#I fucking go around like this in conversation

[flowersforbucky]

i got it bad

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4.9k

summary/prompt: logan can't help that he has super hearing and overhears you - wade's seemingly sweet, shy neighbor - telling vanessa what you fantasize about doing to him. believing that you won't ever act on it, he takes matters into his own hands.

or - getting yourself off on logan's abs

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, reader is afab, no use of y/n, logan's pov, porn with a little plot, male masturbation, teasing, nipple/breast play, some tit slaps, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, cream pie

Ever since Logan first met you, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his fucking head.

Which is really unfortunate for him, considering you seem indifferent to his existence.

Wade says that you're just an introvert, and that it takes you a while to get comfortable around new people, but after living across the hallway from you for the last few months, Logan is sure that you have no interest in him outside of simple, polite conversation whenever the two of you run into each other.

He first notices you from across the room when you enter Wade and Althea's apartment – his apartment now, too, he supposes. The small space is crowded, but you're impossible for him to overlook. He instantly recognizes you from the polaroid picture that Wade had showed him in the Void.

You’re greeted by Vanessa, who kisses you on the cheek and shoves a drink in your hand before dragging you over to where Logan is listening to Wade and Althea bicker about – what were they bickering about again? All he can focus on is the way your dress hugs your curves and the lipstick imprint that you’ve left on the champagne flute in your hand.

He needs to get out more. Go to a bar, get a job, maybe even try out one of those dating apps that Vanessa has suggested to him – something to get him out of this fucking apartment that he's stayed holed up in since arriving in this universe, because he should not be this flustered by a complete stranger.

“Earth to Peanut,” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face. He barely processed anything Vanessa had said while she introduced you. Blah blah, neighbor, something something, lives down the hallway. “Jesus, did you get into the white powder under the floorboard? Your pupils are as big as saucers right now.”

“Oh, go easy on him, Wade,” Althea scolds. “It’s natural for pupils to dilate when looking at a pretty girl.”

The expression on your face matches how Logan feels – surprised, embarrassed, slightly mortified.

“You don't even know what she looks like. She could look like me for all you know,” Wade snorts.

“She brings me homemade cookies and she always smells good,” Al retorts. “I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's pretty.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan finally speaks up with a forced smile. Leave it to his two roommates to make a simple introduction as awkward as possible. “And no, I am not high on cocaine,” he adds with a pointed glare at Wade.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” you return the sentiment with a chortle and shy smile. “And don’t worry, I never pay attention to anything Wade says.”

Yukio and her girlfriend with the long ass name that Logan has yet to memorize then walk up and gain your attention, leaving Logan wishing he could redo the entire interaction.

He spends the rest of the night hoping for an opportunity to talk to you again, and feeling disappointed when that doesn’t happen.

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time.

You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

As soon as the conversation starts to venture into more personal territory, you seem to shut down. You’ll make some excuse about having somewhere to be, wish him a good day, and then you’re gone.

He can’t help himself. He sees how carefree and talkative you can be with Vanessa and hell, even Wade – and he wants that. At least then he may feel a little less crazy for spending so much of his free time racking his brain for ways to get closer to you.

Maybe it’s because it has been so long since he’s had a crush on anyone, but sometimes he thinks he might be losing his mind with how often he thinks of you – your smile, your eyes, your scent, your voice, and the way that having a five minute conversation with you always leaves him feeling for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he’s walking to his apartment one evening, and hears his name come from inside your apartment, he stops dead in his fucking tracks.

God, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He knows he should keep walking, go into his apartment and close the door.

But it’s not like he has his ear pressed up against your door. It’s not his fault that he has super hearing and that the apartment building has paper thin walls.

His brain is yelling at his feet to move but they stay planted firm right where they are.

“He thinks you don’t like him, you know,” Vanessa says. Logan doesn’t need to be able to see to know that there’s a smirk on her face.

He’s tempted to cause some kind of commotion in the hallway and then dash into his apartment, just to stop Vanessa from saying whatever the hell she’s about to say.

“Logan?” You sound appalled. “Of course I like him.”

“I know that you like him,” Vanessa chuckles. “But I can see why he would think otherwise. You act like you can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice shoots up several octaves higher than normal.

Logan sends a silent prayer to whoever the fuck is listening that no one walks down this hallway in the next few minutes and sees him standing still as a statue next to your apartment door.

“It’s not that I simply can’t stand to be in the same room as him,” you continue, lowering your voice back down to its normal volume. “It’s that being in the same room as him makes me want to jump his adamantium bones.”

For a second, he really believes that his two hundred year old heart might stop beating.

“I’m fucking pathetic around him,” you huff. “Last week, I saw him pull his t-shirt off in the laundry room to put a clean one on, and ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about grinding my pussy against his abs. Something is seriously wrong with me, Nes.”

But Logan doesn’t hear Vanessa’s response, because he speed walks away while she’s still cackling. By some miracle, Wade isn’t home, so Logan darts past Althea and locks himself in the bathroom.

What the fuck, Jesus Christ, and holy shit all play on a loop in his mind while he tries to ignore the bulge that has quickly formed in his jeans.

The last words he expected to hear anyone say today were jump his adamantium bones and grinding my pussy against his abs – but the fact that he heard those words come from your mouth in your sweet voice has his cock throbbing so hard that he can't think of anything other than you doing exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about.

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits –

He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now.

Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.

When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

••••••

Logan hasn’t seen you in three days. Three days might not seem like a long time to go without seeing your neighbor, but it feels like a long fucking time for him. In fact, it’s the longest he’s gone without casually running into you since he first met you months ago.

There’s a reason for this, though – he hasn’t checked his mail in days, hasn’t taken any of his laundry down to the basement in days, and has generally tried to avoid leaving his apartment as much as he can out of fear that he’ll see you. He even went as far as to pretend to be napping when you came by with some fresh baked brownies for Althea yesterday.

He wants to see you, of course. Goddamn, does he want to see you. But after overhearing your conversation with Vanessa earlier this week, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look you in the eye and pretend like he hasn't been making himself cum to the thought of you on top of him every time he takes a shower.

But after three days, he finds himself missing you too much to keep up his attempt at distancing himself from you.

What if he’s being ridiculous, staying cooped in this apartment to avoid you? What if you’re just down the hallway, thinking about him at the same time he’s thinking of you?

He's tidying up the kitchen when he sees the pink Tupperware container that you’d brought the brownies in yesterday sitting in the sink. The brownies were long gone – they’d all been eaten by him, Wade and Al within the same hour that you brought them over.

Taking the Tupperware back to you would be the nice, neighborly thing to do, right?

With Al already retired to her bedroom for the evening, and Wade out with Vanessa, he takes it upon himself to wash and dry the container.

It’s a Friday night, so he knows there’s a chance that you’ve got plans and might not even be home, but he still takes a few minutes to fix his hair and swipe some deodorant on before walking down the hallway towards your apartment.

As he approaches your door, he realizes that you are home. There’s light spilling from the crack at the bottom of the doorframe and he can hear low music playing inside. A mix of anxiety and anticipation sets in, but he clears his throat and knocks on your door before he can chicken out.

He hears your footsteps approaching and attempts to wipe any sign of nervousness from his face – he’s just returning your Tupperware, for Christ's sake.

“Logan,” you breathe as you open the door. “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you greet him. He can’t help but relax at the smile that grows on your face when you realize it’s him. “What are you up to this evening?”

You lean against your doorframe, and Logan has to force himself to maintain eye contact. You’re wearing a matching pajama set – a cute pair of velvet shorts and tank top that shows more of your skin than he’s ever seen before.

“I – uh,” he stammers, holding out the Tupperware container to you. “I just thought I’d bring this back to you. They were great, by the way.”

Your smile spreads to your eyes at his compliment.

“Oh, thanks,” you beam. “I’m glad you got to have one. Wade told me that you were asleep when I came by yesterday so I figured he’d have them eaten by the time you woke up.”

“I’m sure he would have, but Al made him save one for me,” he laughs.

He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but the fact that you look fresh out of the shower definitely isn’t fucking helping. Bare faced with the scent of your body wash and lotion on your skin, his thoughts begin to stray into dangerous territory fast.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your night, though. I’ll let you get back to—”

“You’re not,” you say quickly as he begins to step backwards. “You're not interrupting. Are you doing anything tonight? I just ordered a pizza and there’s plenty. I was gonna watch a movie, if you want…” You trail off, glancing back and forth between him and your apartment behind you.

He can't help but notice that your voice sounds hopeful.

The invitation excites him more than he cares to admit. Sure, the two of you have hung out plenty of times, but it's always been in a group setting – at one of Wade’s get togethers or movie nights, surrounded by other friends.

But never just the two of you – definitely never in your apartment.

He could never think of saying no to you. Especially not when this is what he's been hoping for since he first me you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that.”

You hold the door open for him, letting him enter your apartment. Right away, he notices how different it is from the one that he lives in. Then again, there’s three people cramped into Althea’s – you're the only person who lives here, so you're able to make it entirely your own.

It’s cute, and cozy, he thinks. From your furniture adorned with throw pillows and blankets, to all of your shelves stocked with books, knick-knacks and candles, to the various plants occupying space throughout the living room, it feels endearing and welcoming right away.

“So, where’s Wade at tonight?” you ask as he ventures into the living room. He notes a large cardboard box with an untouched pizza in it on your coffee table. His stomach growls at the sight, and it hits him that he actually is fucking starving.

“He’s out with Vanessa. Fourth time this week,” he answers, turning to find you retrieving two plates from a cabinet in your kitchen. You're angled away from him, and when you raise your arms to grab the plates, your tank top lifts enough to give him a clear view of your midriff. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to find something on your bookshelf particularly interesting.

“I’m just really glad that they’ve worked through things and seem to be happy now,” you sigh. “He wasn’t in a good place after their breakup. Barely ever left his apartment for the longest time.”

“They’ve got something special, that’s for sure,” Logan agrees.

You hand him a plate, walking past him to your couch. You toss some of the decorative throw pillows to your recliner, making room for him on the sofa. You pat the empty space beside you, an invitation for him to make himself at home.

“Who knows, maybe they'll even get their own place soon and I won’t have to share the living room with him anymore,” he says as he sits down beside you.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

“Sounds like you just want Blind Al and Mary Puppins all to yourself,” you tease. You hand him a piece of pizza and close the box before propping your feet up on the table. You lean back, looking at him with a smirk and raised brows.

“If he moves, that dog is going with him and you know it. There’s no way he’d leave her behind,” he shakes his head.

“There’s no way Althea would let him take her. She's grown to be as attached to her as Wade is. I think even you like her more than you care to admit.”

“What can I say? She has a way of weaseling herself into your heart,” Logan sighs.

“Oh, it’s definitely the tongue,” you shrug through a bite of pizza.

Logan grimaces as a vivid image of Mary Puppins French kissing Wade awake flashes through his mind, but he can't help but laugh.

You turn on some action-comedy that Logan has never heard of, and the two of you eat and take turns making comments about whatever is happening on the screen for the first half of the movie.

He tries to stay focused on the film, he really does, but every now and then you readjust your position on the couch, causing him to catch a whiff of your perfume or your thigh will brush against his and he'll have to force his attention back to the characters on the screen.

No matter how distracting he may find your mere presence beside him, he's enjoying himself. This is by far the longest the two of you have hung out together, without the additions of his roommates and other friends. He dreads the moment that the movie ends and he’s obligated to tell you goodnight before reluctantly going back to his own apartment.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator.

It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

When you sit back down beside him, the sweet smell washes over him again and he bites the inside of his lip so hard that he tastes blood. The wound disappears as quickly as it’s formed, but the same can’t be said for the erection that begins to strain against the confines of his boxers.

He eyes the pile of small, decorative pillows that you had tossed to the side and wishes that he could grab one to place over his lap.

The words that you’d said to Vanessa a few days ago begin replaying in his mind for the thousandth time since he’d first heard you say them, reminding him this isn’t one-sided. He may be sitting here attempting to conceal a raging hard-on by shifting his position and subtly adjusting his pants, but Logan’s heightened sense of smell tells him that your underwear are probably starting to feel as uncomfortable as his do at the moment.

Without turning his head, he risks a glance at you. Your eyes are on the movie, and your face is neutral, but your posture gives you away. Your arms are crossed over your chest, the tips of your fingernails digging tiny crescent shaped indentations into the flesh of your upper arm. You have one of your thighs crossed over the other, locked together tightly but that doesn’t stop him from being able to smell how fucking wet you are.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid.

“But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You turn to him, your eyebrows quirked but your face otherwise impassive.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you’d like to hear me say?” you ask innocently. You give him doe eyes that make his cock finish filling with blood.

He huffs a laugh, picking up on the way that your heartrate accelerates when you look at him.

“I'd like to hear you say what you said to Vanessa a few days ago,” he hums. “I can’t remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with you rubbing your sweet little cunt on my abs. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “That doesn’t really sound like something I'd say.”

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

“You’re right. It doesn't sound like something you’d say,” he snorts, and leans in so that your face is just a few inches from his. “So imagine my surprise when I walked by your apartment to hear you talking about jumping my adamantium bones.”

He doesn't miss the way your breath catches in your throat or how your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You gonna do it? Or you just gonna keep thinking about it while you're sitting beside me?”

For a second, you say nothing and Logan struggles to read your expression. Then, without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly stand in front of the couch. You reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Logan's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, he's all out of smart remarks.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pushing them down your thighs along with your panties, and let them both drop to your feet all while holding his gaze.

With you now stark naked before him, he leans forward, grasping you by the backs of your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

He tugs his own shirt over his head while you undo his belt buckle and pop open the top button of his jeans, your hands fumbling when he sheds his shirt.

Logan doesn’t typically think too much about his physical appearance. He knows he’s in good shape, and thinks he’s conventionally attractive enough. But he could see himself getting a bit of an ego, if he had someone looking at him the way you are right now on a regular basis.

You help him shimmy his jeans and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. You take him in your hand, using your thumb to smear the thick bead of pre-cum across the head.

“You should be careful listening to people’s conversations outside of their doors,” you hum as you pump him in one hand. You hunch over, lowering your mouth enough to spit down his shaft, lubricating the length. You smirk, glancing up at him from beneath your thick eyelashes. “Other people might not react as happily as me.”

Fuck, he knows it’s been a long time since he's even felt anyone’s hands on him, but he feels a little pathetic at the way his balls are already tightening and feeling so heavy just from the way you’re languidly stroking him.

And as much as he’d love for you to keep your hands on him, there’s time for him later. Right now, what he wants more than anything is the feeling of your pussy on him.

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

His words seem to erase any remaining reservation that you may have had. You brace your hands on his chest and begin dragging your center across his lower stomach, your slick coating the thick trail of hair that goes from his belly button to his waistline. With every backstroke, the head of his cock juts against your ass.

You glide across him easily. Soft, wet, and warm, Logan thinks that if you feel this good on his fucking stomach then there’s no way he’ll be able to handle being inside you.

He leans his head forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. You hold his head in your hands, tugging on his hair with your fingers as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth.

He pulls his mouth away from your breast with a wet pop. “You like this? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod frantically, your answer coming out as a moan. He gives a quick, firm slap to your other breast. Judging by the sound it draws from you, you like it, so he does it again.

He'd pictured this exact scenario a shameful number of times in the last few days, but his thoughts hadn’t done you justice. Every little noise you make, every little whimper and moan as your clit brushes against the thick bulges of his muscles again and again, sounds sweeter than he could've dreamed.

He places his hands on the meat of your hips, guiding you forwards and backwards across his abdomen at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching your thighs around him as tight as you can. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“That’s right,” he coos. “Come on, cum on me.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, drenching the hair on his stomach as you ride out your orgasm on him with a cry of his name.

You collapse against his chest, going still with your face in the crook of his neck as you steady your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers after a moment. It hits him that despite the fact that you just humped him until you came all over his abdomen, he somehow hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You pull away from his neck, looking down at him with a dazed expression. He brings your face to his mouth by the back of your neck. He wastes no more time, instantly slipping his tongue past your lips.

He holds you by the globes of your ass, which hovers just above his erection. You grind down, causing the tip of his cock to nudge against your entrance. He groans into your mouth, his cock past the point of feeling like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t fucking feel you.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—”

“No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”

He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole.

“Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto him at the same moment that he tilts his hips up enough to slip inside you, causing the entirety of his length to fill you at once.

You both go still, adjusting to the new sensation of each other. Your walls, velvet soft and so warm, constrict around him like a vice. He knows you’re likely tired from riding him through your first orgasm, so he begins thrusting his hips slowly, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“You’re big. So, so big,” you moan – something between a whine and a praise.

“I know, but you’re doing so good, honey,” he encourages as he eases himself in and out of you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You latch your lips to his again, and it’s hard for him to hold back. The feeling of your tight, perfect cunt around him and the taste of your tongue in his mouth is overwhelming. He wants to memorize every movement, every sound you make.

You snake your hand between your bodies, your fingertips finding your swollen clit and massaging languid circles. He feels you flutter around him as you start meeting his thrusts with movements of your own, and he knows you’re close.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey,” he grunts with a sharp thrust. “Feel too fucking good.”

“Cum with me,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your command causes something in him to snap. He releases a throaty growl, pistoning his hips upwards at a harsh pace as he fills you up from below. You constrict around him, crying his name into his ear as you ride out your climaxes together.

You collapse against his chest once more, his cock still nestled inside you. He loses track of how long the two of you stay like that, neither of you wanting to be the first to move.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath.

You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss.

“I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

thank you so much for reading <3 comments and reblogs are super appreciated. here are a few more of my favorite logan pieces that i've written ✨️

for always and ever is always for you - old man logan x healer reader

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

lavender and velvet - worst variant logan x neighbor reader

[jinxvex]

heyy! if u take requests i was wondering if you would make an enemy sevika x reader, where they treat each other like shit until sevika has enough and fucks the shit out of reader 💪😊

♱ enemy. (enemy!sevika x reader) ♱

enemies to lovers is lowkey my fave trope so, let’s go!!

also sorry i haven’t posted! finals week… 🫠😓

cw: nsfw, kink city LOL!! sevika is v rough, possessiveness, BDSM elements, BREEDING KINK (oops), name-calling (slut, whore, bitch, etc), cursing, arguing, a tiny bit angsty, spanking, choking, hair-pulling, doggy position, she eats you out!! it's sweet towards the end dw!

there's def more but OOP-

wc: 4.2K! (oops)

sevika hates you.

1. she hates the way your hips sway when you walk.

she’s definitely ALWAYS looking at your ass.

2. she hates how you talk and how you giggle under your breath when you laugh at something you shouldn’t. your voice sounds like music, like wind chimes in the spring that cause her vision to blur.

3. she hates the way your skin glows in the sunlight.

4. she hates how you dress and style your hair. you stand out. you personally customize your clothing, adding your own detailing on platform boots, jeans, jewelry, belts, accessories, tops, and jackets. your uniqueness annoys her beyond belief.

“what a fuckin’ show-off! this isn’t a fashion show,” she mutters under her breath to get a rise out of you.

5. she hates the way you talk back to her, even when she starts an argument first.

“well maybe you could learn something, you wear the same shit like… every day,” you respond briskly, already sick of her berating you as you’ve just walked through the doors of silco’s office.

she’s older than you, you should show some respect! you act so high and mighty like nobody can crack that tough persona you put on to protect yourself from the dark and dangerous streets of zaun.

she scoffs. her thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of her nose to alleviate the stress you’ve subjected her to. she cannot believe this.

“see? this… child is so incompetent! fuckin’ impossible to work with! she’s probably late to this meeting because she’s too busy playing dress up to actually do her job.” she directs towards you although not looking at you, opting to look at the tall chair covering silco’s body as she sits in the chair across from his.

silco sighs, clearly annoyed at both of your antics. he swivels around in his chair to face you both.

“actually, she was doing something i assigned her to. last minute, but she always gets the job done.”

sevika’s eyes flicker to you, and you smirk at her assumption that you were accidentally late.

she scoffs again and drags her grey-ish eyes back to silco as she leans to the left, almost trying to get away from you standing at her right with your arms crossed.

“you see… you two are my best. i cannot afford to have you both acting like children when doing business. it could threaten everything i’ve—we’ve built. one wrong move could tarnish this.”

you and sevika stay quiet as you avoid eye contact with each other, you taking a newfound interest in the bookshelf as sevika’s eyes burn holes into the ground. you knew deep down that silco was right.

“it's time you’ve both gotten along, for all of our sakes. don’t disappoint me again.”

…

you haven’t seen sevika since silco’s ‘lecture’ he gave you two a couple of days ago.

it's evening in zaun, streets and bars filling with people as the night threatens to begin.

you sat on the couch in the living room of your tiny yet, surprisingly homey apartment. your legs resting on the coffee table and you busy munching on cheap snacks, reflecting on the conversation that took place not too long ago. you were livid.

i mean, what else more did he want from you!

sevika was impossible. you tried to get along with her in the beginning but no matter what, she hated you!

she constantly finds new ways to poke fun at you, belittle you, and insult your intelligence. she obviously thinks you aren’t worthy of being a part of silco’s inner circle and that offends you.

and yes, she’s incredibly hot, but all of that was overshadowed the moment she decided you were a piece of gum on her boot!

you sigh incredulously, “damn… i need a drink.”

…

a few minutes later, you’re walking into the last drop and making a beeline for the bar.

as you sit down, your hands graze the edges of the countertop and you close your eyes briefly to let out a breath you’ve held in your throat for…

who knows how long?

that garners the attention of thieram, the kind bartender whom you’d had polite conversation with in the past. you’d taken quite a liking to his kind personality in the past.

“what would you like tonight, miss?” he smiles at you.

as you rummage through your mind for something to order, there isn’t much.

you aren’t a big drinker so it was hard to decipher what was good and what wasn’t because you simply don’t know.

“she’ll have the whiskey, best you've got.” you hear a gruff voice come from behind you. you hear the person’s rough steps come to a stop beside you and they sit.

“ugh.” you scoff out loud and roll your eyes dramatically as you avoid looking in her direction to your right.

sevika.

“coming right up…” thieram, not even wanting to know, swiftly walks off to make your drink.

“what do you want?!” you huff out in annoyance as you finally bring your head up to make eye contact with her.

“nothin’… just enjoying you strugglin’ to order. jus’ was painful to watch, doll.”

your eyebrows raise as your mouth opens and closes, you not exactly knowing how to respond. especially to "doll".

although her tone indicates that she was merely joking, you retaliate against her anyway for the way she’s treated you in the past.

“i- you know what?! if you’ve just come to gloat and make me feel like an idiot just go right ahead and fuck off!” you state. causing a vein to pop out of your forehead and your left eye to twitch in pure anger.

“i’m not in the mood for your shit” you restate your previous point.

“y’know? you’re such a pain in my ass. always bitching and complaining about everything, always in the way, you’re unbelievable.”

you pause your movements, surprised at the lengths she’s going to make you feel terrible.

“i think you look weak.” she finishes, smirking as your eyes threaten to spill with tears out of rage.

“you’re such. a. fucking. bitch.” you emphasize the b in the word bitch as you leap off your chair and stomp out of the bar, trudging back to the comfort of your own home.

thieram walks back over to the side of the bar you were just at and his face scrunches in confusion.

“uh… where’d she go?” he questions as he raises his hands, one hand occupied with your drink.

sevika is still sitting with her mech hand pressing into a tight fist on the counter and her human hand tightly squeezing the bridge of her nose.

she makes up her mind as she stands up and makes her way to your apartment, already having memorized where you lay your head at night.

tonight, you’ll learn respect. obedience.

…

you’ve just made it back to your apartment and you’re slamming the door shut. as you pace back and forth from your kitchen to your living room you’re met with complete and utter silence that taunts you.

“how do i let her get to me? every. single. time.” you’re thinking, mentally cursing yourself for being so stupid. for letting her see you upset.

you hear a loud knock at the door and you pause all moments, as you make your way to answer it, your thoughts race with ideas of who may be at your doorstep at this time of night.

you open the door and you’re met with none other than the sight of sevika. both of her hands clench into fists at her sides as she gazes at you darkly.

it’s almost eerie, her silence. you sense something in her demeanor that is different than usual. it feels… scary.

you both say nothing as she pushes her way into your home, back turned to you as she stops in her tracks.

“wha- what the fuck? g-get out!” you scream out.

her head cocks over her shoulder, one eye looking back at you in a silent warning.

you slowly back up against the door as she turns her full body around to corner you against it. her stare pierces deep into your soul, you feel as though a knife has been jabbed into your gut.

sevika is a scary woman. you know you stand no chance against her strength. that frightens you slightly but you hold your head up high and maintain eye contact with her to stand your ground.

her hands are placed on either side of your head, pressing into the rough, wooden texture of the door. you hear the wood creaking when she leans in, nose brushing against yours. the silence is deafening.

"hmm..." she cocks her head to the right, still looking deep into your irises.

"sevika, l-let me go. what are you doing?!" you try to reason with her but she is unwavering as she takes her mech hand and trails it dangerously slowly up your body from your thigh to your bare stomach, then your arms.

it lands on your neck and wraps around it loosely as a scare tactic. it works as your eyes widen and your shaky hands come up to move the machine off you.

your legs start to weaken and your eyebrows furrow as your underwear pools with your desire.

"so fuckin' pathetic, you are..." she growls, tightening around your neck, not too tight. but tight enough to where your breath hitches in your throat and you're slightly gasping for air.

"y'know, was gonna try and get along with you tonight, doll."

the pet name makes the wetness in your panties become unbearable.

she continues, "ordered you a drink, cracked a joke 'n everything..."

"but, you're a brat to your core, aren't you? should make you apologize..."

an idea pops into your head, another way to disrespect her. you ponder in your head about how you shouldn't. against your better judgment, you say it anyway.

"make me, then,” your eyes flicker down to her lips.

her cocky expression falters slightly—her eyes threatening to look down at yours as well. and if looks could kill, you would die instantly.

"show me your fuckin' bedroom. now."

you're then peeling yourself off of the door. she takes her hand off your neck and backs up to let you pass. you drag your feet, walking slowly to irritate her further. she doesn't like that one bit.

you feel a hand brush the back of your head and she's harshly pulling you up against her chest by your hair. you feel her warm breath tickling your ear, getting ready to humiliate you even more.

"f-fuck! ow!" you yelp out in pain.

