#I am pretty sure I still wrote it wrong

[the-confused-little-anomaly]

Ye shall bow before the squirmy monarch

[freakinator]

If you don’t mind, I’m gonna yap for a second.. I think another problem with Kab is how sudden the turn around was. Like in the first convo where Kab was acting “evil”, Zam fought back with the argument that she’s wasn’t really evil at all and I think he did believe that at least a little. And if Kab slowly began to turn her path around then he would be a bit more trusting cause he would have SEEN her actual emotional growth but the turn around was so fast, it feels like there was no emotional growth at all and that Kab is still the same as before, cause she basically is. She still wants Mane dead no matter the cost and she’s still, intentionally or not, trying to manipulate Zam, but she wants to be treated as if she’s had that whole long term emotional growth

yeah ii think this is where her majority experience with short-term smps really bit her in the ass, i think there are two main directions that other ppl take it tho: 1. is as what you speculate in that some ppl think that she hasnt had genuine growth and hasnt changed at all and 2. that she genuinely changes too quickly and is therefore unreliable regardless of if shes being honest or not

i think the reason zam was so receptive to her in silent scream was cause this has been a recurrent plot point for a couple streams now, kab trespassing zams base to yap while zam tries to decipher her wants and motivations until eventually she just let it all out and in that instance i think he did genuinely believed that she changed even if it was slowly/just a little bit

....but then die for you happened lol

ssee the thing about kab is that shes shes all-or-nothing, going from one extreme to the next after just a little bit of change in character which can be jarring to some ppl to say the least (unless you thought she was lying and therefore any character development shouldnt be believed i suppose) but is something that was a great asset in shorter and arena-based smps where you had to get as much advantage against your opponent as possible without having to worry about the long-term consequences of these actions ie them not trusting you while still having to interact often in mundane ways even after messing with them. while she Can be swayed this only really works with things she was already unsure of which while a great motivator and trait to keep her on track with her goals (again another great trait for short-term smps), can be really jarring and distressing for other ppl if the things she was absolutely sure about goes against their own perspective like for example her thinking that derapchu killing her constitutes zam getting payback for her as the protector of the server (The protector, not A protector like zam insists, The protector of the server)

i think shes far too used to the fast-paced instant acceptance of changed personality in arena smps that is a natural consequence of them being short-term and having a revolving door of members and teams which is why she expects ppl to accept her growth and efforts so quickly even if realistically nobody would hand over their trust that easily esp after essentially being harassed in their own home multiple times, like even in normal smps where theres a baseline amount of trust ppl still wouldnt trust you after doing that, what more in a server like lifesteal where general trust is low basically all the time?

[brazilian-whalien52]

Kawi is not just shy he has social anxiety disorder (SAD).

A Quick summary of social anxiety: "A person with social anxiety disorder feels symptoms of anxiety or fear in situations where they may be scrutinized, evaluated, or judged by others" 

You can see through the drama how he cares about the opinion of others. He builds his whole life over what other people think about him and, in the same way, pushes other people way and keeps a distance. 

He also, in many moments, freezes in front of others. For example, when he has to sing as a first-year student in front of his classmates. Besides avoiding places or situations where he feels other people may judge him, which causes him to not have any meaningful connections in the future and regretting all the opportunity he lost. Even the work he ends up at is basically another form of isolation (he does subtitles in his home office and the contact with his boss seems to be mostly through his cellphone).  

After a social situation, he tries to over analyse his "performance", looking for flaws in his interactions, blaming himself and regretting the things he said/did. Also, he tends to expect the worst possible consequences from a social interaction or negative experience, believing that any mistakes he makes will turn people against him. Basically, he doesn't allow himself to make mistakes, especially during social interactions. You can see him expressing this a lot in the firsts episodes. 

Another thing that shows is that he doesn't feel comfortable eating in front of others, a usual trait in people with social anxiety disorder (observational social fears). It is also pretty common for people with SAD to develop drinking problems. Normally, they have alcohol because it's a way they can be "fun and spontaneous" around other people. However, how he was before, also shows his social anxiety. He was too afraid of drinking and getting loose around other people. That's probably why he never drank. Basically, he went to two different extremes in that matter.  

Plus, people that are part of a minority group (in this case queer) are more likely to have social anxiety disorder. 

[carbonfiction]

Line to cross

Summary: When DBF!oldman!Logan catches you in a compromising position.. You should probably tell him to stop, should hold the fabric tigher in your fingers, be less calm, put up more of a fight.. He's your dads friend, a taboo line you really shouldnt want to cross..

Warnings?: 18+themes, basically PWP, smut, female masturbation, caught masturbating, mentions of dildos, swearing, nipple play, f!reciving oral, slightly forced orgasm? Tiny bit of overstim? Lotta Praise, nicknames (princess and babydoll mostly) , just oldman!Logan's mouth being a warning of its own really..

Gotta admit i wrote this with nothing more than horny brain. Old man logan just.. Hits the spot yk.. Pun not fully intented..

Masterlist words: just under 2.5k

"Now.. What do we have here?" Logan rumbles as he stands heavy against your doorway, arms crossed with a smirk tugging at his lips.

You shriek and scramble, like ice water has been pushed through your veins, rushing to cover yourself from his gaze. Practically naked and beyond mortified as you stutter biwildered whilst trying to tug your top back over your breasts. “w-what the fuck are you doing?! How long have you been stood there?”

“..what am I doing? I think I should be the one asking you that, princess.”

He ignores the second part of your question and you feel yourself try to shrink to no avail, so you repete; voice breathlessly unsteady and not quite sure if you truly want the answer. “How fucking long Logan..”

there’s bite to your tone but not in the way you’d like, it comes out less aggressive and more meek; unsure and utterly mortified

“long enough” Logan simply shrugs, notchulantly stepping forward into the expanse of your room, clicking the door shut behind him. “wasn’t exactly planning on dropping in, figured you were out.. but then I heard you from downstairs, called my name sounded desperate.. so I assumed something was wrong..” he trails off with a motion of his hands.

Shame swirls In your gut that you hadn’t only been thinking of him, but had fucking moaned out his name..and done so loud enough that (even without his hightend senses) he’d heard you.

“looks like i was the one wrong. Hadn't expected to come up here and see daddies little angel fuckin herself stupid on some plastic cock.”

“W-wasn’t, Logan i-“ it’s a futile defense, pointless really considering what you think he’s seen of you.

“You weren’t what hm? Weren't whimpering my name? Weren't splitting that pretty pussy open to the though of me, trying to make yourself feel good?" Logans hand laces with yours, as he bares down on the matress to sit, a calloused thumb ghosting over your knuckles in an attempt at comfort despite the mockery of his tone. "S’okay princess, don’t have to hide it”

heat spreads from the tips of your ears down your neck, darkening the already hot flush of your cheeks. “Logan I- I swear I didn’t mean-“

“Didnt mean what? To fuck yourself stupid or for me to catch you? Cause babydoll it looks like you failed at both”

A sound bubbles from your throat at that. shame, embarrassment, horror, arousal.. All knotting together in a potent mix deep in your stomach.

Your legs subconsciously close tighter under the thin sheet, a move that doesn't go unnoticed under logans perception.

its also a move that further jostles the dildo still tucked inside you, the blunt head prodding against a spot that has your eyes rolling before you can stop them.

You whimper a panicked little sound at the humiliation; at the lack of friction, the pleasure still festering in your gut. The words that fall so mockingly from logans lips.

He doesnt need his senses to feel the shameful arousal that radiates from your haistily hidden body and it has him huffing in amusement; whilst you scold yourself further for not removing the toy in your panic.

"Cmon, open up.. let me help" he murmurs, his large free hand grasping and pulling at the blanket covering you. It slips down further, covering only your waist- You should probably tell him to stop, should hold the fabric tigher in your fingers, be less calm, put up more of a fight.. He's your dads friend, a taboo line you really shouldnt want to cross..

And yet, you do. You want- need- to cross it with carelessness; with arousal burning your skin inside out.

You let him slip the fabric down past your hips. Past your clenched thighs, your knees, ankles. Until it sits in a discarded heap at the end of your bed.

Its the cool air of the room paired with the feeling of his calloused palm snaking its way back up your left leg that rouses you. "B-but logan, my dad is-"

"-Is gone. work called." he interups, his fingers kneading at the soft skin of your outer thigh. "Trust me s’okay.. S' just us. Me 'n you babydoll."

And with that said, a small reassured nod shaking your frame, his large hands pry your legs appart. Your body shuffles with his following, right leg coming to sit over the broad expance of his shirt clad shoulder, the bed creaking under the weight.

A scratchy kiss is planted just above each of your knees, logans beard rubbing as he shifts with you, coming to rest between your thighs.

The sounds of your heavy breath is the only thing filling the room until logan groans, deep and loud at the sight of your bare pussy still stuffed full of the the toy. "Fuckin lookatcha, already drooling.. such a needy little thing”

You keen at the feeling of his heavy hands touching your body, one sitting heavy on your lower stomach and the other resting against the base of the toy, careful not to move it just yet. You can tell by the way hes looking at you he's taking in the sight of your slick stuffed cunt.

"Want ya to show me what feels good, how you like to be touched.. show me what you were doin before i caught you" his words are quiet, mumbled against your thigh, yet demanding as his eyes find yours for that extra confirmation.

Your head moves in a nod but he tuts disapproving at the action. "Words princess, need ya to use em okay?"

"Y-yeah.. okay"

Wordlessly your hands drift back to your top, slipping it back to rest just below your collar bones, nipples perky and sensitive. It draws an exhale from your body as one hand comes up to your mouth, spit covering two fingers as you suck at them.

Once sufficiently wet they slip back against your left nipple, slick and shiney as you circle teasingly at the bud while your free hand gropes at the flesh on the other side, before moving to mirror the movements on the right. this time palm fondling against the swell of the left.

Your eyes fall closed at the sensations, quiet sounds falling from your lips; steady yet shy. Logan simply watches on, silent and enamored with every move you make.

Then your hand drifts once more, down your tummy and over the hand of his resting there, your touch soft and warm.

Theres a breathy sigh as you wrap your fingers around his on the base of the dildo as you push and pull back and forth. Alternating between the feeling of the silicon balls deep and the tip sitting bearly inside until it slips out with a thoroughly wet pop.

It's this time however logan cant muffle his groans at the sight; of you dragging his hand with the toy cock up and down your dripping slit. It further hardens his own cock sitting behind the denim of his jeans.

Logan lets go under your grip, using it to push your legs open wider as you slide the toy back inside; maintaining a steady pace. palm hitting your swolen clit with the force of your own thrusts. It feels good, fucking yourself like this with his eyes hungrily on you. It has you whining and keening, small uh uh uhs the longer you play but its not enough, not really.

Not when logan is laying between your legs with the knowledge of how to really get you off.

"L-logan, please.. Cant.. Doesnt feel as good myself" you huff and whine sounding akin to a petulant child not getting what she wants.. But in a cruel way you find thats true; while you aren't anywhere near a child anymore, you aren't getting what you really want.

The heavy hand that rests on your tummy moves down, until Logan's thumb presses on the hood of your clit. He tugs the swollen flesh back carefully and then smirks. He spits and you gasp. Yet he makes no moves, just watches it dribble down.

It has the need burning inside of you igniting further and under his touch you find any past embarrassment dissipating.

So you plead again, feeble and quiet, almost defeated. "P-please do something.. Need you to do it." you beg for the smallest movements, for anything he's willing to give.

And to your surprise... He does just that. He gives. The hand that opened your legs moving to shove away the fingers that wrap around the end of the silicon. Its done with an indignant shush when you whine; the dildo once again moving back and forth against your gummy walls. "Shh shh, s'okay I'll do it, you wanna fuck a plastic cock you've gotta at least do it properly princess”

The room fills with wet plap, plap, plaps, as logan keeps his quickened pace. Thrusting the toy steady as his eyes watch each motion hungrily.

"F-feels good.." you mumble squeezing at the meat of your tits, a hand coming down your stomach until it wraps tight around his thick forearm. Your nails dig in and he grunts at the sting of the crescent shapes denting his marred skin, but his movements never faulter.

Your eyes flutter and roll once more at a full thrust. The blunted bulbous tip prodding experimentally at that one spot again; slick and sticky silicone balls pressed flush against your ass as your hips try to buck for friction.

“ooh, there. we. go." logan huffs against your trembling thigh atop his shoulder, punctuating his words with three rougher thrusts. plunging the silicone dildo so deep you swear you feel it in your belly. "that’s the spot huh baby”

"M-mhm.. Close" You mumble through quiet moans. nodding quickly, lip bitten beneath your teeth as the pleasure builds faster and faster. Theres a tremble in your legs that grows the longer your body keens; back arching and hips writhing.

A condecenting chuckle slips from logan, dark and deep as he somehow manages to plunge the dildo faster and harder inside you.

The force makes your body jolt up the bed and you dont know if your scrambling towards or away from whats happening between your thighs. But you do find yourself greatful as your head hits the soft pillows; It happens the very same moment logans thumb finally, finally begins circling the pulsing bud of your clit.

Mindlessly you cry out, fingers pressing harder into your breast and logans forearm. "S-so close.. pleasepleaseplease"

His thumb moves faster, the rough pad slick and wet as you throb beneath his touch. Your body writhes as you moan out obscenities, the pleasure filled coil in your belly twisting tighter with every second that passes.

"Need you to do it babydoll, need to see you make a mess f'me." he growls, commanding.

Moments later you do just that. You cum with a such a visceral sob of his name that it wracks the entirety of your body; head thrown to the pillows and back arched so high it almost looks painful. White hot pleasure running through your veins as your stomach muscles heave.

Yet logan doesnt stop, doesnt let up his movements with his thumb or the now soaking toy cock, thrusting it with loud lewd noises of your cunt as it coats creamy with your release.

He simply coos out concoctions of praise; versions of 'that's it, Atta girl' and 'look so pretty when you cum' with his head pressed against your trembling thigh. Eyes dark and watching the way your slickend holes greadily clench.

He's hard, painfully so, but he knows this is a sight that he'll dream about later; his own slick cock in hand in the confines of his bedroom.

Overstimulation quickly threads its way into what was once overwhelming pleasure, turning the shocks into sparks. You writhe and moan under his hands, begging desperately as your hips buck frantic. "L-logan.. Im done- f-fuck s' too much, too much!"

"Ah ah" he tuts. "Your done when i say your done, need'a see you gush one more time" your eyes roll at that, the stimulation and the way his chapped lips press the words into your pubic bone.

Your eyes screw shut, brows furrowed as you struggle though the pain that with each movement winds your belly tighter. By now tears stream down your cheeks, hands grasping tight to anywhere you can reach of him; To push him away or pull him closer you still dont know.

The rubbing of his thumb on your pulsing clit ceases monetarily at the broken sounds you make and for a second you think hes letting up, going easy on you.

However the feeling of his hot mouth wrapping around the sensitive bud changes your mind. You squeal, loud and panicked, eyes flying open as your legs desperately try to shut around his head.

"N-nno no no" desperate hiccuped sobs falling from you as he laps and sucks, dildo still pushing into you, drawing you to the very edge of the burning pleasure pain in your gut.

"Do it princess, fuckin do it. Know you wanna" he mumbles wetly into your weeping pussy, tongue flicking in quick back and forths.

Your hips thump at his nose, coating the greying in his beard as you cum again. It's filled with a pain that drives the feeling of orgasm higher. your scream is silent, mouth opening and closing in wordless 'o' motions, brain so clouded your words fail.

The motions of the his mouth and the dildo slow until Logan's pulling off you. The sensitivity drawing a whine from your throat, while the the creamy coated sight of the silicone makes him groan loudly as he throw it somewhere on the bed.

For a while you lie there completely boneless, panting as your legs continue to tremble with the aftershocks, logan still resting between your thighs cooing softly. Hardly noticing the way he shuffles his way up your body until his spit soaked lips find your forehead.

"Good girl.. My good girl, Did so good f'me babydoll" he murmers softly against your skin between kisses, a contrast to his previous domineering tone.

You feel him gather your frame into him, the buttons of his shirt pressing into your skin as he lifts you from the bed bridal style. You smile up at him gently, meeting his gaze as your lashes flutter sleepily. His scent comforting as you wrap your arms around his neck, snuggling your head deeper into his chest; trying to burrow your own space inside.

His quiet chuckle is felt before you hear it, rumbing deep from his lungs as he pulls you tigher to him; heading for the bathroom. "Cute babydoll.. Real cute"

you whine at that, an exhausted but happy little sound as he leans his head down to kiss your hair before mumbling "lets getcha cleaned up hm? Ill take care of the sheets"

Eee- this has gotta be one of my favorite pieces I've ever written!! Lemme know whatchu think!! 🫶

[allywthsr]

WRONG PERSON | (l.norris)

summary: you send a sexy video to some tinder guy, until you realize you tapped Lando‘s contact instead, you both help the other to finish what you started

wordcount: 2.4k words

pairing: landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: smut!, talking about toys, details about masturbation, phone sex, dirtytalk

notes: inspired by this!!! Tell me what you think, I‘m still scared to write smut, hope you all like this🫣

You were working for Quadrant, it wasn’t like you were some important boss or something, you mostly dealt with customers and sometimes got to plan a video, but Lando still took the time and got to know you. When the whole team went out for dinner, Lando talked to everyone for at least twenty minutes, he wanted to know who was working for him and his brand.

There was no denying you found him handsome, everybody thought he was pretty, but you needed to hide your excitement in your panties whenever he was near you. Not only did he make eye contact every time you two talked, but he also smelled delicious, you wanted to rip his clothes off, the whole time he was near you.

But back to where you were now, laying in bed naked, at almost one am, with your phone in your hand. You were single and desperate, texting with guys from Tinder, who were not worth more than a quick fuck, but you were young and had your needs.

With your phone in one hand, and your left boob in the other, you recorded a small video, where you were squeezing your boob and moaned slightly. You‘ve been snapchatting with a guy you met on Tinder, both of you were horny and needed a release, so why not help each other? You quickly wrote a text to the video, to make it more seducing, ’ You make me so wet…‘ and taped on the slot on Snapchat where he was for the last few snaps, before you could double check that you selected him, you hit sent and threw the phone next to you.

While you waited for his answer, your hand slowly made its way to your pussy, circling your wet clit. With a moan, you teased yourself and kept stopping the sensation in your most private area. When you heard the Snapchat notification tone, you took your phone in your hand and only saw that Lando send you a snap, it wasn’t unusual that he would snap you, you two were streaking after all, but at that time was a little odd, because you were kinda bored and waiting for your guy to reply, you withdraw your fingers from your wet cunt and opened Lando’s snap.

With a gasp, you threw away your phone, the first photo was a normal snap, a picture of his bedroom with some series on Netflix playing, but when you tapped on the screen to exit the snap, a new picture popped up. You could see his hand holding his boxershorts clothed dick, he was hard and big, long and thick. He also wrote a little text, you had to read it twice, making sure your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you, ’was this meant for me, babygirl?‘

You didn’t know what to do, so you did nothing for a few seconds, you didn’t feel horny anymore, suddenly aware of the cold air hitting your still-hot pussy. Should you reply and apologize, saying how you accidentally sent your boss a nude, and look him in the eye at the next dinner? Impossible.

You thought about leaving the country and starting all over again, where no one knew Lando, but that wasn’t a solution either, you had to face him and say that it wasn’t meant for him. But how can you get rid of the image in your head of his dick, the only thing that was roaming through your brain right now was how lucky his future wife would be. With a dick like that, she sure would be happy for the rest of her life.

You excited the snap and took a deep breath, what were you going to say, sorry I send you a nude, but your dick looks nice? No. It took you at least two minutes to think about it and when you took a picture of half your face and started writing a paragraph of apologies, your phone showed you an incoming call.

