning.

"Do you know what I did when you were shipped?" he asks quietly. "I was already planning the escape. I was already making notes, memorizing layouts, calculating routes. And when you disappeared, I almost burned it all. I almost set the house on fire and walked into the flames myself. Because what was the point? What was the point of escaping if you weren't there?"

"Ray—"

"I didn't do it," he continues, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. "Norman talked me down. Emma needed me. The kids needed me. But I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped searching. Every record I found, every database I cracked, every demon I interrogated—I was looking for you. And I never found anything. Not a single trace."

He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. His voice drops to a whisper.

"And now you're here. Alive. Saving us. Like you were always meant to. And I'm never letting you go again."

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. His expression is still calm, but there is something terrifying in its intensity.

"You're mine," he says simply. "You always have been. You always will be. I don't care if you can tear demons apart with your bare hands. I don't care if you're the most dangerous human on the planet. You're still the person I've loved since I was old enough to know what love is. And I am never losing you again."

His hand slips down to take yours, his fingers interlacing with yours in a grip that is gentle but unbreakable.

"Come on," he says, and his voice is almost normal again. "Let's go home."

NORMAN — NORMAL VERSION

Norman recognizes you instantly.

Even before you turn around, even before he calls your name, he knows. There is something about the way you move—that impossible speed, that fluid grace, that economy of motion that wastes nothing. He has watched you move like that a thousand times before, in a different life, in a different world. He would recognize it anywhere.

When you turn and your eyes meet his, Norman feels something inside him crack open.

"Hello, Norman," you say, and your voice is exactly the same. Exactly.

He does not collapse. He does not cry out. He simply takes a step toward you, then another, his blue eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that borders on reverent.

"I thought you were dead," he says. His voice is steady, but there is a tremor beneath it. "I thought—we all thought—Mama told us you were shipped. I saw your name on the list. I checked it myself. I—"

"I know," you interrupt gently. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known."

Norman shakes his head slowly. "I should have figured it out. I should have realized something was different about you. The way you always won. The way you could hear things no one else could hear. The way you beat Mama at chess when you were barely old enough to read. I should have known you weren't just gifted."

"I didn't know myself," you say. "Not back then. I didn't find out until later."

"Find out what?"

You explain. Lambda. The experiments. The enhancements. You were never a normal child. You were a weapon, cultivated in secret, sent to Grace Field to ripen before being returned for further study. Norman listens without interrupting, his expression growing grimmer with every word.

When you finish, he closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, they are wet.

"You were alone," he says quietly. "All those years. You were alone, and they hurt you, and I didn't come for you. I was at Lambda myself, in a different facility, and I didn't even know you were there. I didn't even look."

"You couldn't have known."

"I should have," Norman insists. His voice cracks. "I should have torn every Lambda facility apart until I found you. I should have—"

You step forward and pull him into a hug. Norman goes rigid for a moment, then his arms wrap around you and he holds on like you are the only solid thing in a crumbling world.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into your shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," you say. "I'm here now. We're all here."

Norman pulls back, wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and manages a small, shaky smile.

"You saved us," he says. "You're still saving us. Even after everything they did to you, you're still—" He laughs, a soft, incredulous sound. "You're still the most incredible person I've ever known."

He takes your hand, his grip warm and steady.

"Let's go home," he says. "We have so much to tell you. And I want to hear everything. Every detail. Everything I missed. If you're willing to share it."

You squeeze his hand. "I am."

Norman's smile strengthens, and for a moment, he looks like the boy you remember—bright-eyed, brilliant, full of hope.

"Then let's not waste any more time."

NORMAN — YANDERE VERSION

Warnings: Possessive obsession, dark and calculated protectiveness, subtle manipulation, Norman's cold strategic mind applied to love, implied threats toward anyone who hurt Reader, intense emotional fixation.

Norman does not say your name. He just smiles.

It is not the warm smile you remember from childhood. It is something colder. Something sharper. The smile of a man who has spent years plotting the destruction of his enemies and has just been handed an unexpected gift.

"There you are," he says, his voice soft and almost fond. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

You stare at him. "Norman?"

"Yes." He steps toward you, his movements unhurried, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. "It's been a long time. You look well. Better than well, actually—those demons didn't even touch you. That's not normal human capability. That's enhancement. Lambda enhancement, if I'm not mistaken."

Your eyes narrow. "How do you know about—"

"I was at Lambda," Norman says pleasantly. "Not the same one as you, obviously. I would have found you if we'd been in the same facility. But I know how their experiments work. I know what they were trying to achieve. And looking at you now, I'd say they succeeded."

He stops a few feet away from you, his blue eyes roving over your face with an expression of intense, analytical focus.