"nuh-uh. hurry the fuck up. move." she whispers into your ear.

sevika lets you go, roughly pushing your head forward to emphasize her point. you decide not to push her as you speed up.

as you enter your room, you let out a shaky breath, scared yet excited about the events about to take place. you're not facing her when you hear your bedroom door slam shut. you stop dead in your tracks.

"what-uhm, what's gonna happen?" you question.

you gasp out in surprise as she spins you around to face her and pushes you onto the bed. your ass rests on the edge of it and you're sitting up straight. sevika towers over you, way taller than usual. she looks like she could devour you as she's undressing you with her eyes.

"gonna hurt you, sweetheart. gonna punish you for being such a mean little brat." she smushes your cheeks together with one hand, causing your saliva to pool from your mouth and wet your lips.

"should've done this ages ago... maybe you'd be better behaved by now."

"p-please. i-'m sorry."

it kills you inside, that you secretly love this. you secretly love the idea of her touching you. punishing you, hurting you until you’re utterly ruined.

you’ve dreamt about this moment in light of all the arguments, yelling, and fighting.

in one swift movement, she stands you back up and takes your place on the bed looking up at you hungrily.

“bend over my knee,” she demands.

you feign disgust, and fear, “wh-what?! n-no i-”

“lay the fuck down, and bend over my knee before i spank your ass raw.”

you obey. she scoots back further on your bed so you can maneuver your way to lay your stomach across her thighs. your upper body and legs rest on the bed as your ass is slightly positioned in the air.

you can’t see her face, but you know sevika’s smirking as she’s finally got you where she wants you.

she coos at you, tugging slightly at the loose shorts you threw on after you got home from the bar, “look at you in these little fuckin’ shorts, so slutty.”

she slides her hand up your outer thigh, moving closer to your ass.

all of a sudden, she pauses her movements.

she leans down, her mouth next to your ear, “we can stop at any time. jus’ let me know, doll.”

your heart clenches at her words, feeling the intense emotion behind them and now knowing deep down that she doesn’t want to actually hurt you.

it turns you on even more.

“want it vika, p-please.”

she lets out a sound that’s of a groan and a growl, “fuck yeah, baby. gonna punish you—gonna make it hurt,”

“gonna take it? gonna be a good girl for me?”

“ye-yes! yes!”

sevika hooks the fingers of her human and mechanical hand under the waist of your shorts and roughly tugs them to the floor.

“fuck… no panties too? my god,” she admires you.

you say nothing as her hand finds its way back to moving up your thigh and finally grips your ass, kneading the plush flesh.

“gonna actually do anything or?…” you get cocky, too impatient to feel her hands on you.

a loud ‘SMACK!’ sounds throughout the ambient space of your bedroom, the pain searing into the skin of your right asscheek, making you scream out into the bedspread.

“fuckin’ brat, like i said.”

you’re met with another ‘SMACK!’ in the same spot. you scream out again except this time, it sounds a hell of a lot more like a moan.

“can’t believe you’re gettin’ off to this. bein' my little painslut…”

she hits you again, “you like when i hurt you? don’t you, baby?”

“yes!” you’re repeating, face still smushed into the blankets.

“what was that?” she presses further as she tangles her hand into your hair and yanks it upwards.

“f-fuck! yes, yes!”

she spanks you again and again, alternating between each cheek until you’re sobbing.

although she hadn’t spanked you more than 15 times, you felt as though it was 10 times that much.

she’s soon rubbing a soothing hand over the expanse of your ass, attempting to calm the ache in your ass while neglecting the one in your cunt.

“my girl. did so good for me, baby. so, so good.”

she sits you up and props you up next to her. you wince as your ass meets the surface of your bed.

“we’re not done. gonna make this pussy feel so good, i’ve been neglecting her haven’t i?”

“mhm…touch me please.” you’re out of it, eyes lazily gazing into hers.

“suppose i should reward you?”

her hands caress the sides of your neck and she captures your lips in a gentle and passionate kiss.

as her lips meet yours, the world is silent, all you can think of is sevika.

the kiss soon turns sloppier, needier. your tongues clash against one another causing saliva to drip down both of your chins.

it’s disgusting really, the definition of swapping spit.

neither of you seems to care though. you both moan through the kisses, gripping at each other.

she breaks the kiss to tear your shirt off your body.

“such pretty tits… so beautiful.”

you lean in and peck her lips, “want you bad, vika. please just fuck me already,” you beg.

“you’re beggin’ me?”

“yeah,” you respond.

“fuckin’ beggin’ me, huh?”

“fuck yeah, baby,” you respond another time, your bedroom eyes never leaving hers.

this back-and-forth dirty talk makes the both of you so wet, that the need between you increases with each exchange.

“you don’t even realize how much of a whore you sound like when you say that shit, baby."

oh, you know.

“i love it,” she doubles back.

“gonna eat you first, get you ready for my cock.”

you pause.

‘she didn’t… did she?!’ you exclaim in your head, incredibly surprised she brought an entire strap-on to your house.

“mm… back the fuck up, lean up against the headboard.”

you do as she says, spreading your legs for her in the process.

“good fuckin’ girl.”

she kisses down your neck, stomach, and thighs—her mouth now dangerously close to your naked cunt.

“perfect pussy… so pretty and wet.” she blows cold air on it, admiring the way you clench as she does so.

she laughs out loud, “you’re clenching around nothing, baby… you need this dick in you.”

you don’t even notice you’re looking up at the ceiling, you then look down at her between your thighs—you notice her pants are pulled off. her mech hand is gripping her black plastic cock through her boy shorts.

it’s huge. you’re not sure if it can even fit inside you and that makes you crave it more.

you moan at the sight, “mhm! yes! need it in my pussy. wanna cum on it.” you manage out. your brain is mush!

“soon,” she promises.

she suddenly delves into your pussy, tongue experimentally licking around your folds, then your hole, and your clit.

you’re on cloud 9. your cunt twitches with need because you can feel every detail of her mouth dragging along your heat.

your moans are uncontrollable as she’s practically making out with your cunt, her spit drips onto your clean bed as she’s sloppily eating your pussy out.

she’s nasty with it, spitting on it, getting it dripping wet for you to take her.

“fuck! please!! gonna cum!” you yell out.

all of a sudden, you’re met with cold air. and your cunt is met with a thought to be forgotten ‘SMACK!’

you yelp out in pain and pleasure, the mix too overwhelming for your poor pussy to handle.

“you cum when i fuckin’ tell you to. ask me if you can come next time.”

“‘m sorry vika! promise i won't do it a-again.”

“yeah, yeah. turn around.”

you whine at the loss of her mouth on you; it just feels so good. but you listen anyway.

you’re in doggy facing the headband with your back slightly arched as you look back at her behind you.

she lifts her shirt over her head; she has nothing on underneath, giving you a full view of her sculpted abs. you graze them with your fingertips, amazed at how beautiful she is.

“beautiful, gorgeous…” you state to her and your eyes meet hers once again, showing her you mean what you’re saying.

she huffs out in…shyness? she looks down at the bedspread below you two and she tugs down her boy shorts, throwing them next to all of the other clothes that are splayed out on the floor.

“gonna put it inside, alright? gonna make you feel it.”

you look forward and your eyes trace the design of your headboard, anticipating her cock pushing inside of you, anticipating the delicious pain.

she eventually does push the toy inside of you, bottoming out quickly.

she gives you a moment to adjust. you both are breathing heavily and your nimble fingers grip at the sheets, mouth forming into the shape of an o because she’s so fucking deep.

one of her hands comes up to force your face into the pillows. she starts to move her hips slowly.

“fuuuuck, doll. arch that back,” she can feel the slow grind of your hips on her clit as you press back into her and arch slightly.

it’s not enough for her. she presses her other hand into the small of your back to truly get it so she’s as deep as she possibly can go in this position.

“oh my f-fucking god!” you’re moaning into the pillows, still as loud as if you were screaming.

she’s sped up now, her plastic cock digging into you swiftly yet deliberately.

“yeah…arch that shit, gimme that pussy, baby.”

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you’re still moaning into the pillow. you can feel every ridge, every detail of her.

your pussy twitches with need, your slick dripping down your thighs, cunt squelching and eyes rolling to the back of your head because of the rough way she’s handling you.

“can feel you around me, i swear. you’re so tight, baby, s-shit…”

she’s bullying your cunt relentlessly and her dirty talk is making you so unbelievably wet.

“you love this dick, don’t you? you love when i fuck this pussy, huh?”

“yes, vika! yes! just like that! love it!”

“say you’re sorry. say you’re sorry for being such a bratty little bitch.”

“hmmph!” you defy her, for fun perhaps.

she slows down tremendously compared to the pace she set before, giving you shallow thrusts to match your attitude.

“say you’re fuckin’ sorry or I’ll make sure this pussy never cums again. you’re only cumming from me, so you’ll do what the fuck i say.”

whew.

“c’mon, baby say you’re sorry so i can give you this dick. gonna make you cream on it so good if you just let go,”

she continues, “i know you want it… know you want it in your guts. know you want my cum in you," she's delirious.

gripping your hip with her free hand and your hair with the other, she lifts your head out of the pillow so she can hear you better.

you cave.

“i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry, baby. i promise i’ll be good! pleeease just fuck me! need you. need your cum…”

she leans down and kisses the small of your back, “see, now how hard was that?!”

she moves her hips at a faster pace than before, seemingly deeper as well. your face has found its way back down, voice muffled into the sheets.

“yeah, baby, take this shit—take it aaaaalll in this fuckin’ pussy. pussy’s so good for me.”

“oh f-fuck, ‘s so deep!” you look back at her once again. her teeth are biting into her bottom lip, hips snapping against your ass as she stares down at you wildly, watching the toy disappear inside of you.

you then meet her eyes, completely cockdrunk. you beg her again, “please v-vika… need your cum in my pussy. need you to knock me up.”

“give it to me, give me your cum! want it deep in me, wan’ it!”

she growls out, “f-fuck shit’s gonna make me cum.”

“fuckin’ pussy is sucking me in, gonna make me get you pregnant, baby,”

her hips are still pistoning into you, the room filling with sloppy wet noises and smacking skin.

“i’m b-begging you to let me cum, p-please!” you’re still looking into her eyes, kindly asking her for permission to soak her faux dick.

“who’s fucking you then? say my name, doll.”

“you, sevika! you!! you’re the only one,”

“fuck yeah, you whore. ‘m the only one that’s gonna be in this shit from now on. that’s right…”

“plea-”

“cum. i want you to cum on this cock, make it yours. cum all over it,” she’s thrusting against your g-spot as deep as she can with one of her legs on the bed and her hands on your hips. you have no choice but to just, take it.

her words cause the coil in your tummy to snap, your orgasm crashing down on you like a brick to your head. like if a large rock were to crush you and kill you instantly. it’s rough, it’s overwhelming.

“fuck!!” you scream through it.

“i’m cummin’ too!! not gonna pull out. i’m gonna put a baby in you, get you nice and full,”

“mhm!! yes!”

the combination of you urging her on and the pressure of her hips and your ass fucking back onto them causes her movements to stutter, “s-shit!”

her orgasm washes over her much like yours, both her hands on your hips making it easier for her cock to kiss your cervix and for her clit to feel it.

you both eventually come down from your highs. sevika pulls out of you and quickly yanks the toy off.

you’re still in the same position so she presses down on your back to get you to rest your body on the comfortable and soft surface of your bed. you’re expecting her to tug her clothes back on and leave, but she doesn’t.

she praises you for the rest of the night, rubs aloe gel on your ass to soothe the welts, and loves on you as if she’d never hated you in the first place.

“you did so good, baby.”

“i’m so proud of you, you’re amazing.”

“you’re so pretty… you’re mine now.”

…

needless to say… she’s ruined you for everyone else. your petty rivalry long forgotten and replaced with the feelings that you’ve both been hiding. and as you’re both waltzing into silco’s office for a second meeting, he’s hoping for but not expecting for there to be a change in your relationship.

he is stunned when he’s met with no more eye rolls, scoffs, and bickering.

‘wonder what’s gotten into the two of them…’ he wonders.

well, something has definitely gotten into you.

…

I AM SO SORRY I HAVEN’T POSTED!! finals are over so i am free from the shackles of college! (for now…)

hope you guys like it! tbh this took me forever because i couldn’t figure out the plot LMFAKOW😭😭

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Madri Lager: drunk words

Contents: cursing, just a little conversation between them to set the mood and provide a backdrop for the next fic, not proofread

No fucking way. 

There’s just no fucking way. 

“Why the hell are you here?” You hiss. 

Gojo fucking Satoru strolled into your lecture hall, smug grin on his fuck ugly face, arms folded behind his head and swinging his legs like a maniac. From the doors at the front, he immediately spotted you all the way at the back, sat by your lonesome and you could see his shit-eating grin widen. The whites of his teeth blind you almost as much as his impossibly white hair.

Then, the freak had the audacity to climb the stairs, ignoring the whispering and the pointing, and sat next to you. Well, a seat down because you refused to move your bag, even fought with him a little when he tried to lift it. 

He shrugs, slinging an arm around the back of the chair between you, fingertips way too close to your shoulder, and black sunglasses hanging low on his nose bridge. “Was feeling bored so here I am.”

Counting to ten, you tried to put on a patient voice, like you’re berating a child, which you pretty much are, and you grit out, “Bored people take up hobbies. Bored people do things like puzzles and cooking and knitting. Bored people don’t crash lectures and bother other people.”

“I love when you lecture me on common knowledge, wifey. It really warms my heart.” To emphasise his stupid point, he presses a hand to his chest and fans his face with the other. “You’re just so smart.”

You slap his hand away when he tries to boop your nose. People are staring, turning their heads like owls as they strained to listen to your conversations. Some people are taking pictures, no doubt sending it to The Bulletin or whatever, because people have nothing better to do than gossip. You hate this attention; the pointing and whispering because of your appearance you’ve learnt to tolerate, but this? 

This is just irritating on a different level.

At least once a day, a cheerful stranger comes up to you and asks in bewilderment if you’re Gojo’s fiancee. In fact, they ask if you’re really, actually the future wife of Gojo Satoru like he’s some mythical being and you’re a frumpy little worm. Fuck them. And fuck him. 

“Go away, Gojo,” you roll your eyes, typing as much of the lecturer’s notes as you can, a little distracted by the peering eyes around you and the ones running over your clothes . 

He sighs and lifts the lace from your dress, rounding the neckline. You feel it tickle your neck, and you fight the urge to shudder. In disgust. With a forced melodramatic tone, he complains, “I’m bored. Entertain me.”

“Are you fucking twelve? Go watch a movie like a normal person.”

“Movies are boring,” he retorts as if it’s fact. 

You roll your eyes. “And what? I’m so much more interesting?” 

What a stupid question. You really shouldn’t have asked that because the serious expression on his face as he lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug makes you blush. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

“Did you meet Suguru on the course or was he your piercer first?”

Still typing, you throw him a side glance, feeling suspicious of the sudden change in conversation. But it’s welcomed. “We met on the course. First year. We were in the same class. He’s a good guy.”

Gojo huffs as if he didn’t like your answer. 

The piercer’s actually a decent person; he was friendly, smart, and kind. He made long, boring classes feel shorter with his interesting insights and opinions, and he had such a great way of expressing them — he was the most eloquent male you’ve ever met. However, there was always something off about him, like an inner turmoil that neither you nor he could ever quite understand. 

It was when he absentmindedly said he was thinking of dropping out that you felt you knew him a little better. You both shared a long talk at the back of the Life Sciences building where your little stroll took you, him smoking and you listening to his mutterings. He spoke of this feeling of being out of place, which you understood better than anyone else, and how the traditional path didn’t suit him. He disappeared for a while, a couple months, and you thought your response might have spooked him. After all, no one ever really comes to you for advice. But when he reached out to offer you a free piercing as his first ever client at his newly opened studio, you realised maybe you are capable of dropping an odd pearl here and there. 

“Well, Suguru’s my bestie, so back off,” Gojo pouts.

From your peripheral, you see him eye the big lecture hall and you don’t really know what he’s thinking. It’s an odd realisation to think that Geto, the guy you’ve always kind of admired, is actually friends with this loser – the suggestion that there’s a redeeming quality to the frat guy is one that doesn’t suit you. 

Most times he’s easy to read; he wants fun and excitement and thrill. He does whatever’s convenient or interesting, a totally impulsive guy. But there are rare moments, emphasis on rare, where you think there might be something more going on in that huge head of his. Maybe there’s something deeper to him. A maturity and wisdom he’s yet to show. 

“Fuck, marry or kill,” he lifts three fingers, “Marx, Satre or Aristotle.”

Yeah, unlikely. 

“Gojo, seriously, go away,” you sigh, exasperated. Just five minutes with the guy and you’re already drained. And somehow, you’re expected to live a lifetime with the weirdo?

Satan strike you down. 

“Me personally, Satre’s cute but something about big, bushy beards really gets me going. So, it’ll have to be: kill Aristotle, no offence dude, fuck Satre, and marry Marx.”

Two girls in the row in front of you giggle. Your lips turn down in repulsion. 

“I’m not sure Marx would like either of us, Gojo,” you give him a pointed look. 

He laughs. It’s loud and sudden and he has to say sorry to the entire lecture when it echoes around the hall. Some people laugh at him, or with him, and the lecturer can only shake his head and carry on. This lecturer is strict and merciless when it comes to interruptions, but of course he doesn’t say a thing against the interloper. How could he when there’s a huge placard over the double doors of this building titled ‘From the Loving Hearts of The Gojo Charitable Foundation’?

A couple minutes pass in relative silence, just the tapping of fingers against keyboards and the droning of the professor filling the space, and you think maybe he’s fallen asleep or maybe he’s so bored that he’s actually thinking of leaving. 

Of course, neither of those things happen because the universe hates you. 

Gojo pokes your side with a pen. You writhe with a blush. 

“Oh, ticklish, are we? Very interesting.” He wiggles his brows like an idiot, and you fight the urge to land a punch there. “Our wedding night’s gonna be fun.”

“We’re not going to have one if you had it your way, remember?”

Leaning back in his seat, he taps the pen —where the hell did even get that? He wasn’t carrying a bag— against his chin, considering his words carefully. He shrugs again. “Well, seeing as everyone’s so set on it, I’ve decided to, you could say, open myself to the idea.”

You try to quell the spark of hope there, that maybe your family could be saved, that you’ll be saved. It’s not wise to let that spark fester into something more. 

Gojo’s impulsive. Fact. 

Gojo’s a thrill-seeker. Fact. 

Gojo is an unserious guy set in his bachelor ways. He cannot be relied upon. He cannot be trusted to keep his word.

All facts. 

It’s easy for him to be able to have the option to be ‘open’ to an idea, whereas it’s thrusted upon you without much say. He can wake up and make decisions solely based on his urges, but you have to be mindful of the family’s reputation, your father’s bad habits, your mother’s social conservative ways, and the fact that this is all your fault. 

“Gojo,” you turn, fixing him with a solemn expression, “don’t do that. Don’t lead me on. I may not want to marry you, but I do want to marry. I must. It’s important to me, so please don’t wave it around like it’s some pretty flag.”

There must be something in your eyes, a graveness or a sombre quality that makes his smile disappear. His brows furrow like he’s trying to understand, trying to piece things together but you’re turning away before he could see. 

Clearing his throat, he pokes you again. “Alright. How about this?”

You throw him a doubtful look, worried about what dumbassery is going to leave his mouth. 

“Go on a date with me.”

“No.”

“Hey! You said that way too quickly.”

Resuming your typing, you’re already trying to drown him out, focused on the history of pragmatic ethics instead of his humoured tone. He’s suggesting something ridiculous again. As if you’d go on a date with him. Him. The guy who’s been getting in the way, the one who’s been making your life difficult and family dinners awkward, and the one you certainly cannot trust to not set up some trap to humiliate you like in the movies. 

“I’m being serious. Let’s go on a date.” Seeing you open your mouth to argue back, he hurriedly adds, “This isn’t fair on me either, y’know? I’m supposed to marry a stranger, one who wears all black and looks like she’d haunt me — not a bad thing, I’m actually kinda into it, question mark? — but my point is, we don’t really know each other. So why don’t we go on a date? It’s a pretty brilliant idea, if I do say so myself.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you mull it over. Sure, it makes sense, it would be good to get to know the freak you’re marrying or supposed to marry. This is how it should have been in the first place. Plus, your mother would certainly approve; she’d think this is a golden opportunity to secure him, to make him fall for you or whatever Mrs. Bennet thing she’s thinking of. 

However, as good as that idea is, you can’t just eagerly agree; there’s no guarantee this isn’t a trap. 

“You’re thinking this is a trap, aren’t you?” Your eyes meet his. He’s grinning ear to ear like he’s proud he guessed correctly. “Why don’t you plan the date, then? Set the time and place, that way there’s no way I could have rigged the environment with explosives or something.”

“No pig blood?”

Gojo smiles even brighter, and you have to squint to prevent losing your vision permanently. 

“No pig blood.”

[mydarlingclaudia]

idk what came over me I have a disease and it's incurable and idk if this makes any fucking sense and I know very little about vikings so... anyway viking!Simon Riley x fem!reader

wc : 548

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Viking!Simon who you’re married off to, you're a fisherman’s daughter and he's one of the most feared Vikings for miles around, it’s an oddity that the both of you are over twenty and still unmarried

the thing is your consummation was quick, left you with fingertip bruises on your hips and thighs, but it was still quick. reason being that you and Simon finally got to bed only an hour or two before dawn and he was supposed to leave for a raid in the morning

he left in the early days of spring, him and fifty other men, only to come back in the middle of summer

you never thought he liked you much, even before you were married, if you spoke your conversations were short and he spoke in that same gruff voice that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. along with him hardly saying a word to you for the entirety of your wedding night

so when he trudges back to your cabin and the first thing he does is kneel in front of you while you’re sitting and sewing, pushing his head down into your lap and gripping your calves before you can even say hello to him, of course you’re confused

your confusion only deepens when he plants kisses to your thighs over the fabric of your dress. you don’t stop him, he’ll be done in a few seconds and then go back to being the cold man he is, you’re sure

but he doesn’t stop, he takes the needle and cloth from your hand, places it on the ground next to where he kneels, and kisses along your wrist. the kisses trail up until they reach your sleeve, then returns to your lap, pulling you closer to him so your knees dig into his chest and he presses the top of his head against your stomach

“you’re a vision,” Simon mumbles against your dress, his voice muffled. you don’t say anything, you don’t reach out to touch him

he does finally stand after another minute, looking at you for another second before he leaves to change

Simon’s kind of back to normal when he returns, he stares at you while he eats the food you cooked for dinner, but he’s back to the normal, distant Simon

up until it's time for bed and he's already pushing the skirt of your nightgown up around your hips, softer than he was on your wedding night, the next morning is even more startling when you wake up to him kissing along the back of your neck and cupping your navel

Simon's not changed in any way, maybe finally having a wife to come home to made him sweeter, at least with you

because now for as long as he's home he's shadowing you, following you around to tend to the gardens and split wood, doing the heavy lifting for you. the sweeter part of him wraps you up in the furs that cover your bed when you're about to fall asleep, the sweeter part of him insists that you come join him to bathe, the sweeter part of him says "can't keep m' bird waitin'," after being stuck in a conversation with someone in the village for a few minutes

[ubeb0nes]

NSFW Sevika HCs

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A/n: i haven't written any smut in god knows how long so pls go easy yall 😭

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This is a dom

I love indulging in the bottom!sevika content when i come across it, it's beautiful, showstopping

But bby, you only get to do what she lets you do. Even when she's on bottom, you're never really the one in charge, no matter how you might try to convince yourself

She's a terrible tease, and has an absolutely filthy mouth. Loves watching your jaw drop slightly when she whispers things in public, and how you scramble to gather yourself

Her self-control and patience is absolutely insane. She's not one to jump your pants at the first tease you give her.

She'll let you have her fun, all while running the tip of her tongue across a canine and plotting her revenge

Gets a big head/ego if you call her mommy. Nearly loses her mind and reputation for restraint if you call her daddy

A lot of her turn-ons are things that aren't inherently sexual. I like to think she's attracted to both masc and fem-presenting people, and anything leaning deeper into these characteristics will get a rise out of her.

Ex.'s -> watching you put on makeup in the mornings, specifically lipstick/gloss. Conversely, how your thighs look and your face hardens when you manspread while striking a deal. When you look up at her and rest your hands on her chest. When you lean back and rest your arm over the back of her chair

Particularly masculine and particularly feminine things. She eats up both

Absolutely a bit of a sadist/madochist. We know this from the whole cait thing

She's obsessed with your mouth in particular. The marks you leave, the shapes it makes with certain sounds she pulls from you, how your lips wrap around her fingers when she teases your mouth open with them

She rarely ever has you on your back because she wants to watch your tongue loll and your eyes roll

Goes crazy for certain things you say when you start to reach melted brain levels of fucked out; "baby, it's too much…" "Sevi, i can't keep going" "no, baby, no more…" it's like a second wave. And, (always) only with your emphatic consent, she'll proceed to push your body even more

Her favorite position is missionary i'm sorry lmfao. Vanilla in theory, but definitely doesn't feel like it when she's slinging that shimmerstrap LOL

I HC she's generally pretty gentle with you, at least lovesick!sevika is. In the sense that she's not tossing you around or slapping your ass purple.

Rather, she'll wrap her hand around your throat but not really squeeze. And she'll push her fingers down your throat until you're teary-eyed, but she won't fuck your throat until it's raw and sore.

She prefers using her hands and her mouth, but her strap game is insane. That stroke would be hypnotic to watch.

Her eyes read clearly when it comes to intimacy. The way they darken and narrow when she's about to pounce on you, and how they always get so glossy and self-satisfied (if not a bit smug) as she watches you cum.

Her crows feet crease as she smiles down at you, whispering "good job, baby" and "there's my girl, you're okay. I've got you."

Always insists on taking care of you afterwards, but won't fight you on it if you flip it on her and make her lay back so you can clean her up

In fact, please do this. She'll think about it for weeks

Cuddles you afterward like she's trying to burrow in your skin. Can't get enough of the smell of you post-sex, burying her nose in your neck and your hair

Yeah, she's never sharing you. Everything about you is too precious, too hers.

She demands hickeys/lipstick marks on her chest- over her heart- because your claim over her deepens her own.