Lando Norris.

Shit. Your whole body tensed, you couldn’t answer, you just had to pack your things and go, leave London and Lando behind, but something in you didn’t want that, and after what seemed like hours, you did answer the call.

”Hey Lando, look uhm, I‘m sorry I sent you that video, it wasn’t meant for you, obviously. B…But thank you for responding, I mean that picture was nice, but I don’t think that this uhm professionalism between us should be broken. If.. if you want me to leave Quadrant, I‘ll do that.. uhm I’m sorry for sending you that, and I-“

”Y/N, will you stop rambling?“, his voice sounded like he was out of breath, you started shaking when you heard him speak.

”I‘m sorry, for rambling and sending you the video.“

He chuckled, ”Don’t be, maybe you could’ve seen by my response, that I wasn’t mad about it. Sure having your employee suddenly sending you a video where she squeezes her boob and moans, isn’t something I‘d expect, but you have beautiful boobs.“

You didn’t know what to say, so the only thing that came out of your mouth was a: ”Thank you?“, you could hear your heartbeat in your chest, the silence on the other line panicked you.

”But, maybe this is unprofessional of me now, but you left me in a kind of hard situation, Y/N. I bet you’re still wet if your fingers would slide between your legs, aren’t you?“

Your breath hitched, was this for real? Was Lando Norris, your boss, dirty talking to you?

”I..I don’t know, it was a pretty big shock to see you replying, I‘m not as horny as I was ten minutes ago.“

”Then I want you to glide your hand over your boobs and stomach, down to your pussy, I bet it’s pretty, and then tell me how wet you are.“

With a small sigh, you did what he told you, gliding over your boobs and stomach to your pussy, you touched your entrance slightly and felt yourself pulsating, you may not be as horny anymore, but your wetness said otherwise, maybe a part of you already found it hot that Lando actually replied to you.

”Fuck, I‘m so wet Lando.“

You heard a moan from the other line and some sheet rustling, ”Baby, I want you to touch yourself like you would do without me. Finger yourself, rub your clit, do whatever satisfies you. I‘m hard as a rock baby, I need to touch myself too, I wish you were here to do it for me.“

You did as Lando told you, rubbing your clit in circles and feeling yourself come closer to the edge, this whole situation was so hot, it turned you on so badly.

”Please touch yourself, Lando, I wish I was there to help you.“

”I could eat you out until you’re crying and begging me to stop because you would be overstimulated.“

Another moan escaped your mouth and slowly you let your fingers slip into you, which was no problem due to your wetness, but it wasn’t enough, you needed more, thankfully Lando seemed to know what you were thinking when he heard your unsatisfied moans.

”Do you need more baby? Are your fingers not enough, you need my dick to stretch you out?“

You let out whiny and breathy ’yes‘, this situation was so bizarre but hot at the same time.

”Do you have any toys, Y/N? I want you to use a toy on yourself.“

”I..I do.“

”Show me.“

”Can we switch to FaceTime? It’s easier, and I want to see you.“

Lando hummed and muttered a quick goodbye before the screen with the call disappeared, the only thing you could see on your phone now was the picture you took a few minutes ago, and before you could do anything else, the FaceTime call from Lando came in. You answered without thinking about it and you were greeted with a big and girthy dick, and your mouth watered a little. You held the phone up, so he could see your face and your boobs, which he commented with a quiet ’fuck‘.

”Show me your toys, baby.“

You quickly got up and propped the phone against your lamp that stood on the nightstand, while you looked under your bed to fish out the box with your toys. It wasn’t like you were some pornstar and had thousands of toys, but over the years you had collected a fair amount of little helpers.

By now Lando had switched back to his face, so you could see his little beard and his eyes, he kept biting his lower lip, while watching you.

You opened your box and grabbed the first toy you saw, a standard dildo, it was skin-colored and a bit longer and thicker than the normal ones. You showed it to Lando and he groaned, tilting his head back, ”Is that your favorite?“, he asked.

You shook your head and pulled out a pink satisfyer, it was a mixture of a vibrator and dildo, but it also had a clit sucking element. That one was your favorite, you had spent hours with this beauty, and it never left you hanging. ”This is my favorite, you don’t know how good this feels.“

”Tell me about it.“

”It’s so fucking good, Lando. This clit sucking thing? It feels like heaven, it gets me there within a few minutes, the fastest I‘ve ever had an orgasm.“

”I bet I could get you there faster.“

That statement left you with a smirk, only the thought of Lando going down on you, made your head spin, you needed that.

”I can see that you’re imagining it right now, I bet you taste amazing, I would finger you, while lapping at your clit, you would be so full.“

You shut your eyes, and whined, your pussy clenching around nothing.

”What else do you have in there?“

”I have a wand“, you lifted the typical wand and dropped it on the bed, ”I also have a rabbit vibrator, and this“, you lifted another pink vibrator, but this one was smaller.

”You know what this is for, Lando?“

”I‘ve seen it in porn“, he smirked, ”have you ever let someone control it while being somewhere public?“

You nodded, it was a vibrator that you would insert into your pussy and it could be controlled with an app, you‘ve only used it once with someone.

”I was on a date with someone from Tinder, and we‘d been sexting for days and I gave him the app and he controlled it over dinner, it was an experience and I loved it.“

”I want to control it in our next meeting, seeing you tremble over some video ideas is going to be fucking hot.“

Another wave of pleasure rushed through your body, you couldn’t believe you were talking that way with your boss, unbelievable.

”I want you to use that rabbit on you.“

You chuckled, and held the rabbit vibrator into the camera, ”This one?“

Lando nodded eagerly, with a smirk you opened your mouth, dared your tongue out, and licked a long stripe over the part that goes inside of you. After a few licks, you put it fully in your mouth and started sucking it.

You could see how Lando started touching himself again, his eyes closed every now and then and he let out small whimpers. This was your sign that you needed to touch yourself too, so you laid on the bed and flipped the camera to your lower part, where the vibrator was circling your clit. Lando also flipped the camera and you saw his dick that was already leaking pre cum, he moved his thumb over his tip every now and then while moving his cock through his fist, collecting the white fluid. Due to your wetness, the vibrator slipped inside of you with ease, you turned it on and gasped when you felt the vibrations.

”Do you like that? Having your pussy stuffed.“

”Yes, Lando, yes. I need you here next to me.“

”I need you too, wrapped around my cock, you would be screaming and keeping up the neighbors all night.“

With a loud moan, you could feel yourself getting closer to a release, the tip edging your clit made you almost scream and the way you moved the vibrator in and out of you, made you see stars. Lando also was about to cum, he saw that your pussy got wetter and wetter, your fluids squeezing out of your cunt every time the vibrator left it.

”I’m about to cum, Y/N. Show me your face, are you cumming soon?“

You moaned loudly again and flipped the camera, just like Lando did, “Yes, Lando, I wish it was you filling me so well.“

With a loud moan and a lot of curses, Lando spilled his cum all over his hand and stomach, he quickly flipped the camera again, now showing you the mess he created, “That’s all for you, baby, I wish it was inside of you instead on the stomach. Cum for me Y/N, let go.“

While he said those words to you, you felt yourself falling over the edge, with moans and grunts. Lando was sure he never heard something so sexy, those sounds alone made him horny again, he needed to feel you close.

When both of you came down from your highs, you two let out a laugh, realizing what you just did, you had phone sex with your boss, but it felt right and good, and the way his cum sat on his stomach, made you horny again, you needed him.

“You feeling better now?“

“Lando, you’ve no idea, so much better than the weird Tinder guy the video actually was for.“

“I bet, but I still need you, Y/N.“

“Are you in London?“

He hummed.

“Well, my bed is cold without you in it, if you want, my pussy is ready for you, Lando.“

“Send me your address, I’ll be over in ten minutes, you better not start without me, or you’ll get punished.“

Part two

taglist: @millinorrizz @jamieeboulos @loxbbg

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[wintersera]

"so are you ovulating?" || ningning x succubus!reader

notes: i actually wrote this fairly quick, but finding the right pics for the moodbaoard actually pissed me off erm.. but first of all FIRST NINGNING FIC WE CHEERED (a/n i forgot to say this was a part two of the succubus!reader thing soooo here’s the link!)

cw: tail sex (kinda), succubus!reader, top!ning, bottom!reader, mentions of a singular man

wc: 4k

after the ‘feeding on your unnie’ incident that had happened a few months ago, your performance was phenomenal. with all that energy you gained from that one night, plus some extra other nights following from then with jimin unnie, it was as if your every move, every note and every emotion was amplified by tenfold. you were on fire and the audience could feel your passion for performance burning brightly with every stage you did.

your mentors and managers commented on how energetic you had been for the past couple of months, how your performances were absolutely phenomenal, the knetz weren’t on your ass - which was surprising since almost half of them were all the time. the western fans said that you were, quote on quote,“serving cunt” in the recent solo weverse live you did… whatever that meant. even your own members were surprised at how active you were throughought day and night. 

but like everything in life, things weren’t bound to stay all too well.

a few days ago you tripped on stage, and to make matters worse, it was in front of your fans. the audience heard a small little thud and spotted you on the ground looking at the ceiling for a few seconds before you stood up embarrassingly. luckily this was the first take, you had other opportunities to do your very best with the smidge of energy you had left. 

knowing your fans, particularly your stans - either they’d make a meme out of you spacing out on the floor, or, they’d spam hashtags all over twitter saying “SM PROTECT YOUR ARTIST” or something around those lines.

not only did that happen, but whilst you were preparing to record your lines in the studio, that familiar pain you would get whenever you were starved from energy came back ten times worse; it felt like you were being pierced in the stomach.

jimin noticed your pained expression and squeezed your shoulder in reassurance as she entered the recording room, but it kind of translated wrong in your head, causing you to moan out loud into the mic in front of your directors - not to mention you could hear yourself through the headphones echo. jimin chuckled lightly “what’s up with you?” then left the room a moment afterwords.

fast forward to the present day. a mundane and repetitive one. you had a photoshoot early in morning and a small meeting sometime in the afternoon and then you were free to do whatever you wanted afterwards. you thought that maybe some vocal lessons later in the evening would distract you, but you were pretty sure your vocal teacher was out with his husband drinking today. good on him, it buys you more alone time, and alone time makes you think about what to do about your situation. 

on to more pressing matters, aka your raging desire for sex. 

it randomly hit you hard while walking back from the company to your local seven eleven. you thought to distract yourself with buying a sweet treat for everyone, but instead you began to feel dizzy “ouh.. this isn’t good” there wasn’t a bunch of groupies following you around the block to your own misfortune, and it was still bright outside.so what was there to do about that urge?

it’s not like you could message jimin unnie out of the blue and ask to fuck. where was the decorum? plus you’re in the middle of promotions, what if you drain too much energy that she’s unable to perform the next day.

and it also didn’t help that your internal monologue was fucking you up.

“shit, do i just ask the manager to… NO- ew what the hell am i thinking? he’s way older than me. nevermind. why did i think about that jesus christ.” 

your options were slim. it was either wait for night, go to the practice rooms and prey on a cute trainee, with consent of course - or go ask jimin unnie again and risk exhausting her even though you just started promotions… 

you wondered who was at home right now.

you recalled ning going straight back home as soon as the meeting had finished. you could always ask? i mean she is your unnie after all, it wouldn’t hurt to ask to her. 

ah, but it would be awkward though. it’s not like when jimin unnie walked in on you tweaking out and then you had to shamefully ask her to “help you out”. either way you had to go home and do something about it. being out in the open wouldn’t be good for you anyway. anymore stress and you could lose your mind, probably going out of your way to do something that would be highly illegal, and you wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

–

on the way home you couldn’t suppress your excitement. you had already made up your mind to ask ning if you could, you know, do something nasty. multiple scenes were made up in your head. she could bend you over the table, press you against the wall and limit your restrictions with her pretty hands, or maybe she could shove your head into the pillow and pound into your desperate pussy.

as opposed to jimin, you never caught ning wound up in her own thoughts, nor staring at you in a sexual manner. whether it was pracitce, a stage, any event with the members, or an upcoming show, you had never caught her once. maybe she did look at you while you were dancing promiscuously as a joke. even so, her expressions were so nonchalant that even if she was, you would never be able to tell… though that thought alone excited you even more. who knows what her pretty little head was thinking about.

although jimin said to tell the other members about who you actually were to prevent you from being too awkward to ask your members for help, you refrained from doing so because well… you’re just like that, what else. how were you gonna do it anyway- hold a meeting in your apartment around the dining table and say that you need sex to stay active and alive? then what, they’ll eagerly accept the fact that you literally need to be inside of them, or vice versa, so you can get up on stage and preform as if it was a regular ass day.

those five minutes you spent daydreaming and thinking about telling your members were stopped abruptly by the door in front of you. when did the walk home become so quick.

then you started to think once again. 

would ning be the type of person to go out of their way to help you? yes she’s that type of person, however, does that mean she would willingly want to have sex with you… god, you don’t know her ‘that’ well. you’re close, close as how close a lifetime friend could ever be, but still, things would be weird if she ultimately says no to your request.

“you’ve been staring at the door for an awfully long time y/n. are you coming inside or do you want to stare at the door a little longer?”

fresh out of the shower, yizhuo greets you with a friendly smile followed by a giggle. her towel sticking against her body showing off the curves of her hips. 

oh fuck, why does she have to be wearing that now. 

“did you just finish showering? also, girl… get back inside. what if someone sees you with just a towel on” the aroma of your shampoo wafted through the air “you smell good…” you all were tight on money this month, so you all shared things like perfumes, shampoos, pretty much all products you and the other members owned. each time either one of your members had applied your shampoo, god, you had such perverse thought about them, wanting to ravage them until they couldn’t walk or even stand

“yeah i ran out of mine- and yours was newly opened so you know” she had been looking way too good recently, not saying that she never did look good, but there was something about her that made you feel extra desperate and needy. the wetness between your thighs spoke for themselves

“let’s go in. i need to talk to you quickly before my brain explodes” yizhuo cocked her head in confusion, reluctantly following your lead, closing the door behind her as you walked into your guys’ apartment. 

you followed behind her as she led you to your shared bedroom, looking up because you didn’t want to turn yourself on even more by staring at her ass “wow, the ceiling looked nice. a pretty beige colour… what the hell am i doing” you thought to yourself with a heavy sigh, looking back down and regretting it immediately. you noticed that yizhuo turned around as you locked eyes with the front of her cream coloured bath towel.

as perceptive as yizhuo was, she noticed a little black swish behind your back. she just played it off, too tired from all the practice, so she thought she was hallucinating a tail or something of the sorts.

now, being both the youngest and the least serious members of the group, you rarely ever had a heart to heart. to talk one to one with each other with the tone you had used, yizhuo must’ve thought that there was some topic you couldn’t bring up with the eldest “hey what’s up? it’s been a while since we last talked seriously” her damp hair against her soft looking skin, the fresh scent of soap and the way she looked at you with worry in her eyes. it almost drove you off the edge. she was so tantalising that you almost missed your cue to speak.

“uh- um, you know how we’ve been besties since i came to korea right?”

“yes”

“and you know we said that we’d always tell each other anything right?” you glanced around the room, avoiding her gaze while your fingers unconsciously played with the fabric of her bedsheets.

“yes…?” ning pondered for a while “…are you going to confess your undying love for me, is that what this is?” she cackled.

“WHAT? no, no- i think that might be less shocking than what i’m about to say” you take a deep breath in hopes to stifle the sound emitting from your booming heartbeat “okay so like, hypothetically speaking, would you have sex with any of the four of us?” for a god awful few seconds you sat tensely, waiting for yizhuo to say something. 

“are you trying to redirect my attention from a more important question girl?” her eyes rested on your face, heartily laughing until she released you were being totally serious. 

scratching your arm, you let out a sigh. it would be better to ask her directly wouldn’t it “you don’t need to analyse me like that. i was just saying-”

you could charm her into agreeing, but in the long run you’d feel like a horrible person. charming a person came with moral problems, and you strictly told yourself that you would never do that to a person. ever.  

“yizhuo… can we- can you do me a favour?” your stuttering caught her attention. you simply couldn’t bring yourself to ask, it’s strange out of the blue. 

“mhm mhm, what do you need”

“you”

“me?”

“yes.” with every fibre of your being you held back a variety of different ways to scream out ‘JUST FUCK ME’ biting your lip to help fight back a blush. it’s odd to blurt out ‘im a succubus. let’s have crazy passionate intimate gay sex right here right now’ 

hold on- does she even know you’re a succubus? “listen, it’s going to sound absurd and you probably think i’m not sober, but can you hear me out” it was still weird to outwardly say that you were in fact this demon thing that sucks people dry, literally. saying it to jimin was no easy feat, but you were obviously losing your damn mind that day. and then you have the other two members too? now was not the time to think about what you’d do in the near future, you were hungry and yizhuo was right in front of you, practically naked “are you, by any chance, okay with maybe” your gaze darted around the room before you locked eyes with her “maybe having… sex? maybe?”

“ohhh, okay i see how it is. you’re ovulating” she spoke with a dead serious tone.

you were losing your mind. you couldn’t tell if she was fucking with you or not. but in all honesty, yizhuo did think you looked like you were ovulating with the way your thighs pressed together. yup, ovulating.

your heart began to race as you increasingly became desperate within seconds. you felt feverish, hot to the touch while your head throbbed. almost a whole two months without tending to your needs ended up with you succumbing to the symptoms “please yizhuo. i need you to do something, anything- i feel like i’m gonna die actually” 

“woah woaah, let’s calm down. you’re not gonna die silly. is it just-“ yizhuo paused for a while, coughed and maybe even hesitated to say the word “sex. is that all? it can’t be too bad. plus if it’s with you, i don’t mind…” yizhuo’s words were genuine. it put your mind at ease. 

“you don’t understand though. it’s like… it- i don’t know” you pout at her with the remaining energy left in your body “it’s alright- i’ll ask other people, it’ll be okay” sluggishly pushing yourself off yizhuo’s bed.

“no no, i get it. you wanna relieve stress, i get it” from what you could understand, yizhuo was trying her absolute best, trying to relate with your problem “we’ve all been there. the company doesn’t allow us to go out and meet other idols like that so it was eventually gonna happen. i mea-“

“it’s not about that, yizhuo” your eyes darken, a desperate sigh emitting from your lips “ah, whatever…” with trembling hands, you held yizhuo’s in yours, momentarily silencing her as you sit back down on top of the smooth sheets of her bed “if you’re not okay with doing ‘this’, then will a kiss be okay?” there was a hint of softness to your voice, the rest shrouded with seriousness “it won’t be enough for me, but it’ll keep me… sort of stable” you shut your eyes as you press your forehead against hers, sharing the warmth “please, that’s all i ask for” 

she whispered “a kiss? i can do that. it seems fun.”ning, inches away from kissing you, smiled sheepishly. her gaze drifted briefly towards your lips before finally shutting her eyes  “and if it’s with you i think i’ll be okay”  

you took this as your opportunity to kiss her softly on the lips. a quick peck really. a surge of energy coursed through your veins for half a second before coming to a stop.

that’s all the energy you’ll take from her, and the most you’ll take for the next couple of days “mmm… thank you yizhuo” though it was a sweet couple of seconds before it broke off, the sweetness of her lips left a longing impression on you.

yizhuo asked for “one more kiss?” growing in confidence, she leaned into another, her eyes fluttering shut as she melted into your embrace. though you were unsure, you gave into the moment, savouring her delicate lips. her fingers tentatively reached for your shirt, grabbing you and pulling you in closer. as the kiss intensified, yizhuo’s hands journeyed down your back, directly pushing down so your chests were pressed together “do whatever you want…” her breath hitched as you trailed down kisses from her jaw down to her neck, taking the time and effort to not accidentally leave a huge hickey there. you replied by pushing her back onto the bed, the loose towel that wrapped around body fell apart easily, exposing yizhuo’s pretty tits. she paid no mind, letting you do whatever you pleased. 

