#and some might’ve thought it a bit too much
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whateverisbeautiful · 9 hours ago
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This ties a little bit into that verbal “i love you” question, but do you think Michonne saw Rick officially as her husband before or after he proposed in the woods? I ask because I’m also realizing we’ve never heard Michonne officially give Rick some type of label. Rick considered Michonne his wife for years at that point because I think he’s just more traditional. With Michonne, she never gave me the vibe that she cared too much about titles/labels ect.. Like did she see Rick more as a life partner than anything? Because calling him her boyfriend also just seemed too casual for their relationship lmao
Good question! Michonne wearing Rick’s wedding ring on her necklace during all the years Rick was away always makes me think that she did view Rick as her husband before he gave her a ring in TOWL. I think Michonne also knows that Rick is traditional and that he’d completely view her as his wife and so that likely contributed to her embracing that marital status even when he was gone.
Michonne is very much about actions over words, so I can see her having the mindset pre-ZA that being life partners is more important than just having labels, which could have contributed to her and Mike not being married. But I also never got the sense that she was ever opposed to marriage either. Especially with the way she finds meaningful connections to people she loves through items. I think it makes perfect sense that she’d cherish having a ring of her own from Rick to solidify their love and union. “Boyfriend” definitely felt too casual lol. I remember Negan refers to Rick as Michonne’s boyfriend in season 9 and by that point especially it just seemed like husband was the much more fitting term. 
But speaking of verbal “I love you's”, I was trying to think if I ever made a post about when I think Rick and Michonne might’ve first exchanged ily’s. I don’t think I did, so I thought maybe I can just write it here. Because I’m always interested in when people think Richonne's first ily was. For me, I really believe it would have happened before Negan’s reign. I also like the idea of it happening before the Negan era because one; I don’t think Rick and Michonne would wait long to say it and two; I’d hope their first I love you was exchanged during a time of peace rather than duress. 
I know I’ve seen some people think that the first time they said it was during Say Yes, but while I think it was definitely said on that honeymoon run I’d be shocked if that was the first time. Especially because I can totally see them saying I love you several times prior to 7.12, like when they had that cell heart-to-heart in 7.08. And I also don’t predict it happened their first night together in 6.10, even tho they both felt it strong enough to say it by then. There were so many firsts that night for them, that I like to think ily’s were saved for another time to have their own moment.
So long story short lol, my take on when I think Richonne first said ily is shortly after their canon ep during one of those mornings like the one in 6.15. I feel like Rick said it first and then Michonne said it with ease right after. To me, that time in between getting together and ending up in the lineup just feels like the right time, and every time I see this 6.15 scene I just always feel like 'I love you' has definitely been exchanged already. 🥰
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tonycries · 8 months ago
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Kiss Me More!
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Synopsis. There’s always something that makes him lose control - and you love pushing those buttons.
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rough séx, unprotected, bodyworshíp, stuff with pantíes, bréeding, slight exhíbitionism (Sukuna’s), Nanami and Geto are a bit mean, overstím, finger suckíng, dacryphília (Geto’s), pet names, swearing.
Word count. 5.1k
A/N. Bro my laptop crashed thrice trynna write this um.
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♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “Raw?!”
Great, Toji thinks, he’s finally lost it.
Because sooner have the words left your swollen lips, all the blood goes rushing to his achingly hard cock - so swollen and already leaking hot precum all over your trembling thighs. Some dark, primal part of himself being poked so dangerously awake.
“Are ya sure, doll?” he breathes, and the words come out ragged - pained even. Like some part of himself wanted you to save no, was begging you to say no - for his own sanity. Because just the thought of your pretty lil’ cunt wrapped around his cock makes him feel lightheaded. “We don’t-”
“I wan’ to,” you give him a determined little nod. Spreading your legs further and oh Toji lets out a hoarse grunt at the heavenly sight. Hanging on your every word as you continue, “What’s the worst that can happen?”
That was hours ago - oh, how foolish you were. 
You never thought that those would be the words that make your poor boyfriend snap. That it would only take him just barely grazing his angry, weeping tip between your puffy folds. Up and down up and down up and- down went every rational thought. 
Too depraved. Too lost in the feeling of finally having you and your soft pussy and you-
“C-can’t believe you’ve been ngh- fuckin’ holdin’ out on m-me.” He was in heaven, making you cum over and over and-
And you were clawing limply at the drenched sheets, the headrest, Toji’s shoulders - just anything and everything for some semblance of sanity. 
“T-Toji-” you sob, “S’too much. I- ngh- can’t anymore-”
“Fuck! Been hah- holdin’ out on me.” he groans, like a mantra. Brows furrowing as he squeezes his swollen cock harder into your plushy walls. And if it was any other time then Toji might’ve almost been embarrassed at the way his sentence cracks ever-so-slightly at the end. Choking out, “One more- gimme j-jus’ one more.”
“But-” Big, fat tears roll down your burning cheeks as large fingers dip down to toy your sensitive clit between them - no rhythm or rhyme, just to get you off. “You said the p-previous one would ngh- b-be the last.”
Ah, you were so cute blabbering out little pleas. And the only response you get is a devilish smirk, Toji’s darkened, hooded eyes boring into yours as he hums, “Did I? I don’t remember.”
He did remember. Very well, in fact as he pushed you to your nth orgasm tonight. And it took everything in him to hold off his high as he fucked you through yours, whispering out hollow promises about it being the “last time” and just “one more”. 
“S’okay-” Toji nips playfully at your wobbling lips. Salty with the taste of your overstimulated tears. “One more- you can mmpf- cum f’me once more, right?” 
And Toji’s barely-there sense of rationality in him knows he should slow down. Ease up his bruising grp on your hips. Have at least some shred of concern as he fucks your quivering cunt rougher, like his personal sex toy more than anything. 
Yet, no, right now he couldn’t even think straight. Too focused on how your moans were so sweet. Lips so pretty screaming out his name. Snug cunt too fucking heavenly when you cum all over his cock, squeezing him like your slutty lil’ pussy was trying to milk the fucking soul out of him. So hard and addicted that Toji was hooked. 
You mewl a delirious little, “H-hooked?” Batting your hazy eyes up at the monster above you, who seemed well and fully intent on making you cum until you couldn’t anymore. “Y-you’re hooked?”
Whoops, did he say that out loud? Seems you weren’t the only one that was completely and utterly wrecked here. 
“Shhh,” Toji drops his head once more to kiss away your adorable pout - the one that only makes his balls squeeze so painfully. “Just focus on how ngh- fuckin’ food ya feel, pretty.” Fingers erratic on your throbbing clit, just soaked in your sweet juices. Moving deftly to spell out a messy T-O-J-I. Over and over and- “After all, this hah- pussy now belongs to me now, right?”
And it’s all you can do to give a delirious little nod, words slurring together as you hiss a low, “Y-yours- S’all for- ngh- you-” Hips bucking wildly underneath his strong figure. “Close- m’gonna cum, Toji-”
The only response you get is a guttural groan of what sounded like your name - followed shortly by a string of profanities as Toji speeds up his abuse on your cunt. One hand reaching out to grip onto the headboard, so hard that if you were in any better state of mind the two of you would have registered the sharp snap! 
The other almost-feverish on your poor clit - like it hurt to not have you cumming all over his cock now. Spelling his name over and over and-
“Oh I’ll let ya cum-” Hips stuttering and so so sloppy now. Sounding like his sanity was dancing away every time his hips slapped bruisingly against yours. “Gonna make you c-cum so ha- hard you’ll forget everything else-”
You’re letting out strangled little gasps in response, hips torn between running away and fucking down for more more more-
“Fuck- hope you’re on the pill, doll.”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - Painted white
“Whoops.”
Nanami well and fully thinks that it’s your fault he feels less of a man than some monster right now. He acts like it, too, holding back a sultry little smile as he fucks you deeper and deeper into the mattress. 
Close - too close. 
Close enough that he’s immediately pulling out of your snug cunt. So fucking difficult with the way you’re sucking him up so good - but oh was it worth it watching the way your swollen lips drop into a soft oh! Glassy eyes snapping down to catch the way he fucks his fist once, twice. Before spilling all over your swollen folds, painting you such an obscene white over and over and-
“Now now,” you can only keen in response as your husband hums lowly. Fist sliding languidly up and down his angry, red cock. “Guess we hafta hah- do it all over again, my love.” 
Yeah, definitely worth it with the way he had you all breathless and needy, your slutty lil’ pussy just begging to go over the edge - only to tease you at the very last second. God, it’s been like this for so long now. 
“So mean,” you give Nanami a little pout - one that has his still-painfully hard cock twitching so sensitively in his hand. Big, fat tears welling up in your eyes as you continue, “You’re being so ngh- mean, Ken.”
Oh, damn that little nickname - the exact same one you’d scream when you’re close. Damn the way you cock your head just right, batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently up at him.
Damn the way he snakes his hand down to the sinful little pool of cum spreading all over your lower stomach. Letting it trickle onto his fingertips - immediately shoving them between your lips to shut up those pretty lil’ moans. 
“Mean?” he manages to chuckle. Tips of his fingers pressing right at the back of your tongue. Slapping his swollen cock on your stomach, “Is this what you ah- wanted? Are ya happy now, my love?” 
The sight of you all teary and gagging around his fingers was almost as addictive as the sight of you covered in his cum. Almost. 
He sweeps his eyes all over where you were splayed out so prettily for him. Your glossy lips, the streaks of cum on your stomach, your chin, everywhere and anywhere - except where you wanted the most. 
It had started with an accident, really, when he’d pulled out a bit too early tonight. And fuck if Nanami didn’t think that sight of you all dripping and covereed with him was like the gates of heaven spread wide open all for him. A new, dangerous addiction. 
Which is why he’s pushing his fingers deeper, whispering out a ragged little, “Shit, you’re so messy.” Purposefully dragging his thumb across your lower lip to smear the mess everywhere. Your lips, your chin, inside. “So filthy.” He can’t even think about bringing himself to be disgusted. Dipping down the valleys of your chest, down, down down, to where his achingly hard tip was just kissing your quivering entrance now, “So perfect.” 
And without warning, Nanami’s splitting you apart on his massive cock once more. Jaw falling slack ever-so-slightly at the way you’re taking him up so readily - inch by fucking inch like it hurt to be apart.