[yxngbxkkie]

just a fight (b.c)

hello!! it's been an extremely long time since i've posted any fics on here (or written them)! but i finally got the inspiration to write one for our lovely chris 🤭 i saw a tik tok from the new album intro and came up with this idea. i hope you all like it 🥰

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

It's about the fourth time in an hour that Chris has checked his phone, the frown on his lips staying there as there's still no texts from you. He releases a sigh before attempting to refocus on the task at hand; recording.

The two of you have been in an argument for the past two days. Longest time the two of you have spent angry at one another. You didn't argue often, so Chris is becoming a bit panicked when you don't text him on the third day.

“Hyung,” Changbin's voice snaps Chris from his thoughts, turning in his chair to face the younger member. “Is everything okay? I've never seen you this spaced out.”

Chris provides a fake smile, going to reassure him that everything is okay when his phone vibrates. He picks it up immediately, his heart dropping a bit when it's not you. He swipes away the notification without any thought, not really in the mood to converse with anyone.

“I'm okay, I guess,” he mumbles, setting his phone back on the desk. “Uhm, Y/N and I had an argument three days ago and…” Chris trails off, biting his lip to stop himself from crying.

“Have you tried calling?” Changbin asks, motioning for the other staff to give them a minute alone.

Chris blankly stares at the computer screen, moving the mouse around idly. “I get sent to voicemail,” he tells Changbin, not moving his gaze once.

“I'll try calling. This can't go on any longer. You can't work like this,” Changbin sighs, standing up from the couch. The younger member pulls his phone out of his pocket, finding your contact before calling your number.

Chris can hear the phone ringing, his heart beginning to beat a million miles a minute in his chest.

“Bin?” Your voice comes through the receiver, causing Chris to gasp lightly. He finally looks over towards Changbin, seeing him hold his phone out.

Take the phone. He motions, holding the device out to him. Chris hesitantly takes the phone as you continue to call out for Changbin.

“Y/N?” Chris calls out your name just after Changbin leaves the studio. He can hear your breath hitch at the sound of his voice, and he begins to think you might hang up. “B-Before you hang up… can we talk? Please?”

Silence fills the space as he waits for your reply. He swallows the lump in his throat, wondering if he's fucked up one of the good things in his hectic life.

“I'm really sorry, y'know? I've always had the habit of keeping shit to myself. You can ask the guys,” he starts to apologize, staring at your contact name. “I was doing really well on keeping you in tabs of everything, but these past few weeks have been pretty stressful. And, I know that's not a great excuse, but being cooped up in the studio hours on end has brought me back to my old ways. I should've told you what's been going on, but I promise, if you don't leave me that I'll change. I don't want to lose you.”

His heart is in his throat as he waits for you to say something, anything. When he hears you start to cry, his first instinct is for him to run to your apartment. “Baby–”

“How are you so perfect?” You whisper loud enough for him to hear. You sniffle and clear your throat before speaking again. “I should be so mad at you, Chris. But, you– you make it impossible to stay mad.”

“I'm sorry?” He mumbles, furrowing his brows in confusion.

A chuckle comes from your end, and his heart skips a beat. “It's okay. Uhm, are you busy? Is it okay if I come to you, or,” You offer to meet up, making Chris's heart race.

“Y-Yeah, no, yeah, you can come by. I'll let the front desk know. Text me when you get here?” He asks, a smile coming to his lips for the first time in three days.

“Of course, handsome. I'll see you soon, okay?” You reassure him.

~

You're nervous as you walk into the JYP building. You know everything's going to turn out okay, but for some reason, the nausea is still there. The receptionist clears you through, and you step into the elevator. After pressing the button for the floor Chris is on, you decided to take some deep breaths.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, seeing a single heart emoji text from Chris. Your heart flutters in your chest, beginning to believe that everything will be alright. The door to the elevator opens up, and you step out, walking in the familiar direction of the studio they're using.

When you round the corner to go down the slim hallway, you find Chris standing at the studio door. You stop in place, meeting his dark eyes. The first thing you notice is the bags under his eyes. A frown comes to your lips at how exhausted he looks.

“Baby,” you mumble and start walking towards him.

“You look good,” Chris smiles at you, his eyes a little glossy. “I missed you so much.”

Both of you wrap your arms around one another, embracing tightly. You tightly grip the shirt he's wearing as he takes in the scent of your perfume.

“I missed you, too, baby,” you sigh, combing your fingers through his hair with your free hand.

Chris holds on to you as if you'll disappear once he lets go. He moves both of you into the studio before shutting the door, giving you some privacy.

You pull away from him, keeping your hands on his forearms as you look back up at him. “Everything's gonna be okay, okay?” You reassure him, gently stroking his arms.

He nods his head, clearing his throat before wrapping you up in his arms again. “I honestly thought that this was the end, y'know?” He mumbles into your neck, kissing the skin lightly.

“I'm in love with you, Chris. I don't ever want this to end,” you tell him while massaging the back of his head.

His hands slip under the hoodie you're wearing, a breathy sigh leaving his lips at the feeling of your soft skin. You bring your hands to his face, making him look at you before your lips meet his.

Chris moans into the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening. “God,” he mumbles, pulling away for a quick second. He reconnects his lips to yours, putting some more passion into the kiss. “I love you.”

You can't help but giggle, resting your forehead against his. “You make me feel like I've got a high school crush, you know that?” You ask him while placing one of your hands to your chest, feeling how fast your heartbeat is.

“I feel the same about you, baby,” he grins, dimples on full display. Chris grabs a hold of your hands as silence fills the room. He intertwines your fingers, keeping his gaze on them.

“You okay, baby?” You ask him quietly, squeezing his hands. “Talk to me.”

He lifts his head, the smile still there, and he nods. “I'm okay. I'm just– really happy that you're back and that we're okay,” he releases a deep breath, bringing your hands to his lips, peppering the backs of them in kisses.

“I'm afraid you're stuck with me,” you joke with him.

“I wouldn't want it any other way, baby,” Chris pulls you close to him, capturing your lips in another kiss.

~

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n @foxinnie8

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 WERE WE BETTER UNKNOWN?

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: your story with dazai comes to a close... but is it really the end?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. oh my god i have so much to say, i will put it all at the end. but i am so annoyed because the heart in the title looks wonky as hell—for some reason it looks fine on desktop but on mobile it’s fucked ip :’) comments & reblogs 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).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. mentions of past suicide attempts (dazai). non-sexual nudity/intimacy. reader has 1 scar that dazai points out.

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai dreams of a vast frozen lake.

Is he dreaming? He’s not sure. It’s cold, he shouldn’t be cold in dreams, right? 

He lets out a shaky breath, and he can see the cool air fan around him. He shivers, hands running up and down his arms to try to warm himself up, but it’s futile—the snow that flutters from the sky is sharp against his skin and the air is bitterly cold, but the wind is oddly still. Eerily still. His shoes crunch against the snowy bank as he draws a bit closer to the edge of the lake, trying to figure out where he is.

“... are we going to…”

Dazai startles at the vaguely familiar whispery voice, eyes wide and searching as he looks around trying to pinpoint who had spoken, but there’s no one in sight. He can hardly see

Hell, he thinks dizzily, is he in hell?

Dazai’s fascination with literature began with his fascination with death. It started as a child—morbid and odd as it might’ve been, he was bored with life. He supposes that it’s part of the reason why his siblings didn’t like him, besides his ability, of course. He always had questions that people couldn’t answer—what happens after someone dies? They go to heaven, honey, his mother would reply. How do you know that? We just do. But how? What if we don’t? What if we just die? Stop asking so many creepy questions, Osamu, his sister would snap at him, curling into his mother’s side. But what-

He would keep asking until his sister got visibly upset and his mother had to take her out of the room. He never really understood why—they were legitimate questions—but his mother’s evasion of the topic and his siblings’ aversion did not deter his curiosity. In fact, when the first of his cousins died at the hands of one of his others, it spiked his curiosity. He almost found himself jealous that they would have the answers to the questions that have been plaguing him for years.

His questions of self-worth and his place here on earth didn’t come until he was a bit older, but he supposes at some point they probably merged together. His own doubts about himself and his lack of normalcy compared to other people led to his general fascination with death slowly turning into fascination about his own death. He found it quite ironic, and maybe a bit disheartening—he can’t even die correctly—that of all of the many members of his family, the one obsessed with death was the one that survived the longest, in spite of actively striving for eternal rest.

His fascination with death was put to an abrupt halt by Odasaku’s arrival in his life. Or well, that’s not exactly right. His fascination with his own death was put to a halt—Odasaku humored all of his questions, even if some of his answers were absurd and nonsensical, but when Dazai tried to spin the conversation back to himself, Odasaku would put his foot down. 

Dazai only tried to kill himself once while he was living with him—it was around when Odasaku first took him in, and Dazai didn’t think the man would care all too much if he was gone. Ango was the one who found him in the bathroom, funny enough it was his first time meeting the other man, but when he woke up in the hospital, Dazai decided he never wanted to see that haunted expression on Odasaku’s face ever again. 

It was around then when Odasaku started telling him about his book, and he helped redirect Dazai’s unhealthy fascination with death to a different outlet: literature. The Divine Comedy, the Aeneid, the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice—it was Odasaku who introduced him to them all. He enjoyed reading other peoples’ interpretation of the afterlife; he and Odasaku would have full blown debates over which interpretation was nearest to truth. 

Dazai isn’t particularly convinced there is an afterlife at all, but he always thought that if there was one, it might look most like Dante Alighieri’s vision. 

Like this. 

“... can’t just stop, he’ll never let it be…”

This voice isn’t unfamiliar. Dazai’s head snaps up, eyes wide and searching as he tries to seek you out. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from all around him—the wind carries it, he can’t tell where you are and the icy air makes it hard for him to keep his eyes open to try to track you down. The wind is strange though; it stops blowing all around him, and instead begins billowing inward toward the center of the lake.

A foreboding feeling suddenly settles over Dazai.

Lake Cocytus—if this is what Dazai thinks it is, then it’s meant to represent the Ninth Circle. Treachery. A little ironic, maybe, considering loyalty is what got Dazai killed—your loyalty to the Port Mafia. 

Is he dead? He realizes suddenly that he very well might be, not quite as pleased with the idea as he might’ve been in the months before he met you. He feels… unfulfilled almost. He never finished Odasaku’s book. He didn’t even manage to get his degree. He felt what it was like to be loved for a few months, but it wasn’t enough. He’d wanted more. He wanted a life with you. 

He still wants a life with you, he thinks miserably. Even after everything that happened, he still wants it.

He must not be dead, he thinks absently, kicking at the snow on the banks of the lake before slowly treading out toward the center of it. If he was dead and really in the Ninth Circle of Hell, then he’d be stuck in the lake with the rest of the betrayers. Although, Dazai thinks if he really was going to hell, it wouldn’t be this circle—he doesn’t think he’s ever really betrayed anyone to this degree.

Or maybe he did, his thoughts take another dejected turn. Would his ‘betrayal’ to you count? It’s not like he actively tried to deceive you, so he thinks he should be given some leeway. But maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, if he’s here because he deceived you, then you would certainly be here for betraying him—he wouldn’t mind being stuck in hell if you were there with him. You both could be buried in the ice together, eternally frozen and suffering for betraying each other. 

It’s kind of romantic, if you really think about it.

Something bubbles in his chest—maybe a laugh, or maybe a sob, he can’t tell, he thinks maybe he’s a bit hysterical. 

It must just be a dream, he thinks again for some minimal solace. Or maybe a warning, maybe he’s somewhere caught in-between and God is striking down his hammer, warning him this is where he’s going to end up if he doesn’t change his ways like the message of the Divine Comedy itself.

The thought makes him laugh.

He sobers up quickly though as he starts his trek across the lake, thinking that maybe if he got to the other side, or the center, he’d wake up. He thinks you would find this funny—one of your first conversations with him had been about The Divine Comedy, and he spent many nights at dinner roping you into conversation about it, and convincing you to read some of the other books and poems that Odasaku had introduced him to. You-

“... one life or hundreds, that’s what he said…”

Dazai nearly slips on the ice when he hears your voice again, looking around as if you would just magically appear around him. You don’t, but it does leave Dazai a little disheartened hearing you repeat the words that Mori had said to convince you to kill him. He sighs as he keeps his gaze trained ahead, careful to not look down at the ice lest he find himself looking at something he would rather not.

The outskirts of the water were the traitors to kin—Dazai remembers that well. The first time he read the poem, he realized that this is where the majority of his cousins and older brothers would be. They spent almost two years killing each other for their grandfather’s inheritance; Dazai went from having seven siblings and almost two dozen cousins to three siblings and a handful of cousins by the time of the coup.

Traitors to country in the next section—Dazai thinks a bit gleefully that Mori would end up there. The Port Mafia isn’t exactly a city or country, but it’s still an entity, and Mori certainly betrayed it when he killed Dazai’s grandfather in his own bed, no matter what the reason for it might be.

Traitors to guests in the next section—this gives Dazai a bit of pause, he doesn’t know if he knows anyone that would fit in that section. Ui, maybe? Inviting him to work with his journalism house only to give him up to the Guild. Maybe Mori again, Dazai thinks, highly amused, because Dazai was a guest to you, and therefore, the Port Mafia, when everything happened. 

And the last section—traitors to benefactors. He can’t avoid looking at them; they’re the only ones above the surface of the lake, grotesque sculptures of ice that decorate the surface of the center of the lake. His steps slow as he walks through them all, a heavy feeling settling over him as his gaze focuses on the oddly familiar sculpture in the very center of the lake.

Is that-

“There’s only one way this ends.”

Dazai’s breath catches sharply. He slips on the ice as he rushes forward, eyes widening and hands flying forward to catch himself, but his stomach lurches painfully and before his hands can hit the ground-

Dazai sits up with a ragged gasp, eyes wild and nails digging into the fabric of the soft couch he’s laying on. His head is aching and he feels sluggish; he’s still reeling from what he’d just woken up from, but his heart rate is starting to calm down.

Just a dream, he confirms, but now he’s more preoccupied with trying to figure out where the hell he is and why he isn’t dead, because the last thing he remembers is you lifting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. The room he’s in is small—there’s no windows, there’s a tiny kitchen on the left side of the room, and on the other side-

“Everyone out.”

Dazai’s gaze settles on you. You’re standing near the far wall—you haven’t changed from what you were wearing at the conference room with the other Port Mafia executives, and Dazai can see Ace’s blood still crusted around your finger nails and splattered on your shirt. Your gaze is focused on him, an unreadable expression on your face, and Dazai is so tunnel visioned on you that he hardly notices that there are a handful of other people in the room: your three subordinates, Nakahara Chuuya, Albatross and one other who had been at the fight against the Guild.

They don’t argue with you, most of them file out of the room without a word, only Albatross and Chuuya linger. The ginger gives you a long look before saying, “We’ll buy some more time. Just… figure out if this is really what you want to do, okay?”

You finally look away from him at Chuuya’s words, cringing and averting your gaze to the ground. You say quietly, “It doesn’t matter what I want. It has to be done.”

Chuuya sighs but nods, motioning for Albatross to leave with him—and then the two of you are left alone. You don’t approach him. Ironically, you look like the one akin to a cornered animal as if you hadn’t been the one to shoot him. If anyone should feel like a cornered animal right now, it should be him.

Instinctively, he lifts his hand to his forehead, frowning at the bandages wrapped around the top of his head. He looks back up at you curiously, but you grimaced and looked away as soon as he touched his forehead, so he can’t catch your eye.

He has a million questions he wants to ask. What happened? Why didn’t the bullet kill me? Why didn’t you kill me? Did you believe me? Do you believe me? Are we okay?

Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer to the last question, so he settles with: “Where are we?” 

Though you’d stiffened as soon as his lips parted to speak, you relax when you hear the question he asked.

“A safe house in Sakae,” you say quietly. Dazai starts to sit up but his vision swims so he has to stop and rest back down against the arm of the couch, blinking furiously. “You should take it easy… You’re probably going to feel a bit off for a couple of hours.”

Dazai is about to ask you what exactly happened, but the words die on his lips when you finally draw closer to him. You sit down on the couch next to where he’s laying, your body brushes his and Dazai feels warm. The remnants of the frigid cold of his dream vanishes as soon as the warmth of your body grazes his—he knows that there are many things that need to be addressed, but he would be content to avoid those topics and bask in your comfort for as long as he can. 

His eyes slide shut as you reach up to cup his cheek. He doesn’t even bother reopening them when he feels you lift your other hand to remove the bandages from around the top of his head—he thinks maybe he could almost doze back off. It’s only when you let out a soft sigh and fasten them back on does he finally bother to open his eyes again. 

“I don’t have enough bandages on me already?” he asks, his voice is light and the smile on his lips is teasing as he tries to lighten the mood a little, but it doesn’t work.

You don’t respond to his comment. You look down, and the small smile on your lips doesn’t meet your eyes, so his falls off his face as he stares up at you carefully and finally asks the much dreaded question that would lead to even more dreaded questions:

“Will you tell me what happened?”

--

“We need to go,” Chuuya says, hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. You don’t budge from where you’re standing, staring at where Dazai had fallen back over the edge. It was a short drop with mud softening the fall, he would be okay—if everything went according to plan, that is. Otherwise, the bullet you just shot at him killed him anyway, so the fall is inconsequential. “Come on. We can’t stay here. We have to go.”

“How do-”

“Not here,” Chuuya hisses. “Come on.”

“Chuuya-” you breathe out, voice wavering over his name. You can’t bring yourself to move even as Chuuya tries to drag you away. “Chuuya, I need to kn-”

Need to know if this worked. Need to know if he was able to stop the bullet. Need to know if you actually just killed the boy you’re in love with.

“Not here,” Chuuya replies, voice harsh, cutting you off before you can say anything more incriminating. 

This time, he doesn’t wait for you to follow him—he yanks you along with him, not even bothering to steady you when you stumble. You know you should snap yourself out of this, you know Mori has people trailing you to ensure you follow through with Dazai’s execution, but you’re haunted by the expression on his face when you pulled the trigger.

He accepted it.

You had the gun to his head. You asked him to forgive you. He said he did, and he accepted that he was about to die at your hands. A part of you is eager to convince yourself that maybe he saw through your plan, that he realized you weren’t going to kill him, but that look in his eyes…

He didn’t know, and he accepted it anyway.

Your stomach churns. The ragged breath you take in cuts off abruptly as you gag over it—you saw the blood, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t know if Dazai’s nullification ability prevented Chuuya from using his own ability to slow the bullet before it killed him. You don’t know if he fell backward because he was shot or because the high dosage sedative that you swiped from Mori’s office set in as quickly as it was supposed to. You don’t even know if Chuuya had been able to inject it in him with his ability. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t you dare throw up on me,” Chuuya mutters as he opens the car door and ushers you inside. 

Instead of sitting in the front with Albatross, he sits in the back with you, sharing a sharp look with Albatross before the other man finally pulls away from the ports. He still doesn’t say anything else—he knows better. This is one of the Port Mafia’s cars, tapped and actively being transmitted to one of Kouyou’s subordinates who will report to her and Mori anything that seems off, and you need to buy as much time as you possibly can before Mori realizes Dazai isn’t dead.

Because Dazai isn’t dead. He can’t be dead.

It worked. It all worked.

It had to have. 

Just as you expect, your phone rings as soon as the car starts moving. Mori has eyes on you—he was waiting for you to finish with the execution before calling. You’re certain that he’s going to send someone to check the body now; he doesn’t trust you to finish the job, not when something as fickle and unpredictable as love is involved. 

Klaus will have to be quick—you don’t even know if he was able to find a lookalike to kill so he could swap out the body. You only were able to give him a twenty, maybe thirty, minute heads up. Dazai is plain looking, yes, and the mud he dropped in should do some work at concealing his identity, but if Mori’s shadow sends him a picture to confirm the kill, the slim amount of time you hope to have bought with your fake out will be halved.

You stare down at the phone and let it ring once, twice, and finally on the third ring, you lift the phone to your ear and accept the call, waiting for Mori to speak.

“Has it been done?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice steady even if your fingers are trembling around the phone. “Do you need me back at headquarters?”

“No, I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you. You should get some rest. I have a meeting with Tolstoy in a bit anyway. I’ll meet with you tomorrow after I have tea with Elise-chan so you can debrief me on the meetings with the Guild,” Mori says easily, his tone is light and airy, and it makes you angry, because how dare he sound so flippant after what he just expected you to do. “... I’m sorry things had to end this way, dear. I’m proud of you. You did well.”

“I know,” you say tightly in response before hanging up and putting the phone back down in your lap. 

Chuuya watches you carefully, but he doesn’t say anything, and you stare ahead at the back of the driver’s seat. It’s a twenty-five minute drive from the ports in Naka to Sakae—for better or for worse, it’s going to be a quiet one. For better because you think you might start crying if you have to speak, and for worse because now all you’re plagued with is your own thoughts and the image of Dazai’s face before you shot him.

You didn’t shoot him. Not really.

But you did, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t even know if Chuuya knows if he was able to stop it. There was a splatter of blood. You saw that, and there shouldn’t have been blood if this worked, so the worst case scenario looms over you heavily. But you won’t know until you get to the safe house—until you hear from Klaus. Your breath hitches over a sob you’re forced to swallow; your chest burns and tightens uncomfortable.

You had to do it, this was the only option. Anything else and there was no shot he wouldn’t have been killed. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he would be killed. You wouldn’t be able to protect him from Mori otherwise—he would’ve put a hit out on him, and Dazai would have all of the most dangerous assassins in the underworld out for him trying to get the bounty. You can’t protect him from that. You needed to buy time. You needed to buy time so you could-

You don’t finish the thought. 

You don’t think you’ve come to terms with what has to be done if you want to protect Dazai. A part of you doesn’t even know if you’ll be able to follow through with it, but you’ve already set yourself down the path of no return and you’ve dragged Chuuya down it along with you. Either you follow through, or the three of you are going to be on the run for the rest of your lives.

Shit.

Your gaze tracks back down to your phone. Still nothing from Klaus—nothing from Akutagawa either. The silence is too loud, each second that passes has you aching with a pain that feels like knives dragging against your bones. You just need to know, you need to know that he’s okay, that you didn’t-

You rest your forehead against the window when nausea builds back up in your stomach. It’s cool, and a welcome reprieve from the heaviness weighing down on you, but the moment your eyes slide shut, you’re faced with Dazai again and no amount of deep breathing and grounding techniques can stop the way your heart rate sky-rockets, breath becoming quick and shallow.

You see him. You see him, and he’s looking up at you, dark eyes wide and adoring as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him, and his lips part to say something but before he can, you see something thick and red trickling down his face over his lips, and suddenly something is weighing cold and heavy in your hand but you can’t bring yourself to look down at it, but you can’t drag your eyes from his face. Can’t hide yourself from the way his warm eyes are suddenly wide and glassy, void of all of the emotions that you’d just-

Your arm hurts—sharp and painful and so sudden that you’re dragged from the images haunting you. Your gaze cuts over to Chuuya, who’s giving you a concerned look. You realize he must’ve shifted over a bit, brushed his arm against yours to use his ability to jolt you out of your spiraling thoughts. When he realizes that you’re back in the present, he gives you a pointed look and then directs his gaze outside.

You’re almost there. How much time had passed?

Why hasn’t Klaus or Akutagawa reached out to you?

What is going on?

Albatross doesn’t stop in front of the safe house—there are too many cameras in the street and all of the Port Mafia’s cars are tracked. Instead, he takes a left on the next street because it’s one of the few without a red light camera and a blind spot on the corner. His gaze flickers up to the rearview mirror and he pointedly raises the volume of his shitty music a few decibels louder to cover the noise of the car doors opening and closing as you and Chuuya slip out when he stops at the red light.

You leave your phone in the car and you’re careful to avoid the camera near the bakery on the corner as you follow Chuuya around to the alley that leads to the back entrance of the safe house. It’s not a Port Mafia safe house—it was Itou’s. This was where he stayed in the few months during the Dragon’s Head Conflict where he was on his own, after he left Strain but before you recruited him to the Port Mafia. It was well hidden and well protected, you hadn’t been able to track him down here until he brought you here—he made sure that it was a blind spot in the Port Mafia’s ever-watchful eye over Yokohama, and you made sure to keep it that way once he was gone. 

It’s only once the steel door is shut behind you that you can finally speak, gaze focusing on Chuuya desperately as you wait for him to tell you if he was able to do it or if Dazai’s ability…

“Did you hear from Klaus or Akutagawa?” he asks quietly, and that’s enough of an answer.

He doesn’t know. 

You feel sick—your stomach lurches and you don’t know if you start to stumble toward the bathroom or the couch or straight to the floor, but it doesn’t matter because Chuuya is darting forward to grab you and guide you over to the couch.

“Chuuya, if I-” you start to say, your words are raspy and you can’t even bring yourself to finish them. “If I-”

“Don’t,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “Don’t bother going there yet. Wait for Klaus and Akutagawa.”

“But-”

“Stop,” he insists. “All you’re going to do is torture yourself.”

Isn’t that what you deserve? You want to say to him, nails digging into the palm of your hand so deep that it draws blood. Chuuya catches what you’re doing and immediately moves to unfurl your hands. Everything you’ve done. You killed Dazai’s family. His siblings. His cousins. You ruined his life, and then after everything, it wasn’t enough. You ruined his life and then you took-

“Hey, stop,” Chuuya interrupts your thoughts, clearly realizing what path they’re going down. You don’t realize your breath is ragged again until he grabs your chin and twists your head to force you to look at him. “I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t do this right now, we need to plan. We don’t have time, and when Klaus and Akutagawa get here with him, we need to know what we’re doing. You need to snap out of it.”

You don’t respond to him—your lashes flutter and you see Dazai again, you see blood, you see empty eyes, you see the gun in your hand, and you feel something warm and wet trickling over your cheeks. Chuuya spits out curses to himself and wipes away the tears streaming down your face. He’s gentle now, the rough grip on your chin disappears and is replaced with his hand cradling the back of your head as he pulls you closer to him. He presses your ear to his chest, hoping that the steady thrum of his heart is enough to ground you.

“Where the fuck are they?” he spits out more to himself than to you. His breath hitches and you can hear the stammering of his heart, and you know that he’s nervous, but he’s trying to hide it for your sake. “I need you here. What we just did-fuck-”

You try to snap out of it—you do, but every time you blink you see him. You see what you did. You knew this would happen from the very beginning, you knew it, and everyone warned you, but you’re selfish. You’ve always been so selfish.