“god, you’re so pretty” you climbed onto the bed, straddling yizhuo’s waist as you carefully removed your t-shirt. 

she burned holes through your face, why was she staring so hard all of a sudden? “how are your eyes are pink, y/n” taken aback, she sits up and examines your face. she raised her hand and waved it in front of you “is this thing real?” tilting her head in confusion. 

“it is real- mmh?” a jolt shoots right up through your spine and then down to your core out of nowhere. ning held your sleek black tail, rubbing her fingers against the weird leathery texture, caressing and prodding at your poor flimsy, slightly erect(?) tail, as you let out a soft sigh. “yizhuo…” you mewl pathetically “that- that feels weird”

“does it now?” her tongue darted out, licking the centre of your heart shaped tail with the ever so subtle tug at the corner of her lips “sensitive much” a couple more licks and kisses to your tail and you were pretty much done for. 

time to time you forget that you have some sort of libido increasing, aphrodisiac power. the kiss you two shared may have affected her. well it definitely did. the increase of confidence radiating from the older girl was way different in comparison to her usual self. cause by now you’d expect her to be a little more gentle with you.

flipping positions, yizhuo held you down with her two hands with a devilish look on her face “if it’s sex you want, then i’ll make sure to fuck you till your begging for me to stop” her hand travelled down your tail, stroking it as if she was stroking your dick. never before had someone do something like that to your tail, but my god did it feel so fucking good.

she toyed with it, prodded and poked the tip of it and sucked it with her pretty pink and plump lips. the other hand cupped your chest, fondling over your boobs to get a feel for her own satisfaction “i could get used to this…” being on top of you, she had the advantage to do whatever she desired, and also because you were too weak to move at all “what do you want y/n? want me to fuck you with my tongue or my fingers. you choose”

you chose the latter.

throwing your head back onto the fluffed up pillows, yizhuo waisted no time and went to her destination. not one, but two fingers pushed deep inside of your pussy, stretching you out so good. her lustfully hooded eyes looked down at you, absorbing in the expressions of your pleasure contorted face “how’s it feel? want me to add another for you baby?” 

unable to answer her question with words, you nod eagerly, wanting nothing but her fingers to fill you up. so she did, adding in a third finger since you asked to cutely with that nod of yours. now knuckles deep inside, that same devilish grin spread across her face. you unconsciously buck your hips up, smiling wearily at yizhuo “so.. so deep” your moans urged her to immediately start moving. she started out nice and slow, curling her fingers at different intervals to squeeze out those lovely moans of yours. every thrust, she explored your spongy walls, testing out the waters to see which place hit the best for you. then as time went by, she gradually built up her pace until she came to her desired speed.

three fingered merciselessly pounded hard into your tight cunt, your juices leaking and dripping onto yizhuo’s bedsheets, and the sounds of your wetness leaving the chinese girl in awe. noticing the way your hips began to meet with her speed, her hand that played with your tail slowly slided towards them, holding you down by the stomach “let me do all the work” driven by your moans, she leans down to press a hungry kiss on your lips, then leaving a hot trail of kisses down from your neck and onto your perky nipples.

swirling around the hardened bud on your chest, a guttural moan catches her attention “you like it when i suck on your tits, huh?” her thumb pressed against your swollen clit as she muttered those words, all the while still paying attention to your sensitive tits. she enjoyed the way you tried to wriggle your hips in attempts to move them, and how your hands clutched the sheets with pure desperation. she felt hazy, maybe a little bit tipsy somehow, but all she wanted to do was fuck you until you were screaming her name.

as her fingers continued to slide against your walls, hitting the right spots at an intense speed, you felt a knot form in your stomach. you were so desperate for relief, needing to buck your hips into her palm to get that sweet friction you felt on your clit, but she didn’t allow you to do that; her hand still resting on your stomach to stop you from squirming “yi-yizhuo~” you whined, teary eyes staring at her with a pitiful look “please yizhuo.. r-rub my clit please~”

and who was she to deny you.

though she didn’t do exactly what you wanted, she did something way more better. moving away from your nipples, she lowered herself down onto the bottom of her bed to shove her face right between your thighs. tongue darting out her mouth, she gives a few kitten licks on your clit, savouring the sweet essence of your pussy for a starter. those tiny kitten licks turned into something much more. the tip of her tongue circled against your heat, occasionally wrapping her lips around to give you a quick suck before continuing to lap your soaked folds up to your sensitive clit. 

the stimulation drove your crazy. you never knew that yizhuo was so skilled at this. still thrusting those three fingers inside of your now pulsating cunt, at the hot and wet kisses and licks she left on your clit, she knew - and you knew, that you were on the verge of toppling over the edge. but it wasn’t enough for her “is that good, hm? does my needy baby want me to fuck her harder?” yizhuo somehow had the strength to speed up, fucking your hole as she moans at how well you’re taking her. 

those words vibrated from your core and sent shivers across your spine, leaving goosebumps all over your skin - in which also made you clench around her fingers. 

fuck, it was way too damn good. you felt your legs shaking, jaw opening wide, stomach tightening and that course of hot pleasure travelling through your entire nervous system “close- close yizhuo.. don’t stop” your words came out slurred, a few unintelligible praises and swears being ripped out of the back of your throat as you felt yourself on the edge. 

with one final deep and hard thrust, your jaw slacked open as your orgasm was pulled out from your body, legs twitching and spasming as you repetitively screamed out yizhuo’s name alongside even more praises. for a minute your body fell limp against the bed, exhausted from the mind blowing orgasm yizhuo gave you, and also from the built up stress you had from promotions.

now full of the sexual energy you gained from yizhuo, you spring upwards, patting yizhuo’s head gently “t-thank you… i feel refreshed…” 

the older girl finally sat up after she cleaned you up. wiping her face and chin from the juices that dripped all the way down, she flashed you a smile “with that tail of yours, and those pink eyes, you’ve got to be a succubus… right? to answer her question, you nodded, cheeks red from her straightforwardness. 

“y-yeah. you’re right… wanna go again?”

“only if i bottom next”

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 WASTELAND, BABY (I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: at the beach house, you can pretend that nothing is wrong. you know that avoidance will only get you so far, but you can't help but want to treasure the time you have with dazai... you don't know how much longer you'll have before everything catches up to you. until then, you'll enjoy the peace that you have, even if dazai does seem oddly intent on ruining it.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: another week of minimal activity </3 sorry lil love bugs ive been so busy. BUT take civzai6!! and treasure it because this is the only chill chapter for quite a bit!! HAHAHHH no but for real i enjoyed this chapter so much that i literally had to split it in two because i wrote too much HAHAH, same goes for the next chapter ;) as always, reblogs are very appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: partially copy and pasted from the other series - if you guys read waterloo, you know the deal. y'all knew what you were getting into. this is the smut chapter. but again, i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole chapter just because there's 2-3k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the FINAL scene. there is very little plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys, again, to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! there is NO plot development in the smut, i'll reiterate that at the end where i put the summary in waterloo, i restructured to make sure none of it was in it.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. dazai has some insecure thoughts. he's also actively being self destructive. this is an easy chapter—calm before the storm. not much to warn. i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected sex, praise, dazai cries a bit, lil bit of body worship (f->m), sub!dazai, mostly pretty vanilla - short and sweet

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai wakes up to the sun peeking through the blinds of the bedroom he’d shared with you and the scent of pancakes wafting through the air. His lips twitch up into a small smile as he stretches, letting out a soft sigh as he sinks into the comfortable mattress. 

He thinks he slept better last night than he’s slept in his entire life. He’s always been plagued with restlessness, he can hardly ever sleep and when he does, he’s haunted by faces he’d rather not see again: Oda’s bloodstained face looking up at him as he dies in Dazai’s arms, the glassy eyes of his mother as she swings slowly from a rope, his aunt’s twisted expression as she throws Dazai to the ground in Suribachi, the hurt look in Ango’s eyes as he took all of the vile insults that Dazai spat at him. Dazai dreads sleeping about as much as the average person dreads ever having to confront their worst fear.

But last night? Last night, Dazai slept peacefully. He fell asleep curled up in your arms, laying on top of you—you’d still been awake, tracing patterns on his back through his shirt. You’d been distracted by something all day yesterday; from when you picked him up at the hospital to when you laid down with him in bed that night, something had been bothering you. Your phone had been buzzing nonstop, call after call and text after text—you didn’t bother checking it but he could tell it was stressing you out.

He tried to ask you about it but you blew it off every time. Dazai supposes he should have expected that from you but your evasion was still irritating, especially after the conversation the two of you had yesterday. You had the nerve to try to distract him with movies and figuring out how to bake a cake with him; he had the nerve to fall for the weak attempts at distracting him.

He yawns as he pushes himself to a sitting position, rubbing at his eyes and tossing the blankets off. He tugs at the short sleeves of his t-shirt, feeling a bit too exposed. The bandages covering his wrists and arms are frayed—he’ll need to grab new ones to rewrap them soon, he hasn’t checked the bathroom to see if you had any stored. His shoulders ache a bit, he winces as he rolls them before making his way out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen.

You’re standing at the stove, hand on your hip as you frown down at whatever you’re cooking. You’re still dressed in your pajamas—a thin black cami and loose shorts—and Dazai yearns, he feels it deep in his chest, feels it as a lump in his throat and a heaviness in his stomach. Because he could… he could picture it… he could picture a future with you.

He could imagine waking up to you every day—you’d always wake up before him because you somehow always wake up at the ass crack of dawn. You’d usually be dealing with some of your shady business when he wakes up, sitting at the kitchen table typing away at your phone, maybe you’d sometimes be on calls and you’d lift a finger to your lips to hush him when you realize he wakes up. Every once in a while, he’d wake up to you making breakfast for him—you told him that you enjoy cooking when you have the time for it, so Dazai imagines that it would be a rare treat.

Like today.

But still, he can’t help but wonder why today? Your phone had been blowing up last night and now… now, it’s sitting on the marble counter, screen dark and not buzzing at all. He glances up at you once to make sure you’re still looking at the stove and then shifts over to the counter quietly, discreetly pressing his finger against the screen to see if your phone is even on and then frowns when he realizes that you did, in fact, turn it off.

What is going on that has you so avoidant that you’d rather turn your phone off than confront it? His mind races to all of the things you’ve been bitching to him about, remembers that you told him you weren’t responding for days because you’d been busy finishing up negotiations with the Shimazaki-kai… is it something new, maybe? But why aren’t you handling it then? It doesn’t make any sense.

Dazai makes his way over to you, feet padding softly against the ground until he’s standing behind you. He slips his arms around your waist and plops his chin onto your shoulder, humming softly as he nudges his nose against your ear before resting the side of his head against yours.

“Good morning,” he says, voice still a bit rough with sleep. “Whatcha making?”

“Pancakes,” you reply easily and Dazai’s heart swells when you lean back into his chest, fueling the fantasy of his imagined future even more. God, he’s been waiting for the ball to drop since you talked to him out on the cliff’s edge—you can’t keep giving him hope like this, he can feel it blooming in his chest and he knows that there’s going to be something to ruin it because that’s just how his life goes but… “I don’t think they came out good though.”

“I’ll eat them anyway,” Dazai says immediately.

“You’ll probably get food poisoning.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

You do.

Two words, so simple and yet they ring through his head over and over again so loudly. You care. You do care. You implied it last night when you told him you wanted him, that it scares you how bad you want him because of his life being at risk, but you hadn’t out right said it until now and it’s a devastating blow. Fatal, really.

The puff of air he lets out is shaky and when you turn to look at him, confused, he can only barely muster a smile as he asks hesitantly, “You do?”

The last time he asked you this, you changed the subject and evaded answering—he took it as an answer in itself, that you don’t care… but now, he’s let himself hope again, hope that maybe this time your answer will be different. What a treacherous thing, really, because even now he can feel the dark claws of anxiety start tugging at his heart in different directions, yanking it around and stretching it until it’s painful. He thinks it would’ve just been easier to carve it out and hand it over to you.

“I do,” you finally say, voice quiet. “I care.”

Dazai lets out a long breath, one that he hardly recognized he was holding, dropping his forehead down on your shoulder to hide his face against your skin. His arms tighten around your waist as his lips curve up, he presses his lips to your neck but for some reason, he can’t fully discard the dreadful feeling in his chest.

Even with your assurances and finally verbally admitting that you care about him, it’s like he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for something to shatter his idyllic paradise. And he has a feeling he knows exactly what will do it. So because Dazai is Dazai and he has been self-destructive since the day he was born, he brings it up.

“Why’s your phone been blowing up?” he asks, keeping his voice deceptively light like he’s just trying to have a normal conversation with you—you don’t fall for it. When you immediately stiffen in his arms, Dazai almost wants to backtrack.

“Nothing important,” you say, voice tight, forcing a smile onto your face as you step away to look up at him. “Nothing to worry about. Want to help me remake the pancakes?”

You use the same tactic Dazai used on you after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment. You’re good too because even though Dazai knows what you’re doing, he still wants to give in. Wants to play domestic with you, make breakfast together and then sit at the table and eat. But he can’t, so while you’re good at using the same tactic that Dazai used against you, you’re ultimately unsuccessful because he doesn’t show you the same grace that you showed him.

“Tell me anyway?” Dazai asks softly. “Even if it’s not important?”

You stare at Dazai for a moment, your lips pressed together and he could imagine the thoughts running through your head—how he’s never satisfied, and how he always has to push you. He can imagine you voicing it again, telling him how it’s always what he wants, but you don’t.

Instead, you shake your head. “I don’t want to talk about it, it’s stressing me out. I would rather just make breakfast with you,” you say. 

Your voice becomes a bit more tense and Dazai knows that he should stop pushing, that it would be smart to stop now, but Dazai’s track record for dumb decisions gets longer instead.

“Maybe I can help,” he prods, taking a step closer to you, reaching out to rest his hands faintly on your hips. He nudges his head forward, pushing his nose against yours before smiling softly and pressing his lips to yours. “Tell me, please.”

Let me in.

Dazai’s eyes are big and earnest as he stares down at you, fingers digging just the slightest bit further into your hips. Your expression is unrelenting, much to his distress.

“It’s mafia business,” you finally say.

“You’ve told me about mafia business before.”

You exhale sharply, brushing his hands off of you and taking a step away, and Dazai knows he’s pressing too much—doesn’t even know why he’s pressing because he knows that it’ll shatter the illusion of peace that the past half a day in the beach house has given him. 

Maybe that’s what he wants, for it to be ruined before he can get used to it.

You look out the window and don’t speak for a moment. Dazai itches to move closer to you again but his feet are rooted to the ground. Finally, you let out a heavy sigh and let your head fall forward a bit, shaking it as you turn back around to face him.

“Another organization has arrived in Yokohama,” you say, lifting your eyes to meet his. “A dangerous one. The Port Mafia… the executives are meeting to figure out how to handle the situation.”

Dazai stares at you for a moment. “You’re an executive.”

“I am.”

“You’re here.”

“I am.”

“But… why?” Dazai asks, voice hitching at the implications of it, not wanting to get his hopes up but unable to stop himself from it at the same time. “Why are you here?”

You stare at him silently for a moment and then you say quietly, “The call for the meeting came at the same time I got the voicemail from the hospital. I chose to go to you.”

Dazai’s breath catches as he breathes in and shakes terribly as he breathes out, unable to draw his gaze away from you. You… “You chose me,” he whispers.

“I chose you,” you repeat, swallowing as you turn your gaze down. “I did. I chose you.”

“Do you regret it?” Dazai asks softly—he wonders if he hopes you’ll say yes, that you’ll quash his hope before it’s too late.

“No,” you say. “I don’t.”

And Dazai doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s never been wanted before. Never been someone’s first choice. Dazai has always been the one left behind for others, discarded for a better option. His throat is uncomfortably tight and his fingers are shaking a bit, and he doesn’t have pockets to hide them in now so they’re in full view of your vision before he clasps his hands behind his back.

But it’s too late—you’ve already seen it and you’re taking a step closer to him. You reach out to cup his cheek with one of your hands and Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.

“I don’t regret anything about you, Dazai Osamu,” you say quietly, so honestly that it makes a shiver run down Dazai’s spine, unintentionally letting out a soft noise in the back of his throat that he’s unable to smother. “Not a single thing.”

“Well, that can’t possibly be true,” Dazai tries to joke, to play off how much you’ve rattled him with only a few words, but you aren’t fooled by his tricks.

“It’s true.”

Dazai stares at you, his eyes sting and his fingers are shaking even more than they’d been before. The pads of your fingers burn against his cheek and Dazai thinks you’ve ruined him. You’ve ruined him entirely. You’ve shattered all of his carefully crafted walls, the ones that protect him from situations just like this, the ones that prevent him from being burned just like he has countless times before. You’ve ruined him and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll be able to put himself together again if this ends poorly.

He doesn’t know what to say in response to your words and he can’t handle the way you’re staring at him so intensely, so Dazai decides to change the subject with a shaky smile and a terrifying amount of hope blooming within him.

“Maybe you just need a fresh set of eyes. Tell me about this organization, I can try to help.”

You don’t even know why you’re considering this. 

Dazai bounds next to you in the sand chatting about his poetry workship. He still won’t tell you what the project he’s writing on is about but he does seem to be mighty pleased with how it’s coming out since he’s bragging about how his is clearly the best of all of his classmates’ and that he’s sure he’s going to get the best grade on it. It’s cute, you think, a fond smile twitching to the corner of your lips as you watch him from the corner of your eye.

It’s still only mid-morning, the sun paints a pretty glow over the private beach and Dazai looks so… alive beneath it. His smile is bright and genuine, skin flushed and radiant, eyes reminiscent of pools of honey—you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so bright before. His fingers thrum excitedly against the book he’s bringing down to the beach with him: The Aeneid—he’s read it before, he very snootily told you when you side-eyed him for grabbing it, he just needs to refresh on it for his creative writing class.

When the two of you get down to the shore, you sit down in the sand right near the water’s edge, dipping your feet into the cool water. Dazai plops down next to you, pressing his shoulder against yours and you itch to wrap your arm around his waist, slide your hand under the comfy sweatshirt he’s wearing to rub circles over the bandages covering his skin, but your hands stay stiff in your lap as you stare down at the phone resting on your lap.

You have half a mind to toss it right into the bay. 

But then Dazai nudges you, waiting for you to start talking, and you sigh, looking back across the bay.

“They call themselves the Guild,” you finally say. You can feel Dazai’s eyes on you, curious, and you think maybe you should quit while you’re ahead but you find yourself speaking anyway. “They’re a kind of… secret society. Based in North America. They’re powerful. A lot of influence throughout the world.”

“Why are they here?” Dazai asks and you can feel the way his face twists as he then adds, “More influence than you?”

You can’t help the amused smile that twitches to your lips at his words. “I’m not the end all of political influence, Dazai,” you tell him, the tension in your shoulders slipping away as you tilt your head to the side to look at him

Dazai gives you a look. “Please, I was at that event. I heard the way people talked about you. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the most influential person in Japan.”

“Probably the eastern hemisphere,” you correct, quite humbly, snorting as Dazai rolls his eyes. “No, I’m kidding. I have a lot of influence but there are plenty with more than me, especially considering I’m held back by the fact that I can’t make myself a public figure. Having to perpetually work behind the scenes is pretty… crippling.”

“You go to the big government events though,” Dazai frowns. “Those are-”

“Very, very confidential unless certain cockroaches worm their way in and feed information to the public,” you say dryly, watching as Dazai gives you an offended look. 