“F-fuck,” you moan, the words broken as he starts moving inside - back to picking up that unforgiving pace from earlier, like he never stopped. “Hngh- s’too good- too full, Kento-”
“Awww, what happened to ‘Ken’?” Nanami cuts you off uncharacteristically. Hips slowing down to lazy, mindless little movements that have you gasping in protests. “Was gonna cum on your pretty face this time hah- s-seems you don’t want it, hm?”  
And ah, let it be known that Nanami Kento would burn down the world for his wife. 
But what fun it was to tease you - to have your mouth dropping in disbelief, eyes widening in your delirious state. Babbling out a broken, “No no no, Ken- hngh- wan’ you to cum inside.” Back arching off the bed, grappling pathetically for more more more- “To paint me white inside- Please?”
Oh, did you know how to push his buttons just right. Because how could Nanami deny you begging so prettily like that?
Because the sentence is barely out of your mouth before neat nails are digging into your hips as Nanami pulls your hips closer, milking his cock on your snug cunt - so hard he knew it would leave marks. His heavy balls on your ass, your ankles on his shoulders, nails dragging down his bulging biceps as you moan his name. 
Whispering, breath hot against your ear, “You’re right.” Voice so strained and dark that you almost don’t recognize it as your husbands. “So, so right.”
Nanami’s index finger coming down to draw an invisible line right where he could feel his cock making a mess of you inside. 
“Ah! Ken, W-what-”
“You’re so right.” he’s breathing against your mouth, like a little prayer. Tasting the sweet candy of your lips and himself and you- “The next spot-” Pressing his finger down right on that spot, hard. Like he wanted to feel himself more than anything. “Will be here.”
♡ GETO SUGURU - Pretty when you cry
“S-Sugu, are you okay?” you’re looking over your shoulder to ask. 
Nothing. Absolutely nothing - except for Geto’s heavy breathing, and the lewd little squelches from down below, his swollen cock just barely sinking into your heavenly cunt. And you know it doesn’t bode well.
You’d be almost worried if it wasn’t for the way his eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown and just locked on that single, stray tear rolling down your cheek. Such a dark little glint in his gaze that had you wondering whether you should be concerned for him or yourself. 
Yet you manage to choke out a little, “Suguru?”
Ah that snaps him out of his little reverie, suddenly too-aware of your plushy walls sucking the soul out of his hot, angry head. 
With work, it’s been a while since Geto got to fuck your snug cunt - and you needed to breathe, maybe spread your legs more. Relax, because it was so fucking tight and Geto wasn’t even halfway. The stretch way too sinful. Too much. Your lips wobbling at how massive his cock was, and oh- was that another tear going down your pretty face?
You don’t even get to confirm because several things happen at once - immediately, he’s pushing his aching dick in one, harsh thrust. Head dipping down to pool the tears streaming on his hot tongue, groaning at the taste.
“O-oh.” you manage to grit out, feeling like Geto was pushing into your fucking lungs. “S’too big. Sugu, ah!”
“Shhhh, gorgeous.” he’s dragging his lips down your neck, fingers dancing down your body to roll your ravaged clit between them. “S’alrigh- ngh-” And you didn’t know whether he was reassuring himself more than you. “You got it. Y-you’ll take it- you always do, right?”
And he was right - but you’d forgotten how unforgiving Geto’s cock was. How unforgiving he was as he pries away your fingers gripping onto the headrest - trying pathetically to pull away from the pressure down below. 
Hah, he thinks, intertwining them so mockingly with his own, as if he’d let such a pretty lil’ thing like you escape. 
Romantic - the way this was supposed to be. 
Yet, now, Geto was fucking you like anything but. 
“You’re not trying to- fuck- run away,” he’s purring in your ear, rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit once. Twice. As if trying to will the answer out of you, “Right?” Not even waiting for your answer before reeling his hips back, all the way till his fat tip was just kissing your sloppy entrance. “After we hngh- haven’t done this in so-” Slamming his hips down. Harsh. “-long?”
And shit- he was acting like it, too. So depraved and filthy the way he was drinking up your cute lil’ moans, tasting your tears on his lips while he couldn’t decide between bruising your poor cervix and hitting that one spot. “T-too fuckin’ long, gorgeous.”
The only answer he gets is your sweet, simpering whine of “Sugu- Sugu Sugu- oh my god.” Back bowing off the bed because it’s gotten so much. “C-can feel you so deep inside.”
Really, how could Geto even think about stopping himself from kissing down your arched back? Looping two strong arms around your waist to pull you impossibly deeper down his cock. 
“Ah! Oh my god- Suguru!” you keen as he falls back on his knees with you in tow, your back against his muscled front. Spreading your legs to fuck up so mindlessly into you. Jagged, long thrusts, bouncing you like a toy on his aching cock. Rough. “So much- so- ngh-”
Ah, your pretty little cries are just music to his ears. Fuck, he forgot how pretty you looked when you were all breathless and crying on his cock.
“Such a cute lil’ actress.” he coos, voice going up each time his heavy balls smack your ass. Fingers drawing such tight little circles on your throbbing clit. “Love these hah- pretty tears.”
“S-So mean, Sugu-” you’re choking as his thrusts get purposeful - calculated. Hitting that one magical spot he’ll never forget no matter what. Over and over and over while all you can do is cry out teary moans of his name.
Thigh quivering at the sheer stimulation, “Yeah- yeah, jus’ like that.” And oh Geto wishes he could taste down there, too. But instead settles for doing that later - getting those sweet, overstimulated tears out of you. “My gorgeous girl, cryin’ on my cock. Ngh- gonna cum f’me?” Pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your forehead - the complete opposite of his hips. “Gonna c-cry while you’re mm- cumming all over my cock?”
And as if he really really wanted to see it - Geto’s only getting sloppier. 
So embarrassing with the way he was whispering out sweet little degradations in your ear, guiding you closer and closer. 
So embarrassing with the way he eagerly watched all your minute reactions.
So embarrassing with how you cum exactly the way he wanted you to - teary and breathless. A quick scream of Geto’s name before you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. 
Cunt clamping down so deliciously on his cock. So dizzying that you barely even register the hot tongue lapping at the fresh wave of tears.
“Ah, as perfect as I hah- imagined.” Geto grits out, sounding every bit absolutely wrecked. “Now I jus’ n-need to know if you’ll cry as much when m’filling you up.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Just the tip.”
“Hngh- f-fuck, baby.” he whines into your open mouth, strong hands pulling your trembling hips impossibly closer to his. “J-jus’ a bit deeper- only a bit deeper, I promise.”
Ah, if only you weren’t split apart so deliriously on Choso’s cock you might’ve been able to actually form a coherent sentence to- what? Snap at him? Beg him for more?
You don’t even know at this point, because it’s been like this for so long now, and Choso promised it would be just his weeping tip. He promised it would be quick and he just “wanted to feel his girl’s pretty pussy.” Over and over again as he pushed your legs all the way until they were pressed against your tits, heels pressing into the mattress as he slides his massive cock even deeper-
“Cho!” you yelp, feeling the thump! thump! thump! of those prominent veins down the side rub against all the right spots. “You said-”
“I know I know, m’sorry.” he gasps. Brows scrunching as he nevertheless bullies his cock deeper inside your gummy walls. Choso’s cock too big, the stretch too sinful. Dropping his head to kiss your bruised lips, “M’sorry, jus’ a bit more. Jus’ a bit- hah- a bit deeper-”
And oh, he shouldn’t have done that. 
Shouldn’t have let himself that last bit of freedom, because he sinks only a bit more into your heavenly cunt - so dripping wet and milking the soul out of him - that Choso can’t help but think he wants more. 
“Baby…” Choso purrs hotly against your ear, hips thrusting in slow, shallow little grinds - and you already know too well what he’s about to beg for.
“Cho.” you groan, warningly. “You said j-jus’ the ngh- tip.”
“Awww.” he groans. So fucking pretty with his long hair undone, some strands sticking to his flushed skin. Eyes hazy and miles away as he looks at you through those long, dark lashes. “Jus’ a bit ngh- more? Promise I’ll pull out.” As if to support his case, one hand gently tilts your head up to press chaste pecks at the corner of your lips. The other starting to toy with your ravaged clit, “Please?”
And how could you say no to that? 
Especially not when Choso digs his knees deeper into the sheets, rock-hard cock dragging so agonizingly against your walls as he reels his hips back, back, back-
Splitting you apart all in one, harsh thrust. 
It’s all you can do to whine out a pathetic, “O-oh fuck- fuck! S’too deep.” The stretch too sinful, his cock too massive. Tears springing to your eyes as he immediately starts fucking you in quick, ragged movements - not even easing you into it like he usually would. 
“M’sorry, baby.” Choso sounds so fucking wrecked, voice as rough as his hips now. “M’sorry m’sorry. Promise I won’t cum inside. Jus’ a bit more- some- some more-”
And for all the remaining sanity you had left, you didn’t know how promises of “just the tip” turned into empty wishes that neither of you had the patience - nor the sanity - to fulfill right now. 
“Please.” you arch your hips off the bed - and nothing more has to be said, because Choso reads that lust-drunk little plea in your eyes. “Ch-Cho-”
“A bit more.” he lets out a humorless little laugh. Reaching above to lace his fingers on top of your head, pushing you down, down, down impossibly deeper onto his painfully hard cock in a pathetic little cadence to match his. “Jus’ a bit- more.”
It was driving him insane. 
And for all his apologies, Choso isn’t one bit shy when rocking his hips harder into yours. So bruising with the way he leaves marks on your waist, your tits, probably even your poor cervix. Whispering out mindless little promises of pulling out and nonsense about going “jus’ a bit deeper”.
“F-fuck, wan’ you to cum, baby.” The bed is creaking in protest as Choso picks up the pace so sloppily. Hips stuttering and uneven with how fucking good it felt - but hitting the right spots every time. His hands snaking down to roll your sensitive clit between his fingers again. “Cum f’me. Please?”
And it seems that Choso had a penchant for getting what he wanted. 
Because no sooner do the words leave his rosy lips, you’re seeing stars behind your eyes. Blood roaring in your ears, mixing with Choso’s broken little praises as he fucks you through peak after peak of your high. 
Over and over and-
“Sorry-” your eyes snap open at that familiar little phrase falling from his lips. One that you knew didn’t bode well for you or your poor cunt. “Sorry sorry sorry-” Thrusting, once. Harsh. Twitching so wildly inside you that just one more squeeze and he’d be- “C-can I ngh- cum inside, baby?” 
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - A lil’ show
It only takes that first, broken little moan escaping your swollen lips and you already know you won’t make it out intact - nor will Sukuna’s sanity, apparently. 