You don’t know how much time passes. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. It all blurs, it all feels like eternity, but eventually, the door to the safe house slams open, and only a handful of people know about it.

Your gaze snaps up, and you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Klaus steps into the room with a familiar figure slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Both of them are covered in various substances that you think you would rather not know what they are, but you can see the steady rise and fall of Dazai’s back. You rise to your feet abruptly and Chuuya lets out a relieved breath, shoulders slumping.

Klaus immediately points an accusing finger at you. “I had to hunt down a civilian, kill him, crawl through shit and trash with a dead body to swap it out for your boy, I had to carry him across half of the city, and I couldn’t even channel Mephisto because he nullifies him. You better not complain about any messes I make for the next six months,” Klaus demands, and then points wildly back toward a very clean Akutagawa, who casts an unimpressed look his way. “And he didn’t even help me. He stood there and watched.”

“I was ensuring that no one saw what we were doing,” Akutagawa replies primly. “Even more important than your job, considering if someone saw it would all be for naught. You should be thanking me.”

Klaus’s face goes red with anger as he whips around to face him and roars, “More important? Thank you?!”

You laugh. It’s so startling that all of the anger washes away from Klaus’s face and the goading expression on Akutagawa’s disappears. Or you think you laugh—you think you might be crying again too. Both boys look aghast by the sight of it, looking at each other as if waiting for the other to do something to make you stop.

Eventually, Klaus steps forward and unsurely tries to pass Dazai’s unconscious body over to you as if to try to make you feel better by shoving him in your arms. Chuuya slaps him hard over the back of the head causing him to yelp.

“Put him on the couch, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you passing him over to her like he’s a fucking stuffed animal?” Chuuya snaps, giving him a plainly judgemental look before resting his hand on your shoulder. 

Klaus looks disgruntled, but he does as Chuuya asks, laying Dazai down on the couch where you and Chuuya had just been sitting. You drop to your knees next to him, and the room is oddly silent as you look down at him. You don’t feel their gazes on you, so you assume they’re giving you privacy as best they can.

He looks… peaceful. You could almost imagine that you were coming home to him napping on your couch after he spent the whole night playing some stupid video game in your living room. You try to imagine that’s what this is, but the bloody indent in his forehead prevents you.

It almost broke through his skull.

He almost died.

You almost killed him.

You feel a bit sick as your fingers trace up to the wound on his forehead. It’s still bleeding, but his forehead is clean compared to the grime that covers the rest of his body. Klaus and Akutagawa must’ve had the brain to stop and clean the wound before it could get infected—that’s probably what took them so long.

You feel someone come to your side, glancing up to see Akutagawa hovering next to you with bandages in hand. He passes them over to you silently before quickly walking away. You let out a soft breath as you unwind the bandages, gently lifting his head so you can wrap them around his forehead. Immediately, they’re staining red—you grimace and look away.

The silence hanging over the room only lasts so long.

“What’s next?” Klaus asks quietly. “This won’t work for long. What’s the plan?”

Your gaze lowers as you rest your hand against Dazai’s cheek, memorizing his face as best as you can. The heaviness in your chest returns, and along with it, the damning reminder of your reality.

“I have to kill Mori.”

--

Dazai suddenly understands his dream.

“It’s the only option,” you say quietly when Dazai’s expression immediately twists at your words. Your eyes look so heavy and your expression is so crestfallen that it makes Dazai ache. His fingers twitch to reach out for you but you shift away, shaking your head. “It’s the only option, Osamu. It has to be done.”

“But-”

“He tried to have me kill you,” you snap, and he almost rolls his eyes because he doesn’t need reminding of that. He’s abundantly aware of the fact that he almost died at your hands because of Mori. He refrains if only barely. “Why do you care about what happens to him?”

“He’s your father,” Dazai says, watching as you go stiff. He knows he might’ve just made a mistake saying that, but he doesn’t even know if you fully understand the gravity of all of this or if you’re just running off heightened emotions right now. “I don’t care about him, he can go fuck off and die for all I care. I care about you-“

“He’s not my father,” you spit out, voice tight, “and maybe you shouldn’t care about me.”

Oh, here it comes, Dazai thinks dreadfully. That was the opening you needed to bring up the subject Dazai desperately wanted to avoid. He has made a fatal mistake. He should’ve just nodded along and agreed to your plan.

“You’re right he’s not your father,” Dazai immediately agrees to appease you and try to avoid the imminent conversation. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey, do you have food here? I’m so hungry all of a sudden, wow, do you hear my stomach-” 

You sigh, looking away. Your eyes are suddenly very tired and Dazai’s words falter on his tongue as his gaze settles on you. His fingers twitch to reach out for your hand but you draw them back into your lap. Dazai’s gaze drops at the blatant rejection, but as soon as you notice, you reach back out to intertwine your fingers with his. He feels placated, but only a little, because he still has a tight feeling in his chest that he can’t push away. A looming fear that something is going to go terribly wrong.

“Can we please talk about this?” you finally ask quietly, and even though Dazai does want to say no, he simply cannot bring himself to. 

So, instead, he nods, and braces himself for what he knows is bound to be a terrible conversation. He waits for you to say something—you look like you want to, but he thinks that maybe you’re struggling just as much as him at opening the conversation. 

This isn’t going to go well, he realizes again, swallowing thickly. 

“Come on,” you finally say, rising to your feet. You hold out your hand to him and Dazai stares at it for a moment, confused. “Let’s get you cleaned up, you smell disgusting.”

“I wonder why,” Dazai mutters, and he means for it to come out as a joke, but when the small smile on your lips falters, he realizes it probably came out much too bitter so he quickly grabs your hand instead, letting you help him to his feet. He tries to get you to smile again by giving you a soft one of his own, but now the expression on your face is heavy and conflicted. “Are you gonna take a bath with me?”

“You should probably rinse off before we get into the bath,” you say dryly, thumb running along the back of his hand before you let go of it. “Otherwise we’ll just be sitting in shit water.”

Dazai almost gags. “Don’t remind me what I’m covered in right now,” he pleads. “Where is the shower?”

The light returns to your eyes, a smile flickers to your lips, and Dazai considers it a win even if he is covered in shit and god knows what else. He glances back down to where he’d been laying and winces when he sees the stains. His eyes flicker back up to you and he cringes when he sees the displeased expression on your face.

“I’ll make Atsushi and Akutagawa clean it,” you say more to yourself than to him, shaking your head and motioning for him to follow. “Bonding exercise.”

Dazai raises his eyebrows, unsure if the couch is even salvageable, and almost lets a comment slip about it considering you were so quick to throw out his couch to replace it, but he refrains when a sad expression crosses your face when you think he’s not looking. He frowns, looking around a bit more scrutinizing now.

This place looks nothing like your apartment.

Your apartment is… plain. Minimalistic. The most you have decorating it is a handful of paintings on the wall and a couple of antiques displayed on dressers. Other than that, you have your furniture, your television, and that’s just about it. Dazai had joked once about it feeling like a hotel room, and promptly stole your credit card to buy things to decorate with—gaudy Christmas lights even though it’s not Christmas, a couple of fake pumpkins to line against your wall and a plastic skeleton to pin up near the window. He even bought an inflatable snowman to put in the middle of the room, but it hasn’t come yet. You rolled your eyes every time you came back from work to see some new, seasonally inappropriate decoration in your apartment, but he could tell the more things he added to your apartment, the happier you seemed to be. 

This place was actually decorated. Pictures and trinkets set up on the dressers, all of the furniture matched and the walls were a warm burgundy instead of the off-putting, psych ward white of your apartment. You said this was a safe house, but it seems more like a home than your actual one. 

“What is this place?” he asks again, because it’s something more than a safe-house, he just doesn’t know what.

“I told you,” you frown. “A safe house.”

Dazai’s lips curl down in response but he doesn’t press, gaze flickering over to one of the side tables against the wall, trying to figure out who exactly is in the pictures on it, but as he strains his eyes to focus on it, pain ricochets through his head and he has to abandon the mission. Disappointed, he follows you into the back bedroom and realizes he’ll just have to figure it out later.

He almost stops in his tracks in the doorway when he sees that the bedroom is just as homely as the rest of the safe house. It’s weird—the same burgundy walls, dark mahogany furniture, there’s what looks to be a handmade quilt draped over the foot of the bed. It’s just so unlike you that it almost has Dazai reeling.

You give him an odd look when you see the twisted expression on his face, but motion toward another door. “The bathroom is in there—go rinse off and run the bath, I’ll be in there in a minute, I’m going to grab a change of clothes for you.”

“Mkay,” Dazai agrees, a jump in his step as he rushes over to the bathroom. 

He only pauses for a second to take in his surroundings when he gets in there—he’s not as surprised now by the style. Less modern, more rustic, just like the rest of the house; it’s more like something he’d expect to see in one of those American holiday movies. He leans over the tub to run the hot water before pulling off his clothes. He squints as he starts to unwind his bandages, looking into the shower and realizing that the only soap in there is an unopened bar soap, and a men’s shampoo and conditioner set. 

A bit suspicious now, he glances at the door leading to the bedroom before kneeling down in front of the cabinets beneath the sink. With one hand, he unwinds the bandages around his legs, and with the other, he reaches out to open the cabinet so he can snoop. Just as he expected: men’s deodorant, a spare baking soda and peroxide toothpaste that he knows you hate, and a handful of different colognes. There’s one bag off to the side and Dazai reaches for it, peeking in and finding your typical bath soaps and hair care.

Whose place is this? He wonders, pausing for half a second before taking out your soaps and bringing them into the shower with him. It’s not Chuuya’s—Dazai knows that because he hasn’t seen a single tacky hat yet, but then whose?

He’s quick to clean himself off, eager to be with you and still a bit anxious that you might disappear when he’s not looking. The water runs brown as it rinses over him, but it feels nice—Dazai realizes that this is his first shower since he got kidnapped by the Guild, and a part of him wants to bask in it. He wants to wash off all of the unfamiliar touches and the dirt and the blood, but more than that, he wants to surround himself with you instead. Which means he has to hurry out of here and drag you into the tub with him. 

He thinks maybe he should be biding his time. He has a lot to think about before he actually talks to you—he’s hardly even had a chance to process everything that happened—but still, he finds himself rushing to scrub himself. It couldn’t have been more than ten, fifteen minutes before he’s stumbling out of the shower and grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. He almost expects you to be waiting in the bathroom for him, but you’re not, so he frowns and creaks the door back open to look for you.

Your name is on his lips as he steps back into the bedroom, but he falters when he sees you standing in the same place he left you: right outside a closet, except now the door is open and there’s a sweatshirt in your hands. The expression on your face is destroyed, and Dazai isn’t exactly sure what to say, luckily, he doesn’t need to because you hear the door open and turn toward him.

Whatever you’re about to say dies on your lips as your eyes trail over his body.

Another fatal mistake.

Dazai instantly realizes that he has never taken off his bandages in front of you before—that night at the beach house, he thought you were going to ask him to take them off, but you didn’t. He was glad for it, because he wasn’t sure if he was ready, and after that… Well, everything went downhill after that.

Dazai suddenly wants to flee. He becomes acutely aware of all of the scars on his body plainly in view. The warm, dim lighting becomes spotlights shining down on him, highlighting all of the flaws that he’s feared your reaction to. He waits for your face to twist—or, he knows you, you probably wouldn’t have such a visible reaction, so he focuses on your eyes instead.

But they only curve up along with your lips, a fondness in them that he doesn’t expect. You place the clothes down on the bed and approach him, his breath catches when your hands rest on his hips right above the towel. The skin-on-skin makes his chest ache—he’s missed you so much, he hadn’t even realized how hard it had been to breathe without you until he was back with you again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes out loud, lashes fluttering when your thumbs circle over his hip bones, right over a jagged scar that cuts across his lower abdomen—the product of an unfortunate encounter in Suribachi. 

“I missed you too,” you say softly. Your eyes trace over his face like you’re trying to memorize each little detail—usually he feels uncomfortable when under a scrutinizing gaze, he never wants someone to look too closely at him in fear of what they might find, but he feels warm beneath yours. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure exactly what you’re apologizing for; it could be anything from almost killing him to letting him into your life at all. He’s not yet ready for this conversation to start, he hasn’t even gathered his thoughts yet, so instead he glances pointedly back toward the bathroom. You let out a soft breath—he can’t tell if it’s irritation or you’re just tired, it might be both, but you do motion for him to go in and he can hear you following him.

The water is still steaming as he lets the towel drop to the ground and sinks into it. His muscles instantly relax, eyes sliding shut as he rests against the back of the tub, letting out a soft sigh. For a moment, he can almost forget everything that’s happened, his head falls to the side to focus on you as you undress, folding your clothes and placing them on the side table. He blinks when you pull off your dress shirt, gaze zeroing in on a scar marring your upper back. It’s small, circular—a bullet wound, maybe? It doesn’t go through to your chest though, he would’ve noticed that. 

“How did you get that?” he asks curiously, belatedly realizing he probably has no right to ask about scars considering his body is riddled with them and he’d probably evade most attempts at your prying if you asked. 

“Hm?” you ask quietly, looking over your shoulder at him as you finish undressing.

The words falter on Dazai’s lips as his gaze roves over your body. You’re beautiful, he thinks again, a bit more dreamily this time. You’re beautiful, and he’s missed you so much, and he just wants all of this to be over so he can go back to lounging in your apartment and spending your money all day. It’s only when you raise your eyebrows that he clears his throat and nods his chin to your back.

“The scar on your back,” he explains. “How did you get it?”

“Oh,” you realize, making your way over to the tub and tapping his shoulder, motioning for him to shift forward. You slip into the water behind him, circling your arms around his waist and Dazai’s chest feels warm and full as he rests back against you, eyes sliding shut. “An assassination attempt when I was eighteen. I was… reckless, saw it coming and… Well, luckily, the Flags had been in the area. Iceman figured out what was happening and they got there quick enough to stabilize me and get me to Mori.”

Dazai’s throat swells at the implication of what you’d said, trying to distract himself with the feeling of your fingers tracing across his abdomen. He notes softly, “You’re never reckless.”

Your fingers pause in the absent patterns you’re tracing on him, and Dazai wonders if it’s a sore topic, about to retract his words. Before he can, you let out a soft breath and drop your forehead down on his shoulder, arms tightening around him.

“This was Itou’s house. All of the stuff in here, it’s his family’s—stuff he was able to salvage after they were killed. He tried to keep the house like how his mother used to keep it as a way to memorialize her,” you say quietly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he recognizes the name of your old partner. “We were enemies when we first met, y’know? It was during the big conflict six years ago. He was part of one of the foreign organizations. I ended up recruiting him, but he spent a few months on his own here. He was careful to keep it a blind spot to the Port Mafia even after he joined up, I always thought he was paranoid about it, but he was quite insistent that there was no need for people to know about it.”

“Makes sense,” Dazai says dryly. “I wouldn’t want Mori knowing where I’m living either.”

It’s an off-handed quip, but you still stiffen and again, Dazai fumbles to say something else because he clearly upset you. He starts to add, “I-”

“I killed him,” you finally say, voice weak and airy. Your arms loosen around him, but his hands drop to cover yours, holding them in place. “I killed him, Osamu.”

“I thought you said he died on a mission,” Dazai murmurs, hand tightening around yours when he feels the way your fingers are trembling. 

“I… Itou was born into this life. Was born into a Yakuza-family based in Tokyo, trained since he was old enough to walk how to use his ability… how to kill. The Yakuza syndicate his family was the head of was wiped out by the Sun and Steel when he was eight… nine, maybe. His mother was able to get him and bring him back to Australia—that’s where she was from. It’s how he ended up with Strain,” you explain, and the water suddenly feels a bit cold—what happened to Itou’s family sounds a lot like what happened to Dazai’s. From the way you pause, you wonder if you realize the same thing. You quickly change the subject, “He tried getting me out of the Mafia.”

“What?” Dazai asks, surprised. He shifts to physically look at you, catching the wistful expression on your face. “You wanted to leave the Mafia.”

The wistful expression shifts into something much more conflicted. 

“I didn’t-” you start to say before cutting yourself off. “I don’t know. I think maybe a part of me might’ve wanted to. I was… curious. He was sneaky—he was always such a sneaky bastard. He tried to ease me into it, show me what a different life was like. Called them training exercises, wanted me to blend in with kids my age.”

He remembers you telling him this at the beach house, but he listens anyway because now you do sound wistful. His eyes slide shut as you hold him tightly, pressing your lips to his shoulder blade before resting your chin on top of it. 

“His gift to me for my eighteenth birthday was an acceptance letter to university. He pulled some strings. It was for YNU, actually, funny enough,” you say softly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he turns to look at you again; there’s a small, sad smile on your lips and when he turns, you take the chance to steal a kiss from him. “Imagine, we could’ve been first years together.”

Dazai doesn’t dare to respond. His hand tightens around yours—if it’s painful, you don’t let it show. Odasaku dragged him to orientation, and he imagines meeting you there. You’re good at socializing—charming—Dazai can be too when he wants, but he definitely did not want to during orientation. He mostly sulked away and waited for it to be over so he could go back home. He imagines that you’d be in the same group with him, and although he’d probably ignore you the first few times you tried to talk to him, he’d eventually give in. Dazai is weak to pretty women, especially when that pretty woman is you.

Or maybe, you’d meet during a shared class. You would probably be a poli-sci major, but he’s taken classes in the field for requirements. He hated them, thought they were boring, but he probably would’ve enjoyed it much more if he had you to admire all two hours of the class. And maybe-

“I was curious,” you repeat, voice tighter. There’s more of an edge to it now, and Dazai realizes that this story is about to take a turn. “I… I wanted to try it. I told Mori.”

Dazai’s eyes widen and he sits up straight. The water sloshes around him as he physically turns around to face you. He asks, but can’t finish, “Did he…”

“He said it was a great idea,” you say tightly. “He encouraged it. I accepted the spot, and a week before orientation, Itou died on a mission that we got bad intel for. My whole team, they died to make sure I got out alive. Mori denied having any involvement, said he wouldn’t risk an ability user as powerful as Itou, but I know. I know he had a hand in it. I’ve always known it. The government had been after Itou for years—they said he was a national security threat. A couple of weeks later, we suddenly have the skilled business permit that Mori’s been trying to get for months. It was a trade-off. I know it. Two birds, one stone. The skilled business permit and my full focus back on the Mafia for Itou’s life.”

Dazai’s lips part to say something—anything—but he can’t. Your eyes are misty, and the foreboding feeling that’s been haunting him since he woke up intensifies. You shake your head, blinking back tears. 

“I never should’ve brought you into this world, Osamu.”

Dazai needs to think now. He needs to figure out how exactly he’s going to go about this, whether he should be soft and demure, appealing to your heart, or if he should be more forceful, triggering your guilt. 

He goes with the latter.

“Well it’s too late for that,” Dazai says, keeping his voice steady until he knows how you’re going to react to it. When you instantly shake your head again, his voice hardens. “It’s too late, I’m already in it. You can’t just get rid of me. Take accountability.”

“You don’t think I have?” you question dryly, looking away from him. But he needs you to look at him for this to be effective, so he reaches out to grab your hand, dragging your attention back toward him. “I killed your family, Osamu.”

“She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arms and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Her name was Akane. Bunji and Touma were her brothers. 

They were Dazai’s brothers. Dazai’s sister. The stuffed bear was called Coco, and Akane would clutch it and cry whenever Dazai started talking about things like death. She was scared of dying; more than that, scared of the people she loved dying. She cried for weeks when their grandmother passed, and got angry at Dazai when he didn’t even cry at the funeral. Dazai used to share a bedroom with her and Touma, but he hated her nightlight—it was purple and it was always right in Dazai’s eyes when he laid down. He convinced his mother to force Bunji to swap rooms with him, so Dazai had his own room on the second floor of his grandfather’s estate.

“You were a kid too,” Dazai rasps out the same thing he said at the beach house, but it comes out a bit weaker this time knowing exactly who the people you killed were. “You were fourteen. You-”

“I played a role in tracking your mother down,” you continue. Dazai’s breath catches as his fingers loosen around yours. “It was my punishment for not making sure all of the grandchildren were… eliminated. I was the one that was tracking her down, and I was the one that was going to interrogate her for your whereabouts when I found her.”

“Stop,” Dazai says quietly, voice wavering.

“No,” you reply firmly. “No. You need to understand this-”

“I do,” Dazai insists, voice cracking. “I do understand-”

“You don’t, Dazai,” you raise your voice and Dazai cringes back. You sigh and soften your voice, but the damage has been done, Dazai’s fight or flight instincts have been triggered. This conversation is not going to end in his favor, so he needs to run before he gets hurt, but he can’t because you have him stuck in the bath with you. You reach out again to take his hands in yours, fingers absently running along the scars on his wrists. “You don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so quick to join me in here. You haven’t even had time to process it.”

“Yes, I have,” Dazai whispers weakly. “I have.”

“I ruined your life, Osamu,” you say quietly. “Everything bad that’s ever happened to you started with me.”

“That’s not true,” Dazai argues, nails biting into your skin as he clings to you. “My life sucked before everything really went to shit. The first time I tried to kill myself, I was eleven. You saved my life. I was going to kill myself that night we met at the bar. You saved me.”

“Osamu-”

“You’re not listening to me,” Dazai interrupts, voice taking a more manic edge as he shakes his head. He can talk himself out of any situation—why is he failing now when it matters most? “You’re not listening. You saved me. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you breathe out, but the words don’t settle his nerves because they’re heavy and full of sorrow, and the tears that had been pooling in your eyes finally start to spill over.

“Then why does this still feel like a goodbye?” he begs, breath shallow as he searches your face for an answer.

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He finds his answer in your eyes. He always does. You look at him again with that desperate, longing expression, like you’re trying to memorize the details of his face even though you know it’s futile. 

This is a goodbye.

--

Dazai hasn’t spoken to you once since your conversation in the bath.

Chuuya, your subordinates, and the Flags are back now, and Dazai is sulking in the bedroom watching one of his dumb reality shows. You can hardly focus on the conversation at hand because of it, and you know the others are starting to get irritated by your distraction considering the stakes at play right now. If one thing goes wrong, all of your lives would be forfeit. They’re risking everything by helping you right now, and you can't even bother to give them your full attention.

“Out,” Piano Man suddenly says. Your gaze snaps toward him, as does all of the others’ in the room. When nobody immediately moves, he raises his eyebrows and continues dryly, “Are you all hard of hearing? I said get out.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Albatross demands. “Her boy’s in the bedroom. This place is small-”

“Go crowd in the closet for all I care. Get out,” Piano Man says dismissively. Still, no one moves until his gaze sharpens and they realize he’s being entirely serious. You shift to leave with them until his eyes land on you. “Not you.”

You feel like a child about to be scolded, which is ridiculous because you’re a mafioso, and though Piano Man is technically the same rank as you, he’s not really. He can’t scold you, but you shift awkwardly on your feet and share a concerned look with Chuuya anyway as they all wander out of the safe house and into the small hallway outside.

Once the two of you are alone, you finally glance back at Piano Man, who’s watching you carefully. After a few moments he says, “I take it you told him the plan?”

“I did,” you reply quietly.

“He didn’t take it well?” Piano Man questions.

“You know the answer to that,” you say a bit more dryly before shaking your head. “Would you have taken it well?”

“Of course not, I’d be livid,” Piano Man says immediately, making you cringe. “Does this mean we’re changing the plan?” 

“No,” you tell him. “We can’t. This is the only option.”

“I know,” Piano Man says with a thin smile. “So stop sulking and get your head in the game so we don’t all die trying to perform a coup.”

You’re startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice, but you suppose you shouldn’t be. Piano Man has always been capricious, going from his whimsical moods to more cold and ruthless ones within a matter of seconds. You can hardly meet his eyes now, looking down at the ground to avoid them.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask after a few moments.

You don’t have to look at Piano Man to see the way he raises his eyebrows judgmentally. “Excuse me?” 

“I was going to kill you earlier. I held a gun to your head. Why are you helping me?” you press, the words weighing heavily on you as you remember the way he met your eyes when you lifted the muzzle of your gun to his temple.

Piano Man has the audacity to look amused. “When I first recruited Lippmann, I tried to drown him in the harbor because I got paranoid he sold me out to the feds after a mission went wrong. It happens—the next time it does, I’m going to be pulling my own gun out though. So, don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t apologize often, even when you know you’re entirely in the wrong. Mori has taught you only to apologize when it serves you, otherwise you should never make an admission of guilt or liability. So it’s not surprising when Piano Man’s eyebrows shoot upward, but his expression softens after a moment. He reaches out to pat your head.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he murmurs, “but we need you at the top of your game if this is going to work.”

“I know,” you reply. “... I know.”

“Good,” he says, patting the top of your head yet again before sighing. “Let me go get them and we’ll get back to planning, okay?”

“Mkay.”

You lean back against the wall as you look down at the table Lippmann set up for planning. The Flags, your subordinates, Kajii Motojiro—they’re non-factors in the planned coup. The Flags will support it, your subordinates will support you, and all Kajii cares about is his experiments. Paul Verlaine is not quite as secure, but Chuuya is confident that he’ll support whatever Chuuya goes along with.

The issue lies in Kouyou and the Black Lizards.

You already feel a headache come on just at the thought, lifting your hands to your head and rubbing your eyes as you knock the back of your head against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. Kouyou and Hirotsu won’t support the coup, you know it. They’re both loyal to Mori—both victims of the previous boss who found refuge in Mori when he took over. They’ll fight for him, and you know better than anyone that during a forceful transition of power, all dissidents must be removed, especially ones that hold significant power and influence.

But it’s Kouyou and Hirotsu. Kouyou, who was the one to teach you how to do your makeup properly, who bought you your first kimono to match her own. Hirotsu, who was always quick to execute anyone that openly disrespected you, who took you to a movie on your fifteenth birthday when Mori was busy dealing with the power transition so you didn’t spend it alone. The thought makes you sick—they were family, and maybe Hirotsu could be convinced. He’s loyal to Mori, yes, but more than that, he’s loyal to the Port Mafia. If you can manufacture a legitimate reason for the coup…

You sigh as you glance down the hall where Dazai is hiding in the bedroom, startled when your gaze catches his familiar brown. He’s seemingly just as surprised that you caught him spying, immediately slamming the bedroom door shut to retreat back into the safety of the room. Your lips curl up into a small smile, which is quickly washed away when your subordinates, the Flags and Chuuya all file back into the room.