“Did you just call me a cockroach?”

“If the shoe fits.” You shrug.

“My bella hates me,” Dazai sighs whimsically, dropping his head on your shoulder. “She thinks I’m a bug. A cockroach.”

You soften when he comes in contact with you, lifting your hand to cradle the side of his head. Your lips curl up into a small smile when Dazai’s lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch. You brush your fingers through his hair, choosing your words carefully as you continue to explain what’s going on in spite of your better judgment.

“Anyway, they have more influence than me. I’ve been working all night trying to figure out what to do, pulled as many strings as I can trying to get the government to push them out of Yokohama but they’ve eaten their way right into the heart of Japan. They’ve been granted diplomatic immunity and they’re putting pressure on the government to try to get us—the Port Mafia—and some government agencies that are protesting the invasion of the city to back off. They’re trying to get their hands on a skilled business permit, we don’t know why but…”

“But you have suspicions,” Dazai finishes for you, sitting up straight again to watch you, ever perceptive. “Right?”

You don't respond for a moment as you watch him carefully. Dazai has always been perceptive—you’ve noticed it from early on when you would talk around the truth and he would train that sharp gaze on you, knowing that you were skirting around something but unable to figure out what. 

Honestly, it should be concerning. Dazai’s smarter than almost anyone you’ve ever met. He’s sharp and quick—proved it with the way he managed to get his hands on the tapes behind the Tokyo City Hall to get evidence of your mafia affiliation; even proved it before that when he recognized that he had to go about information gathering in a different manner, trying to pin down your political opinions because he knew which sectors supported which opinion and wanted to know which one you were a part of.

“Does it have something to do with me?”

“You’re so conceited, not everything has to do with you.”

Dazai flushes red, scowling at you and physically turning his back to you. “Well forgive me for assuming because you’ve certainly been acting like everything has to do with me.”

You smile as Dazai huffs shifting closer to press your lips against the nape of his neck, arms slipping around his waist. He gives you a dirty look but relaxes back into your chest, leaning into you. You slip your hands beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing them out over the bandages covering his slim torso, feeling the way his breath hitches at your touch.

“They’re here because of something I did,” you finally admit quietly, ignoring as he looks up at you curiously. “One of the boys you met when you came to my apartment the first time… they had a bounty on the black market on him for seven billion yen.”

Dazai chokes, splutters over air as he looks up at you and squeaks out, “Seven billion-why?”

“We don’t know,” you say honestly. “I… didn’t think it was a good sign that they were putting so high of a bounty on a seemingly random ability user. It made me think there was more to it than meets the eye, that it would be… dangerous for us to hand him over to the Guild.”

Dazai’s brows furrow as he nods. “I mean, it makes sense. That much money for a what? Eighteen year old kid? Is his ability special?”

“He can turn into a tiger,” you tell him. “Can’t even control it.”

Dazai sits back up straight again, holding his book in his lap as he turns to face you, crossing his legs together. You feel a bit of fondness bubbling in your chest when you see how quickly he seems to be thinking, you can all but see the gears running swiftly behind his dark eyes.

“Is he the tiger? Is the tiger something of its own sentience? I did a research project on ability users two years ago, mostly I was just reading the studies of how they’re dragged into criminal organizations at a young age, but some of them talked about how some ability users can’t even control their ability because it’s like… a separate consciousness. Maybe it knows something? Or there are parts of his ability that he hasn’t been able to unlock yet?”

Is it sentient? Atsushi hadn’t made any mention of it and you hadn’t thought to ask. It wouldn’t be… unheard of. Dazai is right in that there’s been a record of ability users who claim that their abilities have a consciousness of their own. There’s a member of the SDUP, a higher up in the Family who you met a few years back, and even Chuuya. Arahabaki is its own sentient being within Chuuya, could that be why Atsushi can’t control his ability? You don’t know, you hadn’t really considered it but it’s definitely a possibility, and it would explain the Guild’s desperation to get their hands on him.

“Either way, I mean, I think you were definitely right to keep him close,” Dazai shrugs. “They clearly want him badly for a reason and since it’s not one that can be seen at face value, who knows what it could be.”

“I wish you had been at the meeting where I had to argue with all of them about it,” you say bitterly, still irritated over the hours you spent arguing with the other executives, who were dead set on getting the money from the bounty.

Dazai tilts his head to the side, an unreadable look crossing his face for a second but then he shakes his head and asks, “So political pressure isn’t working?”

“No. I mean, they don’t want the Americans here anymore than any of us but they don’t have a choice. After you fell asleep, I spent most of the night on the phone with the Minister of Foreign Affairs, talked to the US ambassador in Tokyo and asked our ambassador in the US to try to work with their government to get the Guild out of Japan. Got nowhere with it. If something could’ve been done politically to force them out of here, I would’ve gotten it done.”

You even called Tolstoy last night. You don’t like going to outsiders about domestic problems but you feel as if you’re backed into a corner—it’s your fault that the Guild is here and you can’t even do anything to fix it. And now-and now Dazai is at risk too. You have half a mind to keep him locked up in this beach house until you can figure everything out but you doubt that he’d stay in one place and he’s better off at your side than on his own.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, oblivious to the thoughts running through your head—or maybe not, he probably knows exactly how stressed you are about this. You’ve never been without your phone and you know you’re making a mistake by turning it off now but you just can’t bring yourself to turn it on, dreading whatever messages you might find. Chuuya’s rage at your disappearance, Kouyou’s disapproval and worst of all, Mori’s disappointment.

He would know where you are. Who you’re with. Why you disappeared and why you were unable to fix this before it became a major problem for the Mafia. He promised not to intervene if it didn’t affect Port Mafia business and you let it anyway. You ran to Dazai when you should have gone to the meeting and you can’t even bring yourself to regret it even when you know that you put him in danger, not just from your enemies but also from-

You feel Dazai’s hand brush your cheek as he reaches out, brows knit in concern as he looks at you and you realize that your breath has quickened noticeably, shallow and uneven. You try to calm yourself down but it only makes your heart rate spike more because you can’t figure out why you’re unable to get yourself under control.

“Hey,” Dazai says quietly, almost as if he doesn’t want to startle you, but he sounds like he’s underwater. Or you’re underwater. Something isn’t right—you know what isn’t right, you know what’s happening but you can’t stop it. “Hey, it’s okay-”

It’s not okay. It’s very much not okay. Your fingers dig into the sand, the small grains getting stuck beneath your fingernails as you try to physically ground yourself. You never should have started talking about this with him—you’d known it was going to force you to confront everything you’ve been avoiding the past few hours, your failure and incapability but he asked you and you couldn’t-

You couldn’t say no.

You need to-

“You need to make them want to go back.”

You’re so caught off guard by Dazai’s words that it startles you right out of your spiral. Your gaze focuses on him and you watch as he starts to light up, excited. His hands drop to your wrists, holding them gently as he urges you to pay attention to him. 

“You need to make them want to go back,” he repeats, faster this time. “You can’t force them, so you have to make them choose to go on their own.”

You shake your head, still unsteady from your sudden bout of panic. You briefly shut your eyes and then say quietly, “Dazai, that’s a lot easier said than done. How-”

“The best defense is a good offense,” Dazai quotes at you, nearly vibrating. “Counterattack, do something to make them have to go back to America.”

Oh.

Oh my god.

“Oh my god,” you voice out loud, little over a breath. “Oh my god. Octavio.”

“Who?” Dazai blinks, staring at you as you fumble to turn your phone back on.

“Octavio Paz,” you say hurriedly, willing your phone to turn back on. “He’s the leader of one of Mexico’s biggest cartels, has been trying to expand his foothold into the central parts of the US for years but one of the Guild members—Twain, maybe, Steinbeck, one of them—they always prevented it. If I can get him to do something now-”

You’re stupid, you’re so stupid for not thinking of this sooner. Mori has always taught you it—the one that strikes the first blow wins the battle—you should’ve had Octavio Paz making movements in the US as soon as you decided to keep Atsushi with the Port Mafia. As soon as you were considering keeping Atsushi with the Port Mafia. You were stupid and you let the Guild make the opening move of the game, and now it could cost you.

But if you can act fast enough then maybe…

As your phone finally starts to turn on, you look back up at Dazai.

“I could kiss you,” you breathe out, watching his face light up at your approval. 

You almost find yourself a bit suspicious of how quickly he came to this conclusion, how naturally this thought process seemed to come to him. You had been struggling trying to figure out what to do and you have over a decade of experience now—you were too focused on the fact that they were already here, so focused on the defense that you were scrambling and blinded to the prospect of an offense. And yes, it might’ve just been stupidity on your part—stupidity and carelessness, that is—but Dazai is a twenty-two year old literature student, how the hell was he able to figure it out in a span of a handful of minutes while you’ve been so lost?

“What’s stopping you?” Dazai prods, leaning forward.

His eyes are wide and imploring, a warm golden color beneath the rays of the sun; his lips are curved up into a sweet smile and you let all of your suspicions wash away. You reach forward to cup his cheek, watching as he immediately presses his face into your hand, eyes sliding shut as he brushes his lips to your palm before looking back up at you, expectant.

You lean in and graze your lips against his but just as you consider deepening the kiss, you notice that your phone screen has finally flickered on, so you lean back, not catching the way Dazai’s face instantly falls.

“I’m going to go make a few calls—I have to head back to the house to grab my laptop. You want to come in or stay out here for a bit?” you ask absently as you rise to your feet.

“I think I’ll stay out here for a bit,” he says quietly. “Hopefully everything works out.”

You don’t respond as you make your way up the beach back to the house, wincing as you see a spam of nearly forty messages from Chuuya, a dozen from Piano Man, and a handful from Kouyou come in.

Worse, there’s not a single message or missed call from Mori. 

A few hours later, you’re sitting with Dazai on the couch in the beach house watching a movie. He’s resting back against your chest, your arms loose around his waist—you think he’s falling asleep actually, every time you look down, his eyes are drooping shut but then snap back open whenever he realizes that you’re looking down at him. 

You’re being spammed with calls again now that your phone is back on—both Chuuya and Piano Man have been calling and texting incessantly. You think they’re taking turns, honestly, when one isn’t calling, the other is. You had to put their numbers on do not disturb but you did reach out to Klaus and Akutagawa, giving them quick orders to do what they can to fuck with the Guild. 

Now, you’re waiting for a text from Paz to confirm he’s made the necessary movements into the central parts of the US—you had to redirect a weapons shipment from South America up to Paz and his men, so you have to compensate for that with Machado down in Brazil, but he’s always been easily appeased. You’ll just have to take a trip down there some time soon to wine and dine him as an apology.

As soon as you get the confirmation from him, you can put your phone away and just spend the night relaxing with Dazai. Maybe try to figure out what’s going on in this movie. Honestly, neither of you are even really watching the movie so you don’t even know why it’s playing but it’s nice background noise at the very least. 

“Can I ask you something?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments, playing with your fingers and tilting his head up against your shoulder to look at you.

“You have no idea how much I dread those words coming from you,” you say dryly. “Go ahead. Ask.”

Dazai pouts at your words but there’s a serious look in his eyes that has you on edge, a bit concerned to what he might want to ask you.

“What did Chuuya mean the other night?” Dazai asks after a few moments, as if trying to figure out how he wants to phrase his question. When you only give him a confused look in return, he adds on, “He said that you couldn’t save someone last time. That this time wouldn’t be any different.”

 Immediately, you stiffen and Dazai straightens up from where he’s sitting to turn to look at you, concerned. “I don’t-” you start to say, voice strained and tongue heavy in your mouth. “I-”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Dazai tells you, seemingly a bit taken aback by how you’re struggling for words. “It’s okay. I was just wondering.”

You think you should take the out given to you because even just the thought of talking about what happened two years ago with Chuuya and his girl and the Serpent’s Tongue. Even after all of the time that’s passed, the image of Chuuya hunched over her body is still burned behind your eyelids. You still wake up gasping and sweaty with the sound of Chuuya’s screams still ringing through your ears. There are still days where the guilt of what happened is so crushing that you can hardly breathe. 

“Chuuya… he was dating a civilian two years ago,” you find yourself speaking instead but your voice sounds distant, like you’re not talking but instead listening to someone else talk. You don’t even register that your lips are moving, they feel numb and prickly but the words tumble from your lips. “She was our age, a year older maybe. In her third year of university, on track for med school—I think she went to YNU actually. She wanted to be a doctor. I only met her a few times, but Chuuya never shut up about her, would brag about her to anyone who would listen.”

You sit up straight, smoothing your hands up and down against the skin of your thighs a few times anxiously. Your tongue feels weighted, you can hardly bring yourself to continue; you don’t want to continue so you don’t know why you’re trying to force yourself. Dazai’s gaze is so intense that you can’t even bring yourself to look up at him, you keep your eyes trained on your lap even as he reaches out to entwine his fingers with yours.

“How did they meet?” Dazai prods curiously, purposely trying to steer the conversation to a lighter topic when he hears the way your voice wavers.

“He was stupid,” you say, the wry smile that tugs to your lips is a bit more genuine. You pause and then amend, “We were both stupid when we were twenty—thought we were untouchable—but Chuuya especially. Was a bit too arrogant on a mission and got three bullets in the back because of it. He dragged himself out of the warehouse they were ambushed in and into an alley—she was coming back from a late night class and ran into him. Took him back to her place and patched him up, he couldn’t move for three weeks and he didn’t have his phone on him. I went crazy looking for him, thought he was dead or worse, captured.”

Crazy might be understating it, honestly. In the three weeks Chuuya was missing, you all but upended the entire Mafia. There was no information on who the assailants had been, the entire warehouse had burned to the ground and the only three survivors were comatose, so you orchestrated the end of five different organizations that had been pressing their luck in Mafia territory, hoping that one of them had been the culprit. 

Realistically, you had known that if any of the organizations had captured Chuuya, they would have made it known that they had him, but you’d been so viciously angry that you hadn’t even cared in the moment… and you had thought at the time, that if he wasn’t captured, he was almost definitely dead, so you hadn’t wanted to consider the alternative as an actual option.

“But no, he was with a civilian girl who knew damn well from the wounds and his outfit what he was involved with but still decided to help him,” you say, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. “She was just as stupid as us, I guess.”

“How did you meet her?” Dazai asks curiously. “Did Chuuya introduce you?”

Your smile softens a bit at the edges as you pull his hand into your lap, tracing along the lines of his palm and up his fingers. “Nah, Chuuya tried to keep her out of this as much as possible. Talked all about her but never brought her around, was careful to never give up too much information about her to people he didn’t fully trust.”

You sigh, gaze drifting from his hand over to the window, watching absently as the wind smacks a tree branch against the glass. You think there must be a storm rolling in—you’d noticed that the skies were getting cloudy before the sun had set earlier but you hadn’t thought anything of it. You hope it doesn’t knock the power out—you don’t think this place has a generator. 

“I only met her by chance—was in the area with Klaus handling a small gang that was causing trouble for civilians because I had nothing better to do. I get there and lo and behold, they’ve got Chuuya’s girl backed in an alley. We got there before they could do anything but she was shaken, obviously. Was sweet though, she recognized me from pictures Chuuya has, invited both me and Klaus back to her apartment and made us tea. Chuuya flew across the city when I texted him, crashed right through the window.”

Your lips quirk up into another smile as you remember the way that Chuuya had quite literally crashed through her window, panicked and furious that some lowlives had tried to fuck with her. The way she spent thirty minutes shouting at him for breaking her window and forcing him to go replace it before he even had himself oriented.

Dazai snorts and then quietly asks the dreaded question, “What happened to her?”

“We were stupid,” you repeat, softer this time. “Thought we were untouchable. Chuuya—he’s the strongest ability user in the world—and I’m set to take over the strongest mafia in the eastern hemisphere. No one would dare try to attack either of us because they know it’s futile—a death wish. And we… forgot that the people we love aren’t as protected. That there are people out there who would do anything to try to cripple us if given the chance.”

Your throat swells, an uncomfortable lump forming as you stare ahead blankly, the movie still playing but none of it processing through your brain. You don’t even know what’s happening on it, all you can see are indecipherable blobs moving on the screen. Dazai doesn’t press you to continue but you can still feel him looking at you and the way he squeezes your hand, so you take in a deep breath before continuing.

“It was a Thursday night. Chuuya was meeting her on campus to bring her out of the city for the weekend as a surprise. She never walked out of the building her class was in and when he asked around, they said she never showed up. He went to her apartment to check on her because he realized something was up and the whole place was trashed—blood everywhere, windows shattered, they even killed one of her fucking cats. Chuuya called me but he couldn’t even speak properly, I tracked him to her apartment and realized what had happened.”

He had her other cat in his lap, you remember, stomach twisting uncomfortably. Was kneeling in her blood next to the other one with the living one curled in his lap, licking his wrist as if begging him to get up and snap out of it. You’d never seen him like that before—face so pale that he looked bloodless, eyes wide and haunted, not processing anything around him—he was usually good in emergencies, never froze up, always moved forward. He didn’t even fight Klaus and Akutagawa when you told them to get him to your apartment, to not let anyone see him like this.

“I… he wasn’t in the right state to lead or plan an operation, so I did. I took over,” you say quietly, “and I failed.”

It wasn’t your first failure. Itou’s death was your fault no matter how much people try to convince you otherwise. Even if the information you’d been given wasn’t accurate, you still should’ve been quicker on your feet. You’ve circled the what-ifs in your head over and over again, there were so many routes you could’ve taken but you’d frozen up in the face of a situation out of your control and it cost Itou his life.

Wasn’t your first failure, but it was the first that had been entirely in your control. You took too long to figure out who had her, took too long to get the Black Lizards organized, by the time you got to their base, she’d already been dead.

“They were called the Serpent’s Tongue. A younger organization that had been based in Kyoto before they came to Yokohama. We hadn’t been taking them seriously,” you tell him, voice hoarse. “Should have been, obviously. By the time I’d figured out who had her and where they were… Chuuya was demanding to come with us, wanted to be the first face she saw after getting her out of there. Wouldn’t budge on it. We got there and they left her head for us to find. Chuuya had barged into the room first and…”

You still hear the way he screamed her name in your nightmares, still see how he’d fallen to his knees. He’d unleashed corruption in his grief, devastating the area and nearly killing you with it—when you pulled him out of it, he told you that you should’ve let it take him. You let out a heavy breath, gaze drifting to the side again. 

“I don’t have a good track record for saving people,” you say quietly. “I don’t… her death destroyed Chuuya. And if you… if something happens to you now when I know better…”

You’d never recover from it. Never.

“... That’s why you were so mad,” Dazai realizes after a few moments. When you give him a confused look, he elaborates. “The day we got my suit tailored and I texted you.”

You snort. “I had Chuuya on standby and was about to put the Mafia’s equivalent of the special ops on standby because I thought you were in trouble.”

Dazai flushes bright red. “I didn’t know,” he complains. “How was I supposed to know?”

Your lips curve up into a fond smile as you reach out for him, beckoning him to come back over to you. He pouts but he crawls back over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pushing you back until you’re laying on the couch so that he can lay right on top of you, burying his face in your chest. You bring one hand up to cradle the back of his head, the other sliding down to his back to hold him close to you.

You feel his lips pull up into a smile as he tilts his head up, big brown eyes peeking up at you, a soft brown under the dim lighting of the room, sweet and adoring. You’ve never had someone look at you that way in your life—like you’re something worth being treasured, someone to treat gently. Your breath catches in your throat as he leans up to brush his lips against your jaw and-

And you think you love him.

The thought is so jarring that you almost physically flinch as soon as it crosses your mind. You only realize something’s wrong when you notice that Dazai’s eyes shot open in surprise and instantly, your mouth floods with ash.