Because no sooner has that sinful noise left you, Sukuna’s eyes glaze over, jaw dropping so uncharacteristically into a soft oh! Aching dick twitching wildly inside you, hips stuttering against yours as he breathes out, “What was that?”
He doesn’t have the patience to wait for your response - instead, squeezing his swollen cock deeper, fucking all the air - and the words - out of you. 
Which, unfortunately for you, wasn’t exactly the reaction he was hoping for. 
“Aww, c’mon.” the words are groaned into the crook of your neck, sending jolts of electricity all the way down to your dripping cunt. “Give me more ngh- of those-” Large hands tightening on your hips, shifting you around on where you were sat so prettily on Sukuna’s lap. “-pretty moans, brat.”
So that’s what he wanted.
And this was supposed to be something slow. Something lazy, and languid to get the king of curses off before that droning meeting today with his underlings - to take the edge off so that he probably won’t end up killing them all off.
Something it was not supposed to be was Sukuna spreading your legs so shamefully, splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his cock. Trying to find the angle that’s just right to rip those cute lil’ moans out of you.
“C’monnnn.” he gives short, sloppy little thrusts up into your heavenly cunt. “Where is-”
Then suddenly you’re wrapping your arms tighter around Sukuna’s neck, “Ngh! Oh fuck-” Teeth digging into his muscled shoulder, hard - hard enough that it might’ve drawn blood if this wasn’t the king of curses himself. 
“Found it.” And it’s all that’s said before he’s reaching down to spread your puffy folds further, eyes flicking between your wobbling lips and the way your tight pussy was sucking him up so good. Watching the way his massive cock was disappearing in and out in and out in and- “What? Not gonna hah- scream my name anymore?”
“B-because, Kuna-” you gasp, face burning at the way your thighs tremble with the effort to pathetically to meet his unforgiving pace. “They- they’re close.”
Humming in amusement, “Who?”
“Them!” you’re keening - and both of you know you’re talking about those footsteps outside, the thought of Sukuna’s meeting weighing much more on your mind than his. So you’re limply grazing your lips against his, trying to muffle those whimpers falling from your lips. “They’re g-gonna ngh- hear?”
“So?”
You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - Sukuna’s response or the way he’s increasing his pace relentlessly. Trying to pull those sweet sweet moans from you, no care or concern for the ever-closing footsteps outside. 
“I don’t care.” he groans, back arching off the sticky seat of his throne to fuck up into your sloppy hole deeper. “You’re ngh- above them, y’know.” Bouncing you like such a slut on his cock, “So what if they h-hear?”
And God you don’t know who’s more fucked-out right now - Sukuna, who was speaking mindless little nonsense into your ear, or you. Whiney and a mess, tugging on his soft locks - a warning.
One that the man himself blatantly ignores, instead having one hand reach down to roll your throbbing clit between his fingers. 
“Hngh- fuck!”
The moan escapes you before you can bite down on Sukuna’s neck, right above his racing pulse to muffle it. 
“Heh,” shivers run down your spine as Sukuna’s chest rumbles with a laugh. Pulling your lolling head away to crash his lips against yours. Panting into your open mouth, “Sneaky. But they’re only getting closer and-” Rocking his hips harder. Bruising. “-m’only getting more impatient.”
And then he’s fucking up into you with reckless abandon. Smirk spreading at that little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time he hits that one spot. 
You’re sure that if whatever unfortunate soul was outside couldn’t hear your delirious moans then they could definitely hear the lewd slap of skin on skin. Fast, so unforgivingly loud. His fingers just a blur on your clit. Just taunting those little moans out of you.
You’re gasping at the sheer stimulation, “Y-you’re so-”
“So what?” Sukuna spits into your mouth, “Don’t start ngh- sentences ya can’t finish, brat. Though-” His sharp eyes flicker towards the door, much more aware than whatever hazy mess was left of your senses. “I don’ think you’ll be able f-finish any of them soon enough.”
Barely even giving you the chance to register his words, you’re tilting your head in confusion up at him and-
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Oh, shit. 
“Come in.”
♡ GOJO SATORU - Blue blue blue!
It’s times like this - your blue lingerie almost in tatters, Gojo pushing you into such a tight mating press, filling up your poor pussy over and over - that you wonder when bones will start breaking.
Well, not that your boyfriend would mind either - he wouldn’t mind having to use a bit of reverse cursed technique on what was supposed to be a lazy little cockwarming session. Instead, too focused on how your cunt was sucking him up so good. His cum inside you so warm, the stretch so sinful, your lingerie too blue-
“Heh, what? C-can’t ngh- speak, sweetheart?” Gojo lets out a humorless little laugh. Fingers deftly hooking under your bra strap to give a sharp little snap! “You’re the one that a-asked for this, after ngh- all.”
“B-But, Toru-” you gasp, and it only has Gojo ramming his cock into you deeper. Awe-struck at how you were already so bloated with his cum, but still taking him so well. “Wasn’t on p-purpose-”
“This wasn’t on purpose?” And you know what he’s talking about - that barely-there fabric - the exact shade of his eyes. Only one glance at it had Gojo feeling like something snapped - possibly his restraint, maybe his sanity. Definitely you by the end of this. “This?” 
And you can’t even act coy - you don’t get the chance to. 
Because Gojo’s immediately got his hands everywhere. On your swollen breasts, your hips, the hem of your panties that he just barely had the patience to slide aside before stuffing you full. 
“Y-yes?” you ask, deliciously. Cunt clenching so sinfully around his throbbing cock in- fear? Anticipation? As he looked down so starved at you. 
“F-fuck. Ya shouldn’t have done this.” Gojo’s dragging his lips down your neck, soft. The exact opposite of how bruising his hips were of yours. “Oh, ya shouldn’t have done this-” Lewd curiosity getting the best of him as he dips his hand lower, pressing down just slightly on your lower stomach. “Because now,” Those blue eyes widening at the way his cum gushes down your legs, down his legs. “-m’not gonna let you go until I fuckin’ ruin these.”
And if you were in any better state of mind you could’ve almost laughed - because Gojo was acting like the soaked, flimsy fabric hanging around your body wasn’t already far, far past any salvation. 
No, he was fucking you like he was going to ruin them all over again. Tightening your legs thrown over his shoulders, folding you in half like some ragdoll as he bends down, down, down-
RIP!
You’re gasping at the sharp tear of fabric, one that you barely hear over the fucking obscene squelches from below. “T-Toru-” you squeal, ankles locking in warning. “These ngh- w-were expensive.”
“So?” And for all the world, Gojo has the audacity to sound so genuinely confused. Whispering a soft oh! as he angles his head just right to catch that sinful little tear in your panties. “Whoopsies.”
But, really, what your unregretful boyfriend was actually focusing on was how fucking illegal it should be for you to look this heavenly - legs shaky and limp, his seed forming a lewd little pool. Marked like you were fucking thrown to wolves, but, no, it was actually Gojo Satoru and he couldn’t fucking get enough-
“Five.”
The word comes out abruptly, strangled like Gojo himself was as bewildered as you as he suddenly blurts it out. 
And at your - fucking adorable - look of confusion, he’s kissing away the pout at your lips, murmuring hoarsely, “M’gonna buy you five more of these.”
That’s all that’s said before he’s only rocking his hips harder, feeling more of a fucking monster than he did when he was on the battle field. Wondering whether he’d have to buy a new fucking bed too with the way it was creaking under the pure power. 
And, well, it made some tiny, sadistic little part of Gojo delight to see the effect it had on you. Sweet moans of his name leaving your lips each time he draws rapid circles on your pretty clit. Hips fucking back down to meet his, so sloppy and needy - exactly the way he wanted you. 
“Sh-shit, Toru-” you’re bucking wildly underneath him, “M’close- so fucking close.”
He knew - of course he did. If the way your gummy walls were trying to suck the fucking soul out of him was anything to go by. Clit pulsing in a maddening little thump! thump! thump! that set Gojo’s animalistic rhythm. 
“Cum f’me.” he pants against your open mouth. Fingers hurrying on your clit because he wanted - needed - this so badly. “Cum f’me cum f’me, wan’ feel you squeezing my cock, sweetheart.” Needed to see if your tight pussy could take one more - to see if she’d overflow onto your poor panties again. “Cum f’me.”
“Ngh- fuck- Toru!”
And then you are - you feel it before you realize it. 
Just that white-hot electricity flowing through your veins, and your nails digging into Gojo’s milky skin. Leaving such angry red marks as you chase your high over and over and-
And Gojo wasn’t any better. Just barely having the sense to pull out as his balls squeezed so painfully and he’s painting your quivering pussy white. Thick rope after rope that the smug bastard purposefully smears all over your panties. 
So fucking filthy.
“Ten.” he’s groaning, and you already know what he means. “M’gonna have to buy you ten more after this.”
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A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.
14K notes · View notes
coco-loco-nut · 8 months ago
Text
Gen Z
pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader
summary: everyone seems to forget that Max is 26
a/n: not my favorite, but it’s something i’ve been working on for a while there will be no part two
requests open masterlist
—————
Breaking up with Kelly was extremely difficult for Max to do. Despite not being in love with her anymore, he was very aware of what would happen to P. Max knew it was better to break up than stay just because of P, so he bit the bullet. The next few months were lonely, having to readjust to being alone in Monaco with just his cats.
That’s when you came barreling into his life. Only two years younger than Max, you were a breath of fresh air for him. He really didn’t expect to fall for you, not so quick anyway.
You knew a bit about Formula One, but it was more to the extent that your home hosted a race, some drivers lived in the city, and your hairdresser’s son was a driver. It didn’t phase you when Max told you about his career and fame, you just thought the Dutchman was cute.
“Men who own cats are major green flags,” you told him over text when you first started dating. That might’ve been what really made Max fall for you. You made him feel young, understandably so. He was 19 when he first met Kelly, and she was 28.
Max taught you about the races, you helped him connect with his inner Gen Z. He taught you Dutch and how to game, you taught him slang and pop culture. The two of you were sitting on the couch a month before the Monaco GP, watching Cars of course, when Max asked you to join him at the race.
“Of course, anything for Lightning McQueen,” you squeeze his hand. You knew from TikTok that Charles, your boyfriend’s work husband, was Lightning McQueen, but how could that not be Max.
“Kachow,” Max says causing you to laugh. He has been watching the TikToks and reels you send him, usually something formula one or cars related.
Max is watching Cars 2 with you when he points out each driver in the movie. You store the knowledge in the back of your mind for when you watch classic races and Max explains things to you. You feel sufficiently ready for Monaco.