"All those years," he murmurs, almost to himself. "All those years I thought you were dead. I mourned you. I planned revenge in your name. I burned Lambda 7214 to the ground, and I told myself it was for you. And now here you are. Alive. Whole. Perfect."

The word perfect lands with a weight that makes your skin prickle.

"Norman—" Emma starts, but Norman raises a hand.

"Give us a moment, Emma. Please."

His tone is polite. It is also absolute. Emma hesitates, glances at Ray, and steps back.

Norman turns his attention back to you, and his smile softens into something almost tender.

"Do you remember the last conversation we had?" he asks. "Before you were shipped. You were sitting in the library, reading a book about chess strategies. I sat down next to you and you beat me in three games in a row. And I told you—" He pauses, his voice dropping. "I told you that I loved you. That I would always love you. Do you remember?"

You swallow. "I remember."

"Good." Norman's smile widens. "I meant it then. I mean it now. I have loved you since I was old enough to understand the concept. And for years, I thought that love had nowhere to go. That you were gone. That the only thing I could do for you was avenge you."

He steps closer, closing the remaining distance between you. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, his touch gentle but impossibly deliberate.

"But you're not gone," he says. "You're here. And you're more incredible than I ever imagined. Enhanced. Powerful. A weapon in human form. Do you know how useful that is? How perfectly you fit into everything I've been planning?"

You stiffen. "Norman, I'm not a weapon."

"No," he agrees, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "You're not. You're the person I love. The person I've always loved. But you're also the key to everything. With your abilities, we can end this war. We can destroy every farm, every demon, every threat to our family. We can do it together."

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"But even if you say no, even if you don't want any part of this, I'm not letting you go. I can't. I've spent too many years missing you. Too many years planning a world where you didn't exist. Now that you're here, I'm never letting you out of my sight again. Never."

He pulls back, his smile still in place, his blue eyes dark with something that makes even your enhanced survival instincts sit up and take notice.

"Do you understand?"

You meet his gaze. "Yes."

"Good." Norman takes your hand, his grip deceptively gentle. "Then let's go. We have so much to discuss. And I want to know everything—every experiment, every test, every scientist who ever laid a hand on you."

His smile does not waver, but his voice drops to something cold and lethal.

"I want their names. All of them. So I can make sure they never touch anyone else ever again."

He squeezes your hand.

"Welcome home, my love. I've been waiting for you."

[1234lilith]

How they be looking after this rant

but basically, it's if reader got shipped instead of Norman and decides they wanted to escape when they were walking to the gate, and they hypothetically had a walkie-talkie, so there now calling the group being like

____________________________________

Reader:heyyy guys guess what 😃

Emma: YOUR ALIVE!?!

Ray: WHAT ARE YOU DOING IDIOT

Norman: ARE YOU OK

Gilda: Are you dying 😰

Reader: ya ya just running from mother around the yard for dear life and...oh shoot 🥲

Don: WHAT WAS WHAT IS IT

Reader: she's got my knife

Norman: i feel like you have bigger fish to fry😅

Reader: I know, but like still, let grive 😢

Ray: WELL, IF YOU DONT KEEP RUNNING, WE'LL END UP GRIEVING YOU

Emma: Isn't she like tracking you😧

Reader: I cut my ear off

Guilda: SO YOUR BLEEDING 😰

Reader: tis but a ✨️flesh wound ✨️

Don: I feel like thats very BAD

Norman: it is very bad

Reader: Just a little no ear, I'll live 😊

Ray: You're running for dear life. i don't know if you will

Gilda: she might make it 🥲

Reader: ya emo, I've been pulling some good ankle breakers

Ray: IM NOT EMO 👿

____________________________________

I might do more later. i felt silly, and I wanted to make this similar to when I play horror games with my friends, and we're all just freaking out how reader has a knife ehhh stole it i guess or if there a transfer they snuck it from there old place 😁

[m1k0t0ai]

flirting with the fullscore trio (and just general affection headcanons)

꒰ྀི১ emma ໒꒱ིྀ

˚⟡˖ ࣪ emma’s form of flirting is through shitty, corny pick-up lines, or just general physical intimacy

˚⟡˖ ࣪ y’know the typical “did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” or “if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber!” lines

˚⟡˖ ࣪ it’s to make you laugh, she loves seeing you smile because of her dumb pick-up lines

˚⟡˖ ࣪ she’s very physically affectionate, so be aware that she will be cupping your cheeks, holding your hands and getting in real close

˚⟡˖ ࣪ probably the best at flirting of the three (which isn’t saying much considering her “competition”), and yet she’s somehow also the most dense when you attempt to flirt back (some pick up lines are so nonsensical to her that you’ve had to explain them)

.𐙚 ̊ norman ⋆.𐙚 ̊

⋆˚࿔ norman’s form of flirting is just generally giving you compliments and reassurances

⋆˚࿔ his way of flirting is through giving the sweetest compliments that make you want to squeal and tell him to stop but you also want him to keep going

⋆˚࿔ when you flirt back, it either makes him smile his usual smile or it genuinely catches him off guard and gets him all shy.