No way.

“What?” he breathes out.

“What?” you echo, voice flat.

“What did you just say?” he asks, a bit more rushed, eyes bright but expression hesitant—as if he’s trying to not get his hopes up but can’t help himself. “Tell me what you said. Say it again.”

You have half a mind to deny it but Dazai just looks so… he looks so happy. Hopeful. Like you’ve told him something that he never expected anyone to ever say to him. So all you can do is steel yourself and clear your throat as you say quietly: “I think I love you.”

Dazai doesn’t respond; he stares at you and you think he’s hardly even breathing. His eyes rapidly search your face, desperately trying to figure out if you’re telling him the truth or not and when he finds his answer, he looks entirely devastated, as if you’ve taken his world and ripped it right out from under him.

“I’m not someone made to be loved,” he tells you, voice so quiet that you barely even hear it. His fingers clutch your shirt tightly like he’s scared to let go of you.

Your smile softens. “Yet here I am.”

“You’ll regret it,” Dazai says shakily, throat bobbing as he swallows. “You will.”

A part of you wants to tell him no, that if anyone ends up regretting anything, it will be him—that if anyone isn’t made for love, it’s you—but you don’t have it in you. You raise your hand to cup his cheek, watching as his lashes flutter shut; you lift your other hand to brush his hair back behind his ear.

“I won’t,” you tell him quietly.

“You will,” he insists. “You really will. I-”

“I won’t,” you say again, firmer this time, and Dazai lets out a noise in the back of his throat, dropping down to lay flat against you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

His lashes are wet, you can feel the dampness against your skin, and you can also feel how hot his face is. You smile as your hand slides to the back of his head again, absently playing with the dark locks as you tilt your head to the side and kiss his temple.

Dazai takes in a wet, ragged breath at the casual and unexpected action. You can feel his shoulders shake as he tries to regain control of himself and your free hand rests between his shoulder blades, thumb drawing circles against his skin. 

“What happened to the cat?” Dazai suddenly asks after a few moments of him trying to settle down, voice cracking and wavering over the words as he desperately tries to change the subject to something that doesn’t have him on the verge of collapse.

“The cat?”

“The cat, the one that lived. What happened to it?” he asks more insistently, not bothering to even look up from where he’s hiding his face against you.

“Oh.” You realize what he’s talking about. “Chuuya took it in.”

Dazai makes a sharp noise of disgust. “Gross,” he complains. “He doesn’t even seem like a cat person.”

You can’t help the puff of laughter that escapes your lips. “What is your problem with him?” you ask. “You’ve had it out for him from day one.”

Dazai sniffs. “I just don’t like him, that’s all,” he says defensively. “I don’t need a reason.”

“Sure,” you agree, amused. “Whatever you say.”

Dazai lights up suddenly at your words. “Whatever I say?” he prods, finally lifting his face to look up at you, eyes gleaming. You give him a suspicious look but Dazai only gives you a sweet smile in return.

“Nothing,” he sings without you even needing to say anything, making you even more suspicious, but then he lays back down on top of you, nudging his nose against the side of your face. You feel him smile against your skin, he kisses your cheek once, twice and then a third time before settling back down. “Let’s watch Despicable Me.”

“No.”

“You said whatever I say-”

“No!”

“Are you asleep?”

Dazai pouts as he nudges you gently—he’s been wide awake for over an hour now and he knows he shouldn’t bother you considering you didn’t sleep the night before, but he still finds himself seeking out your company. He’s half laying on top of you, head resting on your shoulder as he continues to bop his forehead against your chin to wake you up.

The two of you had gone back to the bedroom a few hours ago and you’d fallen asleep pretty quickly. Dazai had dozed off for a bit too, but he found himself startled awake by a particularly loud cracking noise from outside, a tree toppling over from the wind probably, and now he couldn’t fall back asleep.

And a Dazai left with only his own mind as company is not a good Dazai.

He tried to distract himself with you for a bit. Watched you sleep for a while—creepy as it is, he found peace in watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, the soft puffs of air that left your lips, how every time he tried to pull away from you, your brows would furrow and your arms would tighten around him. He’s never had someone who wanted him before, much less someone who wanted him so genuinely and unconditionally that even in their sleep, they seek him out and want him close. He didn’t even know what to think of it, honestly, a part of him was still waiting for you to start laughing and telling him that this is all some big joke.

I think I love you.

His breath shakes the same way it does every time your words echo through his head, fingers trembling from where he’s running them up and down your arm softly. 

Love. Love. Love. 

You love him. Him. Someone who can hardly function on an everyday basis, someone who has to wrap himself up in bandages because he’s embarrassed of what lies beneath them, someone who has only ever had death and misfortune follow him around his entire life. You love him even though you’ve listened to him fumble over words like a fool because he gets tongue tied in your presence, you love him even though he blackmailed you into giving him a chance because he was that desperate for your attention, you love him even though you had to pick him up at the hospital after a failed suicide attempt because he has no one else in his life to call. 

You love him. Him. You love him in spite of all of his flaws—and he knows very well there are a lot of them. You love him in spite of all of the pushback from the people around you. You love him in spite of the fact that your world is completely different from his, in spite of the fact that you could do so much better than him, in spite of the fact that Dazai is Dazai and you’re you and you’re so far out of his league that Dazai doesn’t even think he should be breathing the same air as you, much less curling up next to you in bed. Even though it puts so much at risk—your life, your occupation, everything—you love him still and Dazai just can’t understand it.

And Dazai loves you. 

He does. He thinks he’s known it since the beginning, since that day at the school library when you came over because he was sitting all alone at a table that was clearly meant for a group of individuals and not just one, when you realized something was bothering him so you gave him your name even though he had been rude to you when he got embarrassed over having no friends. Since that day at his apartment complex when you showed up to deal with his shitty landlord; he’d made a joke about how you should waive his rent, not expecting anything of it, and you did. Since you rushed to him while he was at the men’s warehouse—he’d thought it was odd that you seemed so irritated by his dramatics trying to get you to come to him, but now that he knew it was because you thought he was in trouble, thought he was in danger and rushed to him like he was the only thing that mattered even back then…

Dazai loves you, and he didn’t tell you when you told him—he wants to tell you even though the thought of pushing those words out of his mouth terrifies him, so he returns to trying to wake you up.

“Wake up,” Dazai complains quietly, booping his forehead against your chin again. “Wake up, wake up, wake-”

“What’s wrong?” you finally ask through a yawn, voice rough with sleep as you shift a bit. One of your hands comes up to run your fingers through his hair and Dazai hums at the feeling, eyes drooping shut again as he sinks back into your chest. “Dazai?”

“Osamu,” he corrects quietly, “... will you call me Osamu?”

Your fingers still in their steady strokes through his hair and for a split second, Dazai thinks that he misstepped. But then, you lean your head down to press your lips against his forehead and he can only let out a shaky breath, nuzzling his face into your body.

“Osamu,” you repeat, voice soft and a bit more awake—and god, the sound of his given name leaving your lips is almost heavenly, he thinks. 

He can’t remember the last time someone called him by his first name, his aunt was probably the last and it was her screaming at him to get out of his car before she left him to die in Suribachi. It’s an unpleasant memory, and he thinks that maybe he’s only been able to associate his given name with unpleasantness because of it, but this… it makes him feel light and cozy, like the warmth of a hearth surrounding him after spending years alone in the cold wilderness. He thinks he could hear you say his name a million times and never tire of this feeling.

“Osamu, tell me what’s wrong. Why’d you wake me up?”

His lips part to say the three words he planned on saying but they wither and die on his tongue when his eyes meet yours. Even with your words ringing through his head, he can’t bring himself to say it. And it’s silly. It’s silly because he’s scared that if he says it, it’ll be the trigger the gods need to finally rip you away from him—everything he never wants to lose is always lost the moment he obtains it, it’s true, he told you this and he’s been treading such a fine line and he’s terrified that speaking those three words out loud will be enough for the twisted gods above to finally rip the rug out from under his feet.

So, he doesn’t say it.

“Osamu,” you frown—he’ll never tire of it, he has half a mind to ask you to say it over and over and over again, doesn’t care if it makes him seem crazy. “What’s going on?”

He needs to say something—the longer he sits here evading answering, the more concerned you’re going to get, and the more concerned you get, the harder it’s going to be to lie. Dazai’s throat spasms as he instead broaches a different topic that has been bothering him for a few weeks.

“Are you attracted to me?”

It has been a rather persistent thought in the back of his head, even more so since the two of you spoke at the cliff yesterday. At first, he thought maybe it was just because you didn’t really want him—that you were trying to evade any physical intimacy with him because he was backing you into a corner and you were uncomfortable. 

But now? Knowing that you do want him? He doesn’t have any other explanation than the fact that maybe you just aren’t attracted to him… and he’s not sure he can blame you. Who would be attracted to someone who hardly takes care of himself and wraps himself in bandages like a mummy?

You stare at him for a moment, expression too blank for comfort before your brows begin to furrow. The longer you take to respond, the more embarrassed Dazai is.  

“What?” you finally ask, voice stunted and perplexed.

Dazai’s face heats up, regretting his words immediately. 

He should have just told you what he wanted to say originally.

“Nevermind,” he says, rolling over so that his back is to you, not wanting you to see his red face. “Forget it.”

“Hey, no,” you say, suddenly sounding all too awake and Dazai squeezes his eyes shut, wanting to crawl into a ditch and die. “Osamu, what? What are you even talking about? How is that even a question?”

He feels you sit up in the bed next to him and pointedly lays on his stomach to bury his face in the pillow to try to hide himself even as you shift to look over at him. It’s to no avail because you’re a brute and decide to just grab his shoulder to forcibly roll him back onto his back. Dazai scowls up at you, face still aflame. 

“Don’t manhandle me,” he grumbles, averting his gaze but you only shift right back into his line of vision, frowning. “Stop, it’s nothing. Forget it. Really.”

“It’s not nothing,” you say, reaching out to cup his cheek and Dazai thinks you’re entirely unfair because he is simply too weak to your touch so he can already feel himself giving in when you look at him with a slight frown and say, “Tell me.”

Dazai huffs. He huffs and he bristles like an irritated cat, he scowls up at you for forcing him to explain himself and then his shoulders slump in defeat. 

How embarrassing.

“I just… have tried to… initiate things and you… don’t ever… want to?”

Dazai thinks a gun in the mouth might be kinder than this.

And then-

And then you have the nerve to laugh at him. Or, you don’t laugh but you smile and you look like you’re about to laugh, so Dazai jerks up into a sitting position, offended. Your hand falls from his face and instantly, he’s yearning for your touch again. 

“You’re laughing at me,” he accuses, voice dripping with disbelief. “You just laughed at me when I was opening up to you.”

“No,” you say and then laugh. You laugh and Dazai stares at you in abject horror. “No, I’m not laughing at you.”

“You’re laughing at me right now,” Dazai squawks. “You’re-I can’t believe you’re laughing at me.”

“Osamu,” you say, smile softening as you look at him. You reach out again, fingers brushing his skin before your palm settles against his cheek again, thumb so close to the corner of his lips. Dazai’s breath hitches, lashes fluttering as his eyes meet yours. “I knew that if we started something, I wouldn’t be able to stop. So I didn’t want to let it start. I… still thought you’d be better off away from me, out of this life, and I wouldn’t have been able to let go if I let anything happen between us.”

Dazai stares at you for a moment, processing the words, and then confirms, “... So you are attracted to me?”

“Yes,” you say, unbearably amused. “Very.”

“... But why?” Dazai asks quietly, voice a bit too vulnerable for his liking.

“What do you mean why?” 

He clears his throat and looks up at the ceiling as he says, “I’m not anything special, y’know?” He’s careful to keep his voice light and airy, void of all of the insecurity that’s been ripping him apart since the two of you met. “I just don’t get it. You could have anyone you want—literally—so why me?”

You click your tongue and Dazai hears you shift around again, breath catching when you sit yourself right on his lap, lifting both hands to his face now to force him to look at you. With his face settled between your hands and your body flush to his, Dazai has no choice but to meet your gaze head on and he almost dies at the intense look in your eyes, can hardly breathe.

“Do you want me to show you why?” you hum with a teasing smile.

Dazai inhales sharply, eyes widening at the offer. His lips part to respond but no words leave them, so he just nods. You’re not pleased with that response, clearly, from how you raise your eyebrows.

“Yes,” he rasps out. “Show me. Prove that you want me. Please.”

You don’t even waste a second before you’re leaning in to press your lips against his. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut and his breath hitches as you press him back against the plush pillows of the bed. He’s suddenly acutely aware of the rough bandages covering his body that are probably prickling your skin uncomfortably, of his chapped lips and hair that’s a bit too dry because he never properly washes it. 

“The first thing I noticed about you was your eyes,” you say quietly, pulling away from him so your gaze could meet his. He tries to chase your lips but you don’t let him. “I could hardly look away from them. I tried to walk away from you that night at the bar but every time I looked at you, I found myself lost in them.”

Dazai’s throat spasms, face flushing. “Don’t lie,” he tells you, voice hoarse. “Nobody likes my…”

Too wide. Too black. Too empty. Dull. Hollow. Soulless. All things he’s heard people say about his eyes—no one can ever look him in the eyes for too long before they find themselves uncomfortable. 

“I’m not lying,” you say with a soft smile, there’s almost a wistful look in your eyes as you continue. “Right now, they remind me of the night sky, dark and endless, filled with countless glittering stars… I love the stars… They remind me of home.”

Dazai chews on his bottom lip as he stares up at you; he tries to speak but again, he finds himself unable to. You don’t force him to this time though, bringing your hand back to his cheek and running your thumb over his bottom lip as if to stop him from biting at it.

“Under the sun, they’re gold,” you tell him quietly. “The first time I noticed, it was the day we met at the ports. Sunset. You were standing right at the opening of the alley I’d been waiting in with Klaus and the sun hit you just right. You looked so pretty beneath it that I was almost tongue-tied. If we hadn't been interrupted, I would’ve made a fool of myself.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Dazai’s voice wobbles terribly. “You-”

“I’m not,” you murmur. Dazai’s breath shakes as you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips. This time, instead of going back to his lips, you kiss down to his jaw slowly. “The second thing I noticed about you was your smile.”

Too fake. Too teethy. Too strained. Unnatural looking.

“Not the fake one you love to put on,” you say, nipping his skin gently. “Your real one. I got a glimpse of it that day at the cafe—the second time we met—when you realized I’d actually been listening to you that night at the bar. But I really saw it that day at Kido’s when we started talking about poetry… I don’t even think you realized you were smiling, the corners of your lips were curved up and your expression was just so… soft. Peaceful. You looked happy and I think that was the first time I really realized that a large majority of the time you put on a mask when you’re around people.”

When you kiss down to the edge of the bandages around his neck, Dazai thinks you’ll ask him to take them off and he braces himself for the question. Braces himself for the discomfort of being bare in front of someone for the first time… ever maybe, because it’s not like he can say no if you ask him to take them off after he badgered you into this.

But you don’t. You kiss over the bandages as if they’re not even there, you tug at his shirt to get him to lift his arms up for you to pull it off and when you do, you continue kissing down his chest—over the bandages—and don’t even show the slightest bit of discontent about it.

“You’ve seen through me… since all the way back then?” Dazai swallows thickly when your hands rest on his slim waist, breath quickening. “But then why…”

Why did you stay?

“That day at the boutique… I was supposed to cut you off,” you admit quietly, sitting back on his thighs as your hands rest on his hips, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, but you don’t move to pull them off. Dazai’s body is uncomfortably hot, head frighteningly fuzzy, he can only barely bring himself to listen to your words. “My first thought when I realized that I’d gotten my first glimpse behind your mask was that I wanted to see more of you, wanted to see you smile genuinely, wanted to learn more about you, I wanted you. I’d realized I let it go too far—that I was starting to actually fall for you and I was putting you in danger—but even then, I couldn’t do it.”

His breath shakes as he breathes in and out, fingers digging into your thighs. He parts his lips to say something but you continue before he can.

“I spoke to Chuuya that same night—he told me that this had to stop, that I was going to get you killed. The next time we met was at the ports. One of the Port Mafia’s enemies had seen us together,” you say, expression a bit more serious now. “Klaus killed him. I had the entire organization exterminated that same night.”

Dazai thinks that shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did. His heart rate spikes at your words, breath quickening and that pool of heat in his lower abdomen gets impossibly hotter, his mind almost entirely shatters at what you’re saying. Your grip on his hips tightens just a bit, lips pressed together as you look down at him with an unreadable expression.

“I would do terrible things for you, Dazai Osamu,” you tell him softy. “I have done terrible things for you and I would do them again and again and again.”

“Please,” Dazai breathes out, and he’s not even sure what he’s saying please for, but you do. 

You do. As always, Dazai is seen when he’s with you and he can’t help the whimper that spills from his lips, the way his eyes mist over with tears. Dazai is seen and he is loved and-and he’s happy. He’s happy—really, truly happy for the first time since Odasaku’s death.

You lean down to kiss Dazai again—this kiss is sloppier than the last few, a frantic clashing of teeth as your hands slide down his body to pull his sweatpants off. Dazai lifts his hips to help you get them off of him, his own fingers clumsily tugging at your silk shorts to try to yank them off of you.

Once he gets them off, his hands drop down to your hips, pulling you down so that you’re sitting flush against him. He moans into your mouth when he finally gets the friction he’s so desperately been aching for, grinding his clothed cock against your panties. He feels almost dizzy with need, lips sliding messily against yours, nails digging crescents into your hips. He thinks maybe he might be able to cum just from this and the thought is embarrassing but he can’t even stop the way he’s rocking his hips up.

Your lips trail from his down to his neck and Dazai tosses his head back against the pillow when your teeth scrape against his skin before you bite down hard, a lewd moan escaping his lips.

“Please,” he gasps again, voice breaking over the only word he seems to be capable of saying. “Please.”

You lean forward as you reach between your bodies to ease his cock out of his briefs and Dazai nearly cums on the spot when he feels your fingers wrap around him, fingers sliding against the precum dripping down his length. You rest your forehead against his, lips dragging across his cheek back to his lips as you press the tip of his cock against your entrance.

He almost says it in that moment—foreheads pressed together, sharing the same sliver of air, both of you breathing shakily as his tip just barely sinks into you—those three words, he almost says them. They almost slip out when his gaze meets yours and he sees the soft, enamored expression on your face as you look down at him.

Dazai’s eyes knock back when you sink down on his cock, lips parted in a silent moan, vision white. For a terrifying moment, Dazai thinks he might’ve cum just from the feeling of your walls warm and tight around his cock. His whole body trembles, his head feels foggy and garbled—he’s speaking, he realizes, but he doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He can feel his lips moving, can hear something leaving them, but he’s so out of it that he can’t even process what it is. 

You nip at his lips once, then twice, before you trail kisses to his ear, savoring in the way he shivers when you tug at his earlobe. You only start to rock your hips when your lips get to that spot behind his ear that makes him entirely incoherent. You suck and nip at the skin as you roll your hips slowly, each drag of his cock against your walls makes him choke over moans. 

He’s not going to last long, he realizes absently, unable to even be mortified by the thought considering how focused he is on your body, warm and flush against his. His hands are moving sliding up your body to your chest, back down your body to your ass—he doesn’t even know what to do with them, honestly, wants to touch every part of you all at the same time, wants to make you feel half as good as you’re making him feel but he can’t even think with your lips sucking at his skin and your cunt squeezing his cock.

His moan breaks suddenly, cracking and quavering as it slips into a sob. His breath is ragged and shuddered, and his vision swims. He feels his cheeks wet and your hands leave from where they’re braced on his shoulders to cup his cheeks. 