“Lewis, this is my girlfriend, Y/n,” Max introduces you to the Mercedes driver. You look at him, star stuck.
“I loved you in Cars,” you blurt out, causing Lewis to laugh and Max to hide his face in embarrassment. Max isn’t surprised, but he can’t believe this is how your first interaction is going. Lewis is just happy you aren’t with Max because he is a driver.
“Thank you, how old are you?” Lewis asks, ready to feel old.
“24, two years younger than Maxie,” you smile lovingly at your boyfriend.
“I forgot how young you actually are,” Lewis’s unspoken words hang in the air between him and Max. Now that you are dating someone closer to your own age.
Lewis’s statement seemed to be the general consensus when everyone saw you with him. Max looked and acted like he was 26. He was using slang you taught him, he was making pop culture references that he likely wouldn’t have known otherwise. He was getting to experience his twenty’s like he should have been, not as if he was much older than he was.
Lando was the most excited to meet you, not only were you his age, but you brought out Max’s inner child that Lando never could.
“I’m stealing your girlfriend,” Lando tells Max, wanting to claim you as his best friend.
“No,” Max deadpans.
“What if Lando is my bestie?” you ask Max, who can’t say no to you.
“Then I guess that’s okay,” Max kisses your temple.
“OMG, McLaren is doing another hide and seek video, you two should join,” Lando proposes.
“That actually sounds fun,” Max says, looking at you for confirmation.
“I’m in,” you smile, letting Lando lead the way.
The video is a hit, the fans are loving this version of Max. Max is loving this version of him too, for once he doesn’t feel like he has to grow up faster than he should.
“Stay away from her, she’s no good for you. Act like a grown up,” you overhear Jos tell Max as you come back to the garage from hospitality. You have yet to meet Jos, Max made it very clear that he doesn’t want you near his dad. The memes the two of you send back and forth are a good enough reason why, so you hang back.
“What do you mean? I am. I’m 26, why should I act like I’m 40? I am happier with her than I was with Kelly,” Max argues back, you hold yourself back.
“World Champions are serious, mature. Quit acting like Lando Norris and more like an adult,” Jos is seething.
“Ask Max to come back here, say the team needs him or something,” you as an engineer when you notice Jos getting angrier.
“Then why am I leading by a heavy margin already. You just can’t handle that I am putting myself first. What would you even know about being a champion? You never won a race!” Max yells. The engineer quickly cuts in and leads Max to you.
“You gagged him, baby. Are you okay?” Max hugs you, you just rub his back as he regulates his breathing.
“He’s an opp, for real,” Max mutters into your shoulder, causing you to snort with laughter.
“God, I love you,” you can’t contain the laughter. Max joins in, your smile is infectious.
“I did use it right, no?” Max asks between the laughter.
“You did, I just wasn’t expecting it,” you take a deep breath, calming down.
“No cap?”
“Alright, you are using too much. Where is old man Max, this is freaky,” you take a step back, the smile that remains on your face betrays your words.
“You got me into my gen z era, you get the consequences,” Max pulls you back into him as you groan in annoyance.
“I love you too,” he laughs, peppering your face with kisses.
And when a journalist is brave enough to ask about the shift in Max? He’s always eager to talk about you.
“My girlfriend forced me to watch hours of YouTube compilations about formula one memes. We are always sending different memes to each other, she definitely helps me remember to laugh more,” Max gushes.
“I guess we all forget that you aren’t nearly forty,” the journalist nods. Max answers a few more questions before finding you in his drivers room. He lays down on the couch, his head on your lap.
“What’s on your mind?” you run your hand through Max’s hair.
“Have I changed that much?” he asks, his blue eyes looking up at you.
“I don’t think so, I think you’ve just started being yourself around more people. You are still the same Max that I first met and fell in love with, everyone else is just seeing that Max,” you are confused about the question, but answer him. Max doesn’t reply, he just nuzzles closer to you.
“I like this version of me,” he says into your shirt a few minutes later, you keep playing with his hair.
“I’m glad, but I like every version of you, Max. Even old man Max,” you smile as he sits up.
“Old man? How about I show you how far from true that is,” there is a look in his eye that tells you that you just started something.
“And how will you do that?” you decide to entertain him as he slips his hands under your shirt.
“I don’t think I need to tell you.”
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gothgoblinbabe · 4 months ago
Text
Love Game
[Logan Howlett x fem!reader]
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Warnings: MDNI/18+ use of she/her, female reader, swearing, being referred to as a girl, mention of being a stress eater, mild alcohol consumption and mention of alcoholism kinda, jealous!Logan, mild violence, you’re shorter than Logan, unprotected sex (wrap it up), little bit of spitting, sub!logan x kinda dom!reader, voyeurism? Technically?, use of pet names, I believe that’s it but pls lmk if I missed any! ps. you wear a dress in this but if that don't work for you, imagine its a sick ass tux/ fancy attire you're comfy in
Also non cannon compliant because I know Logan is heavy as shit and his body weight would crush you but just for a minute you’re gonna pretend like it wouldn’t
Summary: essentially [this ask] with plot ! // Scott needs to mind his god damn business, but he might’ve done you a favor by snatching your diary and waving it in Logan's face.
Word Count: 8K
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
“That fucking kid.”
You groaned, lifting your mattress and checking underneath and round your bed. You knew Scott was going to snatch your diary the moment you’d realized he overheard you tell Ororo where you kept it.  He was always busting your balls the same way he did Logans, even insisting it was a ‘two for one’ deal when he got to bother you at the same time. 
Well, he was really gonna regret messing with you this time.
“Summers! I’m going to wring your goddamn neck! Where is it?”
Your voice boomed through the open halls of the mansion as you barreled down the stairs, feet moving faster than your thoughts. Everything echoed in this place; if he was here, you know he heard you.
“Scott!”
You continued to call his name, stomping around until you locked eyes with him as you entered the kitchen. In his hands - to your abject horror - was your diary, spread open while Logan peeked over his shoulder. 
Truthfully, Scott was a little scared shitless of the consequences of what he’d done. He’d dealt with Logan back and forth, sure, but you? Terrifying. You had just about the same strength as Logan and about five times his rage. That’s why his eyes grew wide when he saw you, snapping the little book shut. 
You could feel your face burning. A diary was private within itself, but there were some things you’d written that were never supposed to be read by another soul; Scott and Logan’s included.
“Fucker,” you grumbled, reaching forward to grab the book from Scott’s hands until Logan snatched it, holding it above your head. 
“Ah, not so fast,” he teased.
You’d gotten into plenty of squabbles with Scott, but he was absolutely going to pay for this. He knew the way you felt about Logan and you swore he got some sick satisfaction out of trying to humiliate you. He only found out because he’d overheard you confiding in Jean late one night in the living room with a pint of ice cream in your hands, yapping while you shoveled Ben and Jerrys into your mouth.
Your eyes flickered between his face and Logan’s. If looks could kill, Scott would have dropped dead the second you walked into the kitchen. 
“Now what is this,” Logan asked with a lilt in his voice as his eyes scanned a page, “a whole paragraph for little ol’ me?”
Shit. 
“I’ll give it back, I promise, but I gotta read this.”
If you tried, you could maybe snatch the thing from his grip before he read too much. You considered jumping on him, piggybacking until he dropped it or handed it over. What lengths would you be willing to go through to keep it a secret anyway? Was it really even a big deal?
You had a crush. Everybody does at some point. A stupid, harmless crush and if this was how he was going to find out, so be it. 
You were still absolutely planning on tearing Scott from limb to limb, though.
“Huh,” Logan clicked his tongue, beginning to read from the pages, “No one knows how to piss me off like Logan.”
You sighed, dropping your head into your hands.
“True,” he commented, “and he spends a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom to do his hair.”
“Also true,” Scott chimed in, becoming the subject of your seething gaze. 
“He’d save so much time if he just let me do it for him - like it would be hard to comb it into two cat ears,” he read, looking up to speak to you, “first of all, I told you they’re not cat ears.”
You simply nodded and rolled your eyes.
“Second of all, you couldn’t master ‘em anyway - I’d have to fix it myself.”
You just scoffed, leaning yourself back against the kitchen counter in an attempt to act nonchalant while you tapped one foot uncontrollably. Everything he’d read so far seemed to be the mundane stuff, nothing incriminating just yet. 
“God, how I wanna…play with his hair,” he read, eyebrow quirked in confusion.
Ah, there it is.
“That’s, uh - it’s really old, I didn’t mean, like - it’s from years ago,” you tried to blabber out an excuse.
“It’s dated - it’s from a couple months ago.”
You pursed your lips, nearly biting through the flesh at the same time from the pressure. You had to get that book out of his hands.
“He’s so stubborn,” Logan continued to read with a smug grin, holding the book high when you jumped to grab it, “I wish someone would just put him in his place.”
“Ooh,” Scott chuckled, looking to you, “are you gonna be the one to do it?”
“Fuck you, Summers - I’m so gonna get you back for this,” you snarled.
“I don’t think it would take too much for him to keep his mouth shut” Logan started to read again.
You instantly recognized the part he was reading and gasped, frantically reaching again for the book. 
“No, no, no, Logan, please - you don’t wanna read th-“
“I’d love to be the one to do it. I wanna take him and -”
He stopped reading and his eyes scanned the rest of the page, his amused smile faltering. You knew exactly what it was he’d read and you wanted to bury yourself alive. You remembered scrawling it down, snickering to yourself as you dragged the gel pen across the paper.
I wanna take him and tie him to my bedpost, probably shove my panties in his mouth and fuck him senseless.That would really shut him up.
Out of all the pages in that goddamn book, that’s the one he had to open up to?
You watched intently as his eyes flashed from yours to the page and then back again.
“What does it say?” Scott questioned, trying to lean over to get a look.
Instead of letting him read it, he snapped it shut and held it out towards you, his face expressionless. Was he mad? Grossed out?
“Don’t worry about it. We shouldn’t be readin’ her private stuff anyway.”
“Uh…,” you hesitated, fingers softly grazing his when you took it back, “thanks.”
You turned on your heel immediately and hastily made your way back to your room. You hoped to hide out there the rest of the day, praying maybe Logan would forget what he’d read or just let it be. You knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t.