⋆˚࿔ norman, months, even YEARS into your relationship, still asks if he can hold your hand and kiss you simply because he’s a gentleman

⋆˚࿔ if norman isn’t the definition of a handsome, caring prince towards you, i don’t know what is.

⋆˚࿔ the type of pick up lines he would use are “are you a magician? because when I look at you, everyone else disappears”, or “guess what i’m wearing, the smile you gave me!”

⋆˚✿˖° ray ⋆˚✿˖°

ꕤ｡˚⋆ ray’s version of flirting can range from subtle shows of affection such as leaving little encouraging notes for you to a nonsexual seduction?

ꕤ｡˚⋆ to him, his way of flirting is showing general care and affection for you

ꕤ｡˚⋆ though on occasion, he’ll whisper something to you that always makes you feel all fuzzy and warm, to where if most people heard what sweet nothings he’d tell you, they’d think ray had been replaced

ꕤ｡˚⋆ flirting with ray will result in him looking away, throwing some snarky remark at you and scoffing as if he’s tired of it, but really, that pretty, ruby red blush on his cheeks says everything you need to know

ꕤ｡˚⋆ for as stoic as he can come off as, he does try his best to let you know that yes, he does still love you, even if he’s not the best at verbalizing it

ꕤ｡˚⋆ he also refuses to use pick up lines because he thinks they’re almost always stupid

(I surprisingly struggled a lot with these god help me?)

[giganticgeo]

Someone pls revive the tpn fandom, I'd love to do it myself but my writing skills genuinely suck and I'm doing the world a favour by not writing any fanfics for tpn but pls, tpn fans, rise🙏‼️

[theawfuledges]

dreadfully little gn!reader smut exists with this character so you know i couldn’t help myself! inspired by #10 from this prompt list: “Spread your legs wider.”

Spoiler alert: this is all filth

tw: semi-public sex, shades of exhibitionism

MINORS DNI

come on, let it linger (norman osborn x gn!reader, spiderman)

The door isn’t locked.

It’s the only thought capable of penetrating the haze that has fallen over you, and even then it’s half-formed, a distant worry that you know you should be a little more concerned about than you are.

After all, it isn’t like you’re alone in the building. Late as it is, Oscorp still buzzes with employees going about their business. You can hear the low murmur of their voices outside the door, or you could at one point, before your heartbeat had started pounding in your ears.

You should have been long gone from the place, sequestered away in the corner of one of your favorite restaurants, but the moment you had slipped into Norman’s office, you had known that would be one reservation gone to waste. The weight of his stare as his assistant had ushered you in had all but assured it, warm, dark, rich with want. Sharp, as it had grown to be over the past few weeks. Sharp enough to cut. 

“Come here, my dear,” Norman’s voice had urged you closer the moment you were alone, the click of the latch closing behind his assistant barely registering over the rushing of your pulse in your ears. You had glanced at the door, even moved to twist the lock into place, but Norman’s voice had stopped you, his words wreathed in a low growl. “Leave it.”

And so you had.

“Spread your legs wider,” Norman orders you, his lips rough against the small of your back. You groan softly and do as he asks, a faint ache blooming in your thighs as you widen your stance. The snic of a cap being pried open echoes like a shot in your ears, and then Norman’s fingers are tucked against your opening, slick with lube and circling your hole with such a narrow minded intensity that your breath catches in your throat. 

His fingertips work dlilgently at your entrance, coaxing your body to accept their intrusion with slick, firm strokes around your rim. He’s teasing you and you know it, drawing out your anticipation for the moment he actually pushes inside of you, and the moment he finally does, the slickened pad of his first finger catching against your opening before sinking inside of your heat, you push your burning cheek against the cool mahogany surface of the desk and fight hard not to whine.

“Hush, sweetheart,” Norman soothes you, though there’s no disguising the gentle mocking tone to his words as he eases a second finger in along the first. You gasp and clench around the intrusion, biting at your lip to suppress the noises bubbling in your throat as Norman pumps his fingers in and out of you, your body tugging greedily at his fingertips each time he makes to pull away. He huffs a laugh at your desperation, his breath warm against the swell of your buttock. “Someone will hear you.”