“I’ll talk to Ane-san,” Chuuya finally says, reigniting the conversation. “I’ll make her see reason.”

“There’s no time for talking, Chuuya,” Piano Man tells him. “This all has to be done within hours. If we let word get out about what we’re doing… The coup is risky, and a civil war would be the end of this city.”

Frustration flashes across Chuuya’s face. “I’m not budging on this,” he says, voice tight with thinly restrained anger. “Either you give me the chance to talk to her, or I’ll withdraw my support.”

“Chuuya,” you sigh tiredly, wanting nothing more than to just sit down.

“No,” Chuuya interrupts you. “I won’t actively stand against you, but I won’t stand with you if you don’t give me the chance to talk to her.”

“Fine,” you finally say even though you know it’s a mistake. It’s asking for trouble. Piano Man gives you a sharp, disapproving look, but you shake your head. “It’s fine. She won’t be keeping her executive position.”

Chuuya’s face twists. “But-”

“No.” This time you interrupt him, holding up your hand. “I’m not budging on this. If you want the chance to talk to her and convince her this is the best route, I’ll give you it, but you need to meet me halfway. She’s not retaining her executive position.”

Chuuya looks unhappy, but after a few moments, he nods. “Fine.”

“I can’t risk it, Chuuya,” you tell him quietly. “I need people who I trust in the inner circle. I can’t trust her after what just happened.”

“I get it,” Chuuya says. “I just don’t like it.”

“That leaves three executive seats we need to fill.” Piano Man lets out a heavy sigh as he sits on the edge of the table, tilting his head back in exhaustion. “Your’s, Ace’s, and Kouyou-san’s. Do you even have three more people who you trust?”

Klaus and Akutagawa, you think to yourself, but neither of them are executive material. Your gaze drifts over to Albatross, Iceman, and Doc, each of them pointedly looks away, none of them want the open seats. Lippmann can’t take it, not with what you have planned for him. So, who else-

“Verlaine?” Chuuya offers. “He’s got a ton of experience with the European organizations—we’ll probably need it considering Dostoevsky’s involvement with the Guild, and this Book that’s apparently somewhere in the city. If it gets out to the public, we’ll have organizations swarming just like during the Dragon’s Head.”

You don’t like the idea of Verlaine being an executive, and you don’t think Piano Man does either considering his unfortunate first meeting with the man, but Chuuya raises good points. You have your own experience with the European underworld, but it’s nothing like what Verlaine has.

“Okay,” you agree, “and the other two?”

The Black Lizards are its own command unit that answers directly to the Boss. They don’t have a seat at the table because it’s not their field. Their field is war, not politics… but what other options are there? The people you trust are far and few in-between, you can probably count them on one hand.

“What about Tolstoy?” a familiar voice asks quietly from down the hallway. You look up immediately, gaze focusing on where Dazai is standing in the door of the bedroom, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t like the attention of everyone on him, so he keeps his eyes trained fully on you. “Mishima?”

“They’re not part of the Port Mafia,” Chuuya dismisses, “they don’t get seats.”

“But what if they were?” Dazai presses, shuffling forward. He hardly spares Chuuya a glance before looking at you again. “The transition of power is going to be shaky, you need to strengthen your position in other ways, otherwise…”

“You think we should merge with the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel,” Piano Man realizes, sitting up straighter as he considers Dazai’s proposition. “Doesn’t that risk destabilizing us even more though?”

He looks at you for an answer, but your gaze is focused on Dazai. He’s not even gone yet, but you already miss him desperately; all you want is to be with him, but it’s just not possible. You can’t have him and run the Port Mafia at the same time; he will die because of his affiliation with you, just like he almost did when the Guild captured him. It wouldn’t matter how safe you tried to keep him, one mistake and he would die. And that will lead to every decision you make being centered around him, not what’s best for the Port Mafia and that will lead to its inevitable ruin. 

“No, Osamu’s right,” you say, and Dazai preens at the praise, but then quickly deflates again. You want to reach out for him, but you refrain. “Not a merger. An acquisition. The Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel are already pretty much extensions of the Port Mafia, we would only be formalizing it. I trust Tolstoy and Mishima—I pretty much built the Three Deaths into what it is today myself. We’d give the Port Mafia an official foothold in Russia, more sway over everything that happens in Tokyo. It’s a good plan. Great one, even.”

“Will they even agree to it?” Chuuya asks doubtfully. “Go from being fully autonomous to answering to us.”

“They pretty much already do just answer to us,” Albatross mutters.

“They’ll agree to it,” you tell him quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Tolstoy won’t be hard to convince. He, Chekhov and Gorky are all good friends of yours, you helped them build the Three Deaths, you helped them win territory battles against the Pale Flame and the Red Chamber. All it would take a few words of convincing for them to agree to it. Mishima might be more difficult, but all you have to do is convince his daughters, and they hang off your every word.

There might be some dissent from the Sun and Steel executives, but even then, you think it would be minimal at worst. It’s a good plan. Having Tolstoy and Mishima sitting at the executive table would lend you some much needed support during the transition, and with the Port Mafia subsuming the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel, it would provide a major deterrence against any foreign movements from Cao Xueqin or Yi Sang.

“What about Hirotsu and the Black Lizards?” Akutagawa asks, shifting awkwardly when all eyes turn to him. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and you know it’s because he actually cares about what your answer might be. Akutagawa likes to pretend that he doesn’t care about anyone, but you know he has a soft spot for the unit that took Gin in so easily.

“We can’t afford to lose the Black Lizards,” Iceman notes as he lights another cigarette. “Especially if we’re bringing in other organizations. We don't want our own people to feel like they’re being lost in the mix, y’know?”

“I’ll handle Hirotsu,” you finally say. “It’ll be fine. I just need to figure out how to frame this. Needs to be framed in a way that makes him feel like this was the best, and only, course of action for the Mafia. He’s loyal to Mori only to the extent that he’s good for the Port Mafia. I’ll figure it out. Leave that to me.”

“Ace’s subordinates?” Albatross prompts. “They been handled? We can’t have them knowing about him. Can’t have anyone knowing about him.”

“Dead,” Akutagawa says. “I killed them.”

“Security cameras? CCTV? Any record of this kid being affiliated with us?” 

“Wiped,” Klaus answers flippantly. “We’ve gone through it every day since they met. Weren’t allowed to sleep ‘til made sure everything from the day was wiped. There’s no physical record of him ever being around us.”

“Okay, so we get this settled, and then we wait on Repin for the rest of us, right?” Albatross asks. Dazai cringes at the mention of Repin, and you look away from him, unable to watch the pain that crosses his face.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “It all needs to happen within no more than a couple days otherwise we risk the wrong people finding out so…”

“So we should get started,” Chuuya sighs, pushing himself off the wall. He squeezes your wrist as he passes by you, walking in the direction of the door. “We’ll give you guys some time. I’ll let you know how things go with Ane-san.”

You nod, eyes following him as he leaves. The others follow, filing out of the room until it’s only you and Dazai left again. You turn to look at him, so many words on your lips but incapable of pushing a single one out. Instead, you reach out to cup his face between your hands, running your thumbs across his cheekbones. His lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he whispers, brown eyes heavy and glassy as he looks down at you. “We can figure something else out. I know we can. Just give me some time, I just need a little time, I’ll figure something out.”

“We don’t have time,” you say, voice cracking over the words. “I love you, Osamu.”

Dazai pulls away, shaking his head. He wipes quickly at his eyes before looking at you again. You expect what he says, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I won’t forgive you. Not for this. Not ever. I can’t.”

“I know.”

--

SIX WEEKS LATER

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting this invitation,” a familiar voice hums as the door to your box opens. You don’t turn to look at him, keeping your gaze trained down on the performance taking place below. “Not from you, and not after everything that’s happened.”

“No?” you ask absently. “It’s unlike you to not expect something, Dostoevsky. Less like you to admit it.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects as he comes to stand next to you. He’s close enough to you that you can feel his body brushing yours. You finally turn your head to look at him—his lips are curved up into a deceptively soft smile, violet eyes glittering with a type of mischief that you know is dangerous. “We are well enough acquainted to be on a first name basis, no?” 

“Dostoevsky,” you repeat pointedly, looking back down at the show as the first act reaches its climax. Of all of the shows you’ve seen, Tosca is still your favorite. This rendition here at the New National Theatre isn’t quite as good as the one at La Scala, but you’re enjoying it well enough.

Dostoevsky lets out a huff of laughter, you don’t turn to look at him when you feel him reach out to touch you. His fingers trace along the maroon scarf hanging loosely over your shoulders. You barely withhold a shiver when you feel his knuckles skim your neck—rumor has it, skin-on-skin contact alone with Dostoevsky is enough to kill. You don’t die, but it’s enough to beckon your attention back to him.

“Red is your color,” he murmurs, looking down at you through his lashes. “You look beautiful.”

“It isn’t yours,” you reply quickly, glancing down at the red tie tied neatly around his neck. “Neither is flattery.”

Dostoevsky does laugh this time—it’s soft and short, pretty like a bell. Unbefitting of him, just like the color red and false flattery. 

“It isn’t?” he asks, keeping his voice deceptively playful. “I wore it for you. Since you invited me, I thought it appropriate that we match. I heard of your success in Yokohama. I should congratulate you on your new promotion. Or perhaps extend my condolences for the death of your father? Are condolences still proper when you were the one to drive the knife into his back?”

It’s a dig, an attempt to get under your skin and throw you off before getting into the meat of the conversation. You can feel his eyes on you, the soft playfulness gone and replaced by a sharpness that has you on edge.

“You said it yourself. One life or thousands.”

“It was a bullet to the head,” you correct idly—the words taste like poison on your tongue, but you’re careful to not let it show on your face. “Condolences are unnecessary. He was not my father.”

“It’s okay, dear, this was how it was always meant to be.”

“Hm,” Dostoevsky hums, amused. “I was quite pleased when I found out about the coup. I wasn’t expecting it.”

He wants to add something else but he decides against it. He’s very calculating with his words, he always has been, but he is especially now. You know that each word he speaks is chosen for a specific purpose, and it’s hard, even for you, to break down each one as he speaks it to understand why he says it so you can choose your own words carefully in return. Fyodor Dostoevsky is the only man capable of consistently beating you in exchanges of words, and that is concerning. 

It’s why you invited him here—you need an idea of what he’s planning while you solidify your newfound position.

“It seems you struggle to expect many things I do,” you note. “I should add it to my resume. I doubt many people are capable of repeatedly surprising Fyodor Dostoevsky.”

“It is true,” he agrees with an airy laugh. “You are a… difficult opponent. I will admit it.”

 “Is that so?”

Dostoevsky makes a soft noise of agreement, lashes fluttering as he glances over at you once before he looks back down at the show taking place down on the stage. 

“You are not guided strictly by logic,” he muses. “It's there, of course, you are very intelligent but it’s laced with so many emotions. It is difficult for me to determine your course of action because I can never predict when you will lead with emotion, and when with logic. And even then, there are grades to it. I could account for dozens of plans of action and miss the one you take because you are just a bit less emotional than I anticipated… I did not predict that you would go for Zelda Fitzgerald, it was quite bold—there was a high risk for failure. You make things… much more interesting. I enjoy it.”

“You would find something like that enjoyable,” you say sarcastically, taking a sip of your champagne. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Dostoevsky.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects again with a light smile. 

“Dostoevsky.”

“Heh,” he laughs quietly. “I will… wait for things to settle before making another move here in Yokohama. I’m curious to see how all of the chips fall on their own. You’re in for quite the storm with that bill that just passed through the Diet, aren’t you?”

You don’t respond. You got the answer you needed, so there’s no reason for you to keep entertaining his snide comments; you’ll just watch the show in peace. You’ll have the bit of time you need to get things settled before Dostoevsky makes his next play. Though the man is a compulsive liar and you have no reason to trust him, Dostoevsky has never lied so blatantly to your face, so you’ll take him at his word until you have reason to believe otherwise. 

Dostoevsky takes your silence as an opportunity to continue talking, naturally.

“I did have a question for though,” he says, a bit too thrilled by the prospect of your answer. You don’t like the way his eyes are lit up, and you especially don’t like the smile on his lips. “Entertain me?”

You raise your eyebrows pointedly, waiting for him to ask it. 

“I heard rumors that the reason behind your sudden decision to overthrow your father was more… intimate than most believe,” Dostoevsky murmurs, leaning like he’s sharing in some schoolgirl gossip with an old friend. Your brows furrow as you process his words. “You must tell me what boy has managed to steal your heart. He must be something special. Not even I was capable of that, I’m almost jealous.”

You look at him now, gaze sharp but confused as your eyes trail over him before focusing back on his face. He seems surprised by your reaction, tilting his head to the side and studying you carefully.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

--

to be continued in ... the land is inhospitable (but are we?) [est. release: early feb]

--

WOWWWWWW GUYS WE FUCKING FINISHED CIVZAI .... or well, ;) civzai1. some notes:

i promised a happy ending, i know ... but i promised it for civzai in general, and they DO have a happy ending ... just not yet. pls dont bully me ill cry i'm so proud of this. i didn't lie.

i always intended on there being two parts to this series because i feel like time apart is essential in the pmreader universe. when dazai defected in canon universe, and now with her taking over as boss and wiping her memories of him. the first part was always gonna be the guild arc, the second arc is gonna be my rendition of the hunting dogs and the decay of the angel

this is the ONLY universe where pmreader becomes port mafia boss ;) i actually had it noted that there was only one universe on the background page in wykyk once i started writing wasteland, baby but no one caught it ;) i was wondering if anyone would put two and two together

i actually went back and retconned chapter 1 to have them talking about the divine comedy instead of petrarch because of the first scene in this chapter. i thought it would be neat coming full circle with the themes of betrayal and death, + the hozier song this chapter is based on is about the 9th circle in the divine comedy. so everything just tied together too neatly for me to not add it.

;) just remember now with repin involved, reader's narration is now entirely unreliable. we don't know what's truth and manufactured by repin.

i was actually really tempted to base civzai2 off of a mother mother album just because hayloft II fits what's going to be the first half of it SO fucking well, but i had to go with mitski because the whole album literally captures the vibes of the second series perfectly

[mywritersmind]

NOT SO HAPPY HOLIDAYS - LN4

↳pt.5

christmas special

part one - part two - part three - part four

summary : As the days start getting closer to Christmas, you find yourself even more comfortable with your previous enemy. In a drunken spirit and ego boosted from karaoke, Lando can’t control his words. Even when Max finds you two in bed together.

og summary : Spending Christmas with my brothers best friend isn’t my ideal way to celebrate. With my parents in the maldives and my ex calling me non stop, I was hoping for a small town cozy christmas! I was going to get that with Max and his girlfriend until Lando Norris worked his way into the mix.

listen up : dual pov! alcohol! swearing! drunk lando!

words : 3334

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Lando. Listen to me.” Oscar says over the phone, his voice registering in my brain but being distinctly distracted by two women taking instagram photos next to me.

“I am listening.” I mumble, watching Y/n turn and smile at the camera. My phone vibrates in my hand and I see that Oscar has requested facetime instead.

“What?” I look at the man who’s sitting in the sun and probably at the beach, “Can you pay attention for two seconds? I don’t want to be talking about work either.”

I sigh, turning away from the girls, “Can I ask you something?” I walk farther away just in case they can hear me.

Oscar groans at me still being off topic, “Shoot.”

“How did you know Lily fancied you?”

His brow jolts up, “I mean, We were pretty young, I just remember that she spoke to me a lot and she-” Lily pops her head in the call now.

“Don't listen to him, Lando! He was absolutely oblivious even though I was literally a giggling school girl around him.”

Oscar looks at her lovingly, “You were quite smiley.”

“Okay wrap it up lovebirds.” I roll my eyes.

Lily leaves and Oscar looks at me quizzically again, “So, who do you like so much that would possess you to ask that question?” I stay quiet for a moment, glancing back at Y/n who’s backlit by the sun, “Aren’t you with your family? Or Max and his girlfriend right?”

“No one. I’m just curious.” Deny deny deny.

He hums, “Wait… Doesn't Max have that sister you stalked all year-”

“Okay bye Oscar!”

He scrambles to get words in, “Wait we still need to talk about-”

I hang up on him.

⋆༺

Max and I have been kicked out by our the women. More like I was kicked out and Max was just craving a coffee. It’s not my fault I can’t cook!

After almost catching Y/n’s hair on fire, I was banished to the little coffee shop that’s been getting us through this week.

The barista hands us our coffees and one hot chocolate for Y/n. Max and I walk slowly to our car, looking at the scenery on the way. “I’m excited for Christmas.”

I smile as Max hums, “You’re awfully chipper.” He gives me a side eye and a smirk, to which I promptly shove him, “Ugh! I do not want to know!”

He laughs, “I know that P teases you about it, But I really do think a girlfriend would be good for you.”

I don’t just want a girlfriend. I want Y/n. I kick a rock at my feet, mumbling, “Yeah I doubt that.” I meant that he wouldn’t want me to have a girlfriend if it was his sister, just he scoffs.

“Think about it! This year was completely fucked and yeah a lot of good shit happened but imagine how much easier the bad shit would be if you were in love.”

“You’re disgusting. Us ten years ago would be gagging at this conversation.”

He’s smiling still, “Yeah and that’s because I am in love.” I roll my eyes at his cheesy ass, “How do you have no roster, mate? It’s honestly embarrassing.”

“Maybe I do.” I sip my coffee, “I don’t have to tell you everything.”

“Maybe i’m just hanging out with Y/n and P too much, their best friend girly vibes are fun.” He points to me, “Still, it’s break! Get your groove on!”

I walk faster, shaking my head. “Groove? I’m going to leave you in the snow.”

⋆༺

you

I’m in a mini dress in the snow. What could go wrong?

I slip five minutes out the door which makes Lando’s arm become my new best friend even though my faux fur coat keeps tickling him.

We may or may not have pregamed for the tiny local bar which has me slipping on ice. “Four jolly jolly shots please…” Lando reads off the bar's menu, laughing a bit.

He looks good. Like really really good. His curls are perfect as usual and when he leans over to talk to the bartender, his dark green shirt tugs against his arms.

My brothers arm goes around my neck, tugging me and laughing, “Merry Christmas, sis!”

“Let go of me you vermin!”

“Shots!” P sings, handing me mine.

“Cheers to us!” Max grins, holding his tiny glass up.

“Cheers to Christmas.” P smiles happily.

Lando taps his glass on the table along with us, winking at me, “Cheers.” We all down the weird peppermint alcohol and swiftly make our way to the dance floor.

We sing along to shitty music and dance together in a crowd of college kids home for break, and their parents.

Lando’s hand finds my waist and is quickly slapped away. He gives me a pouty look which I find annoyingly attractive and quickly turns it into a smirk.

I down my drink, spinning back to my friends and dodging a guy and his friends. “Hey!” The guy smirks and I accidentally laugh in his face, he looks about five years younger than me and is staring at my chest.

I find my friends laughing and drinking with a random man who sort of looks like santa.

“Y/n!” Lando puts his arm around me which I promptly pull off.

“Aren’t you busy trying to hook up with a tourist?” I blink at him while my brother and P are distracted.

He leans in a bit, “You’re a tourist, aren’t you?”

“You trying to get in my pants, Norris?” This makes him smile.

“I’m familiar with the area.”

I find myself at the bar again, but this time I order water. P and I giggle at the sight of Max and Lando just standing there looking lost without us.

“I’m really proud of you.” P says out of the blue.

I frown, “Thanks? I’m proud of you too.”

“I just mean… you’ve been through a lot.” I know what she means. My ex. “And you’re the best person I know.”

I smile, “I adore you, P.”

The truth is, my ex cheating really did break me. But I already knew something was wrong. I wasn’t being treated correctly and honestly breaking up with him was not on the top of my to-do list.

P was always there for me, my brother is a lot to handle and sometimes I just need a girl to talk to. That girl for me is P.

She pops back to her boyfriend while my water gets refilled. I swear this altitude is fucking with me, i’m so thirsty all the time.

“Hi.” I'm about to yell at the college guy who approaches me, until I realize there is no way this man is under twenty five.

“Oh! Hi.” I smile politely and tap the bar.

I clock his douchy attitude as soon as his ringed hand (which definitely came from shein) and patchwork tattoos land on the bar, clearly flexing.

“You’re gorgeous… Sorry, I just had to tell you!” He acts shy, like it’s horribly embarrassing to hit on. woman.

“Thank you…” Is all I can say before he continues.

“I’m Seth!” He’s australian… I think? He’s got short hair with dark skin that makes his eyes pop. “Are you visiting? I am.”

I nod and sip my water, “Yeah…”

“My girlfriend used to live here! My friends let me choose the place and…” He’s going on a long rant that I definitely did not consent to hear.

He’s loud in the way that i’m embarrassed to be heard with because he’s talking nonsense and trying to scoot closer to me with every word he speaks.

I bring my glass to my lips again, looking around then back to Seth who is still talking about his ex. Did I do something to offend the universe?

The hand on my hip scares me, but I don’t jump. I know the feeling too well by now. Lando’s smiling at the bartender, a protective arm around me, “Three green tea shots, thanks.”

He leans his hip against the bar, holding me close as my cheeks go red and I start chugging my water. Seth looks absolutely astonished, “Who’s your new friend, Sunshine?”

“Seth.” I say, swirling my straw around the cold glass.

“Hey man…” Seth looks scared. “I- I didn’t know she was taken.”

“She’s not.” He’s quick with it and I have to bite back my smile to contain myself from embarrassing Seth even more.

“Oh…” Seth hums, clearly wanting to go but I know Lando’s doing that thing where he states blankly at someone while smiling. “Well uh…”

“Choose your words carefully, Seth.” Lando slides him the shot then hands one to me. I decline and he downs it easily.

“Thanks.” He downs the drink with Lando, “And sorry.” Seth looks at me before scurrying off.

I turn to Lando, his hand never moving from my body, “Who knew you were so intimidating?

He shrugs, “I don’t mess around with the people I care about. Plus he just seemed like he was bugging you.”

“Quite talkative.” I smile softly as he laughs, “You’re good at the whole protective act.”

“Who said I was acting?” His face is serious when he says it, but immediately changes when he hears Max’s voice.

“Yo!” His hand drops to his side and he smiles at my approaching brother, “They have karaoke!”

P and Max end up on stage exactly two drinks later. I stick to water, my head already hurts from the others singing.

They're singing Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, and sort of slaying it. Max spins P as they both laugh and pretend they’re at some sort of concert.

“Please get up there!” I giggle with Lando, my hand on his arm as he smiles at me in that dreamy way he does so often.

“No way, Sunshine.” His eyes lined on my lips, his words a bit slurred.

“Please, Lan?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, “What’ll you give me if I do?” My breathing quickens as he looks at me, drunk and so out of it that he looks like he’s about to kiss me.

I reach my arm out to fix the messy bit of his hair. His eyes follow my hand and drift down my arm back to me. There’s something so personal about the way he looks at me but it’s hard to explain.

He’s got many different expressions and maybe I'm just a bit self centered, but I swear he has some just for me.

He’s drunk now so all secrecy goes out the window. He’s lucky Max and P are singing so horribly on the tiny sticky stage.

“Whatever you want.” I pull my hand away, “When you’re sober, though.”

“I’m not even that many drinks in!” He scoffs in a whiny tone.

He’s five drinks in I think.

“But i’ll do whatever you say apparently.” His chair makes noise against the floors, practically pushing P and Max off the stage as his chosen music starts.

Linger, by the cranberries.

My smile grows as he starts, absolutely butchering the song immediately. He looks fucking free and absolutely ridiculous.

The microphone against his lips as he spins around and points to me, “You’ve got me wrapped around your fingerrrrrr!”

It was my favorite song in highschool.

He’s a terrible singer and incredibly drunk but knows all the lyrics by heart.

Max starts videoing and Lando flips him off, P is actually in tears and I feel a sense of calm and quiet happiness. It’s weird to think about, especially surrounded by sound and drunken people.

Still, I really do appreciate my friends in moments like these. I watch Lando on the stage again, his eyes are closed and he’s singing along quietly.

Most of the bar claps when he’s done, providing him false confidence even as he almost falls from the stage.

Lando slumps himself in the chair next to mine, Max and I speaking about old Christmas’ and how weird it is that so many things have changed.

P talks about her family traditions and how she’s happy we’re all together even if it is a bit unconventional.

Lando stays quiet, just hums along to the music and keeps his eyes closed. Max laughs at his friend, “Ready for bed, Bob?”

“I can drive back.” I sit up.

Max and P aren’t quite ready to go and assure me that they can take a cab. Lando, however is piss drunk and giggling at everything I say.

He holds onto my hand as we leave, the cold air hitting him like a wreck, “Ay!” He practically runs to the car, tries to get in the driver's seat, and finally gives in to me driving.

“I don't want to go back!” He complains as I drive off.

“We can… look at lights?” He nods eagerly and rests his head against my arm, his fingers drift up and down my arm, doodling invisible drawings.

I drive through the small neighborhoods, all quiet for the time of night. The lights are bright and nothing like where I actually live.

Lando slips his hand in mine, holding it tight and looking out the front window. I let him rub his thumb against my skin, acknowledging the goosebumps it sends up arm.

Maybe I let myself pretend like it means something more than Lando’s drunk touchy self.

His curls brush my bare arm because he requested I take off my coat and turn the heat up instead because it was ‘itching him’.

And I did it because something about Lando makes me just want to say yes.

“I wanna house like that.” He says, pointing to a medium sized white home. It’s got colorful lights all over and a tiny display of Rudolph in the yard.

“I like this one.” I take my free hand off the wheel for a second and point. It’s across the street and covered in white lights.

I keep driving as Lando turns the radio on which is playing Christmas music.

He hums along with the song that he most definitely doesn’t know.

His hand goes to my hair, twirling it around his finger as he looks up at me, doe eyed, “Can I have my reward now.”

“You’re nowhere close to being sober, love.”

He stops when I speak, whispering as if there’s a million people around, “You called me love.”

“You’re not even gonna remember this tomorrow.”

He gasps, “Tomorrow's Christmas eve! What a good present. You love me.” He hums and rests his head back against my shoulder.

“Keep dreaming, Norris.” I say while smiling.