You knew him so well because you were like mirrors of each other; smart mouthed and hot headed. You realized that the first couple months with the X-men, always butting heads with him until one mission where you had to grab the back of his jacket in an attempt to keep him where he was. You tugged with so much force that you nearly knocked him on his ass. Even Hank had never been bold enough to do that, not when Logan was as riled up as could be. From that point on, it was kind of an unspoken assumption that you would always be the one who calmed him down or held him back. So, you did just that; grabbing his wrist with both hands to force him to keep his claws to himself or pushing back against him when he tried to lunge at Scott for something stupid - though, after what he just pulled, you may just let Logan rip him apart next time. Though it was never acknowledged between the two of you, you were his anchor. You held him down when he began to drift away. Fortunately for you, he did the same - using minimal effort to keep you in place when you tried to go for someone’s face or going as far as to hike you over his shoulder and carry you away from the confrontation, all while you kicked and screamed to be let down. 
You avoided him the best you could for two days after the incident in the kitchen, quick comments in passing but never staying long enough for a full conversation out of fear that he’d bring up what he read. What were you supposed to say, anyway? ‘Sorry I thought about fucking you?’
You’d have to think of something because you were face to face in training a few days later. Scott stood to the side of you both, a stopwatch in his hand. 
“Alright, when I say go, whoever pins the other down for more than five seconds wins. Remember, you're each trying to beat your time from the last session.”
Scott’s voice almost sounded underwater. Your eyes were locked with Logan’s and though you wanted to rip your gaze away, you couldn’t.
“Ready? And…go!”
He backed out of the way and you tried to lunge at Logan, quickly being flipped onto your back.
“Okay, ow,” you whispered to yourself, immediately standing back up.
He tried to grab you when you stood but you caught his hand, twisting his arm behind his back to force him to the ground. You straddled his back and kept your weight on him but he was too quick, turning over and pushing you off him.
“Don’t get too excited, now,” he panted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
You were caught off by the low cadence of his voice, inadvertently letting your guard down and giving him an opportunity to pin your arms above your head and keep your legs down with the weight of his knee. Scott began to count down and you racked your brain for a way to get yourself out from underneath him. 
You were able to pull one of your legs free, sending him a little off balance and using your leg on the side of his torso to roll him over on his back again. You straddled his waist, using your hands and your forearms to hold his down. That, however, left you nose to nose while panting for air. 
“What, you thought I’d let you win?” You asked, tongue poking at the corner of your open mouth. It was usual for you to tease each other with little snide comments. Nothing any different from the usual, right?
“Nah, I just really like havin’ you on top.”
Nope, definitely different. 
You didn’t even hear Scott call time on your match at first. 
“Hey! Lovebirds! I said you can get off each other. Jesus,” he groaned. You finally remembered where you were and quickly scrambled off of Logan. 
“Aw, really? It was just gettin’ good,” he chuckled. You could feel his eyes on you as you gathered your belongings with your back turned. You tried to step out into the hallway, praying he wouldn’t catch you before you met the elevator doors - of course, you weren’t that lucky.
“Hey, hey - princess, wait up,” you heard him call after you and you stopped, turning on your heel with an irritated expression.
“About the other day, the thing you wrote - “
You sighed, rubbing your face in distress and cutting him off before he could finish.
“Listen, Logan,” you quickly looked around the corridor to make sure you were alone, “I know what you read, I don’t wanna talk about it. It - look, it was some stupid phase where I had a crush and it’s over, okay?”
He tilted his head. You hoped he would simply nod and move on, but you watched his lips curl into a smile instead.
“Aw, what happened - you changed your mind?”
You knew him well enough to understand the look on his face. He was never gonna let this go - in fact, he was probably going to nearly torture you over it. 
“Shut up,” you huffed and continued to walk away, keeping your stare straight ahead.
“Aw, pretty girl -“
You dropped your belongings to the floor with an audible thud and gathered the front of Logan’s t-shirt in your fists, tugging him down to your height so you were face to face. 
“First of all, I told you not to call me that - ‘princess’, ’pretty girl’ - like I’m one of your little girlfriends. Okay, kitty cat?” you scolded through gritted teeth. He hated being called that and you knew it.
His eyebrows were raised and his lips parted in surprise.
“And second of all,” you continued with a deep breath, “you read it, it’s done - leave it be, would you? It doesn’t mean anything.”
You still had his shirt in your tight grip.
“Alright, alright - I’m just teasing,” he admitted, trying to pry your fingers from his t-shirt, “and I’m sorry, I never should’ve been reading it in the first place.” 
You sighed and finally let him go.
“Fine, I forgive you. And you can’t ever tell anyone what you read. Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“So, we’re cool again? Nothings weird?”
“Not unless you make it weird.”
“You were the one flirting with me.”
“Uh - was not. I was simply creating a distraction to throw you off guard and it worked.”
“I’ll get you back.”
“Sure, you will.”
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
You and Logan were in forced proximity hours later, standing with Scott, Jean and Ororo in Charles’ office.
“Do we really have to go?” Logan groaned, hanging his head back in frustration.
You were staring at the thick paper invite atop Charles’ desk. All your names were scrawled in cursive, surrounded by small gold detailing with the event written on top. It was some kind of Gala, something for charity that you couldn’t quite make out from where you were standing.
“It would be a wonderful opportunity to represent the school, yourselves and the mutant population as a whole,” Charles answered.
“You really think wolvie and his little hothead wrangler are gonna be well behaved enough to not make a scene?” Scott gestured towards you both.
Logan stepped towards him and you instinctively grabbed the sleeve of his jacket to hold him back. He looked back at you, clearly annoyed.
“We’ll be fine,” you insisted while glaring daggers in Scott’s direction.
You didn’t notice that you were still holding the sleeve of Logan’s jacket when Charles dismissed you. You let go and cleared your throat as you followed him out of the room.
“There's no way in hell I'm wearing a suit,” he grumbled, looking down at his flannel and jeans.
“You don’t wanna play dress up?” You teased.
“And look like a stuck up prick? No.”
“I'm kind of excited to wear something nice for once,” you admitted, “I’ve got a couple nice dresses I’ve never even worn. Besides, maybe there’s gonna be a couple of hot, rich guys there.”
You were looking straight ahead as you walked side by side down the hall, smiling to yourself. If you had turned your head, you would have seen the way Logan rolled his eyes. 
“What, you’re gonna go home with some rich schmuck just ‘cause he’s got money?”
He sounded almost annoyed. You furrowed your eyebrows and shrugged. 
“I don’t know, if he’s good looking, maybe.”
That was only a little truthful. You were not the type of person who was comfortable enough to go back to a stranger's place or hook up with someone you’d never see again. But maybe you could, if it would keep your mind off Logan and convince him to forget about what he’d read a few days ago. And if the guy did have money? It certainly wouldn’t be a problem for you.
“Oh,” Ororo piped up from behind you, stretching out the vowel, “I see - you’re going shopping. Gotta try before you buy, huh?”
She playfully poked your side and you chuckled, swatting her hand away.
“Call it what you want,” you responded, “but I’m gonna have fun, at the very least.”
You would end up having fun - just in a much different way than you expected.
You decided on getting ready for the night in Ororo’s room when the time came a few weeks later. She was touching up her makeup at her vanity while you changed behind the bathroom door. 
“Does it fit?” She asked through the wood with her eyes still on her reflection.
You were attempting to zip the back of your dress with your arm stretched uncomfortably over your shoulder.
“In a way? Kind of.”
Jean entered the room just then, having already gotten ready in her and Scott’s room.
“She’s trying on a dress that’s been in her closet since last year that still had tags,” Ororo explained to her as she sat on the edge of the bed.
“Can one of you zip me up, though?” you sighed in defeat and opened the door, “I can’t get it.”
“Woah, mama!” Ororo comically wolf whistled and you rolled your eyes with a smile.
The dress was your favorite out of your collection of unworn clothing; it showed the perfect amount of skin and hugged your figure phenomenally. To top it off, the color complemented your skin in the best way possible.
“I don’t look silly? I feel a little funny getting all dolled up,” you confessed, turning around so Jean could pull your zipper up the rest of the way.
“Definitely not silly,” Jean reassured you but mumbled under her breath after, “Logan’s gonna lose it.”
You turned back around to quirk an eyebrow at her.
“Who cares what he thinks? Did I say I care what he thinks? ‘Cause I don’t. Like, at all.”
“Honey,” Ororo began, “we already know you like him, remember?”
You groaned and bent down to look into the mirror on her vanity.
“I don’t - not anymore, at least.”
“Yeah, right,” Jean giggled, “keep telling yourself that.”
Ororo looked at the time on her watch and hastily stood to slip on her shoes, “We’re gonna be late if we don’t leave soon. Logan and Scott are supposed to meet us downstairs.”
You stepped into your shoes and grabbed the little bag you’d carry for the night, following her and Jean out the door. When you finally got to the staircase, you could see Scott and Logan talking to each other at the bottom, the latter of the two standing with his back facing the stairs. 
“All right, ready!” Jean enthusiastically announced. If she hadn’t said anything, the simultaneous clicking of your shoes would’ve announced your presence for you.
Logan turned around to face you. At that moment, he wondered why he ever complained about going in the first place. His eyes were glued to you as you came down the stairs and you could feel yourself start to get warmer. 
He looked so good in a tux, Jesus Christ. You liked when he wore those tight fitting tanks and jeans, sure, but something about the formal attire really did it for you. His cologne wafting into your space when you stood next to him didn’t do much to help dispel any feelings you had, either. How badly you wanted to just forget the stupid event, tug him into your bedroom upstairs and show him that you were so not kidding about what you’d scribbled in your diary. Alas, that was certainly not going to happen.
‘Just an old crush,’ you internally tried to remind yourself, ‘just an old crush - that’s it. I’m not into him anymore.’
Except that you knew damn well it was a lie. 
“We’re gonna be late if we stand here any longer, c’mon,” Scott began walking with Jean while you, Logan and Ororo followed.
“You look nice,” Logan finally spoke as you made it to the door, “think you’ll bag any of those rich guys?”
You almost asked what he was talking about, too lost in thinking about how you actually wanted to bag him and not some stranger.
“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, “but if I do, you’ll be the last to find out.”
“Oh, really? Why’s that?”
“Because I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Got that right.”
You eventually found yourself in a large, decorated open room, sat in the corner with Logan while he nursed a glass of whiskey and you anxiously scarfed down appetizers. The rest of the team had walked off to mingle - like normal people do.
“Kid, you’re gonna choke if you keep eatin’ that fast,” he warned you.
“ ‘m a stress eater,” you explained with a mouthful of fancy cheese, “besides, you’re a stress drinker. Thank god there’s so many tiny foods.”
He scoffed and took a sip of his drink. 