Your thumbs wipe away the tears spilling down his cheeks, you lean down to ghost your lips against his temple, and your voice is soft, so soft as you whisper, “I know, baby, I’ve got you. Let go.”

And he does. The taut cord in his abdomen tightens impossibly more before snapping, his nails drag down your thighs, leaving long red marks, his hips snap up and he tosses his head back against the pillows. One of your hands slides from his cheek to wrap around his neck firmly and Dazai is gone—his vision goes dark and spotty, a choked cry of your name escapes his lips and Dazai cums so hard that he thinks he blacks out momentarily.

You lean down and press your lips against his, moaning into his mouth as your walls spasm around him. Dazai’s breath is sharp and quick, lashes wet and heavy, his body twitches and trembles as you ride out your high on his spent cock. He can feel you panting against his skin, your lips sliding from his to press against his cheek as you try to catch your breath.

And Dazai thinks he could stay like this forever, basking in your presence, the feeling of your body pressed to his, his cock still snug in your cunt and one of your hands cradling his face while the other cups the side of his neck, fingers absently playing with the ends of his matted hair. Your forehead rests against his cheek, savoring his presence just as much as he is yours.

He feels warm, he feels safe, he feels loved.

He feels loved.

You shift back just enough to look him in the eye, close enough so that your nose is still brushing his, that you’re still sharing air. Your thumb runs along his cheekbone and your eyes are soft and adoring as you look down at him. As you admire him.

“I could give you countless reasons as to why I want you,” you finally say quietly, “but when it comes down to it, the main reason is because you’re you, Osamu.”

He feels loved. 

Your weekend paradise with Dazai shatters with a single message not even six hours later.

Chuuya: I need you. Going to use Corruption.

smut development: minimal besides some dialogue. she told him that when she saw through his mask, her first desire was wanting to see/know more of him. also tells him what happened after she met him at the ports (ie. having the yakuza exterminated). tells him: i'd do terrible things for you - i have done terrible things for you and i would do them again. then at the very end, she tells him that the reason she wants you is because she's him.

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Alex: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! [wheeeeeeze] Byrd: Woah, lady-.. I know karate! Wren: No, you don’t. Byrd: [whispers] She doesn’t need to know that. Wren: It’s Alex, dipshit. Byrd: Ohhh-.. wait, really? Wren: Sure looks like her.

Alex: Oh my god, I found you-.. and I followed your CAT! I missed you so much!! I hope you’re not mad at me-.. I’m so SO sorry for not writing! I thought I was being organised by printing some labels out to save time, y’know? But then I forgot them at home when we went to my uncles and dad said we’d only be gone for a month, so I figured it wasn’t a huge deal, but then we stayed for what felt like it’d be FOREVER and I couldn’t for the life of me remember your address which is ridiculous ‘cause I SHOULD’VE had it memorised by now and I felt so awful as the months passed. I tried to remember it a couple times but you never wrote back so I figured I obviously got it wrong-.. then I tried finding your house on a stupid online map but the internet was crappy at best and the Bay is WAY bigger than I thought it’d be and I’ve never really seen your house in full view from the street either so, like.. I barely knew what I was looking for, and what if that camera car didn’t even map your house, y’know?!

Ava: That was.. a lot. Alex: Sorry-.. you’re not mad, are you? [Robin shook his head and took a breath, but nothing came out] Wren: Oop. Byrd: Yeah, I think he broke. Ava: Ooh, do you know sign language? Alex: No-.. I totally should’ve learnt! I guess I didn’t know I’d be coming here though… Byrd: I can teach you! Well, some, I’m still learning, but Robin knows a bunch. Ava: He’s not mad, by the way. He was just worried. [Robin shot his younger siblings a look, fruitlessly warning them not to embarrass him] Byrd: I’m sure he’d say hi, if he could. Wren: I bet he’d say you look pretty too. Byrd: He’s been extra mopey without your letters-.. or maybe that’s just what puberty does. Ava: He has to wear deodorant now, otherwise he STINKS! Wren: You should stay for supper, dad’s baking something.. again. Alex: Ough.. I was supposed to be home ages ago, dad’ll kill me.. wait, what school do you go to?! Byrd: Bay C-… Wren: Not us-.. he goes to Copperdale. Alex: Ohh, yay! I promised dad I’d finally unpack tomorrow but the day after that is Monday, right? Wren: Well done. Alex: Okay-.. ahhhh! SEE YOU AT SCHOOL!!

…

[Robin deflated as soon as Alex liberated him from another bear hug and sped off, releasing a breath he’d kept tucked beneath his ribs for an uncomfortably lengthy amount of time] Robin: Ouuuuuuuuuuuuugh. Robin: Why-.. why am I like this? Wren: You’ll spew something out eventually. Oscar: Alright losers, pie’s-.. what’s up with him? Robin: I’m fucking BROKEN. Wren: I mean.. you’re a little fucked, but still good! Oscar: Quit it with the swearing-.. what happened? Wren: Alex showed up n’ he broke. Robin: I didn’t even get to say hi or ask why she’s here, or for how long-.. and you just had to be embarrassing! Oscar: What’d she say? Robin: She said Alex was pretty on my behalf and I’ve never said that and she’s a DICK! Oscar: That’s tame-.. for Wren. Robin: I hate you all right now. Wren: Not as much as you hate yourself. Oscar: Hey, too much! Robin, c’mon-… Robin: SHUT UP! Oscar: Right, you’re on dish duty. Wren: Seriously?! Oscar: You reap what you sow, honey.

[niningtori]

make you cry | part two: beomgyu's ending

part one | part three: hyuka's ending

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: after your feelings for beomgyu are revealed, you take some time to heal from your "breakup". as for beomgyu, he's realizing just how important you are to him, but it may be too little too late.

genre: romance, angst, smut (MDNI), fwb

warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, sub!gyu, oral (f. rec), dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise, degradation (m. rec), if i missed anything lmk

word count: 3.4k

notes: hello again friends! am i satisfied with this? no. am i still posting it? YES. as you may know, there will be an alternate ending with hyuka as the lead. i will probably post that on my bday (the 24th). until then, i hope you enjoy this! and again.. pls don't be mean ;_; i'm still new to writing smut and this is not proofread

it’s almost been a year since the night you said goodbye to beomgyu. time has healed most things, but your rage certainly helped speed it along. throwing away old polaroids beomgyu took of the both of you, past birthday cards he wrote when he was feeling particularly sentimental, and clothes he had forgotten to take home with him most definitely aided your catharsis, even if you did it all in the midst of a rampage. do you regret it now that you’re relatively calm? maybe a little bit, but not having reminders of beomgyu around your home outweighs any sliver of regret you may or may not harbor. traces of him fade from your body first, then your mind, then your heart. you still sort of miss him, that much is clear, but when you really think about it, you’re not sure why that is. so you try not to think about it at all.

you're doing okay now, truly. it's not like you forgive him or anything, but you're not as angry as you used to be, which, you know, is better than nothing. you regret sleeping with him, regret not speaking up for yourself sooner, even regret taking his hand when he held it in front of you all those years ago, but you're starting to realize that it doesn't matter anymore. what's done is done, no use crying over it any longer. as for everything beomgyu did to you, he did it and he meant it. fuck whatever explanations he has. 

on beomgyu’s end, it's not like he hasn't tried to contact you, but that only resulted in you blocking him on every conceivable plane. he convinced one of his friends to give him his instagram login so he can see your posts, but that’s about all he has to go off of these days. from the looks of it, it seems like you’re doing pretty well on your own. your friendship with kai seems to have strengthened because you’re calling him your best friend now, and who knows if you’re fucking each other. the jealousy he feels is all-consuming. to be honest, beomgyu knows he wasn’t the best of friends towards you, even before the hooking up, but he still feels wronged somehow. he’s thought, in great detail, about how he would act if the roles were reversed, but that only makes him feel worse. because he’d forgive you. he’d be angry for a while, this much he knows, but he’d always forgive you. you are, or were, his best friend, after all. and maybe even something more, but he doesn’t want to think about that. 

he’s shown up at your apartment, too. especially while drunk. sometimes, it’s because he misses you. most times, it’s because he’s so drunk it feels like the only place that feels like home. you never open the door, though. he likes to think it’s because you’re not there, but after the fifth time, he knows better. 

-

well, it had to happen sooner or later. your town is only so big and your friend circle is so small, of course running into beomgyu was not a matter of if, but when. even still, he looks positively shocked to see you at the house party of one of kai’s friends. as soon as you lock eyes with him, you know you’re in for it. you should leave, and you really, really would, but it’s a birthday party and kai’s your designated driver. you’d make him look bad if you left so soon, so you decide the best course of action is to get drunk so your head stops hurting. after downing some drinks, you carefully avoid beomgyu and make your way to some random bedroom just to cool off. 

you’re a few drinks in, head buzzing and tongue feeling heavy. it was bitter work, but each shot had you feeling less and less suffocated by beomgyu’s presence. you wish you didn’t care as much as you do, but the feeling is still there. seeing him should spark nothing in you, but you can’t help but feel indignant. and honestly? a little sad, too. things have gotten better, but all the old feelings have been dredged up with a vengeance. 

while you’re trying not to think about him, as if on cue, beomgyu bursts through the door. 

“h-hi,” he says hesitantly. really? that’s it? hi?

“uh… hi?” you say unsurely, kind of at a loss for words.

“how are you?”

“what do you want?” you ask as if he’s a fly who won’t stop buzzing around you. he supposes, in a way, he is. 

“i-i just wanna talk to you,” he says meekly. 

“about what? there's nothing left to say,” you argue. and with that, you rise from the bed, preparing to leave.

“i’m sorry!” he exclaims, the words leaving his mouth before he can get a chance to reel them back in. “i’m just… really, really sorry.”

“i don’t care,” you say flatly, crossing your arms and not even sparing him a glance. now that stings. 

“but i’m sorry!” he repeats, just like a child. “can’t you forgive me?” 

“and what exactly are you sorry for?” you turn to look at him. “sorry for treating me like shit for years, sorry you fucked me when i told you i wasn’t interested, or sorry because i’m not there at your beck and call anymore?” his face crumbles at your unforgiving words. 

“i’m… i’m sorry for how i treated you. i know i was wrong, but i’ll never do it again if you just give me a chance.”

“no,” you reply firmly. 

“please?” he begs, teary-eyed and words unsteady.

“what exactly do you want from me?” you sigh irritatedly. “if you want things to go back to how they were before, you’re out of your fucking mind.” 

“what if i don’t want things to go back to how they were? 

“then what do you want?” you ask, genuinely curious now.

“i want you, that’s all. things don’t need to go back to how they were. i just need you.” 

“need me?” you laugh dryly. “you need me now? you only miss me because you don’t have me at your service anymore. stop wasting my fucking time.” 

“that’s not true! i miss you. i-i know i’m late, but i really miss you. i’m sorry i didn’t realize it sooner.” he looks so… pathetic like this. it’d be sad if it weren’t so goddamn vindicating. before you can come up with a response, he’s hurriedly saying his next words. 

“i-if you wanted me to learn my lesson, i’ve learned it. i promise i have. i promise i’ll never, ever take you for granted again.”

“beomgyu,” you sigh, closing your eyes and massaging your temples, “this isn’t about teaching you a lesson. this is about me not being willing to put up with you anymore.” he looks absolutely devastated by your harsh words.

“i’m begging you,” he says, voice shaking like a leaf. 

“why does it matter? what, you haven’t been able to get your dick wet? do you need pussy on tap again?” he blushes at your words. you must’ve hit a sore spot.

“so that’s it. you don’t miss me at all. you just want to take advantage of me.” you don’t know why, but your own words don’t just hurt him, but yourself. you’re not sure what you were expecting, but you can't help but feel disappointed. missing you is still all about him. what he wants, what he thinks he needs. 

“i love you,” he says. what?

“w-what?” 

“i love you,” he repeats with more vigor. "i didn’t know it then, but i know it now. i miss you so much because i love you. and i want to be with you.” this whole thing is so ridiculous, you don’t know whether to laugh in his face or beat the shit out of him, but you can’t deny the way your heart flutters (and clenches) at his words.  

“you have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say coldly. what the hell does beomgyu know about love? love is selfless, self-sacrificing. he doesn’t know a fucking thing about that. this must be a new way of trying to keep you all to himself. but it’s working.

“i know you don’t think i do, and i understand why. i just want you to give me a chance to show you that i mean it. i’ll do anything.” 

he’s annoying, no doubt, but you like how he looks when he begs. you could get used to this.

how do you say no to him when he’s begging so feverishly like this? beomgyu hasn’t begged for anything in his fucking life. he hasn’t needed to, given how easily everything has worked out for him thus far. but this new side of him sparks a new fire in you you had no idea existed. you’re struck with a sadistic new idea you will probably regret, but right now? you want to act on it.

“anything?” 

“anything,” he says so quickly you can’t help but laugh a little.

“then strip,” you command.

“w-what?” he asks, eyes blown wide in shock.

“you heard me.”

“b-but the party?” 

“whatever,” you sneer. “if you’re not going to do it, i’m leaving.” you turn to leave, but he yanks you back and looks at you with pleading eyes. 

“i’ll do it,” he says with newfound determination. you slyly lock the door and he gulps before pulling his shirt over his head. he’s been naked before you many times, but this feels different. he feels like he’s being scrutinized to a degree where he can feel your eyes boring into him. you tilt your chin up and raise your eyebrows expectantly. with shaky hands, he undoes his pants and lets them fall to the floor. he’s embarrassingly hard already, if the tent in his boxers is of any indication, which only makes you smile meanly.

“i don’t remember telling you to stop,” you say arrogantly. he gulps and finishes undressing, cock slapping comically into his stomach. he stands fully naked and feels smaller than he ever has. you push him onto the bed and he wonders what you have in store for him. 

you straddle him, still fully clothed, but hiking your dress up just a bit so he can see how soaked you are through your panties. he whines when you take one of his hardened nipples between your fingers and experimentally tweak it. 

“do you like that, beomie?”

he nods feverishly and says “like it, like it so much!” you smirk in satisfaction as you plant a searing kiss on his chest and he can’t bite back his moans. between you sucking a blooming hickey and toying with his chest, his mind is fuzzy and all he can feel is pure ecstasy.

this isn’t about him, though. and you make that clear when you move and situate your clothed pussy over his face.

“sit on my face, please, please, please. wanna taste you,” he cries. well, you won’t say no this time. 

you hold onto the headboard as he moves your ruined panties to the side and he gasps when he sees how wet you are. he whines again, showing you just how badly he wants to be in it, but all you do is lower yourself onto him. his tongue is skilled, just like it’s always been, but there’s a sense of desperation that wasn’t there before. he switches between fucking your hole with his warm tongue and sucking on your clit like a man starved. you feel your legs buckling as you reach your end, but his hands grip your soft thighs even after you finish, lapping at your pussy like a damn dog. 

“ah, too much! b-bad boy!” you exclaim. that doesn’t stop him though, and now you’re sober enough to notice how desperately he’s fucking into nothing at all. his cock, usually so pretty and pink, is now a deep red color from the lack of reprieve.

you thread one hand in his hair, just to have something to hold onto, and he groans into your pussy when you lightly tug his hair. before you can do anything more, you’re falling apart on his tongue and crying out his name. a sound he never thought in a million years he’d hear again, but what a lovely sound it is.

“sit on my cock, p-please?” he begs when you finally raise from his face. 

“you’re not in a position to be asking me for anything, beomgyu,” you say.

“please? baby, it’s aching.” you throw a look back and see he’s right. it’s beet red and leaking an ungodly amount of precum. your pussy clenches around nothing when you see how desperate he is for you.

“please? need you,” he says with tears in his eyes. 

after all this time, you’re still so fucking weak for him. you sigh as you take off your dress and his eyes widen when he watches your breasts bounce as you toss the tiny little thing somewhere behind you. 

he goes to grab them, but you slap his hands away and it’s all he can do to keep himself from kicking his feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“but why?!” he asks frustratedly. 

“bad boys don’t get to touch,” you shrug, and he’s a split second away from whining when you harshly grab the base of his cock, shutting him up once and for all. before you can lower yourself onto him, he’s cutting into your desire with his next words.

“a-are you fucking him?” he asks meekly. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s talking about kai. 

“why do you care? aren’t you the one who’s always going on and on about ‘no strings attached’?” you spit and he looks sorrier than you’ve ever seen him. to be honest, you’re not fucking kai. you’ve never seen each other that way, actually. he’s been nothing short of amazing to you, to be sure, but his lingering feelings for his ex and yours for beomgyu didn’t make for the best foundation for love. at this point, you were the best of friends. nothing more, nothing less. but beomgyu doesn’t need to know that. 

any words of complaint on his part are cut short by you sinking down on him. 

“mmh… o-oh my god,” he says hoarsely as the tip of his cock pushes through your entrance. it’s always been a tight fit, but you’ve been celibate for nearly a whole year. your muscles aren’t used to the intrusion and he can feel it. still, you continue sinking down onto him until every inch is sheathed in you and he’s touching your cervix. you can swear you feel him in your womb. his tears are falling freely now as he can feel you adjust around him, pussy clenching against your will as you try to accommodate his length and girth. 

“s-so pretty,” he says as his bleary eyes try to focus on you. you let out an airy laugh, but truthfully, you aren’t faring much better. he looks so perfect like this, sobs coming from his pretty mouth and tears spilling over his reddened cheeks. that’s all the permission you need to really start. slowly, you pull yourself up with no little effort on your part. your pussy nearly turns inside out trying to get yourself off of his length. the lewd image engraves itself in his eyes and he cries even harder. 

“l-love you, love you, love you so much,” he whines, eyes rolling back from the pleasure. his mouth is open and you think you might even see a bit of drool pooling at the corners of his lips. you don’t respond, but instead you mercilessly sink back down in one fluid motion. 

“ah!” you both cry out at the feeling. you’re so full, you can barely stand it, so you don’t. up and down, you begin bobbing on his cock with little regard for his sorry state. he grabs your hips, pulling you down and fucking up into you, not once letting you falter in your pace. his grip will leave bruises, but you’re not interested in the repercussions of your actions now as beomgyu grits his teeth and rams harder and harder into you. he’s so lost in the feeling, he no longer cares about your so-called rules as he grabs your bare tits and pops one in his mouth. he begins sucking and rubbing his tongue on it and his big, veiny hand is busy teasing the other one. 

“i- i thought i said you don’t get to touch,” you manage to choke out between gasps.

“c-can’t help it! your tits are so pretty!” he says as if it’s completely out of his control. and it really might be. beomgyu doesn’t look like he’s in control of anything at this very moment. he just didn’t realize how much he’d love the feeling. with his words of praise and the suckling of your chest, you feel yourself coming closer and closer to the edge. 

“gyu, i’m coming!” you exclaim as spasm around him. a few seconds later, and you feel his hot seed overflowing from your insides. after a couple of more sloppy thrusts, you’re collapsing on top of him and panting heavily.

“so good, so perfect,” he whispers before pulling out. what you don’t expect is how he flips you over onto the bed and slides himself in your aching cunt again. 

“g-gyu?!” you stutter.

“j-jus’ wanna show you how much i missed you,” he slurs, mouth agape and eyes totally glazed over. he hikes your legs up over his shoulders and pistons in and out of you at an ungodly pace. he’s so deep, you can feel hot tears spring in your eyes as you struggle to take all of him in. he leans over and shoves his tongue in your accepting mouth. 

“good pussy,” he says in a daze when he parts from you. “so fucking tight. j-jus’ for me, right?” he asks, and you can hear the insecurity in his voice. you’re silent for a moment before you answer quietly.