We look at all the different lights, rating them and laughing. I mostly laugh at drunk Lando who can’t stop laughing.

Lando rolls down the window and even though it’s freezing, I let him. It’s silent out, except for our music on low.

“Do you like me?” Lando asks as I start back to our place.

I raise a brow, “Sure.”

“But do you?” He looks up at me but I don’t dare look down.

“I don’t hate you.”

It’s easier to get him into the house than it was to get him in the car. Besides a tiny slip, he laughs it off and instantly pulls his shirt off when we step inside the hot house.

We both stumble upstairs, I'm so tired that I could fall asleep on the floor. Yet I drag myself into the bathroom and remove my makeup and change into sweats and a hoodie.

Lando is in sweats now, leaning against the bathroom door as I brush my hair. “I can’t sleep.”

I laugh, “You haven’t even tried.”

“Come with me?” I shake my head, going to my own bed. He follows me still, catching my wrist and begging, “Please. I’m cold.”

“You have no shirt on.”

“I want you to.” He admits and for a second I wish he wasn’t so fond of Vodka.

I’m dragged into his bed, his arms wrapping around me quickly and humming against my hoodie, “You’re warm.” His hand goes to mine again, holding it.

“You’re gonna get us in trouble.” I say as I see the smirk on his face.

“The doors locked.”

His hand is still intertwined with mine when he looks up at me. I probably look terrible, but he just smiles.

“You’re really beautiful, Sunny.” His voice is clear and the softest it’s been in a while, especially while drunk.

He yawns and rests his head back on me. Lando whispers while his eyes are closed, i’m not even sure if he meant to say it out loud, but he does. “I hate you for it.”

It’s the first time his words really hit me.

“Why?” I whisper, staring up at the ceiling.

“You know.” And then he’s asleep and i’m stuck with a man cuddling me who I think I just might like more than I ever thought I could.

⋆༺

There’s few times in my life where I completely regret my life’s decisions. This might just be one of them.

Max is staring at us with his mouth open.

Max is staring at Lando’s shirtless self and his bare arm that’s around me!

I elbow Lando so hard that he wakes up with a groan. “Five more minutes.” He tries to pull me closer but I slap him again.

He opens his eyes this time, at first they’re narrowed at me as if I had the audacity to wake him up. Then he turns his head to what i’m staring at and promptly sits up straight.

“Goodmorning, Max!” He grins.

“Shut the fuck up.” My brother responds, Lando’s face goes slack and lays back down, covering his face with a pillow, “Is this why you two wanted to leave early yesterday?”

“No!” I say right as Lando says, “Yes!”

“I think I'm going to throw up.” Max starts pacing while I see P peek her head in from my room, surveying the situation as I mouth ‘help me’ and he leaves me.

“Chill out! Nothing happened.” I say while Lando moans and reaches for the water on his bedside table. “Right, Lando!?” I hit him again.

He sends me an annoyed look, “Right.” He takes a drink, wiping his mouth and looking at Max, “Trust me mate if something did happen she wouldn’t be wearing anything.”

I think he might still be drunk.

Max and I scream in unison. I climb out of the bed, my leg getting stuck in the bedsheet.

“I came to check if you two were still alive because it’s eleven in the morning, but Lando’s door was locked. Yours wasn’t and your room connector was wide open!” I roll my eyes and stomp into my room.

“His drunk ass practically dragged me in there and I wanted to sleep!” I shrug, putting on my slippers and pulling my bed head hair into a messy bun.

“My head is pounding, can you two be quiet!?” Lando says from the other room.

Max follows me down the stairs, “Nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened!” I echo, finding P in the kitchen and sending her a wide eyed look, “He was drunk, Max.”

I pour myself some coffee, crossing my arms as Max gives me a look. Lando comes thumping down the stairs, hoodie on now with his hair an absolute mess. “Guys…”

Max stops him, “If you make another sex joke Lan, I might kill you.”

“Hey!” He groans, taking my coffee from out of my hands and drinking it! I roll my eyes and pour myself another. “I was just going to say-”

“Choose your words very carefully, Norris.” I mumble.

“Happy Christmas Eve.” He raises his mug, smiling at all of us.

“Oh.” Max blinks as P lets out a little snort.

“Well then…” P smiles at me, “I think it’s time to cook!”

[bunni-v1]

Thoughts on a threesome with Lighter and Harumasa

MDNI!!

Tw: NSFW; VERYYYY OOC lol; double penetration in one hole (only mentioned at the end lol); Rough sex; Fem! Reader; unedited and written with a serious fucking migraine like my god

I’m so fucking sick today but I had an idea so… imagineeeeee with me if you will…

You and Lighter are walking around New Eirdu, picking things up for the girls, running errands, usual shit. It’s a nice little routine thing the two of you have. He gets his job done and gets to spend time with you, win win!

He turns around for one second — literally one second just looking at some flowers (for you, btw) — and when he turns back around your attention is occupied. Not only is it occupied, but it’s taken by Asaba Harumasa. Sweet talking, ever flirty Asaba Harumasa.

He’s not a bad guy, honestly, Lighter doesn’t dislike him. You’d mentioned once or twice how you knew the guy. Some kinda old fuck buddy, it wasn’t anything Lighter cared about too much. You were his partner after all, it would be stupid not to trust you.

Him, though, Lighter didn’t trust him one bit. Not with the subtle touches and the unnecessary flirty comments. He watches you two veryyyy carefully, taking it all in until he can’t take it anymore and he has to pull you into his side.

“Oh! Lighter, fancy seeing you here~” Harumasa purrs in such a sickeningly sweet tone.

He makes it very clear that you and he are and item, but that only seems to egg Haru on further… His little comments getting more and more bold, pointed and intentional in riling him up. You’re stuck in the middle of an ego war that you can’t break up (and have no idea why it’s happening).

Then, somehow, the conversation is steered toward your sex life. No one is really sure how or why, but Harumasa and Lighter are having a literal dick measuring contest in front of you when Harumasa suggests that they should “Find out who you like better.”

Anddd that’s how you ended up with Lighter pounding into your sopping cunt from behind and Harumasa fucking your throat like it was the end of the world. Their little competition forgotten in favor of making you squirm beneath them <3

You’d cum at least four times now and they seemed determined to make a fifth. They alternate what their hands are doing occasionally. Sometimes Harumasa is pulling at your hair, other times Lighter’s squeezing your tits in his hands. Regardless, not an inch of you is left untouched by either of them.

Harumasa pulls out from your throat, and in your fucked out state you try follow him only for Lighter to tug you back by your hair. You don’t even try to fight it when he manhandles you into a sitting position on his lap.

Your pussy is literally drooling down both of your thighs, and Lighter scoops some of it up and tastes it. Harumasa smiles at the sight, seemingly quite satisfied with himself, “Can I have a taste?”

You expect Lighter to maybe let him eat you out, or even just pick up some with his own fingers. Instead he pulls Harumasa forward and kisses him. You can only watch with big empty dazed eyes as they do so. You swear you hear Harumasa moan, but just as you’re getting to enjoy it, they seem to remember you’re there again.

“Feeling left out, baby?” Lighter hums as his fingers find your clit, rubbing fast circles.

Harumasa pushes your legs open, the two of them working to readjust you so your legs are thrown atop Lighters, Haru sliding himself between them. “I think she is, poor thing…”

You most certainly were not, but you weren’t going to say that. Lighter slides out of you, and you literally cry out at the loss of him. “Aww, I told ya she likes it. Look at her cryin’.”

Harumasa laughs dryly, tapping his member against Lighter still moving fingers, “Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you feel more secure.”

You whine at their arguing and they both coo back at you like you’re some kind of pet. They were plotting something sinister, you could feel it in the way Lighter kept pressing the tip of his dick against your ass. Certainly they didn’t expect you to take them both at the same time.

“There’s only one good way to determine who’s the best, right?” Harumasa purrs, nudging Lighter out of the way so he could properly tease your cunt.

“Mhm…” Lighter hums, “You can take both of us at once, right?”

Fuck.

[bonbonly]

No bon its fine, i do also see oscar as the sweetest thing, thats why i maybe thought he always forgives you for not paying him with sex, until one day, after like 6 months of not doing anything, snaps and just comes to you and gives yoh an ultimatum either you ride his cock or leave entirely

anon you absolute slut i love you for this, because for the longest time i couldn't even see oscar as a sugar daddy and now im seeing the vision, you genius i am going to pull you onto my lap and make out with you for this ;alsdkjfasldkfja;sldkfjasd;lf LMFAO bon's thoughts (18+)

sugar!daddy oscar piastri who really isn't that entirely older than you. he understand how university life is, and he helps you sometimes. he asks some of his buddies for opportunities for you, and he definitely sends you big checks to help you buy whatever you need, and whatever you want. but there are some days where he really really wants to touch you, just to know what it's like to be inside you. you're absolutely stunning, you're always smiling at him and so he feels awkward bringing this up into a conversation because you seem content, everything's working out fine and he feels a bit too selfish for wanting to ask this of you. so he lets it slide. he's not your boyfriend, necessarily, so he keeps his boundaries and nods his head whenever you talk about sex to him. it's a normal topic, you say, but you're unaware that he's biting his knuckles not because it's a habit of his, but because his cock cannot stop craving to be inside your sweet cunt.

and you can imagine months later when he overhears a phone call with your friends about how one of your classmates invited you to the library to study only to eat you out, oscar's standing there in shock because all this time he was waiting and waiting only to realize that you had just completely ignored him. if you wanted to have sex with someone, he was right there for you! you're in his bedroom, giggling with your friends about masturbating to some porn videos you found online and that's his final straw. when you come down to tell him that you were heading back to your dorm, you see him sitting there with crossed arms and a glare on his face.

"what's wrong?" you ask.

"i'll tell you what's wrong," oscar scoffs, "here's how this is going to work, because i've lost all my patience. either you come over here and ride my cock that's been aching for you for months, or you step out this door to get back to your dorm and you never come back. everything stops between us."

and you raise an eyebrow, a grin on your face when you realize your sugar daddy's feeling jealous that you weren't giving him the attention he deserves. so like the good girl that you are, you straddle him, taking off your clothes and sinking down onto his cock which causes the both of you to moan out loud. all restrain is out the window, the man has his arms wrapped around you just in case you try to leave him without having his cum inside you, and he's thrusting his hips upward to meet your bounces. he's having you cum again and cum, relishing in the feeling of your walls clenching around his cock that just keeps gifting you wave after wave.

"fuck, from now on, you wanna fuck someone you tell me," he groans, "and when i want to have my dick inside you, you better have your cunt spread wide for me. oh my," he throws his head back, slapping your ass as you continue to ride him. you nod your head, telling him that you'll never leave him unattended ever again. he's wrapped around your finger, permanently.

[d-z20]

Neighbourly Care part 5 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Things become official with the MILFS but there's an unexpected guest. Back at college, your friends are still trying to set you up with someone which Agatha and Rio will NOT let that slide, so they remind you exactly who you belong to again but Rio's been scheming

-OR-

Your girlfriends take you back to fuck you but somehow it ends with Agatha tied up and Rio getting railed...

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, tiny bit of angst, smut, fluff, possessive Agathario, power bottom Rio, switch reader, implied phone sex, marking, bondage (A recv), strap on (Rio recv), mentions of overstimulation, brief edging, oral (Reader recv)

Words: 5.1k

A/N: I am BACK baby, and what better way than with an update for this fic. I thought it was about time we got to fuck Rio :)

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Master List

Back Again

You stir faintly, the ache of exhaustion mingling with the cosy warmth of the couch. A shift in the cushions pulls you further from sleep, and you vaguely register the sensation of being lifted. Strong arms cradle you, the familiar scent of Rio’s shampoo grounding you even in your half-asleep haze.

“Shh, baby,” Rio murmurs, her voice a soothing balm. The gentle sway of her steps lulls you closer to rest, though faint snippets of conversation anchor you to the moment.

“They’re out cold,” Rio says softly, her tone carrying a rare mix of amusement and concern.

“I’m texting their parents,” comes Agatha’s voice, punctuated by the soft click of her nails on a screen. “Letting them know they’re staying here.”

The sound of soft sheets and the familiar scent of cedar envelop you as Rio lays you down on the bed, careful and deliberate. You feel the weight of the blanket pulled over you, and then the mattress dips beside you. Rio’s warm arms encircle you, pulling you close, while Agatha presses a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Between them, you drift back into a deep sleep.

—

You can hear the sound of birds as you blink yourself awake, the warmth of Rio’s body beside you grounding you. Uncertainty knots in your stomach as you fidget with your hands, your mind racing with thoughts you’d been avoiding. What is this relationship you have with Agatha and Rio? Is it just sex? Or is there something deeper?

“Good morning,” Rio’s voice is soft, her head propped on her hand as she lies on her side facing you. Her honeyed gaze watches you with open affection.

You mumble a greeting, rubbing at your face as a familiar knot of unease tightens in your chest. Your hands continue to fidget of their own accord, fingers twisting over each other. Rio notices instantly.

“Hey,” she says softly, her brows knitting together. Her hand finds yours, stilling your nervous movements. “What’s going on?”

You hesitate, unsure of how to articulate the tangled thoughts that kept you tossing and turning in your dreams. Finally, you turn onto your side, meeting her gaze. “I don’t know what this is,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “With you and Agatha, I mean. It’s amazing and I don’t want it to end, but is it just sex? Like it’s obvious you’ve done this before; I just want to be able to set my expectations.”

The words leave you feeling vulnerable, your cheeks warming as you search Rio’s face for a reaction. She blinks, clearly taken aback, but then her expression softens. Her thumb rubs gentle circles over the back of your hand. “Sweetheart,” she starts, her voice thick with affection. “I didn’t realise you were worried about that.”

Before she can say more, a low groan rumbles behind you. Agatha stirs, wrapping an arm around your waist and nuzzling into the crook of your neck “Mornin’,” she murmurs, her voice gravelly and laced with sleep. She presses a soft kiss to your neck, her hold tightening slightly. “What are we talking about?”

Rio glances at you, silently asking for permission to explain. When you nod, she tells Agatha about your concerns. Agatha hums thoughtfully, her lips brushing your skin as she speaks. “Well, yes, we’ve had people join us in the bedroom before,” she begins, her voice steady. “But never someone who’s become part of our lives the way you have.”

Rio nods in agreement, her hand resting lightly on your hip. “We’ve been talking about this ourselves, you know,” she admits. “About how much we like you, how much we love having you around. You’re not just a fling, cariño.”

Agatha tilts your face to meet her gaze, her eyes warm and sincere. “We like you, baby. A lot,” she says, her lips quirking into a small smile. “So, what do you say? Would you want to start dating us? Properly? ”

For a moment, all you can do is stare, their words washing over you like a warm tide. Your chest tightens, but it’s not fear—it’s overwhelming relief. You nod, your voice shaky but resolute. “Yes. I’d like that.” They both smile, their joy evident as they pull you into a tight embrace.

—

The three of you make your way downstairs for breakfast, the warm morning light filling the kitchen. Agatha and Rio are particularly handsy, their touches more purposeful now, as if relishing the newfound claim they have on you since officially calling you theirs. They brush against you, steal kisses, and touch your waist or hand at every opportunity. The domesticity of it all feels surreal but wonderful.

It perfect. Almost too perfect.

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Ma,” a voice calls from the hallway, startling you. You step away from Rio’s touch instinctively, a flush creeping up your neck as a young man with dark hair and a broad smile steps into the kitchen.

Nicholas pauses, his gaze darting between you and his mothers. “Uh, hi,” he says, his brow raising slightly. “Didn’t know you had company.”

Agatha clears her throat, stepping forward smoothly. “Y/N, this is our son, Nicholas,” she says. “Nicky, this is Y/N; your mom’s helping them with their Spanish.”

Your heart stutters, but you manage a polite smile. “Hi,” you say, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Nicholas grins, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says easily. “Hope they’re not giving you too hard a time; I remember how strict they were with me.”

You laugh nervously, shaking your head to rid yourself of memories from last night. The conversation shifts and though you find yourself easing into the flow, you can’t ignore the way your chest tightens with the realisation that you might be intruding on their family time.

When breakfast wraps up, you use the opportunity to excuse yourself. “I should probably get back to my parents’ place,” you say, standing. Agatha and Rio share a look but nod in understanding, both walking you to the door to say goodbye. Out of view of Nicholas, they each press a lingering kiss to your cheek before you leave.

—

The weeks that follow are a whirlwind of classes, assignments, and finals, but Agatha and Rio are never far from your mind—or your phone, which buzzes constantly with texts from them. They visit when they can, their presence a soothing balm to the ache of missing them. On the nights they can’t, they always call, their voices filling the empty spaces of your apartment.

One evening, you’re sprawled on your bed during a video call. Agatha’s voice is low and teasing, her words dipping into a register that makes your breath hitch and sends heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Careful with that blush, sweetheart,” she purrs, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “It’s too easy to tell what I’m doing to you.”

Rio, ever playful, leans into frame, her expression positively wicked. “You’re squirming. I can see it. Wanna tell us how much you miss us, cariño?”

Their voices twine together, their suggestive remarks growing more insistent, coaxing soft whimpers from you. The call becomes a delicious blur of teasing, their words a heady mix of affection and temptation, leaving you flushed and aching for more by the time the night ends.

—

The next day, your phone buzzes with a series of texts from your friends.

Kate: Hey! You coming out with us tonight? We’re celebrating the end of finals!

Peter: We’ve barely seen you lately. Come on, you need to unwind.

You hesitate, glancing at your phone with a pang of guilt. They’re right; you’ve spent every spare moment with Agatha and Rio or on the phone with them, wrapped up in the intoxicating rhythm of their affection.

You: Fine, I’ll come. But only if it’s just a casual hangout. No matchmaking schemes.

Their replies are immediate.

Peter: Casual, I swear. Just us. Drinks and good company.

Kate: Yeah, totally chill. No schemes… maybe just a little chance to meet someone new?

You groan at the last message, already regretting your decision.

You: Seriously. No setups.

Peter: Relax! We just think it’s time you got back out there. When was your last date? Oh, right—that dickhead at the bar.

Kate: Exactly. You’ve been single forever, and we’re just saying...

They don’t know about Agatha and Rio and you dodge the topic with practiced ease.

You: I’ll come, but I mean it: Just. Hanging. Out.

Kate: Okay, okay! Pinky promise.

You shake your head, sighing as you set your phone down. It feels a little disingenuous to let them think you’re single, but explaining your situation—or even trying to—feels impossible. Besides, the thought of a casual night with friends doesn’t seem so bad... as long as they stick to their promise.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 18:49

You: Going out with my friends tonight :)

Agatha: Have fun, gorgeous. And don’t let anyone think they have a chance.

Rio: Remember: ours and ours alone. 😘

Their words make your chest warm with affection, and their possessiveness is thrilling in a way you can’t quite articulate.

—

When you arrive at the bar, the atmosphere is lively, music pulsing through the air. Your friends greet you with excited hugs and chatter.

They guide you to a table, where you’re introduced to someone new—a friend of a friend—and your group makes sure you’re seated next to them. As the night progresses and the drinks flow, your friends keep glancing at you expectantly, their unsubtle hints making it clear they’re hoping for sparks to fly. 

You deflect every attempt at their flirting, dodging their questions with vague answers, your heart too full of Agatha and Rio to even entertain the idea of anyone else.

Excusing yourself to the restroom, you pull out your phone and snap a quick picture. Your hand rests suggestively at the base of your neck, the angle teasing but not too revealing.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 20:04

You: *click to open image*

You: hey ;)

Rio: I think my hand would make a prettier necklace 👀👀

Agatha: Hello sweetheart, having a good night?

You: No :(

You: My friends are trying to set me up again 🙄

Agatha: Address. Now.

Rio: Behave yourself

You: Okay Daddy ;)

Their messages make you smile, a surge of comfort and amusement replacing the frustration. You return to your friends and the not-date, time slipping by in a blur of small talk and laughter.

Your head feels a bit fuzzy from the alcohol so when your phone buzzes, you answer it without checking who was calling.

“Hello?”

Agatha’s voice is sharp and commanding, cutting through the din. “Come outside, pet.”

The line goes dead, and your heart stutters as you make your way to the front of the bar.

The cool evening air brushes against your skin as you step out of the bar, your eyes immediately catching sight of Agatha and Rio leaning casually against their sleek black car. The sight is magnetic—Agatha’s sharp features softened by the glow of the streetlights, Rio’s gaze sweeping over you with that familiar, knowing heat.

Agatha straightens, beckoning you closer with a crook of her finger. Your legs carry you forward almost instinctively, your heart hammering in your chest. The moment you’re within reach, her hand snakes to the back of your head, fingers tangling tightly in your hair. She pulls you forward, crashing her lips against yours in a possessive kiss that leaves you breathless. Her grip tightens slightly, a subtle reminder of her dominance, and you whimper into her mouth, too stunned to resist.

She pulls back only slightly, her lips brushing yours as she murmurs, “We told you to behave.”

Before you can form a reply, she spins you around with practiced ease, your back pressed firmly to the car. Her lips claim yours again, harder this time, her tongue sweeping past your parted lips with an intensity that leaves your knees weak. Her thigh presses between your legs, eliciting a desperate moan that you barely manage to stifle.

Agatha chuckles darkly, her mouth trailing down to your neck. She lingers there, her teeth grazing your sensitive skin before sinking in just enough to leave a mark—a clear, unmistakable declaration of ownership. Your world narrows to the sensation of her lips, her tongue, and the faint sting of her teeth. Somewhere in the haze, you hear Rio’s voice, her tone low and amused.

“We’re going to have to keep a closer eye on you,” Rio says, though her words barely register in your muddled mind.

When Agatha finally pulls back, she smooths her hands over your arms, steadying you as she takes in the flushed, dazed expression on your face. Her eyes gleam with satisfaction. “I’ll see you later,” she says, her voice soft but commanding. Without another word, she climbs into the car and starts the engine.

You turn to Rio, expecting her to follow, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to Agatha’s lips through the open window. The kiss is slow and intimate, leaving no doubt about their connection. When Agatha finally drives off, Rio turns back to you with a knowing smile.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she says, taking your hand and leading you back into the bar.

The atmosphere feels almost surreal as Rio adds a chair to your table, effortlessly inserting herself into the group. Your friends are gawking, their eyes darting between you and Rio with barely concealed curiosity—and amusement.

“Hi, I’m Rio,” she introduces herself, her tone casual yet self-assured. She slides into the seat between you and the would-be date, her presence commanding as she rests her hand on your shoulder. “I’ve heard so much about all of you.”

Your friends exchange glances, their smirks widening. They know. They’ve always known about your soft spot for older women, and Rio’s arrival explains why you’ve been rejecting all of their attempts to set you up.

Rio’s touch is constant—her fingers brushing against the back of your neck, her hand settling on your thigh. The warmth of her palm seeps through the fabric of your pants, sending a steady pulse of heat coursing through you. She trails her hand higher, her grip firm but teasing, and when she squeezes the sensitive flesh at the apex of your thighs, your breath hitches audibly.

“You okay?” Kate asks, her tone laced with mischief.

You try to answer, but the words come out in a stuttering mess, your thoughts scrambled by Rio’s touch. Her lips twitch with amusement, her fingers giving one last squeeze before she straightens, glancing at her phone as it buzzes.

“Well,” Rio says, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “I think it’s time we were off.” She stands, extending a hand to you with an easy smile.

Your friends exchange knowing looks as Rio says her goodbyes, her tone warm but unmistakably firm when she glares briefly at your would-be date before leading you out. The Uber is already waiting outside, and the moment the door shuts behind you, Rio’s hands are on you.

She cups your face, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s all heat and urgency. Her hands roam over your body, pulling you impossibly close as the car speeds away. By the time it stops outside a hotel, your skin is flushed, your breaths coming in shallow gasps.

You realise it’s the same hotel as last time, and as Rio comes to a stop and knocks on a door, you see it’s even the same room. Agatha opens the door, clad in the same purple lace lingerie that had stolen your breath the first night you were together, her eyes glinting with anticipation.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” she purrs, stepping aside to let you in.

Rio’s hand settles on your lower back, guiding you into the room. The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and you barely have time to process the warm light and familiar scent of the suite before Agatha steps closer, her sharp eyes raking over your body as she trails her fingers along your jaw. Her lips crash against yours, rough and unyielding, and you can feel the smirk she wears as you melt into her touch. Rio’s hands slip around your waist from behind, her warmth grounding you even as your knees threaten to give out, pulling your pants and underwear down, exposing the small wet patch on the crotch of the fabric.

“Look at you,” Agatha murmurs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “So eager for us.”

Before you can respond, Agatha grips your chin, tilting your head to expose your neck. Her teeth graze your skin, and then she bites—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to leave another deep, blooming mark. You gasp, the sting mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly.

Rio’s hands are no less demanding, sliding beneath your shirt to trace the curve of your waist. “Ours,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. Her nails scratch lightly against your skin as she pulls the fabric over your head, leaving you exposed to their hungry gazes.

The two of them manoeuvre you effortlessly toward the bed, their touches a coordinated symphony of dominance and affection. Agatha’s lips find yours again as she pushes you down onto the soft mattress, her weight pinning you in place. Rio climbs onto the bed beside you, her hands stroking over your thighs, her fingers curling possessively into your skin.

“You’re going to let us make you ours all over again,” Agatha whispers, her voice a low promise that sends shivers down your spine.

Agatha’s mouth trails lower, her teeth and tongue marking a path down your collarbone and chest. Meanwhile, Rio’s lips find the sensitive skin behind your ear, her hands guiding your thighs apart as she peppers kisses along your jaw. Their movements are synchronised and calculated, making you helpless against the overwhelming tide of pleasure they stir within you.

The room fills with the sound of heavy breaths and muffled gasps as they leave no inch of you untouched, no patch of skin unclaimed. Agatha’s marks bloom like flowers across your body—your neck, your shoulders, the swell of your hips—while Rio’s touch is a steady, grounding presence that leaves you trembling beneath them.

Agatha’s lips never leave yours as she manoeuvres you with ease, her strength evident as she pulls you on top of her. You straddle her, hands planted on either side of her head, and the kiss deepens. Her nails rake along your back, leaving a burning trail that only spurs your arousal further. You’re so caught up in the taste of her and the heat of her skin beneath yours that you barely register Rio’s movements around the bed.