“What are you even stressed about, anyway? Half your job tonight is to just stand there and look pretty and you’ve already got that down.”
“Thank you, I think?” your eyes nervously scanned the room, “I just hate being in a crowded place, especially one this big that’s full of complete strangers.”
“Why do you think I’m holdin’ a glass right now?” 
Your eyes flickered between his and the half full glass in his hand. You wordlessly took it from his fingers before he even had time to react and downed the contents in one gulp.
“Well, that’s one way to calm your nerves,” he commented, “but if you keep drinkin’ like that, you’re gonna be face first on the ground before the nights even started.”
You were still holding a grimace from the burn of the alcohol but shook your head and cleared your throat, “I just needed the kick in the ass - I’m good.”
“So, you’re gonna go socialize? Good luck,” he raised his eyebrows, “something tells me these people aren’t really who we want to be hanging out with.”
“Why, because they have an immense amount of cash to burn and we don’t? You can’t hate people just because they have money, Logan.”
“Then how am I doin’ it right now?”
You rolled your eyes.
“I think there’s gotta be a few genuinely good people out there who just happen to be rich.”
“Uh-huh, and I think two plus two is five - it doesn’t make me right.”
“You know what? I’m going to prove you wrong,” you said smugly, standing up from the table. 
“I think you’ll prove me right.”
“You wanna bet?”
“It’s a deal.”
“What are we betting, exactly?”
“How ‘bout this - if either of us can find someone here we actually want to go home with, you win. If we don’t, I win.”
“Fine,” you narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms, “what does the winner get?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “we can figure it out later.”
With that, you both dispersed. You were still feeling uncomfortable but that wasn’t going to go away unless you did something about it. Do you just go up and talk to someone? What do you say?
“Excuse me,” a voice said from behind you and you turned around, only to be face to face with a cute guy in a tux.
“Oh, so they come up to you,” you thought immediately.
“Uh, I don’t mean to be forward with you, but you look very beautiful,” he said politely, a charming smile on his face, “I saw you when you walked in and wanted to say something, I just wasn’t sure if you came with someone.”
You took a second to respond, still processing the fact that he even came up to you. 
“Oh, thanks,” you finally replied, “you’re not too bad yourself.”
You tried to use humor to dispel the awkwardness - the type of awkwardness you feel when you get asked to go to a school dance in the seventh grade - but this guy was cute. If you just got to know him a bit, the mild discomfort would probably pass.
“I didn’t come here with anyone, by the way,” you added, “Well, I mean, I did but not in that way - I’m with friends.”
“That’s good to know,” he said, grinning, “in that case, would you wanna dance with me?”
You hadn’t even asked each other your names, and you didn’t really care. 
You nodded and let him take your hand, “I have to warn you, though - I’m no dancer.”
“Well, do I look like one? ‘Cause I’m certainly not, either. But when there’s a beautiful woman in the room that you really wanna talk to, you’ve got to think of a reason to go up and talk to her.”
“I don’t know - I think you just might be a bit of a smooth talker.”
He was and it was definitely working. He clicked his tongue and waved his hand dismissively.
“Oh, c’mon, don’t make me blush.”
He was funny, too. All you had to do was find out a little more about him - for the sake of the bet, yes, but also to determine the probability of breaking his bed frame later if it all went well.
So, you let him rest his arms around your waist and you put your hands on his shoulders. It was kind of nice to have someone so close. You started to feel mildly uncomfortable, though, as if someone was staring at you. You ignored it anyway, deciding it was just the anxiety of being in a place with a lot of people.
Really, it was Logan standing across the room with his stare glued to you two. He looked like he wanted to bore a hole into the poor guy's skull. When you finally caught sight of him, he turned and seemingly disappeared.
You spent a bit of time with your new date, intending to subtilely interrogate him to find out if he fit the criteria for your bet with Logan. Even if he didn’t? You might let him take you home anyway.
You sat with him at an abandoned table, leaning your head on your hand as you half - listened to him talk about stocks. You glanced around the room and spotted Logan again almost immediately. 
He was leaning against the wall with a girl hanging from his arm. She was talking away and he looked completely disinterested. The whole point of coming was to distract yourself from anything to do with him and there you were, ignoring your date to silently seethe at a girl who was only in his vicinity.
You tried to zone back in on the conversation and really pay attention when he started to talk about his job. It was some tech company you’d heard of, a big name in the industry.
“Oh, so, what do you do there?” 
“Well, I own it.”
You squinted and sat up straight.
“You own the company.”
It was more of a statement than a question.
He nodded and you raised your eyebrows. This was going much better than you anticipated. You couldn’t help but glance over at Logan to see that girl still standing with him.  She was twirling a strand of her long hair around her finger. She was undeniably pretty, so you wondered why he wasn’t even looking at her while she hung all over him.
“Hey, would you wanna dance with me again? I know it’s a little slow paced, but I love this song.”
You returned your attention to the man in front of you and smiled as politely as possible.
“You know what? Sure, why not.”
You let him lead you into the middle of the room and rest his hands on your hips. He pulled you much closer than you’d been standing before, so much so that you were nearly stepping on his shoes. His hands slid down further and you laughed a little to yourself. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? So you wondered why it didn’t feel like something you wanted at all.
You caught Ororo’s gaze from across the room and she smiled, flashing you a thumbs up. When you caught Logan’s gaze, he was anything but smiling. There was a reason you felt like all this was something you didn’t want - you knew you wished it was him you were standing with. Still, you weren’t sure of why he wouldn’t tear his eyes from you or why he had such a scowl on his face. 
You stopped staring back when your date planted a kiss on your forehead.
“What was that for?”
“Well, I kinda wanted to kiss you but I figured maybe goin’ right for the lips might have been too much.”
“We don’t even know each other's names.”
“Do we have to?”
You thought hard for a moment, wondering if Logan was still watching. It wasn’t fair to kiss someone just to try to make another person jealous, you knew that. He didn’t even have a reason to be jealous.
“You can kiss me.”
He was an alright kisser - nothing exciting. His lips were soft, though, and you liked the smell of his cologne. Before you could deepen the kiss any further, he was tugged backwards and off of you.
Logan had the back of the poor guy's jacket in his fists, nearly yanking him down to the floor with how much force he used.
“Alright, bub,” he grunted, “I think that's enough, she’s leavin’.”
You glared daggers at him with your lips parted in surprise.
“I can leave when I want to,” you said through gritted teeth, “what the hell is your problem?”
“Is he your boyfriend?” your date asked, nervously looking between you both.
“He’s n-” you began to answer and Logan cut you off as he grabbed your arm.
“Yeah. Get lost.” 
You furrowed your eyebrows in anger but could feel your face becoming warm. You weren’t totally sure if you were turning pink from how enraged you were with Logan or from the words that just came out of his mouth.
“Outside. Now,” you demanded, tugging your arm from his grip.
You turned to walk away and he followed as you grumbled to him, holding your dress up a bit so you wouldn’t trip as you stomped out.
‘What the fuck was that?”
He didn’t answer, simply following at your heels with his eyes on the marble floor of the corridor. You swung open the door and stepped into the cool summer evening air, waiting until the door shut behind you to speak again.
“What, you didn’t want me to win the bet?” you guessed with raised eyebrows.
“You’re really gonna let some guy you don’t know shove his tongue in your mouth?”
You stood in stunned silence for a moment.
“Are you kidding? How is that any of your business?”
He scoffed and shook his head.
“I can’t believe you’re gonna let some asshole be all over you just ‘cause he's got money.”
“What?” you furrowed your eyebrows, “why do you care?”
“Why don’t you? Seriously, you’d just go home with some guy and fuck him?”
“I don’t - I don’t know,” you stuttered, “maybe, but that was part of that stupid bet! Not that it’s any of your concern!”
You were nearly shouting at each other.
He clicked his tongue and spoke in a sour tone, “none of my concern, sure. I didn’t think you’d actually try and go home with someone -”
“Okay, you know what?” you threw your hands up in frustration, “I don’t know what the hell your problem is or why you’re acting like some jealous boyfriend, but fucking cut it out!”
You were both finally quiet for a moment. The sound of cicadas and crickets songs filled the silence. Logan’s face was pleading, his features highlighted by the soft golden yellow light seeping through the building’s windows.
“You just don’t get it, do you?” he mumbled under his breath, his arms crossed over his chest.
You raised your eyebrows, “get what?”
You sounded exasperated, sick of playing what felt like the worst game of twenty questions ever.
Logan brought a hand to his face, scratching at his facial hair - something you recognized as a nervous habit.
“That stupid fuckin’ notebook, the little one you write in,” he groaned, “I just wish I never read it.”
“So, you’re mad about that?” You asked, clearly still confused as to what he was trying to say, “listen, I’m sorry, it wasn’t -“
“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” he interrupted, “it’s - fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know, It's like I read that damn thing and lost my mind.”
You waited for him to elaborate, a puzzled expression still plastered on your face.
“It’s all I can think about, all the time - it's like I close my eyes and I can still see it written down in your chicken scratch. I don’t even know what to do, It’s so stupid,” he huffed.
You still didn’t understand what he was trying to tell you or whether he was talking to you or himself.
“And then - I don’t know, alright - you look so…” he groaned with his face in his hands, “I like you - is that enough? Ya’ get it? I liked you for awhile and then Scott had to go peekin’ through shit that wasn’t his and reading that shit you wrote just made it even worse for me. I’m supposed to read that you wanna ‘fuck me senseless’ and just let it go? You thought that wasn’t gonna do something to me?”
You were slack jawed, feeling like your legs were going to give out from under you.
He seemed angry, his nostrils flaring while he held a frown.
“So…you -“ 
His hands cupped your face and he leaned down close enough for you to feel his warm breath on your skin.
“So, I want you to fuck me like you said you wanted to.”
Your eyes grew so wide that you feared they might pop out of your head. 
“Would you, if I asked?” He continued in a low voice.
Your stomach erupted in butterflies and you nodded without hesitation. Conversations like this with Logan had only ever happened in your dreams.
His lips finally connecting with yours made your head spin. If he wasn’t tenderly holding your face, you might’ve just let yourself fall to the ground.
“I’ve been thinking about you for months, you know,” he admitted when he pulled away, “watchin’ when you walk away, thinking about how you say my name, wishing I could just tell ya’ - I didn’t have the nerve. Seein’ you with another guy, though - I couldn’t take it anymore. I thought I could and I just can't.”
You almost expected to hear the beeping of your alarm clock that would startle you awake in your bedroom. Still, it never came. You could feel his hot breath on your face, the breeze on your skin, the warmth of his hands; it was all too real.