“just for you.” he smiles as if he’s relieved and continues to fuck you into the mattress until he’s painting your insides again. he pulls out and the sinful sight of cum leaking out of your puffy hole sears his eyes. you look so beautiful like this, when you’re full of nothing but him. the thought of doing this forever, just you and him and no one else, is enough to make him feel happiness he’s never felt before.

he collapses next to you and pulls you into his warm embrace. he’s never done this before. not after sex, anyway, but he’s shown you the most vulnerable sides of him tonight. the sides you used to cry about not being able to see.

“you didn’t answer my question before,” beomgyu whispers.

“what?” you ask, still in a daze.

“are you fucking him?” you want to sit up and smack him, but he cages you in his arms. leave it to beomgyu to ruin the mood

“... no, but i just don’t see why you would care. weren’t you getting your dick wet until you couldn’t find anyone else?” 

“i wasn’t! i… i couldn’t get hard for them…” he trails off, almost hoping you didn’t hear. but you did. you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. is he serious? 

“and the only reason why i’m asking is because i just can’t stand to see you with anyone else.” for some reason, your temper flares at this. 

“yeah? well imagine how i felt for years.” he’s silent at this. how can he make up for years of making you feel like garbage? and how could you bear feeling like this for years on end? it hasn’t quite been a year for him yet, but he feels absolutely gutted. every day without you is miserable, to say the very least. and seeing you with someone else? heartbreaking.

“being together is a bad idea,” you sigh after putting some thought into it. “we’ll just fight and —” 

“we won’t fight!” he exclaims. “why would we fight? i’ll just listen to anything you say!” 

oh. you could really, really get used to this.

notes pt. 2: is it normal to never be satisfied w what u write? bc that's how i feel ;_; but whatever! it is what it is i fear. anyway, i hope u still enjoyed it!

taglist: @my313 @superbbananananana @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @everythingvirgoes @beomnoullitheorem @sunny4cast

series taglist*: @gothraccoons @jaxyy219 @idontwantoeatspicy @soobsfairy444 @denleave1088 @notevenheretbh1 @fairfootedflekk @hihello-pinky @ilovesimjaeyun143 @sweetttkissess @seolis-world @midwinterblizzard @slutty-cherry @run2min

*not everyone's tag options were open, but i still put ur user in so u can see that i tried!! also, if you're an ageless blog, i'd prefer if you didn't read my works even if you're not a minor because it makes me uncomfortable. for that reason, you were not tagged. thank u friends <3

[nattikay]

bedtime

NOTE: stä'noli should be stolä'ni, that was a pretty rudimentary mistake and I'm not really sure what was going on in my brain when I wrote it but 😅 maybe i'll fix it on the image later but i can't be bothered right this minute, i'm already up way later than I should be as is (have an early day tomorrow)

Further language notes/rambling under the cut!

"wait, isn't Jake supposed to be spelled Tsyeyk in Na'vi?" Yes it is! And if I'd given that line to a monolingual Na'vi speaker I would've spelled it that way. BUT Neytiri is bilingual and does not pronounce it "Tsyeyk" (I mean, technically she doesn't say "Jake" either, it's more like "Zheyk" but w/e). So for her specifically I keep the j. I suppose at that point I could've just kept the English spelling completely, but leaving silent letters at the end like that makes things weird in written Na'vi given all the grammatical endings that can be applied (not that that matters in this comic because they weren't needed for the line but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Speaking of Jake, writing Na'vi dialogue for him is fun to me because he's not a native speaker which means I'm free to give him all sorts of beginner habits and/or mistakes, especially given that by his own admission he struggled learning the language. However, since I'm working within a pretty broad time frame, I had to remind myself that he wouldn't be a beginner forever.

I bring this up because there are two aspects of Jake's dialogue here that I was going to point out as...well, not wrong, but as more "English-y" habits I'd headcanoned he might hang on to...but on further reflection changed my mind because I realized that at the time of this comic he's been living with the Omatikaya for nearly ten years and would be pretty much fluent. I still left it written that way but am no longer headcanoning that that's ~just how he talks~ at this point in his life. After all, if I'm conscious of these habits after just two years of studying the language as a casual hobby, is it really believable that he'd be clinging to them after nearly a decade of full daily immersion, even with his self-admitted struggle with language learning? 😅

Anyways, for the sake of rambling about my hobby regardless, one of these aspects was using SVO word order, like English. Na'vi is a free-word-order language, so SVO is valid, but most Na'vi speakers are not going to stick to it exclusively. I think Jake, like many native-English-speaking learners, may have relied on this word order earlier on because that's just how his brain has been wired to process information, but at this point I think just by sheer exposure he'd have broken out of any strict adherence to it, intentional or otherwise.

The other thing is concerning possessive. The standard Na'vi grammatical ending for possessive is -yä. But Na'vi grammar also includes a concept called inalienable possession, which refers to things that are intrinsically yours and cannot be given away. What exactly qualifies as inalienable varies between languages that have such a concept, but with Na'vi it's most commonly seen with body parts. Inalienable possession can be marked with -yä, but there is a slight preference to mark it with the topical, -ri, instead. So, compare:

Peyä mehinam lu ngim. His legs are long. Pori mehinam lu ngim. His legs are long (lit. "concerning him, the legs are long")

Both of these are considered acceptable, but the -ri version is considered just slightly "better" (for lack of a better term).

You'll notice that Jake uses peyä instead of pori here; this was because the peyä structure is a more direct equivalent to the English construction, so it's pretty common for new learners to use it instead of -ri. And again it's not wrong, so it's not exactly a mistake per se. So it seemed like a reasonable "Englishy-but-still-technically-correct" habit for Jake to hang on to. And I do still think that may well have been in the case...in his earlier years 😅

soooo yeah. I will still probably be giving Jake some of those speaking habits in comics and such that take place only 2-3 years after A1, but once you get to around 10 years like this one...yeah I think it'll make more sense to just write his dialogue like that of any other fluent Na'vi-speaking character lol

[coco-loco-nut]

Book Club - Part 3

Pairing: Grid X Reader, Lance X Reader

Summary: lewis get a new song inspired by one of the book they read that week, a little lance relationship focused as well

a/n: even as an avid reader, i struggle so much choosing books for this 🥲, sorry if this one sucks

requests open 🫶✨ masterlist

—————————

“Alright boys, get ready to swoon!” You pull out copies of your chosen book, The Dead Romantics. After reading classics and adventure, and thrillers, you chose chick-lit. It had been recommended on other book club chatboards, so you deemed it safe for the guys.

“Same time, same place next week,” Daniel grabs a book and walks out. The rest file out of the motor home, books in hand. You follow Fernando to Aston Martin.

“Lance, your girlfriend is here for you,” Fernando calls for him before you can. “Good choice, I enjoyed this one the last time I read it,” Fernando says before walking to his room, leaving you stunned.

“Hello, mon cœur,” Lance kisses you before grabbing your hand and taking you to his room.

“What is the book this week,” He asks once you cuddle up on the couch. Since he found out about the club, he’s been reading the books with you.

“The Dead Romantics, first one to finish gets to choose the next date,” you hand him his copy before starting your own. Lance’s assistant brings in coffees and breakfast for you both while you read.

“When we get married, would you change your last name, combine ours, let me take yours, or leave our names as is,” Lance asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Hmm, I like the sound of Y/n Stroll, but maybe I’ll still race under my name,” you decide, paying attention to the books, thinking about the predetermined discussion questions.

“Fuck,” Lance groans after his phone went off, quickly bookmarking his page.

“What’s wrong baby?” you ask, bookmarking yours as well.

“I have a meeting with Dad in a few minutes,”

“Oh, want me to come along? I love your dad,” you run your fingers through his fluffy hair.

“It’s okay, it’ll take a while. You are more than welcome to stay here or go and get ready for the drivers parade. Either way, I will see you after,” he kisses you before gathering a couple things and heading out. You finish another chapter and head to your motorhome, dressing yourself in team gear and redoing your hair. Lance waits for you outside your team garage.

By next week, you both have finished the book and have been raving about it to people, you even sent a copy to George. You won the challenge, although you were sure Lance let you win.

“Have fun at your meeting, you are literally bouncing in excitement,” Lance laughs, kissing the side of your head and leaving you in front of Haas’ hospitality. You quickly find the club, who are equally happy with your pick.

“That was the best romance book I’ve read in a while,” Daniel starts off.

“It was my second time reading it. Much better than the first time,” Fernando agrees.

“And the plot twist!” Nico gasps, all of you nodding along.

“I wrote a song about it,” Lewis says nonchalantly, causing you all to pause.

“Lew… what?” You can’t imagine how one would write a song about it. The book was good, but it wasn’t Shakespeare.

“Yeah, the broken hearts, the forbidden nature of their love, separated by the paranormal, the spiciness of the ending. It inspired me, almost like all those songs for Fifty Shades of Grey,” Lewis explains.

“I don’t know how that would work, but I am sure that you made it work,” Kevin says as Lewis pulls out his phone.

You heard some of his music before, and you knew he could sing and his writing was pretty good. Unfortunately, this was not the case. The singing was great, but the lyrics were a little too… sappy for his style. It wasn’t even sensual, he was just singing about falling in love with someone you shouldn’t.

“That was great, Lewis,” Daniel encourages Lewis,

“If racing doesn’t work out, maybe you will have a career in music,” Valtteri offers, maybe you were the only one who wasn’t a fan.

“He already does, he was featured on a song,” Fernando rushes to pull it up on his phone. You swear he is the proud father of everyone in the room.

“Oh! We should do karaoke!” you gasp, excited at the thought.

“I like the way you think,” Daniel grins at you. It is usually never a good thing when you both get excited about an idea, it tends to end up with alcohol and regret, but never fails to be fun.

“My liver can take that right now, I would participate,” Checo says, leading the group in agreeing.

You and the other drivers rent out a bar the next night and make sure karaoke is set up, Lando DJs in the meantime.

“I’m going to sing my song!” Lewis tells you over your jolly rancher shots.

“Slay!” you cheers the shots, tap the glass to the bar, and take the shot. “I think I’m gonna sing Post Malone,” you reply, and Lewis drags you to sign up. Lance appears beside you, slipping an arm around your waist as he looks at the paper.

“Babe, what song is ‘Why Don’t You Love Me’, I have never seen it on an album,” Lance asks and you tell him its origin. “Oh, that’s funny, I’ll film it,” he writes both of your names down for Total Eclipse of the Heart.

A few shots later and Lewis kicks it off with his song, it is actually a lot better drunk. You follow him up with the meme song, getting everyone laughing, before Lance joins you. The two of you surprisingly sounded very good when you rewatched the video the next day, then posted it to your Instagram story.

“Never. Again.” Kevin groans the next morning as Valtteri walks in, excited to talk with the group.

“That was fun! When are we doing that again?”

[floralcyanide]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍɪɴᴅ — ᴄᴀʟʟᴜᴍ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇʀ

callum turner x fem!reader (nsfw)

In which a chance reconnection with your ex, Callum Turner, brings you to his hotel room- and he talks you through more than just your breakup.

✣ warnings: smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, language, female anatomy described, nipple play, finger sucking, fingering, mutual orgasm, love confessions

✣ word count: 2.7k

✣ author’s note: I wrote half of this weeks ago and just finished it. hope ya'll enjoy ((:

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

based on this song | the death of peace of mind - bad omens

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

The last thing on your mind today was running into your ex, Callum Turner, yet here you are. 

He’s sitting adjacent to you in the script reading session for your new movie- and you had no idea of the cast until today, so seeing him was an absolute surprise. You try your best to remain neutral and keep yourself from looking at him, but you find yourself glancing up at him frequently. He looks great, of course, which makes it hard not to stare. You remind yourself Callum is an ex for a reason and focus on your turns to read the script. Callum had broken up with you because he had found himself unsure of his feelings and hadn’t elaborated further on it before leaving. So, you have struggled for a while with self-confidence and identity. It’s not entirely his fault, but not knowing how he felt for you during your relationship did something to you emotionally and mentally. 

When the reading concluded, you tried your best to make a clean getaway, but Callum’s long strides and quick maneuvering skills got him to you in the hallway in record time. A gentle hand is placed on your shoulder in the sea of cast and crew exiting.

“Long time no see,” Callum flashes his brilliant smile at you once you turn to face him.

“Yeah,” you half-smile, “Sure has.”

Callum stares intently into your eyes for a few seconds longer than usual before he notices he hasn’t responded. He visibly shakes his head out of his mess of thoughts, “How have you been?”

“Could be better,” you shrug, “But I’ll be fine, always am.”

You keep your answers brief, with as little to go on as possible. 

“Would you like to meet at my hotel for coffee later? There’s a cafe in the lobby that’s pretty good,” Callum scratches the back of his neck, “I just need to talk to you about something and would rather do it somewhere other than the corridor,” he laughs nervously.

“Oh,” you purse your lips, momentarily looking down at your feet before answering, “I don’t know, Callum. Is it really a good idea for us to talk outside the set?”

Callum clears his throat, “Well. I was hoping to talk to you about that, actually. See, I didn’t tell you everything when we broke up about how I felt, and I think you deserve to know, ‘s all.”

You sigh, “I suppose knowing wouldn’t hurt, even though it’s been a year already. Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

“I was afraid,” Callum admits, “I thought you hated me.”

You frown, “I don’t hate you, Callum. I promise.”

Callum brightens, “So you’ll meet me at the coffee shop? Tomorrow, maybe? Ten in the morning?”

“Fine,” you agree, “Tomorrow it is.”

Callum gives you the hotel’s address and leaves you in the hallway, turning as he walks away to wave goodbye.

You’re laying in bed that night staring at the ceiling. You still love Callum; don’t get yourself wrong. But if he didn’t feel the same, why entertain it? Besides, it seemed like he never really felt that way for you, and that’s why he dipped last year. At the same time, however, you don’t know that for sure because Callum didn’t tell you much. You guess you’ll find out more tomorrow. You roll over and will yourself to sleep.

You definitely need the caffeine upon waking the following day from tossing and turning all night. You get ready and take a cab from your apartment to the hotel Callum is staying at, nervous the entire ride there. When you arrive at the cafe, Callum is sitting on a couch by the window, aimlessly scrolling through his phone, waiting for you. He hopes you come and don’t change your mind.

“You made it!” Callum grins as you walk in, and he stands up to greet you with a kiss on the cheek. 

Your entire body burns at the contact, but you try your best to push your feelings aside, “Of course I did.”

The two of you order and return to the couch, where you hesitantly sit beside Callum, his thigh touching yours. You find it familiar and comforting but, at the same time, very nerve-wracking. 

“So,” Callum turns to face you, “Do you mind me explaining everything? I promise you don’t owe me your time; I just feel you deserve to know why I left.”

“I don’t mind,” you say honestly, “In fact, I’d feel better hearing it.”

“Alright,” Callum nods, “To be honest, I was scared. I had feelings for you I had never felt for anyone before, and I didn’t know how to handle them.”

You focus on Callum’s words, carefully turning them over in your head, “I understand.”

“I loved you, you know,” Callum rubs his palms on his thighs, a nervous laugh leaving his lips, “And I fucked it up.”

You stare at him wordlessly, unsure of how to respond.

“Still do, actually. Love you.”

Your ears begin to ring, and you almost don’t hear your names being called for your coffee orders until Callum stands up and walks over to retrieve them. He loved you? Still loves you, rather? Your facial expression- one of shock- is still apparent when Callum sits back down next to you and offers you your drink.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, “I just didn’t expect that.”

“You don’t have to return those feelings, by the way. I just needed to tell you that’s how I felt then and still feel now.”

“Despite leaving me a little lost a year ago, a part of me still loves you too, Cal. But I don’t know what to do with that.”

“It’s up to you, sweetheart. We don’t have to do anything if that’s what you wish.”

“How do I know you really love me?” you blurt, shocking yourself with your words.

Callum puts a hand on your knee, “You can trust me, or I can prove it to you.”

Clutching your untouched drink in your hand, you wonder what he could mean by that.

“Prove it how?”

“You know a thing or two about that, I think,” Callum says suggestively, and your body burns like fire again.

You scoff, “I do. But how do I know you won’t just up and leave again after? Hmm?”

“I won’t,” Callum grabs your unoccupied hand, “I won’t this time, I promise. I don’t think I could leave you again.”

“Okay, then,” you admit defeat, “Show me just how much you really love me, Mr. Turner.”

Callum leads you to the elevator, where he presses the floor button and stands beside you, eyeing you up and down. When the doors close, he pulls you to his side as he finishes his coffee. You rest your head on his arm, sipping your own drink. Callum’s hand grips your waist, his touch hot even through your clothes. You're nearly shaking with nerves when you reach the top floor. The two of you had your go-arounds while together, of course. But it was never anything emotionally charged. You’re hoping Callum really does show you how much he loves you this time and doesn’t leave you hanging. He lets you follow him to his room, where he fumbles to unlock the door with his phone. Callum heads to the windows to close the drapes, his back muscles rippling under his shirt, much to your delight. He turns around and catches your gaze, maintaining eye contact with you as he returns to where you stand. Callum wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you to him after you sit your coffee down. He is taller than you, so you have to look up at him when standing so close. A closed-lip smile spreads on his face as he takes in your features. Callum pushes a stray strand of hair out of your face before leaning in.

“Do you want this?” he asks, his lips barely brushing against yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, “I do want this. Prove it to me.”

Callum captures your lips with his finally, and everything negative you felt about your relationship falls away. The comfort you’ve always found in him flows back into you as he guides his tongue along your bottom lip. Callum’s hands find your hair, where they tangle themselves in your locks for leverage. You allow him to explore your mouth softly as if it was his first time in uncharted territory. Your arms are around him, and your palms are settled on his back as he slowly moves the two of you over to the giant bed in the middle of the suite. You sit on the edge of it as Callum pulls his shirt off. He’s a little more muscular than the last time you saw him. You drink in his broad shoulders and toned chest, his thick biceps resting by your head as his fists dig into the mattress on either side of your legs. Callum is leaning over you, his demeanor shifting to something more dominant. He kisses you again before his hand moves to your chin, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

“Go lay on the pillows and get ready for me.”

A surge of excitement rushes through your veins as you nod, moving backward to where the pillows sit at the top of the bed. You peel off your shirt and jeans, kicking them off the side of the bed onto the floor where your shoes are haphazardly lying. Callum climbs over you, taking in the sight of you. He lays beside you, patting his spread, underwear-clad thighs for you to sit. You oblige, his chest pressed to your back as you relax into his embrace. Callum’s large hands rub over your hips and legs, his skin hot against yours. He buries his nose into your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your shoulder and up your throat. Callum then lightly traces your jaw with his tongue before he reaches your ear, nibbling the shell of it. His hands travel from your thighs to your hips, all the way up your sides, until they reach your covered breasts. He squeezes them as he sucks a mark behind your ear, out of sight. You squirm lightly in his lap, inhaling sharply through your nose at the feeling of his teeth on your sensitive skin. Moving your hair out of the way from your ears, Callum continues his assault of bites on the back of your neck as his fingers slip underneath the cups of your bra. You hum as his fingers toy with your nipples, your head tossed back against his shoulder as he does so. This gives him more access to your neck, where he leaves open-mouthed kisses on the skin there. You feel him grow hard against your tailbone as he twists and rubs your sensitive nubs, eliciting moans from you.

“I miss the way you say my name,” Callum whispers in your ear, letting one of his hands travel back down to your stomach, where he slips a hand beneath the band of your underwear, “Say it.”

“Callum,” you gasp as his fingers ghost your heat, lightly brushing against your clit.

“Just like that, doll,” Callum grins into your shoulder, where his lips press to your skin.

He helps you out of your underwear, pulling it down your legs until you’re able to kick them off. Callum tosses one of your legs over his thigh, giving him easier access to you. You reach behind your back to unhook your bra, throwing it off the side of the bed.