The sound of soft rope sliding against the bedframe should catch your attention, but Agatha’s demanding kisses and the press of her body beneath yours make it impossible to focus on anything else. Rio, ever the planner, works quickly and quietly. By the time she whispers in your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine, the trap is nearly set.

“Pin her arms above her head, darling,” Rio whispers, her voice a mix of command and playfulness.

Without hesitation, you do as you’re told, grabbing Agatha’s wrists and stretching her arms over her head. Agatha lets out a low, approving growl. Her darkened gaze flickers to you with a teasing smirk, but before she can retake control, Rio moves in.

In a swift, practiced motion, Rio ties Agatha’s wrists to the bedposts. It takes Agatha a moment to realise what’s happening, her smirk faltering as she tests the bonds. “Really, Rio?” she drawls, though her eyes glint with intrigue rather than annoyance.

“Really,” Rio replies smoothly, a wicked grin curling her lips as she steps back to admire her handiwork. Agatha’s ankles are already tied, spread wide, and leaving her entirely open. “You made me watch and wait, my love; now it’s your turn.”

Rio turns her attention back to you, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and desire. “Off,” she instructs gently, her hands guiding you away.

You reluctantly climb off Agatha, her gaze never leaving yours, though it’s now tinged with a mix of curiosity and challenge. She looks breathtaking, her hair splayed out on the pillows, her body bound and vulnerable yet still exuding power.

Rio’s hands move to her own clothes, slipping her shirt over her head and shimming out of her pants with practiced ease. Beneath, she wears an emerald-green set of lingerie, the delicate lace hugging her curves and highlighting the strength in her frame. The sight leaves you breathless, and you can’t help but stare as Rio tosses her clothes aside with deliberate nonchalance.

“I’ve been thinking,” Rio says, her voice soft but firm as she steps closer to you. “You’ve not actually had the chance to fuck one of us since you failed to do what you were told.”

You blink, caught off guard by Rio’s declaration, your cheeks heating as you stammer out an incoherent response. “Uh… yeah, I guess,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rio chuckles, the sound low and rich as she closes the distance between you, handing you a harness. “That’s going to change now,” she murmurs, her dark eyes locking onto yours. The weight of the harness in your hands makes your heart race and your mind flashes back to the last time you and Rio indulged in each other without Agatha’s participation in this very room—and the punishment that followed.

You glance nervously toward Agatha, who raises a single, unimpressed brow at your hesitation. Sensing your uncertainty, Rio leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Relax, darling,” she murmurs, her tone soft but firm. “She’ll never admit it, but she likes this.”

Agatha scoffs from her place on the bed, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Don’t push your luck,” she drawls, though there’s no real heat in her voice. Her eyes gleam with intrigue, even as she pretends disinterest.

Rio doesn’t miss a beat. Removing her lace panties, she climbs onto the bed, positioning herself with her back resting against Agatha’s restrained body, her movements smooth and deliberate. Agatha lets out a soft whine at the pressure, but her gaze stays fixed on you, a mix of challenge and anticipation in her expression.

Your fingers fumble with the harness as you step into it, the straps snug against your hips as you secure it. That’s when you notice, or rather feel, the grinding pad built into the design, its texture brushing against you with tantalising promise. You shiver at the sensation—a rush of heat pooling between your thighs as you adjust the fit. The thought of what’s to come sends a pulse of arousal through you, and you can’t help but bite your lip, your eyes darting between Rio and Agatha.

“Ready?” Rio asks, her voice soft but commanding as she watches you with a knowing smile.

Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the bottle of lube on the nightstand, slicking up the harness with nervous precision. Rio watches you intently, her head tilted back against Agatha’s torso, an expectant smirk playing on her lips. Once you’re ready, you climb onto the bed and position yourself over her, your knees on either side of her thighs. The heat between the three of you is palpable, tension thrumming in the air as you align yourself and sink down onto her.

You start slow and tentative, testing the rhythm. The grinding pad against you is more distracting than you anticipated, the friction sparking waves of pleasure with each motion. Rio exhales a soft, contented sigh, her hands settling on your hips to guide you. But it doesn’t take long for the look on her face—a mix of delight and impatience—to spur you into moving faster.

The sounds Rio makes are intoxicating: soft moans and deep, husky gasps that make your skin tingle. “Harder,” she commands, her voice rough with need. Her nails dig into your hips, urging you to obey, and you do, thrusting harder and faster. The slick grind of the harness against you and the sight of Rio’s pleasure-blissed expression send your pulse racing.

You don’t know why you do it—maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s the intoxicating chemistry between you—but your hand rises, and you press two fingers against Rio’s lips. Her gaze snaps to yours, sharp and electric, and without hesitation, she takes them into her mouth. The heat of her tongue swirls around your fingertips, and you swear you feel your stomach drop with the intensity of your arousal.

Behind Rio, Agatha lets out a low breathless “Oh, fuck,” her voice ragged. You glance over Rio’s shoulder to see Agatha’s hips bucking desperately against Rio’s back, her restraint futile against her own need. The sight and sound of her breaking composure sends a jolt through Rio, her expression twisting into something feral, manic even. Her nails grip you tighter, and her voice shatters into a desperate moan as her body tenses and she comes undone beneath you.

The clenching of the harness and the relentless friction push you over the edge moments later. You cry out, collapsing against Rio’s chest as you ride out the waves together, your breathing ragged and uneven. Her arms wrap around you, holding you close as you both come down from the high.

It’s only then you notice the faint shuffle of movement. You lift your head to find Agatha free of the ropes, her arms and legs untied. Her lips are curled into a sly smile, and her gaze soft with amusement and hunger as she moves toward you. Before you can speak, she places her hands on your hips and gently manoeuvres you onto your back.

“You two are quite the pair,” Agatha murmurs, her tone carrying equal parts fondness and teasing as she takes off the harness and presses a soft kiss to your hip. She rests her head there, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thighs. “But I think it’s my turn now.”

You glance down at Agatha, her head resting on your hip as her fingers idly trace patterns across your thighs. “How did you…?” you ask softly, your voice still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax.

Agatha lifts her head, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Being able to get out of restraints is one of my boundaries,” she explains, her voice smooth and steady. “I’ve never been fully comfortable with giving up all control. It’s just how I am.”

You nod, her words sinking in as you process the vulnerability she’s just shared. “I understand,” you reply sincerely, your gaze locking with hers. The trust between you feels solidified in this moment, a quiet bond of mutual respect and understanding.

Before you can say more, Rio’s presence shifts beside you. Her hands cup your face, tilting your head so her lips can meet yours. The kiss is deep and languid, her tongue teasing yours in a way that pulls you further into the haze of pleasure still clinging to your body. Her warmth anchors you, a grounding presence as your senses start to spiral again.

Meanwhile, Agatha’s fingers trail down your thighs, spreading you open with deliberate care. She presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, working her way closer to your still-sensitive core. “Just cleaning you up,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin. But when her tongue flicks out to tease your bundle of nerves, it’s clear her intentions are far from innocent.

A jolt of pleasure shoots through you, and you gasp against Rio’s lips, your hands instinctively clutching at her shoulders. Agatha takes her time, her tongue slow and precise as it circles your sensitive nub. The overstimulation is almost too much, your body trembling under her ministrations, but she knows exactly when to ease up and how to pull you back from the edge only to push you closer again.

Rio’s hands move to your waist, holding you steady as your hips start to buck against Agatha’s mouth. “You’re so beautiful like this,” Rio whispers against your lips, her tone filled with awe and hunger. Her words make your chest tighten, and you feel yourself unravelling again.

Agatha’s tongue works you relentlessly, her rhythm increasing as she senses how close you are. When she sucks gently on your clit, the tension inside you snaps, and you cry out, your body arching off the bed as the climax crashes over you. Waves of pleasure ripple through you, leaving you shaking and gasping for air.

As the intensity ebbs, Agatha places one last kiss on your trembling thighs before resting her head against your hip again, her fingers stroking your skin soothingly. Rio lies beside you, her hand tracing lazy circles on your stomach as she watches you with a tender smile.

“You’re amazing,” Rio murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. Agatha hums her agreement, but instead of her usual sharp quip or teasing remark, she stays quiet, her head resting on your hip and her fingers trailing softly over your skin. You glance down at her, noting the slightly dreamy look in her eyes and the way her shoulders seem to relax completely for the first time all night.

Rio notices too. Shifting her focus, she slides closer to Agatha, her hand gently brushing back a stray strand of hair from her face. “You okay, love?” she asks softly, her voice filled with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. Agatha lets out a contented hum, leaning into Rio’s touch without hesitation.

“More than okay,” Agatha murmurs, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Rio smiles, her fingers tracing over Agatha’s cheek before pressing a kiss to her forehead. The sight tugs at something deep inside you, the intimacy between them wrapping you in its warmth.

As the moments stretch on, Rio encourages Agatha to sit up, her hands steadying her as she guides her toward the pillows. “Come here,” Rio whispers, wrapping her arms around Agatha and pulling her close. You watch as Agatha melts into Rio’s embrace, her sharp edges softened as she nestles against her chest.

You shift closer, draping an arm over both of them, your hand finding Agatha’s and lacing your fingers together. The three of you lie there in a tangle of limbs, the room quiet save for the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional murmur of sweet reassurances from Rio. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s nothing to do but bask in each other’s presence, your bodies and hearts entwined in a shared sense of contentment.

-----

I am so sorry for going MIA for a bit there but hopefully this chapter makes up for it my darlings <3 the ending was inspired by Kathryn's iheart interview where she said she thinks Agatha would just want to be babied sometimes

Requests are back open now that I can actually write again :D

and also just my asks in general, I get bored and want to talk to y'all 👀

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taglist: @aceday @valarmorghuli @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @beezlebee16 @kiaralee25 @4theluvofsapphos @lez-zuha @jujuu23 @gaylorvader

[milla-frenchy]

Dance with me, darlin'

3k6 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: You go to a club and want to fuck. So does Joel Warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel in his early 40s), Joel is a menace, Tommy’s in the club too, no mention of Sarah. Pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby), pussy and dick pronouns, masturbation (f), oral (m/f), dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, soft dom!Joel, piv, creampie. Pic for mood only. Reader has no specific physical descriptions

a/n:  this is written for @sp00kymulderr 's dick pronoun fic challenge | masterlist thank you for the challenge, Gideon 🙏❤️ (I'm so late I'm sorry 😳) Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 😘💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

Saturday night, finally. You had a tough week at work, and you were looking forward to this night, wishing to forget your worries. You had planned to go to a club with your two friends, Maddie and Anna, drink a few shots and let loose on the dance floor.

The place was already packed when the three of you arrived, and you headed to the bar and ordered a shot of tequila that you downed immediately.

“Just what I needed,” you told your friends, sighing in relief, as you felt some of your troubles disappear- at least temporarily, when the strong alcohol flowed down your throat.

You set the glass down, before turning toward the dance floor and placing your elbows on the counter. “Come on, let’s dance,” Anna said, motioning for Maddie and you to follow her. 

You danced and sang, your awful week finally behind you, and then headed back to the bar.

“Good evening, ladies.” All three of you turned around when you heard a masculine voice.

“Good evening yourself,” Maddie replied, smiling at the man. He was handsome, seemed to be in his late 30s, with dark hair and brown eyes, a moustache and a short beard. He was tall, his broad shoulders stretching his white t-shirt, its already short sleeves were rolled up around his biceps. His hair was tied back with a rubber band.

“I’m Tommy. Can I offer you drinks?”

The three of you looked at each other and agreed.

“Wanna join me and my brother? Over there,” he added, nodding toward a booth. Shamelessly manspreading,  the man sitting there gave you and your friends a vague nod with his chin. He was wearing sunglasses, which you found strange in this place, but his attitude was hot and you didn’t want to turn down a drink. Neither did your friends.

“Hi, Tommy’s brother,” you said loudly over the music as you sat down.

“Hey darlin’, I’m Joel. What did you order?”

“Tequila,” you replied, trying not to react to the pet name he already gave you, despite the giggles of your friends.

“Nice,” he said, scratching his beard with his thumb, as the corner of his lip lifted slightly. This man was exactly what you needed tonight: a hot menace.

Tommy came back with the shots, all emptied as quickly as the first ones you’d had after your arrival. He started to chat with your friends and you looked at Joel more closely. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, so tight that his biceps seemed to be begging for release.

He probably noticed you were checking him out and not paying attention to the conversation at all, considering the smirk he gave you.

“Dance with me, darlin’,” he said, standing up right away, as if he already knew you wouldn't say no. He held out his hand to you, while pushing his glasses up on his head. You stood up and met a pair of beautiful brown eyes. His flirty smirk didn’t go unnoticed either- he was full of confidence, and you liked it. 

He took your hand in his and you tried to stay focused on the music, the noises around, even though you felt like you were in a velvet box that muffled everything around you, since the moment his fingers touched you.

You started to dance and he was good at it, hips moving sensually. He rested his hands on your hips once or twice, and checked if you were ok with the way he was touching you. Feeling confident, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders while you were dancing, and resisted the urge to press your body closer to his.

When a second song started, you started to spin around to the rhythm of the music, swaying your hips lascively, and stopped when two hands settled on your hips.

“Already showing me your ass, baby? Lookin’ for trouble?” he said in a low voice, his mouth so close to your ear that his beard brushed your skin. His lips slid towards your pulse point and he kissed it, making you shiver.

You turned your face to look at him and held your breath. His stare, like yours probably, exuded sex. “Maybe I am, yeah. The good kind,” you replied finally, trying to keep a confident voice. 

“Always the good kind with me, sweetheart,” he replied, leaning against you slightly, but enough for you to feel the bulge in his jeans. Another shiver ran through your body filled with arousal.

You turned around, and Joel kept his hands on your hips, pulling you gently towards him, determinedly, and you faced him. Two motionless bodies in the middle of the dance floor, while everybody was dancing around you. It was like time stopped for a moment. 

He took your chin between his fingers, slowly tilting it left and then right. As if he was scrutinizing you.

“What? You’re gonna ask my age?”

“No. You’re over 21, that’s enough for me,” he said, and you started to dance again.

“Looks like you’re a damn menace, Joel…” you smirked.

He chuckled but didn’t answer.

A couple songs later, you excused yourself to go freshen up in the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to slow down your heartbeat, to take your time before going back. Trying to stop yourself from asking him to join you in the bathroom so you could fuck him there.

When you came back, Joel was no longer dancing, or at the booth. You stopped dead in your tracks, disappointed. You obviously had been mistaken, thinking he was interested in you. You told your friends that you would call an Uber and go home.

When you walked out of the club, Joel was facing the exit, leaning against a truck.

“I was waiting for you,” he said, ogling your body from head to toe, with your dress not covering much, his lips curved in a confident smile.

“And you just left? I could have met another man and completely forgotten about you," you said, half teasing half provoking him, as you were walking towards him.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he replied, the confidence in his voice making your knees weaken. He pulled you towards him, his scent invading your nostrils again. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Could almost hear that little pussy clench on nothin’, while we were dancin’,” he murmured against your ear while his hands grabbed your ass, pressing you against his bulge. You bit your lip, trying not to moan.

“Am I right? Coulda fucked you in the bathroom, but I wanna take my time with you.”

“So you want to fuck me in your car?”

“No. Not with my dick, at least,” he smirked.

“Shit,” you breathed. No one had ever spoken to you like that before, and heat rushed over your whole body. 

“Wanna come to my place, darlin’?”

“For ‘good kind of trouble’, like you offered? Yes… yeah.”

“‘Course you do,” he added, cockily. 

He grabbed your arms and spun you around, caging you with his broad body, your back against the truck door, his wide thigh between yours. Pressing against your throbbing pussy.

“Is she purin’, baby? This little cunt? She wants to be mine all night, doesn't she?”

“Fuck… yeah.” 

He brushed his nose against your cheeks and ear, then kissed your neck, his hands sliding from your ass to your waist.

You wanted to kiss him, but he seemed to enjoy playing with you. Tease you.

“That’s my girl. Get in the truck, sweetheart,” he said, moving away just enough to open the door.

“Oh, you’re a gentleman?”

He tilted his head to the side and gave you a look that seemed to mean “for now”, then he closed the door. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled. He was so hot and confident that you felt yourself drooling like never before.

“So you’re a contractor?” you said as he sat down, trying to cool off the atmosphere a bit.  “Miller bros,” written on your truck? It explains the arms.”

“You checked out my arms, darlin’?”

“Yeah, like you checked out my ass,” you teased. So much for the cool off.

“I sure did,” he chuckled. “Yeah, Tommy and I are contractors.”

He put his hand on your bare thigh while he was driving. As if you were his. His possessiveness made your core throb and you squeezed your thighs together, trying in vain to ease the tension you were feeling.

“Oh, baby… need it bad, uh? Don't worry, my place ain’t far. Now, be a good girl, and put your hand between your legs.”

You looked at him, surprised and even more aroused.

“You need some release, don’t you?”

You nodded and did as he said, you were here for it after all, and his soft dominant tone was exactly what you craved. You slid your hand between your thighs, down to your soaked panties.

“Two fingers. You can take them easily, I know you're droolin’.”

You bit your lip when you heard him, and slid your hand under the fabric.

That’s a good girl,” he praised. “Now lemme hear her.”

He watched you each time he could- at every red light, every stop, when it was safe.  

You were turned on by the fact that he was there, next to you, this man you had just met. Imagining how he would fuck you, aware that you were already under his control in some way. Under his spell, or whatever you called it. You brushed your folds then pushed two fingers in to let him hear how wet you were.

“Christ, that’s it, darlin’. Ruin my seat.”

You whined, keeping two fingers buried in your cunt, and brought your other hand in your panties to play with your clit and release the tension that was clenching your stomach.

“Oh shit, that’s it baby, two hands,” he said again. “Keep goin’, come in my damn car.”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m gonna come, fuck,” you whimpered, when your climax rushed over you, back arched, pussy clenching on your fingers, clit pulsing under your digit. You felt your wetness flow down to his seat.

“Shit,” he said, grabbing his bulge in his big hand, trying to ease his own tension now, before putting his hand on your thigh again. He didn’t release you until he pulled into his driveway. Then he got out of his truck and walked around to open the door, took your hand in his and led you to his house.

He slammed the door behind you and you finally kissed, your lips crashing against each other. There was no restraint, no reserve, just hunger for more. You moaned in his mouth, while growls were roaring from his throat. Bodies pressed in an impatient and greedy embrace, four hands roaming two bodies.

You pulled back to catch your breath, his hands not letting go of your waist, his eyes fixed on yours, full of desire. His lips found yours again, as he led you backwards to the table against which he leaned you. One hand still on your waist, the other on the back of your neck, he kissed you, holding you tight against him, his tongue brushing yours. 

Unable to hold back any longer, you slid your hand down to his crotch, just to touch him there, to feel its weight. Your breath stopped for a second and he wrapped his hand around yours, pressing it harder against his manhood, licking your tongue and lips.

“Take off your clothes, and show me that pussy, darlin’. Been teasin’ me for too damn long.”

He stepped aside, leaving you in charge of giving him a show that you gladly offered. You removed your dress, revealing your lingerie. The way he was looking at you took away any shyness or nervousness. You paused for a moment and he didn't hurry you, clearly enjoying it. You lost patience first and unhooked your bra then let it fall. You didn’t give yourself time to think about it and pushed your panties to the side, running your finger along your wet folds. Eyes still fixed on him, you brought your digit to your mouth and sucked it slowly.

“You're a naughty little thing,” he said in a husky voice, and you tried not to moan at this word, and kept teasing him. “You like it?” you asked playfully, feeling your wetness flowing down your folds.

He smirked, before adding “lie down on the table, sweetheart.”

You obliged happily as he walked towards you, and grabbed the hem of your panties, sliding them down your trembling legs then off the ankles. He spread your thighs as he stood between them, and brushed your folds with his thumbs, touching you there for the first time, eyes fixed on your glistening pussy.

“A naughty thing, with a really pretty cunt… looks like you’re gonna ruin more than my truck seat.”

“Fuck,” you murmured, and he leant down, hands clamped on your thighs, once again he didn’t wait and lapped at your cunt with one long stripe. His eyes fixed on you.

“Fuck me… you taste so good,” he growled before going back to eating you out, making you moan against the back of your hand. The emotion and the pleasure felt were so strong that your thighs tried to close instinctively. Growling, he spread them with his warm and firm hands, holding you open on the table.

“Joel,” you whined, feeling another climax already rising. His tongue left your folds, quickly replaced by two thick fingers, an she began fucking you with them as his lips surrounded your swollen and sensitive clit. The tip of his tongue played with it, teased it, before sucking on it, making you groan until you came on his tongue and squeezed his face between your thighs, whining his name.

He straightened up when you stopped shaking, pressed his crotch against your cunt, and wiped his glistening beard and moustache with the back of his hand.

You sat on the edge of the table, thighs spread around Joel’s thighs. His large, strong body took its place almost with authority as if it needed it, but every pore of your skin was more than ready to welcome him. 

Eager to return the favor, you unzipped his jeans and knelt down. 

“Needy girl,” he said, as if he wasn’t greedy too, his voice almost a growl of impatience.

You grabbed his jeans and boxers, struggling to free his cock that you felt hammering against the rough fabric of his clothes. You pulled them just below his balls and his cock sprang free, hard, and slapped against his lower belly.

He took your chin between his fingers, eyes full of confidence and how could he not be, given your inability to tear your eyes away from his fat tip, his thick shaft, and his heavy balls?

“I really love the way you look at my cock, but I’d like to see these lips around it, darlin’, if you want too. Before I fuck her.”

Your pussy was drooling again, calling for you to let him fuck her already, but you were craving of having your mouth and throat full of his cock.

“Needy boy,” you said, teasing him, and making him smile. “Yeah, I’m gonna suck him.”

“Him?” he asked, surprised.

“You called my pussy “her”, right?”

“Right”, he chuckled. “So, you’re gonna blow this big boy, baby?”

“You’re still talking about your dick? Or about you?” you asked mischievously, licking his shaft just to hear him growl.

“Darlin’, shit... Both I guess,” he replied, caressing your cheek with his thick thumb.

You grabbed his jeans and boxers, still mid-thigh, and with a sharp tug you pulled them down. Your thumb spread the precum over his tip then tasted it on your tongue, sucking your digit, head raised towards him. He growled, hand tightening on your cheek.

You placed your lips around his tip and started to suck it. His taste, his size, all of him made you moan, and he throbbed even bigger.

“Damn, baby…”, he said in a low voice, before you began jerking him off, your tongue sliding down his shaft towards his balls that you licked too and took in your mouth to feel their weight on your tongue. You sucked them and licked the thin skin behind them. Just to make him shiver, grunt. Just to make him think that you were a menace too.

“Shit, shit… darlin’...”

You took him back in your mouth, deeper and deeper, until his tip brushed the back of your throat. His grunts turned into the most greedy moans you had ever heard.

“Alright, alright, shit, baby… You’re way too good at this, c’mere,” he added, grabbing your elbow to help you up.

Then he spun you around, making you face the table. One hand on your shoulder, he growled “bend down for me, sweetheart.”

His voice was needy, much less in control than earlier in the evening, and you liked feeling him lose his chill.

“You're gonna let me fuck this little cunt, darlin’? Yeah? You’re gonna let me ruin you?”

“Or maybe I’ll ruin you, who knows?” you answered, head towards him. Hoping that he would only hear confidence in your voice, and not the need to welcome him inside you, mixed with the apprehension of wondering if you could welcome him.

“You’re a little menace, you know that?” he chuckled, nestling his cock between your thighs, and you leaned down, placing your cheek and hands on the table.

“Spread wide for me, baby,” he said in a low voice, “and let me in.”

He pushed in and then stopped, just the tip in, grabbed the back of your knee and propped it over the table to open your core. It was the hottest thing you had ever experienced, and your juices flooded his tip.

“We gotta get her used to him, right?” he said, his hand tightening on your shoulder. You could barely hear his words, waiting for him to sink in, to feel him completely.

“Fuck me, Joel. Please, fuck me,” you whined.

Slowly, he thrust in, leaving you breathless for a moment. 

“Oh my god…” you whimpered finally, as his tip, his shaft, were spreading your folds in a mix of delight and light pain.

“Shit, you got such a tight cunt. Tryin’ to swallow me whole.”

He didn't stop, pushing in until he bottomed out and you whimpered. His hand still on your shoulder, he pulled back leaving only his tip in your cunt, before pushing in again. He did this two or three times, to let you get used to him. 

“You’re ready, baby? Because he… wants to fuck, now,” he said, voice low, needy. 

“Yes, Joel,” you replied, and he began pounding into you, his hands clinging to your hips. Fucking you faster, harder, now that your folds had given way under his thickness, helped by your wetness that didn’t stop flowing from his shaft to his balls.

“Damn you’re so fuckin’ tight…”

“Told you…” you panted, “that I’d ruin you.”

He tried to chuckle, but it got cut in his throat. So he tried to calm his breathing, slowing down the pace, fucking you slower but deeper. 

“You’re doing so good, darlin’,” he said between two hip thrusts. “Takin’ me so well.”

You moaned, hands gripping the edge of the table, trying to keep yourself in position, your moans filling the room.

“You’re gonna come again, darlin’?” he growled, one of his hands running down your back from your shoulder to your waist, making you shiver. “Wanna come on my dick?”

“Yes,” you whined. You wanted to soak him, to make him lose his mind just like you knew you would lose yours.

He slid his hand up to your mouth for you to suck on his finger before sliding it over your clit. Stroking it perfectly, he pulled away slightly to watch his cock sink into you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect baby. Keep takin’ it, just like that.”

All you wanted was to keep taking it. Keep feeling him inside you. But soon your climax hit your core and you shook, clit pulsing.

“Oh shit,” he said, when your cunt clenched on him, and squeezed his shaft. 

Teeth gritted, he tried to hold on as much as possible, letting the heat of your pussy drive him crazy. You squeezed his hand in yours, saying “come inside Joel. Inside, please. I’m clean, and I’m on the pill.”

“Can’t do that sweetheart,” he panted.

“Please, Joel, wanna feel you… need you to fill me up,” you insisted, hand tight on his.

“Damn sweetheart,” he growled, still pounding you, as if he didn’t want it to end, just before he filled your cunt with his warmth, breaking the promise he had made to himself years ago for the first time. Unable to resist your hot, tight pussy, your moans, your pleas. He came inside, sending spurt after spurt of cum deep inside you, until he covered your back with his chest, and kissed your shoulder. 