“You mean it? All of it?”
You didn’t know why your voice sounded so desperate, almost pleading with him not to toy with you.
“ ‘course I do. Of course, I mean - god, look at you.”
His mouth was on yours again and you smiled against his lips, your cheeks tinted pink.
“Hey, wait,” you pulled away momentarily, “why did you agree to that bet in the first place, then?”
He gnawed on his bottom lip anxiously.
“I kinda figured you wouldn’t be able to find someone good enough, I don’t know - maybe I could convince you to come back with me instead.”
“That was your plan?” you let out a small laugh, smiling so wide that your face began to ache.
“Well, It might’ve worked if you hadn’t met what’s-his-face in there.”
“I don’t know his name,” you shrugged, “didn’t care to ask.”
He quirked an eyebrow at you.
“I let him kiss me because I wanted to make you jealous,” you admitted, “I still like you.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
His expression was as smug as could be.
“That you still like me? Yeah.”
“How? Am I that obvious?”
“It’s not your fault,” he shrugged and lowered his voice to a whisper as he put his lips to your ear, “I could smell how wet you’ve been all night.”
You swallowed hard and shivered when his hand slid up your back.
“And it worked, by the way - I’m jealous.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded and leaned his forehead against yours.
“Well,” you affectionately scratched at the hair at the back of his head, “are you gonna do something about it, then?” 
He kissed you with much more fever than before and you caught his lower lip between your teeth, making him groan into your mouth. His hands were in your hair to push you even further into him to the point he was practically hunched over your body. When you finally took a second to catch your breath, you had a realization.
“I won the bet.”
He furrowed his eyebrows.
“Please tell me you don’t mean you’re actually still gonna go home with that guy.”
“No,” you rolled your eyes and let out an amused scoff, “I meant you, Logan.”
“Me,” he repeated with a beaming smile, “you’re coming home with me.”
You nodded and giggled, absentmindedly fixing the hair hanging in front of his forehead. 
He was staring into your eyes in a way that had you feeling as though there was nothing else around you - no fancy party inside, no responsibility to socialize - just you and Logan in the cool light of the moon. He was studying your face like he’d never see it again if he turned away.
“What if I couldn’t wait till we got home?” He asked quietly. His warm breath just barely grazed your lips.
Your eyes widened and you thought for a moment, looking between him and the door beside you.
“C’mere,” you instructed simply, taking him by his hand and leading him inside to walk down the main hallway. You scanned the area and once you were sure no one would see either of you, you began trying knobs of different doors to see if one would open. When one finally gave, you slipped inside with Logan in toe and flicked on the lights. It was a small dusty office, one that probably hadn’t been used in a few months at the very least.
Neither of you wasted any time in taking advantage of your newfound isolation. Logan was kissing you like he was starving to taste you, working his way down your neck with an open mouth to leave darkening spots slick with his saliva.
“Logan,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed momentarily from the way he was nipping and sucking at your skin.
“I love when you say my name,” he admitted, mumbling into your neck. His hands were everywhere - tangled in your hair, resting on your waist, your hips, your ass - he was desperate to keep his hands on you now that he had you. 
You disconnected your lips for a moment so you could hop back to sit up on the top of the desk behind you. You hiked the skirt of your dress above your knees to avoid ripping it and motioned for him to stand between your knees as you held the middle of the skirt down with one hand.
“I’ve got an idea for my reward for winning the bet,” you smiled mischievously, leaning up to hold his chin and force him to look you in the eye, “what do you say, pretty boy? You wanna be part of it?”
He nodded eagerly and the pace of his breathing increased significantly.
“Good,” you leaned back on one hand, using the other to tug at Logan’s suit jacket, “off.”
He obeyed without hesitation and shrugged the garment off his shoulders. He began to untuck his shirt and you stopped him with a gentle touch.
“Did I say to take that off too, sweetheart? I don’t think I did,” you spoke softly in a firm tone.
“No - no, ma’am.”
It drove you crazy to have him under your thumb in that way, his usual domineering nature and dominance melting away by the second. 
“So do as you're told, baby,” you instructed, “if you’re good for me, maybe I’ll reward you back.”
You could see him swallow hard, eyelids nearly fluttering closed when he thought of all the possibilities of what that might entail. 
“F- mhm, fuck,” he stuttered when you brought a hand to the front of his pants and barely grazed the spot below the button with your fingertips. He began to twitch more and more with every touch.
“Are you gonna say yes?” your voice was near taunting, “or do I have to try a little more convincing?”
You popped the button on the front of his pants with ease and slid your hand underneath to feel him over the soft fabric of his underwear.
“Yeah, yes, I - ah, yeah,” he moaned in response, rocking his hips towards your hand and resting his forehead on your shoulder.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You smiled and gently kissed his temple.There was something so lovably vulnerable about the way he was acting with you. You knew he’d never let another soul find out that he loved what you did to him - dreaming of you whispering affectionate nicknames and praise as he sloppily pounded into you or spending hours on his sore knees just so he could feel you cum on his face - but the intensity of his devotion bordered otherworldly. 
“Do me a favor, baby,” you started, lifting your hips for a second to drag your panties down your legs, “take out your pretty cock for me.”
He obeyed, tugging his pants down his thighs just enough for his already hard dick to spring up out of the confines of his briefs. You inadvertently licked your lips at the sight, thinking of how heavenly he’d feel in you. He was huge, but for a guy who’s six foot two, it wasn’t a surprise.
He stood expectantly between your legs with his hands on your thighs. You leaned back on both hands, cocking your head to the side as you spoke.
“Touch yourself first and maybe I’ll let you touch me.”
The ‘maybe’ was a bluff. He knew as well as you did that you’d let him touch you regardless.
“Gimme your hand,” you ordered before he could even wrap his fingers around himself. You leaned your mouth over the palm of his hand and spat.
He groaned from the gesture alone, knees nearly buckling when he finally brought his hand down to coat his cock in your saliva.
“Feels good?” You cooed, eyes flickering from his face to his leaking cock in his fist.
“Mm - mhm, yeah, ‘s good,” he panted, “really fucking good.”
You failed an attempt to hide your wide smile, hypnotized by the repeated motion of his hand. He looked so pretty like this - his jaw hung open, chest heaving while his face became more flushed with every passing second. You could feel the rush of heat in your lower stomach just from watching him.
You couldn’t help yourself from leaning forward a little and unbuttoning his shirt from the top down, all while he watched you intently, his breathing becoming heavier the closer your hand came to his.
“Think of you all the time when I do this at home,” he panted, “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”
The compliment made your heart swell; it was a sweet remark that so greatly contrasted the obscene speed of his hand as he stroked himself. 
“You’re such a pretty boy,” you whispered and planted a kiss on his pink cheek, “you look amazing.”
You caught the way the motion of his hand slowed and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching forward and wrapping your fingers around his cock. He growled, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Don’t work yourself up so soon, kitty cat, or you’re gonna be finished before I even get to fuck you,” you murmured into his ear and he gasped as you started to pump him.
“Don’t - ah - don’t call me that,” he whimpered.
“Aw, you don’t like it, my pretty kitty?”
He growled again, even more animalistically , but his hips jerking into your hand told you he really didn’t hate that nickname as much as he told you he did.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” you continued to tease, “I know you like it - you love bein’ my big, pretty kitty.”
He groaned, lifting his head from your shoulder and crashing his lips into yours. 
“Sh-shut up,” he managed to grunt.
You immediately withdrew your hand and sat back again.
He whimpered from the loss of contact and looked at you with pleading eyes, silently asking why you stopped.
“I said you had to be good for me, didn’t I?” you asked.
He nodded, eyes traveling from your thighs, up your body and then back down again. 
“Good boys don’t talk back,” you said simply, raising your eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, I’ll - I’m good, I’ll behave, just please -“
His speech was cut short when you hiked your dress up even further to expose your bare, wet pussy.
“Fucking Christ,” he moaned.
You tugged the top of your dress down to expose your chest and he had to grip the desk you were sitting on so his legs wouldn’t give out from under him. 
“If you can be real quiet,” you pushed some fallen hair out of his face, “I’ll let you cum in me. You want that?”
“Please, ‘v been thinking of that for fucking weeks,” he begged, “please, please, baby.”
He tentatively cupped one of your breasts and you rested your hand atop his, encouraging him to squeeze and knead however he pleased. You spurred him on to the point that he couldn’t resist leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking while his fingers toyed with the other one.
You couldn’t help whining from the sensation of his mouth on you while you combed your fingers through his hair.
He finally detached himself after ravishing your chest in wet kisses and left a string of saliva connecting his tongue to your nipple. You giggled a little to yourself and crashed your lips into his again in a heated mess of tongues and teeth. You scooted your hips up on the table and used your grip on his cock to graze his tip up against you, making him shudder.
“You’re so - fuck, you’re such a fuckin’ tease,” he gasped and held your hips in an iron grip.
“What’d I say about back talk?” you moved the head of his cock further away from you.
He groaned in frustration, moving his hands to hold your face, “Honey, I’m already beggin’ -  please, I need you.”
The desperation in his voice made you even wetter.
“I guess you’ve been pretty good for me - do you think you deserve it?” 
He nodded eagerly and placed his hand over yours that was around him. You let him nudge your hand away to align himself with your entrance. His eyes bore into yours as he finally began to push himself into you, rocking his hips slowly to help you adjust to his size. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he wrapped his around your waist. When he fully sheathed himself inside of you, he let out a loud moan that echoed through the small space.
“I told you to be quiet, sweetheart,” you whispered into his ear.
“Uh-huh, ‘s a lil’ hard when I’m fuckin’ a girl I’ve been dreamin’  about for months,” he mumbled, working up a steady pace while you wrapped your legs around him and locked your ankles at the small of his back to help push him further into you.
“You feel so good, Logan,” you moaned, kissing down his jaw and throat.
He groaned at full volume again.
“Are you gonna stay quiet? or do I have to shut you up? Hm?” you grinned and he made an even louder noise. You reached behind you to find your panties and folded them into a ball, holding his jaw with your other hand.
“Open.”
He obeyed immediately, rolling his eyes into the back of his head when you stuffed them into his open mouth.
“Good kitty.”
He let out a muffled growl and the speed of his hips increased.
“Yeah,” you panted, “I know you like that.”
The angle at which he was fucking you made it so that he was hitting the sensitive spot inside of you over and over again, making you gasp each time. Sweat was forming on his neck and down both your chests, practically sticking your skin together in the hot, stuffy room.