You clench your eyes shut but that doesn’t stop your body from clamping down around his fingers, inner muscles fluttering just at the idea of someone beyond that door hearing your cries.

“Oh?” Norman’s lips curl against your skin, his free hand curling possessively against your hip while the other works at your entrance, the squelch of his damp fingers stuffing you full bringing a warm flush to your cheeks. “Is that what you want? Hmm? An audience?”

You shake your head, unable to speak past the lump in your throat as Norman nudges a third finger against your opening. It doesn’t stop you from bearing down against him, gripping at the edge of the desk with nerveless fingers as you’re filled and stretched to your limit - but not quite. Not yet.

“No?” You nearly cry at the loss when Norman removes his fingers, only to shiver as the muted click of a belt buckle breaks the silence, followed by the rustling of fabric and the sensation of Norman’s fingers sinking into your hip as he lines himself up with your entrance. He tuts at your silence, rubbing the damp heat of his cockhead against your hole. “Speak up, dear.” 

“No,” you choke out, thighs trembling as you push against Norman’s hold. His grip holds fast, digging harshly into your hip, and you huff out a humid breath against the surface of the desk and repeat, louder. “No. Just you. Just - Norman, please.” The plea rasps in your throat, your fingers creaking around the edge of the desk. 

Norman laughs, a low rumble spilling into the sweltering air between you. “Since you asked so nicely,” he rasps, and then he’s pressing against you, pressing in, your mouth falling open on a silent gasp as his cockhead nudges past your slickened opening and sinks steadily inside. 

You shudder at the stretch, biting back a curse as his heavy length drags along your inner walls and bumps against every oversensitive nerve. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” your lover croons, his hands clenching around your hips as he drives the rest of his cock into your eager heat, a soft grunt spilling from his throat when he eventually buries himself to the root. “Just like that.”

You moan softy at the sound of his voice, lust-thick and low, thighs quivering as he begins to rut shallowly against you. The room fills with the faint rustle of clothing and the soft clap of skin against skin, and though the din of voices outside fails to pause, the thought of anyone beyond the thin barrier of Norman’s office door being able to hear you sends a hot flush to your cheeks, your spine arching as you meet each of your lover’s thrusts.

Norman laughs lowly, like he’s read your mind and knows exactly what sort of thoughts are running through your head. He leans over your bowed form and drags his lips along the curve of your shoulder, murmuring, “Hush now. Unless you want someone to come knocking.”

You bite back a whine as he grinds the base of his cock against your stretched entrance, his hands tight around your hips and his thumbs digging into the swell of your buttocks. “I don’t - “ you choke out, only for your mouth to drop open and your fingers to slip against the edge of the desk as Norman’s hips piston against yours, fucking you with deep, hard thrusts and grunting lowly as you clench and shake and tremble around his length.

You don’t realize you’re moaning until Norman’s fingers are curling around your jaw and stuffing themselves past your gaping lips, his voice colored with dark satisfaction as he coaxes you to, “Be quiet before you make a scene of yourself, hmm?” The desk creaks beneath the force of his thrusts, the frenzied slap of skin against skin growing louder and louder until you’re certain the employees outside can hear you, and it’s with that thought that you come undone, your cry of completion muffled only by the fingers stuffed in your mouth and your body shuddering so violently through its orgasm that you nearly knock Norman’s lamp from the desk in the throes of it. 

Through the rushing in your ears you hear Norman’s gritted curse as he comes, his fingers digging indents into your hips as he spills inside you. You pant softly against the surface of the desk as he fucks you through his orgasm, his thrusts gentling until he’s merely holding you against him, breathing heavily and stroking along your heaving sides. 

“Turn around, sweetheart,” he urges you, his voice a low rasp. You both suck in stilted breaths as you move and Norman slips out of you, the sensation of his cum seeping from your entrance making you flush. The sight of Norman as you turn makes your skin flare hotter, his slacks gaping open around his softening cock and his hair mussed, sweat shining on his brow. His eyes have lost their sharp edge, his gaze warm on your face, and you toss your arms around his throat as he bends his head to kiss you, your eager clumsiness making his lips twitch against yours.

Outside the door, the voices of various Oscorp employees carry on, and though you dread the moment when you eventually have to leave, knowing it’s impossible that they didn’t hear anything, the knowledge that Norman will be right by your side is enough to soothe the worst of your embarrassment, the thought of getting him home so you can return the favor enough to dispel it completely.

[loneworldgazer]

✧

Emma

Seeing You In A Suit

Crush Rejects Her

Daydreamer!Reader

Norman

Seeing You In A Suit

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Ray

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Gilda

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Don

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Isabella

nothing yet :>>

Krone

nothing yet :>>

Phil

Headcanons

Oliver

Emotionless!Reader