“Darlin’,” he breathed finally, “you’re dangerous, you know that?” he almost laughed against your skin.

A few minutes later, you were watching him zip up his jeans, leaving them unbuttoned, while you were putting on your dress. 

“Can I have your phone, darlin’?”

You handed it to him, watched his thumb dance on it before handing it back to you.

“Now you have my number. I’d be glad if you called me.”

You looked at your phone and smiled, when you saw that he saved his number as Joel (menace).

“It reminds me that you didn’t ask my name once tonight,” you told him.

“Darlin’ suits you well,” he smiled. “But you’re right. What’s your name, darlin’?”

You asked for his phone, and added your contact before giving it back to him.

After your first name, there was “darlin’” in parentheses.

You smiled at each other, his cheek dimpled and your heart stopped for a moment.

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[silentheiss]

AU, where Luo Binghe meets Shen Yuan under different circumstances. Precisely, when one of his wives comes to him to ask for divorce.

Because she’s kind of in love with Shen Yuan, as it happens.

It goes like this:

Shen Yuan is having a great time being a transmigrator. He had quite a safe landing with being an NPC who’s never been mentioned in the book, so he’s not about to be killed by Luo Binghe anytime soon, and he’s doing great avoiding him.

Until he meets Ban Li. She’s so pretty and feisty she bound to become Luo Binghe’s wife one day, and Shen Yuan doesn’t want to be seen next to her when it happens. He’s not a suicidal idiot, despite what Ban Li says the first time they meet.

“-an utter degenerate! To face a Venomous Flying Spider in your own! What the hell were you thinking?” She yells, after cutting two back legs of the spider in one sharp swing of her sword, rendering beast to a withering, scaly pile. “At least you had a presence of mind to cut the wings first! Idiot!”

Who gives compliments like that? Shen Yuan sighs and positions himself more comfortably on the ground.

“As this one already said, everything was under control.”

“Ha!” Ban Li barks out, her eyes glowing green. Ah, must be a demoness, then. “Under what control? Be thankful for this one’s grace or your legs will be cut off!”

Shen Yuan laughs and offers Ban Li some sweets he always carries in his pouch. Things go smoothly after that — Ban Li accompanies him for next week, claiming she has a task of exterminating beasts in the area.

“Husband will want a report soon, but this one has time to spare.” Ban Li mentions one day.

“Ban Li is married?” Shen Yuan freezes. “Isn’t it inappropriate to- I mean for us, to. Uh.”

“This one was unaware Shen Yuan was courting.” Ban Li giggles, twirling a lock of her hair around her thin finger.

“I’m not!”

Ban Li laughs and leans closer to Shen Yuan, eyes glimmering.

“If you were,” She says, low and intimate. “I would agree. I would leave my absent husband and runaway with you.”

Ah. Now Shen Yuan sees how it is. Ban Li is not infatuated with him. She’s just-

“Ban Li, are you unhappy in your marriage?” He asks, heart breaking for this feisty, sweet demoness.

“Will Shen Yuan make it better?” Ban Li asks pitifully. Shen Yuan nods.

He will talk to that good-for-nothing husband of her and make him let Ban Li go. She’s promised to Luo Binghe, anyway, for plot purposes. He’ll just help smooth the process.

Several days later Ban Li takes Shen Yuan to a camp. It’s big, obviously expensive, and Ban Li looks almost shaky as they near the biggest, most impressive tent.

“Ban Li’s husband is… powerful.” Shen Yuan notes.

“He is.” Ban Li nods. “But this one doesn’t need his power.”

“Of course you don’t.” Shen Yuan nods. “We’ll make him see sense.”

Ban Li smiles at him, teeth sharp and eyes sharper.

“Shen Yuan is confident even in the face of the Emperor.”

Shen Yuan freezes.

“Ban Li.” He says, very quietly and very slowly. “Are you married to Luo Binghe?”

“Not for long!” Ban Li answers brightly.

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

“Ban Li.” Shen Yuan groans. “What the hell? Why on earth would you want to divorce Luo Binghe?”

“To stay at Shen Yuan’s side.” Ban Li says.

“Have you gone mad?” Shen Yuan demands. “Are you completely, utterly crazy? Who in their right mind would want to leave Luo Binghe to stay with me?!”

“Shen Yuan!” Ban Li whines. “You promised!”

“I didn’t know you were going to divorce the best person in the whole universe!”

Ban Li gasps at him.

“Do you want to marry Lord Luo?”

“No!” Shen Yuan says. “I’m a man, Ban Li.”

“So what?”

Shen Yuan feels like he’s going grey from the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

“Ban Li, we’re losing a thread of the conversations here.” He says. “You cannot divorce Luo Binghe.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s stupid! Have you seen him? He’s the smartest, strongest, bravest man ever. He’s extremely good looking. He’s lived through hell and persisted. He’s amazing, Ban Li! You can’t leave him to stay with me, are you kidding? I thought you were smart!”

Ban Li pouts at him, folding her arms like a petulant child.

“If Shen Yuan is in love with Lord Husband-”

“I’m not!”

“No? Then why are you praising him so?”

“Because I have common sense?”

“I don’t want to get back to harem while Shen Yuan is risking his life fighting dangerous beasts!”

“Ban Li, I’m begging you.” Shen Yuan says. “You will regret your decision.”

“I will regret not seeing Shen Yuan anymore.”

“Nonsense!”

“I will run away.”

“Ban Li.”

“Try me. I will.”

Shen Yuan sighs, hiding his face in his hands. He’s so going to die today.

“Do you suppose your Lord Husband might need a librarian?”

Ban Li squeals and drags Shen Yuan into the tent.

Luo Binghe, who’s been silently listening to the whole conversation, hires him immediately. He doesn’t claim to know Ban Li well, but they definitely agree on one thing: Shen Yuan mustn’t ever leave.

[lambilegs]

I adore your best friend's older sister! Sevika headcanons, literally been rereading since last night 😫

I had a thought, a little crumb, a little ✨food for thought ✨, but what about Best friend's older sister! Sevika getting jealous. Maybe they aren't together yet and she spots reader getting a lil too cozy with another friend. Or maybe they are together and Sevika is not liking the way reader's coworker is gettin a lil too comfy 👀😤

I've truly thought about this too often lol, sorry for the rambles ♡

best friend's older sister!sevika getting jealous <3

note to anon: BAE DON'T APOLOGIZE THIS IDEA IS SOOOO <33 and omg thank you so so much!! I'm so happy you like it hehe. so, I decided to expand upon the first idea you gave because it's so so good, though I LOVE both. like, thank you so much for sending these thoughts AHHH <33

so, I totally agree with you that best friend's older sister!sevika would definitely be possessive. it's only worsened pre-confession because you're not hers yet, so she doesn't feel like she has much of a right to do anything about it. at least if you guys were together, she could wrap her arm around your waist or kiss your head, something silent to signify to others that you're hers.

but, as much as you two have teased and been pushing and pulling these past few months, that's all it's been. push, pull, push, pull. no confession, no asking out, no dates. and, listen, sevika doesn't mind the long game necessarily -- she knew from the get go that if she was gonna be pursuing you, it'd have to be serious. she wasn't about to get into some vague, unidentified shit with her sister's best friend. not only would her sister kill her for that, but it's not even what she's interested in in the first place. it's easy to talk to you, to trust you. it's easy to want something longterm with you. but, longterm means she needs to put in the work of trusting you. and for her, that takes a while. so, she doesn't mind the long game.

what she does mind, though, is that taking things slow means that in this whole getting-to-know-you phase, she doesn't know exactly where your head is at. if you want something serious, if you're ready for a relationship. she knows she should be asking you these questions, but as much as she hates to admit it, it makes her uncomfortable to think of being so honest about these feelings of hers. and what being honest could potentially lead to, like a pierce into your guys' relationship, whatever the hell it is.

but, goddammit, is it fucking hard to not grab you, drag you to her room and show you exactly how she feels when you're on the living room couch, canoodling up to one of the girls in yours and her sister's friend group. she knows how it is for you guys. no boundaries, endless amounts of teasing, flirting, nasty jokes. but, that doesn't make it any easier to see you nuzzling your head into one of their shoulders, the two of you swapping and laughing hysterically over suggestive comments about leaving the room to do some "private activities."

sevika grits her teeth from where she can hear the conversation, gripping the handle to the fridge hard. she sucks in a sharp breath, shakes her head, and grabs her bottle of water from the side shelf. shutting it close quietly, she makes her way to her bedroom, sock-clad feet heavy against the wood.

when she walks past your group, practically cuddled in the living room, she nods quietly at the group of you guys, feeling her shoulders tense up when you and her make eye contact. your head darts off your friend's shoulder, and she nearly snickers. you really aren't subtle when it comes to paying her attention. and today, she doesn't feel like returning it, her stomach clenched in anger over the unabashed flirting she just overheard.

she's in the middle of tinkering at her desk, tweaking some annoying shit that keeps making a scraping noise every few hours, when a knock comes to her room.

"yeah?" she mutters, trying not to throw the screwdriver right at the wall.

when you poke your head in, she glances at your momentarily before continuing her work. she hates how her stomach flips at your arrival, how she suddenly feels clumsy with the tools under your gaze.

"what?"

you start from where you lean on her doorframe. "I just, um, wanted to check if we're good?"

"just peachy," she huffs out, dragging her wrist past her brow, which is sticky with sweat. "why?"

"well, um..." you trail off, shifting on your feet. "you usually smile or say hi now, and right now, you didn't."

she feels a flash of irrational annoyance. she doesn't like the fact that you can read her so easily, as though you have her constantly under a microscope. she doesn't wanna have to deal with her jealousy, her feelings, but you cornering and confronting her like this doesn't make that easy.

"I'm fine."

she blinks hard at the gears when her bedroom door softly clicks shut.

"no, you're not. sevika, come on, what's wrong?" you trot over to her desk, standing right next to her, shoving your presence into her space. "tell me."

she sighs, her body stiff with embarrassment and irritation at your stubbornness. god, things would be so much easier if you weren't so damn feisty, always snapping back at her. but, at the same time, though she'd never tell you, she can't help but like your persistence.

"do you have to be so damn flirty with all your friends?" she bites, immediately regretting the words as soon as they shoot out. so much for subtlety.

your head jerks back. "that's why you're upset? sevika, I've always flirted with them, you know that. I'm sure you've seen your fair share of it for years now."

"yeah, well, now, it's different." she keeps her eyes locked onto the desk, and when she realizes just how thinly veiled the implication of her words are, she rushes to add, "now, I think it's risky shit. you know, someone could get the wrong idea."

you scoff. "it's been like this for years. no one will get the wrong idea."

she rolls her eyes, grumbling incoherent words. she knows you're right. she's made her own fair share of jokes like that with her buddies, even the ones she wouldn't be caught dead with in any lifetime. and you're right, your little gang has always been like this. but, none of that helps to dampen the burning irritation that grows in her stomach when she sees you being so touchy with someone who isn't her. with someone who may think they have a chance with you, no matter how slim. she doesn't want you to have options, she wants to be the only one you see in that way.

"and I don't want you to get the wrong idea, either."

she freezes at the words, her hand stilling.

you inch in closer and your warm palm rests on her shoulder. she feels something stir inside her at the touch, wishing you'd slide the rest of your hand down her arm. you guys have touched briefly, sure, but it's usually fleeting, teasing. this, though? this is tender, and -- it's intimate. you're trying to reassure her, she can tell. she knows it's a nice thing to do, but a part of her cringes at the fact that her feelings were so badly concealed that you even needed to comfort her at all. she should be better than this.

"I don't see anyone in my group like that, okay?" you pause, and the silence between you two thickens. right before it becomes suffocating to the point of sevika forcing herself to respond, you add, your voice quiet and shaky, "trust me, it's not my friends whose attention I want like that. just one other person... who's close by."

her nostrils flare, her breaths feeling tighter than before. are you saying what she thinks you are?

"okay," she manages to get out.

"okay." your hand slips from her shoulder, and she feels the cold of your absence as you turn to leave. without thinking, her hand flies up, catching yours.

your head whips to her in surprise, eyes wide and curious.

she thumbs at your pulse point, some of her confidence regaining through feeling how it spikes. but, still, there's an undercurrent of discomfort, so she tries to steady her voice before saying, "you know, I have a pretty good shoulder too."

you laugh, ducking your head down. sevika tries not to pull you in closer, coax you to look at her when she talks. "yes, I'm sure you do," you respond, a sarcastic lilt to your voice.

"well, obviously. you're always checking me out when I work out."

you splutter, eyebrows scrunched indignantly. "well, that's because you insist on working out in front of us always! for all I know, maybe you're the one who's into someone in our group."

your voice is mocking, but sevika hears the tremors of it towards the end. are you nervous that she maybe is into someone else but you? or are you hopeful it's you?

you gave her a bit of assurance, so she might as well return the favour.

"maybe there is someone I'm trying to impress. someone who'd maybe notice that more if they weren't always shoving their face in other people's chests."

she can see how your eyes bulge at the semi-confession, your palm slick with sweat in her hand. your mouth flaps open for a few seconds, before shakily saying, "well, you did offer yourself up as a substitute."

her cheeks ache with how hard she's trying not to grin too widely. "don't get too excited."

you wring your hand from her grip, smiling coyly as you reach for her doorknob. "I'll try to contain myself."

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 8

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8])

so anyway rio could have stepped in at any moment and ejected billy into oblivion / prevented agatha from getting a full recharge. but did she? no, no she didn't. this is absolutely a fucked up game they're playing instead of talking about their feelings. rio tried to talk and agatha rejected her (almost) every time, so theatrics and blood it is! god it sucks so much that this stupid flirt/hurt/posture/dance is the only way agatha allows them to communicate.

agatha's smirk! she's like, now you're gonna get it! now I'm gonna fuck you up!!! rio has been throwing her around like a rag doll, but now that she has her powers back agatha can finally put allllll her shields up and do a little show of her own.

when it comes to agatha everything is about being in control of the narrative, being the one who hurts rather than being hurt, never showing any weakness or vulnerability. she was awfully vulnerable without her powers and that has allowed rio to creep in closer, something that agatha had managed to escape for so long. it's no coincidence that she chooses this appearance, the same one she chose when going face to face with wanda. this is what she was trying to look like with her purple coat too: the formidable, merciless witch. it's an armor she clings to, a mask to feel powerful that won't ever show the mess she's hiding underneath. this is what agatha chooses to look like when she's scared.

rio: fuck off you little meddling twink the adults are talking

agatha: mwhahahah I'm such a big scary villain just lemme check if billy's okay real quick.

actually let me gush for a second about agatha's greenhouse being full of herbs and potions! her witchy basement disappeared because she had built it with a magical illusion, but in here she's been totally experimenting with physical craft (neeeerd).

billy's like, are those two fuckers honestly actually flirting right now

CHILDREN I swear to god

LEAVE MY INFURIATINGLY STUPID EVIL MOM ALONE!!!

poor rio. just her luck that when she finally gets to corner agatha a baby maximoff comes into the picture. I love my perfect mama's boy.

the bittersweet look she gives billy. she's truly having a lot of firsts, now she finally admits that all her dancing/fighting with rio is futile, it's just for show and it won't ever truly solve anything. what is she even doing, involving billy? billy who's still so earnest, so eager to help.

I SEE YOU JAC SCHAEFFER! I SEE YOUR EVIL WAYS! I SEE YOU CREATING THESE SILLY LITTLE SHOWS SO YOU CAN EXPLORE THE IMPOSSIBILITY OF LOSS AND GRIEF AND OUR OWN MORTALITY!!!!

but she's being 100% genuine here???

okay, no, this is still agatha we're talking about.

she's being aT LEAST 80% GENUINE! she's having a moment of clarity, she's contemplating the true awfulness that would be sacrificing billy on the altar of her own fucked up issues. the mask has slipped and the real agatha is peeking through, swords in her heart and all.

her parting words to billy: you are not bad. the same words she wanted to imprint on him when they had their first mask off conversation. don't let people cast you as a villain, like they did with me.

Neither are you, says Billy.

You're the only one who thinks so.

The thing is, being so hated, doing all the fucked up things she does, really hurts agatha. It's no justification whatsoever, doesn't make her any less of a villain. she goes out of her way to be misunderstood, to never show any weakness, to selfishly rationalize all the horror she inflicts, because the alternative is opening up to more potential hurt, and she's been hurt too fucking much in the past. and the more she pushes people away, the lonelier she is. it's a vicious circle.

three people loved her despite it all: rio, and she ran away from her when things got too overwhelming. nicky, and that's a whole other mess that I'll get into next episode.

and now billy loves her, and she craves that love just as much as she wants to run away from it. she'll hurt billy to protect herself, she'll hurt him first because she's afraid that he eventually will leave or die or get mad and will hurt her. because right now? she's feeling so much love for billy, and that's terrifying to her. the more she loves, the more she opens up to heartbreak.

both gorgeous shots

billy: I'm not that nice.

also billy:

then she got an idea. an awful idea. agatha got a wonderful, awful idea.

oh this is perfect, isn't it, agatha? you somehow convinced the boy to turn himself in! if he goes through with it, rio has promised to leave you alone! you'll be free to crawl back to your dark dark corner and accumulate bodies and power like the old miserable smaug you are!

you can see agatha's survival instinct kick into high gear. this is how she has survived so long. this is what she does.

BILLY'S FACE. I got to laugh a bit, sorry kid.

rio shaking her head both in triumph and exasperation. of course you betrayed the kid, agatha you piece of shit. rio didn't expect any less from you.

and she can't even look at him, the coward.

but I thought we were having a moment??

he went ahead and made a grand gesture without being ready to actually sacrifice himself whatsoever, and now he's going "mom??? come back and pick me up, I'm scared??" it's like agatha is kicking a puppy.

the slow, dramatic turn. the evil grinchy grin. this is the most egregious example yet of agatha putting her mask on, and we have all the context to understand exactly what she's doing and to see what's going on both on the surface and inside her wretched little soul. she's not cruel and uncaring, that's play acting - she's actually small and scared and a coward. she's once again running away screaming, rationalizing it as a smart choice and breaking her own heart in the process.

so I know billy's telepathic line was added in post because disney execs feared audiences wouldn't buy agatha turning around on her own. what absolute buffoonery, such massive disregard for your viewers' intelligence.

...on the other hand. billy full on misreading the situation and trying to fix things that are beyond him, only to accidentally hit the target? somehow fixing a delicate fragile problem by hitting it with a hammer? totally on brand for him.

is this how nicky died? it kind of is. she did choose her own fear over nicky's well being, despite loving him so so much.

whether you choose jac's version or disney's version, here's what happens next: agatha stops in her tracks. her stupid grin fades away, and she clutches her chest. she finally did it, she told a lie too big. her poor heart, already bleeding from all the swords stuck in it, simply cannot take one more stab. sure she's all about self-preservation, but at this point she's damned either way: she either goes out saving billy or she's killed by her own regrets and sorrow.

she turns around. she runs. not to billy. to rio.

going back to what my mother jac schaeffer (whom I love more than jesus or pizza) said: this is not agatha enacting a grand plan, she's not taking a ~calculated risk like she'll tell billy later, the fucking liar that she is. sure, she had a vague hope of turning into a ghost, but she didn't know for sure. this is agatha's emotions taking over her brain - like they tend to - and forcing her to use what are probably her final moments on earth to TAKE WHAT SHE'S BEEN CRAVING ALL ALONG

agatha grabs rio's face and SMASHES their mouths together. FULL ON proceeds to EAT HER FACE she wants her so much. rio is shocked for a moment and then closes her eyes and gives in completely. and you can see the poison taking over because this idiot - this gorgeous, tragic dork - has decided to kill herself by absorbing rio's powers - but this is not going to be a mere 'peck of Death', no sir, that's not what it's called! agatha is gonna SNOG Death, she's gonna TONGUE that immortal being, she's GETTING ALLLLL HER MONEY'S WORTH. dear lord the HUNGER and YEARNING and DESPERATION on her face.

and I love that she's taller here. they're basically the same height so who's taller depends on the shoes they're wearing, but I love love love that agatha gets to engulf her for once. agatha taking control, rio giving herself up completely

what? you thought that now that magic has been absorbed THE KISS would be over???? well THINK AGAIN. because now we're going to switch angles, we're going to linger, we're going to make it look like almost gratuitous fan service, oh yes we are!!!

I truly don't know what to say. I would like to thank jac of course, and kathryn hahn and aubrey plaza for MAKING THE FUCK OUT and exchanging so much spit on camera like the true professionals they are. thank you writers room, thank you to all the crew who had to listen to the ungodly noises these two were undoubtedly making. thank you gandja monteiro for directing this. I'm going to even thank the lighting department for making it thunder so we can (more or less) see what's going on. this was truly a group effort. well done you all!

and they keep kissing until the very last available moment, and rio doesn't know how to let her go

but this is so on brand for agatha. you know if rio was in her place she'd try to be as gentle as possible to ease agatha's grief. agatha literally went for the most dramatic, most over-the-top, most emotionally devastating way to go. this was supposed to be rio's big moment! and what does agatha do? she makes it all about herself. again. should be the other way around, but once again rio gives, agatha takes. you just gotta laugh at this point.

Death looks on stone faced as her love turns back to nature and balance is restored. she wraps herself in her cloack and tries very, very hard not to cry.

agatha really went and made rio kill her, didn't she? rio, who isn't ALLOWED TO. these two are soooo wrong and so toxic for each other and yet they love each other so freaking much, I truly cannot get enough of them.

go to episode 8 part 9

[seokmn]

LONELY DANCERS

pairing: vernon x gn!reader

wc: 1.1k words

warning: mentions of drinking and kissing

lua’s notes: 100% inspired by this conan’s banger. there you go my vernon lover @k1eev enjoy dancing with him 💋💋

“no- seungkwan, you dont understand. i simply cannot find soojin!” vernon said on the phone. the music was blasting, and he was not only looking but walking around the unknown house, taking a good look at every person that was surrounding him. “its like she disa-“ he cut himself off, “found her. seungkwan, ill talk to you later.”

vernon ended the call with his friend and just stood there watching his date from afar while she was kissing another guy. he clenched his jaw and kept looking like he couldnt take his eyes off of her and the guy she was basically swallowing in front of everyone at that party.

suddenly everything started to slow down and the music started to die. and still, he was there staring at the girl, the girl who was supposed to be his for the night – and, at least he thought, for a really long time. his surroundings only seemed to get back to normal when he felt a tap on his shoulder, he looked to his side and saw someone smiling at him.

“is one of them your crush? youre staring at them for a while now” you said as you got close to his ear so the music wouldnt be a problem for him to listen to you. vernon looked at you, not knowing if he should tell you the truth or not. “i suppose it is” you said when you noticed he wasnt going to tell you and chuckled. in response, he only gave you a quick smile, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“its okay! if that makes you feel better, my boyfriend broke up with me tonight. youre not the only one who got dumped here”

“sorry to hear that” he said, not exactly knowing what to say since that fact didnt make him feel better at all, but he still wanted to be polite. "im yn, by the way.”

“im vernon” he smiled, his shy smile made you smile as well. “wanna join me for the night? or do you wanna keep staring at them like a creepy?”

“do i look like a creepy?” you looked at his worried expression and nodded, “you have no idea how much. cmon, lets get you a drink.”

you took his hand and walked towards the crowded kitchen. “you down for some vodka and cola?”, he looked around before looking back at you, “sure, why not?”. you smiled and served him the drink before making one for yourself as well.

“so… is it the girl or the guy?”. he took a sip of his drink, looking at it and nodding with his lips curled downward, a signal that he liked the drink, before responding “the girl”

“was she your girlfriend?”

“no, we were more like a fling, but i thought things were getting serious. looks like i was wrong” you groaned and looked at him, “thats the worse. im sorry to hear that.”

vernon just shrugged his shoulders and kept drinking while you were still looking at him, wanting to keep the conversation going, but not knowing how to. “my boyfriend… well, ex boyfriend,” you chuckled bitterly before continuing, “and i were dating for four months. i guess its not too much, but i certainly didnt see the breakup coming, specially right before coming here”. you sighed, “guess our love life will have a different path from now on”

vernon nodded and was about to speak before you cut him off, “you know what? forget those assholes, they dont know love and honestly? i hope they die. so you should get back up, cuz by the end of the week we’ll be alright! youre a very good looking guy, im sure youre hella interesting and im good looking and interesting as hell! we dont need them! fuck them!” you said as you started to tear up from anger. you took a deep breath and smiled at vernon. “i gotta dance or else ill cry. wanna join me?” you looked at him with hope in your eyes.

“yea, lets dance”, he didnt even finish his sentence and you were already dragging him back to the living room and starting to dance to the song that was playing. at first, vernon was a little bit shy of dancing in front of everyone, but his shyness was slowly dying as he saw how carefree you were while dancing like there was no tomorrow, like no one was around you two. soon enough, the two of you were having the time of your lives, dancing like it could save you from a heartbreak or even save your lives and it really felt like it could save you from any worries or danger.

your movements started to slow down as both of you started to get a little tired from dancing. you were smiling as you looked at vernon, his smile making you smile even wider. it felt like there was only you and him in that moment, your heart was beating fast and you couldnt tell if it was because of all the dancing or if it was because of him standing right in front of you.

the euphoria you were feeling was too intense. you kept looking at vernon, it was clear that he was getting tired, but he continued dancing anyway, enjoying his time and forgetting about his ex date’s existence. once he finally made eye contact with you, you didnt think twice – actually, you didnt even think – and leaned forward, your lips meeting his.

you felt your heart beating even faster once you felt his soft lips in contact with yours. you broke the kiss right after you got back to earth and thought about what you were doing. “oh my god im so sorry i didnt mean to! i mean… yeah, maybe i did but its just because i thought the moment was ri-“ vernon cut you off by kissing you, placing his hand on your cheek when you started to kiss him back. you couldnt tell if your body relaxed or got even more excited when he kissed you, all you could tell was that you were enjoying it and that his kiss was out of this world.

when he broke the kiss he looked at you, who was looking at him like he committed a crime by pulling his lips away from yours. he looked around before looking back at you, “i know a better place than this crowded house, wanna go with me?”

you smiled and nodded, “sure, this party is kinda lame anyway”. he chuckled and nodded, fixing his cap before placing his hand on your lower back and leaving the party with you.