“Kind of unfair that I’m the only naked one,” you frown.

“Be patient, I want to play with you first,” Callum kisses your cheek.

He prods your lips open with two of his fingers, allowing you to suck them in. You lave your tongue around them, coating them with your spit enough for Callum to be satisfied, “Good girl,” he coos.

He then gently circles your clit with his two slicked fingers, and your hips buck involuntarily. He uses his other arm to press you firmly against him. Callum continues to play with the bundle of nerves before letting a finger test your entrance to gauge how wet you’ve become. He’s able to slip a finger inside without struggle, curling it against the familiar spot that makes you groan. As he adds another finger, you grip Callum’s arm as his fingertips massage your g spot. 

“Callum, please,” you whine.

“Please, what?” Callum feels himself getting painfully harder against your back at the sounds you’re making, “Gotta use your words.”

“Show me how much you love me,” you beg, “Fuck me already.”

“Impatient, are we?” Callum smirks before removing his fingers from you and putting them in his mouth this time, relishing the wetness of your cunt, “God, the way you taste,” he moans.

Callum moves you over and off his lap so he can remove his pants and underwear before hovering over you. He braces himself on his arms on either side of your head, bringing his face to yours, “Are you sure you want this?” he asks again.

“Yes,” you say, grabbing his face and looking him in the eye, “I want this.”

“Not that your begging wasn’t enough; I just needed to hear you say it,” he jokes, lining himself up to your entrance.

You playfully smack his chest before digging your nails into it as he pushes inside you slowly. You wrap an arm around his neck, tangling your fingers into his hair. Callum fully seats himself inside you, his forehead pressed to yours. You wrap a leg around his waist, pulling him closer to you. Callum focuses on breathing properly, as your clenching around him makes it hard not to pound you into the mattress. You wiggle your hips a little, letting him know he could move. Callum holds your hips up, moving your legs over his shoulders to get a better angle. He pulls out just enough to thrust back in, gaining a steady rhythm. The noises you let out just urge Callum to go faster and harder as he kisses along your thighs.

“I love you,” Callum says, biting down on your thigh and causing you to yelp, which makes him grin.

“I love you too,” you say breathlessly, your hands gripping his biceps for leverage.

“Do you believe me when I say it now?” Callum bites his lip, feeling your walls clenching harder around him.

You’re close, and he can feel it. He reaches between your bodies and presses a thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles against it.

“Yes,” you say, almost illegible, “Fuck, I believe you, Cal.”

“Good,” he pants, sweat beading on his forehead.

Your fingernails dig into his muscles as you feel yourself about to let go, your stomach tightening into a knot. Callum feels his orgasm creeping up as he snaps his hips faster against your ass, his grip on your thighs almost bruising. Your orgasm hits suddenly, like a tsunami of pleasure taking over your senses. Your body shakes as Callum’s own climax surges through him, your convulsing cunt milking his cock. You’re both gasping for air as Callum lets your back fall against the bed as he pulls out, collapsing next to you. 

“That was…”

“Amazing?” Callum turns his head to look at you, 

“Yeah,” you’re quick to pull the duvet over you as your sweat cools on your skin, “Better than any time before, honestly.”

“Agreed,” Callum puts an arm behind his head to rest on, “I’m still sorry for not telling you how I felt. I didn’t really know what it was at the time.”

“It’s okay now, Cal,” you roll over on your side, putting a hand on his chest, “You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Callum kisses the top of your head, “Okay. I won’t.”

The next day, when the script is read over again, tensions are definitely not as high. You don’t struggle as much with your lines, and being around Callum is easier. You’re glad it all worked out; maybe this time, it’ll last without confusion.

[livelaughpeg]

I'm writing this from a throwaway account, because you know...Scientology.

I want to preface this post by saying I am not one of those "I knew it all along!" people. I can't stand that attitude. I was pretty ambivelant towards Neil Gaiman. Prior to the allegations, I didn't hate him but I wasn't that interested in him as a person either. I don't think you can always tell when someone is a bad or good person simply by the topics they write about. If that was the case we'd be arresting every horror writer on earth.

But one thing that did always rub me up the wrong way was the way he talked about getting work.

I borrowed and read "Make Good Art" (a small book based on a speech he gave to graduates at the University of the Arts) at a time in my life that I was really struggling to get by (I still am to some extent, but in a different way). I expected to see some practical advice. Instead it was a bunch of glib shit like:

I got out into the world, I wrote, and I became a better writer the more I wrote, and I wrote some more, and nobody ever seemed to mind that I was making it up as I went along, they just read what I wrote and they paid for it, or they didn’t, and often they commissioned me to write something else for them. Looking back, I’ve had a remarkable ride. I’m not sure I can call it a career, because a career implies that I had some kind of career plan, and I never did. The nearest thing I had was a list I made when I was 15 of everything I wanted to do: to write an adult novel, a children’s book, a comic, a movie, record an audiobook, write an episode of Doctor Who… and so on. I didn’t have a career. I just did the next thing on the list.

Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do. Make good art. I’m serious. Husband runs off with a politician? Make good art. Leg crushed and then eaten by mutated boa constrictor? Make good art. IRS on your trail? Make good art. Cat exploded? Make good art. Somebody on the Internet thinks what you do is stupid or evil or it’s all been done before? Make good art. Probably things will work out somehow, and eventually time will take the sting away, but that doesn’t matter. Do what only you do best. Make good art.

Yeah, well, no shit. If you're a writer or artist you probably do anyway. Whether you get paid for it or not, whether you draw fan art or original art. But the point of Gaiman's speech was to give advice to people who wanted to be paid for their art. To make a career of it. Making art every day isn't always enough. You have to pay the damn rent, you have to eat, you have to network and do social media and promote yourself, and you have to do it while thousands of other people are doing the same thing in a massive crowd of people who want the same thing. Practical advice is much more valuable than platitudes and theory.

I am not a writer, I'm an illustrator, and let me tell you that for most people, 'getting your foot in the door' isn't a one time thing. Quite often you have to work at getting your foot in the door again and again until you become established, and it's very easy to be forgotten. I still feel like I'm in that stage now.

I watched my peers, and my friends, and the ones who were older than me and watch how miserable some of them were: I’d listen to them telling me that they couldn’t envisage a world where they did what they had always wanted to do any more, because now they had to earn a certain amount every month just to keep where they were. They couldn’t go and do the things that mattered, and that they had really wanted to do; and that seemed as a big a tragedy as any problem of failure.

The implication was that he was successful because he wrote every day and his friends weren't because they didn't, because you know, working a second job is tiring. He called this a tragedy, but there was something very glib about the way he narrated this.

I think someone had more financial cushion that he was letting on.

And yes, sometimes it does work that way, (some people are very lucky and make all the right connections) but Gaiman was getting Big Jobs right off the bat and something about that never smelt right to me after the way he talked about it.

And then I saw Jeff's tweets. Oh, that's why...

I suspect the truth is he was living off his family's money and connections, and while I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with that if you're a struggling artist, his family are Scientologists, and I don't think he ever struggled.

I suspect it's all a lie.

[love-quinn]

— GOOGLE REVIEWS

summary — carmen's never been good with his words, so when he finds you crying in the walk-in, he gets some help to convince you that you're capable of doing your job.

warnings — swearing, general customer-service nightmare stuff. reader is younger than carmen but i pictured/wrote her as being mid-late twenties (25-28 ish) and i think carmy is early 30s so there's an age gap but they're both fully adults, also boss/employee relationship so power imbalance but also nothing happens between them

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!waitress reader, not established relationship

pronouns — she/her

word count — 1.9k

note — first carmen fic so obligatory warning that he might be OOC, i rlly work on dialogue and shit but i am finding my footing. waitress!reader is kinda special to me i might write some more about them cause they're both so silly if that's something people would be interested in? anyway i hope you enjoy :3

“Stupid… fucking useless- fuck!”

The rush is familiar. The lunch rush, the dinner rush, the fifteen different orders jumbling in your head as you struggle to write it all down in time. Holding nine full glasses of nine different drinks in one hand and struggling to push open the door to run the food out into the dining room. Having to go to Richie and tell him that someone’s card declined so you didn’t have to be the one to tell them. Going into the walk-in and just opening your mouth in a silent scream just to go back out there and finish your shift. 

The rush of cold air on the back of your neck is familiar too. You don’t know what Carmen’s yelling about in the kitchen. You’d just stepped in there to grab food and had caught the tail end of his rant and you’d left with your tray and a million possibilities running through your head.

You’d written something down wrong and now a dish needed to be remade. 

You’d left one of the fridges open and spoiled days worth of food.

You’d given someone something they were allergic to and now you were being sued.

You move through the restaurant on autopilot, avoiding people and chairs and one of Richie’s spitballs sent from behind the counter. You’re so sure that the next time you went back in that kitchen Carmy would be pulling you aside and telling you that you’re fired. 

You deliver the food to the table with a smile and stand back upright to check in with them about that being everything. One of the women sits up a little straighter, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, I ordered a side of the lemon herb dressing?”

You look down at her dressing-less plate. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll be right back with that one, so sorry.”

She waves you off. “You take as long as you need to, honey.”

You practically speed back to the kitchen. Oh, god. You hoped you’d at least get that poor woman her dressing before Carmy fired you. You can’t believe that you managed to screw this up. You’d been lucky to get this job. Carmen had brought you on right when he’d opened up the restaurant and the rest of The Bear had all been super welcoming.

You got on best with Sydney, the two of you were similar in age and she was one of the kindest people you knew. You and Richie also had a nice relationship, you thought he hated you when you first got hired and then he walked out into the alley to have a cigarette, found you crying and punched a guy in the face for you. 

You needed this job. You’d graduated a few years ago and were still struggling to break through in your field, and this job paid the bills and didn’t make you cry every single day. Some days, sure, but not every day. 

You knew you weren’t the best waitress ever, you screwed up and made customers yell at you pretty frequently. You were lucky that Richie liked you enough to stand up for your honor even when you were probably wrong. But you tried your absolute best, you came into work every day and genuinely wanted to help. You respected all of the chefs so much, they all worked so hard, and you wanted to make their lives as easy as possible. 

You go over to Richie and murmur something to him about the dressing, and he takes it to the kitchen. First whatever you’d done to upset Carmy, now this. If he didn’t think you knew how to do your job before, he definitely will now. You glanced over your section. All your tables were eating or had ordered, you’d normally be checking with Sugar when the next reservation was due and triple-checking the table was clean and everything was prepared. 

If you were going to get a walk-in minute in, now would be the best time. Maybe you could do it before Carmy fired you. 

You brush past Tina, not even hearing her concerned call for you. The walk-in was empty and everyone in the kitchen understood. When someone goes into the walk-in with tears in their eyes you leave them alone for as long as you can. 

You can’t believe that you were stupid enough to screw this up. 

The door slams open and you wipe your eyes, expecting it to be Tina needing to actually do her job or Marcus wanting to check on you. It’s Carmen.

“What happened?” He hadn’t been expecting to see you so upset. He’d heard the door slam and wanted to leave it alone, but then Richie had raised his eyebrows, stopping mid-sentence.

“God, I can’t wait to hear about whatever asshole yelled at her this time,” he’d shaken his head, trying to go back to what he’d been talking to Carmy about before. One of the shelves had been knocked and two containers of flour had been completely emptied out onto the floor. They had lids on, lids with clamps on them that were meant to stop that from happening but lo and behold Fak was now mopping up something that was beginning to resemble bread dough with how much water he was trying to use. . 

“Who?” Carmy’s eyes had still been glued to the walk-in. Richie had said your name and Carmen had practically excused himself in the same breath. This time? Did you get yelled at by customers a lot?

You wipe your face, shaking your head. “Sorry, Carm. I guess I just needed a second, I’ll get back out there.”

You take a step forward and he, without meaning to, moves to block the door. You feel your heart rate climb. This was it, he was going to scream at you in the walk-in. “You’re crying.”

You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t want this to happen, you didn’t want to be crying in front of your boss. Especially not Carmen. He’s a lot, you know that. You’re not in the kitchen a whole lot, but when you are he’s usually not super happy. He’s a yeller, half of Chicago knows that. But he’s always kind to you, he gave you a job when you were fresh out of college in an unrelated field with no experience because he could tell how much you needed one. You often felt out of place slightly, through no fault of the other staff. They spent all shift in the kitchen together and you spent your entire shift out there in the dining room. You know they’re not having sleepovers and braiding each others’ hair in there, but your work mostly took place in a different room.

But Carmen always makes sure you get Family, that you get your break even if it’s scheduled while it’s busy and that Richie isn’t skimming your tips (he’d never, but Carmen’s caught him with his hands in the jar so often that he isn’t sure anymore). 

It really doesn’t help that he looks like that.

You’re shaking, and he worries for a second that it’s because you’re standing in the freezer, but there are tears welling in your eyes and he doesn’t want to drag you out to his office when you’re so visibly upset. “I’m sorry,” you’re shaking your head. “Please don’t fire me.”

Carmen frowns. “Why would I fire you?”

The words seem to tumblr from your mouth without your permission. “I know I’m not the best waitress, I’m sure you get lots of complaints about me and I forgot that woman’s dressing and I know nothing about kitchens but I’m trying, Carm. I promise, and I’ll do better.” You’re talking so fast that he can barely keep up. He’s still caught up on the first part. 

“Wait, wait,” he holds a hand up to stop you. “Who told you you’re not a good waitress?”

You sniff, tears fully rolling down your cheeks. Carmen knows he’s rough. He’s prone to explosions. Carmen is a hurricane, he wreaks havoc on whatever environment he’s in. He sucks in everyone else’s bullshit, swirls it around and then spits it back out, leaving whatever is left in worse condition than he found it. 

You were calm. You calmed everyone. If an asshole yelled at Carmen, or Sydney or Ebra, Richie wouldn’t even dream of going out there and yelling at the customer. Marcus made you a cake on your birthday and Sydney tries all of her newest recipes on you. 

The eye of the hurricane. 

You’re prattling at this point. “-And that time that I made that guy wait fifteen minutes for a straw, and-”

“Honey,” he doesn’t mean to, that slips out without him meaning. “You’re a great waitress, who gives a shit that guy had to wait for his fucking straw? Who cares, you’re…” he can’t think of a way to talk to you. Great feels too impersonal, wonderful feels too intimate. It’s what you are, though. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re… everyone loves you. We’re lucky to- I’m sure you could get a job at any other restaurant if you wanted. You’re not a bad waitress.”

That’s apparently the wrong thing for him to say. It only makes you cry harder. “Please don’t fire me,” you look pathetic. Crying to your boss while he fires you in the middle of the freezer. 

Carmen doesn’t let that slide for a second longer than he has to. “Why the fuck would I fire you?”

You don’t need to answer. Because I’m a bad waitress. It hangs in the air like the frosty vapor that flies from his mouth every time he takes a breath. 

“I swear to fuck, you’re a big part of the reason people come in here,” he’s not lying. He knows his name carries weight, he knows people hear “Carmen Berzatto’s restaurant” and that brings them in the door a lot of the time. He pulls out his phone, reception is shit but he’s able to google the name of the restaurant. 

He doesn’t have to scroll far down the Google reviews before he finds it. “Food was great, waitress was lovely, made us feel so welcome.” He finds another one. “Waitstaff was on top of it. Two people at surrounding tables smashed glasses and from what I saw one waitress cleaned them both up and still managed to get our appetizers out on time.” 

He goes to find another one but stops, looking back up at you. “You’re not firing me?” You take a step back, dropping your entire body so you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor. He watches you, gauging your reaction, before mirroring you. Your knees are almost touching his. 

“I’d have to be a fucking moron.”

The silence is deafening. 

“Hey,” Carmen can’t bite back the shocked laugh. “That’s… alright. Fine.”

Hearing you laugh makes relief bubbled up inside of him. 

“I should go back out there,” you nod towards the door.

Carmy shakes his head, knee nudging against yours. “Richie’s got it, Marcus can walk desserts, Syd’s on top of everything. No one’s gonna hold it against you if you stay here for a bit.”

He stands, hand brushing your shoulder as he moves towards the door. “Have you eaten today?”

You shake your head and he nods. “I’m gonna make you some pasta, okay? Richie can take over for a bit, you take your time in here I’ll be right outside, honey.” He shuts the door and your shoulder burns where he touched it. 

[shitapril]

very often see posts about how the one direction fans grew up to be formula one fans, and the more I think of it, the more it makes sense. putting aside the fact that almost all my f1 friends were 1d fans (were ? are lol), it makes sense that a fandom who's fuel was hyperfixating on boys living out their dreams shifted from one form of it to another.

tha being said, it got me thinking - how do the girlies translate to f1 ? and by girlies i mean what your kpop fan would call a "bias". for example, if i was a niall girl - who's my favourite now ?

so here's a silly little non-sensical analysis and comparison that should not be taken seriously at all :

firstly, the zayn malik girlies are definitely lewis hamilton girlies. both zayn and lewis come from humble backgrounds, were subject to vile, inhumane racial discrimination and hate - all while being arguably the most talented in their respective fields (I mean, you've heard zayn's high note in you & I, and seen lewis' 7 world championships). they're hardworking, pet-loving, very fashionable men who stay out of unnecessary spotlight for the most part, and step out once in a while to remind the world they're drop-dead gorgeous. the zayn girls are safe with lewis.

next comes liam payne - and here on you'll have to hear me out with my comparison of every racer and bandmate. liam and george russell are both aggressively british, unapologetically goofy and true to themselves (and i'm talking about liam in 1d not the one on logan paul's podcast). they're both very talented, highly regarded in their boss' eyes (toto wolff and simon cowell - this post is going to be interesting wow) and still somehow not an immediate fan favourite. this comparison also goes wonderfully well with the whole ziam and britcedes parallels.

thirdly, louis tomlinson. easy peasy. max verstappen. both incredibly blunt, dry humour, pr nightmares, do not give two single hecks. people either love them, or hate them - no in between. both incredibly talented individuals (louis wrote majority of 1d's discography, max has 3 world championships under his belt) and yet are discredited ("louis is only famous cuz of his bandmates and the band itself" and "max just had a good car"). the zayn and louis fued also parallels abu dhabi 2021 quite well aye ? (i'm going insane)

harry styles, no debate. charles leclerc - regarded as the pretty boys (the prettiest, their fans would insist i'm sure) and the most popular, the well-liked. both extremely talented without a doubt, but a little bit overrated, and victimised to glorify and support fan narratives. i know i sound like a hater - forgive me, not my intention. i like them both as individuals - their fans on the other hand (and no, not all, i know) are so blind-sided, so insane and cause so much unpleasantness on the internet. almost ironic, how the most amicable ones have the least liked fans lol. that aside though, if you were a harry girl, chances are you went from one fan-favourite to the other. i also just realised - this supports the larry and lestappen narratives - am i genuinely, honestly onto something here ? (i absolutely am not)

lastly, niall horan. now this one i'm sure will divide you all, but here you go anyway. lando norris. both babied immensely by their fans and bandmates/teammates alike - churchboy persona. the moment they shed the insecurity, suddenly bam everyone hates them (niall's mofo t-shirts, lando's frat boy tendencies, and saying things that the internet will not find funny), promising at a young age, yet somehow grew up to be called overrated. their fans are stubbornly loyal to them, defending them through all their rights, and wrongs. it makes sense to me. one smiley boy to another.

this probably makes no sense - but feel free to add your own comparisons, theories, and notes ! there's 5 of them and 20 on the grid, obviosuly disparity for me to go on and on and on about (for example, I see a little zayn girls to carlos girls pipeline, louis to fernando - oldest boy syndrome and all that) so let me know ! let's yap :)