“You’re - you’re so pretty,” you told him truthfully, admiring the rosey tint of his face and the drool that was starting to run down from the corner of his mouth. His eyelids fluttered closed and he started to thrust into you hard enough to shake the desk you were sitting on. 
“Easy, kitty cat - you’re gonna break somethin’,” you muttered into the hot skin of his neck with a smug smile on your face.
His pace didn’t falter in the slightest, his hands gripping your ass to push you towards him every time he slammed his hips forward. The fabric of your panties muffled the guttural moan he choked on when you lightly sunk your teeth into his shoulder. He slid his hand between your bodies to bring his thumb to your clit, working tight circles around the bundle of nerves in rhythm with the thrust of his hips.
“Fuck, fuck, I-“ you were speechless, at a loss for words from the brutal combination of the pressure he applied with his fingers and the way he repeatedly hit that spot inside of you. His eyes were squeezed shut and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, still whining and growling like an animal into the fabric of your underwear. You felt the heat in your lower stomach start to build and you buried your face in his shoulder, your mascara smudged under your eyes.
“Logan, Logan, I’m - ah - ‘m gonna come,” you warned, tugging on the back of his hair.
He groaned and yanked the fabric out of his mouth, immediately bringing his lips to yours so he could tenderly make out with you while the squelching sound of your dripping cunt filled the room. 
“C’mon,” he growled into your mouth, “c’mon, baby, please.”
Both your chins were slick with each other's saliva from the frantic way you’d smashed your lips together. Your whining and pleading became louder with every roll of his hips until the sensation sent you over the edge, euphoria blossoming from your lower stomach and spreading all throughout your body.
“Oh my god, Logan,” you nearly yelled, your hands slipping under his open shirt to scratch down his back, “s-so good. I love you.”
The three words slipped out without hesitation and your eyes widened, mild humiliation replacing the fading feeling of your orgasm.
His hips rutted against yours when you spoke and he leaned his face down so he was nose to nose with you.
“Love you so much.”
He kissed you softly with both his hands on your cheeks, so filled with affection that you could’ve cried. He slid his hands down back to your hips and kept his forehead against yours as he continued to drill into you.
“I don’t - I don’t ever wanna see ya’ with anybody else,” he panted, “I needed ya’ so bad. You - ah - ya’ drive me crazy.”
Even after having already came, his pussy-drunk rambling still spawned butterflies in the pit of your stomach.
“You’ll never see me with someone else, baby - promise. ‘s always been you. Only ever really wanted you,” you admitted with a soft voice.
His thrusts became sloppy and you could tell that spurring him on with your words would make him finish just as quickly as you did.
“I’m yours, always have been,” you whispered in his ear, “you’re the only one I’ve ever thought about fucking me like this.”
He choked out a sob into your shoulder and came with an animalistic growl, looking down to watch the mess being made all over your inner thighs.
“Love you so fucking much,” he repeated with a sigh, slowly stopping the thrust of his hips and resting his head against yours again.
“I love you, too,” you replied and planted a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose.
“Sorry I made such a mess of ya’,” he apologized, spreading your thighs as he pulled out, “I’ll clean ya’ up when we’re home, I swear.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” you chuckled, readjusting your dress and slipping your underwear back on while Logan tucked himself back into his pants and buttoned his shirt.
You caught a glimpse of the watch on his wrist as he moved and grabbed his hand so you could see the time.
“Shit! We were supposed to meet everyone back out front ten minutes ago,” you realized aloud, slipping yourself off the desk and pulling your dress down.
He mirrored your haste and let you fix his hair, doing the same for you and wiping away the mascara under your eyes.
“Okay, okay, c’mon,” you insisted, opening the door and slipping out hand in hand. You scurried down the abandoned corridor and all the way to the front exit. When Logan pushed open the door, you were met with Jean, Scott, and Ororo standing with worried expressions.
“What happened to you guys?” Scott asked before Jean nudged him in the arm, pointing towards your intertwined hands.
You looked towards where she was pointing and back up again, “Oh, uh…”
You tried to think of an excuse and looked to Logan beside you for help. 
“Nothin’,” he said in a nonchalant manner, “just got lost around the place - lot’s of rooms in there.”
Ororo raised her eyebrows suspiciously. 
“Sure, and, uh - Is that why you’re holding hands?”
You laughed a little, tugging his hand behind your back.
“Well,” you started, “remember I said I’d try to bag a guy tonight? Um-”
“I’ve been bagged,” Logan interrupted with a huge, smug grin.
“I wasn’t gonna put it like that,” you insisted, “but - yeah.”
“Finally,” Jean huffed and rolled her eyes, “I thought we’d have to have an intervention.”
“Huh?” Logan narrowed his eyes.
“Oh, c’mon,” Ororo laughed, “we all knew you liked each other, even before you did.” 
“And you never said anything?” Logan asked.
“Neither of you ever believed us!”
“True,” you agreed with a shrug and giggle. 
“I believe you now,” he stated, still holding your hand as you all made your way into the night, “She might like me. Just a little bit.”
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
A/N: Thank you so much if you read till the end :) !! I did get stuck with some writers block in the middle of this and I'm not completely fulfilled w it but if I kept working on it it may take another week and my brain can't do it
Still working on requests rn so if you sent one in, I haven't forgotten about you!!! I'm trying to do two at a time so I can keep up (I won't burn myself out dw I usually do nothing all day till I work in the afternoon) <3
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nottswitch · 1 month ago
Text
— if you’ve been naughty, you get…
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───────────────── 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ─
summary: you always tell your boyfriend everything that’s going on in your life, except this time you might’ve failed to mention just what kind of outfit you were going to wear to your performance at the yule ball.
pairing: toxic!theo nott x reader
cw: 18+ smut, toxic established relationship, jealousy, anal, unprotected sex, creampie, mirror sex, spanking, degrading, denied orgasm, cursing, italian pet names
wc: 2.2k
a/n: jealous toxic theo anyone?? and yes, the dance and the outfit are the mean girls ones.
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In general, you were a good girl – pliant, crazy about Theo and witty enough to keep up with his banter whenever he needed it. You never questioned Theo’s possessive antics, letting him mark your neck and collarbones with as many hickeys as he wanted, always leaning into him in public as his hand was firmly planted on your hip, stopped talking to guys as soon as you noticed Theo approaching with a confident and somewhat menacing stride. All of that made him feel strangely safe and loosen up his iron grip on you a bit, knowing that you were with him completely at your own will, devoted and loving him to the core. Which was, as he had just come to realize, a mistake.
Theo stood at the door of a big empty classroom that had been turned into a rehearsal space for the students who were to perform at the Yule Ball. The crack showed just enough for him to see something he didn’t like. Oh, he didn’t like it at all. He loathed it, in fact. The dance moves themselves were already questionable enough, but the skirt was what did it for him – the tiniest, shortest skirt in existence, swaying with each tantalizing movement of your hips, giving everyone who was willing to look a glimpse of your inner thighs – a part of your body that was, in Theo’s not so humble opinion, only for him to look at, much less touch and taste. The top didn’t help either, your tits nearly spilling out of it each time you bent over.
Theo gritted his teeth, feeling his cock starting to harden in his trousers once his eyes caught the sight of your ass bouncing up and down during one of the dance moves. The thought of some other guy being able to watch, just like him, and having the same reaction made Theo’s thoughts run wild. Without thinking much more, he flung the door open and strode over to the makeshift stage, his steps long and deliberate. With a flick of his wand, he made the speakers shut off, causing a string of surprised ‘heys’ from the girl dancing with you. You whipped your head around as well, your eyebrow going up at the sight of Theo standing right in front of the stage, his eyes dangerously gleaming in the spotlights surrounding it.
“Babe?” you wondered, confused, straightening your slightly wrinkled skirt and taking a few hesitant steps towards the edge of the stage. “I thought you were… at practice, no?”
“Got off early,” Theo muttered coldly, his eyes landing on the expanse of your bare legs and the black heels that made them look longer than they already were. “You’re getting off early too.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but immediately closed it, because the look on Theo’s face told you that it would not only be a stupid idea, it would also be completely pointless. You muttered something about them continuing the rehearsal without you to your friends and walked off the stage, with Theo immediately grabbing your hand and leading you out of the room. You stumbled after him, your eyes briefly glancing at the floor at the impact and then going up. In your peripheral vision, you caught the sight of his crotch, where the black fabric of his trousers was visibly straining, and you immediately understood what this whole thing was about.
“Babe, I–” you tried to start, but Theo immediately cut you off with a glare over his shoulder. You swallowed thickly, fixing your gaze on the corridor in front of you instead – with how quickly Theo was walking, you swore you could easily fall in your high heels.
The bathroom he took you into was dark, the only light coming through the big window on one of the walls. The round silvery moon seemed so calm and peaceful compared to the storm of emotions coursing through Theo as he effortlessly lifted you up onto the counter. Splatters of water someone left there seeped through the thin fabric of your skirt, making you shiver on the cold surface.
“The fuck is this, huh?” Theo hissed against your ear as his hands tugged at the hem of your skirt, lifting it up and letting it fall back onto your lap.
“That’s, um… My costume,” you muttered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but failing miserably. “For the performance.”
“Oh yeah, your costume? Your fucking costume?”
Theo scoffed, pulling away to eye your form up and down, fixed on your spread legs, between which he was currently standing.
“And what’s the ‘performance’ called? ‘Dancing sluts’?” he asked in a mocking yet somehow still icy voice. His hands roughly gripped your thighs, spreading them even further apart and nestling himself right between them, his throbbing cock pressing right against your quickly dampening pussy.
You shook your head, desperately trying not to clench around him to soothe the tingling sensation washing over you. Theo raised an eyebrow, sensing the tension in your muscles, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Really now?” he asked, the question being completely rhetorical. “Why do you look like a fucking slut, then?”
“I don’t–” you started but couldn’t finish, because Theo quickly shut you up with a bruising kiss, lacking any tenderness or, really, love – it was pure possessiveness in its rawest form. One of his hands squeezed around your jaw, firmly holding it in place as he lifted you up again, turning you around and pressing your front against the counter. Your neck started to hurt a little because it was still turned to the side, yet the feeling of it was pleasant enough to make you push your ass back, against Theo’s aching length.
A sharp slap on your asscheek was his response, and you let out a squeal, stuttering into a moan as you felt the slap echoing in your core.
“And a needy slut, at that,” Theo quietly cooed into your ear, his warm, smoke-scented breath conjuring up small droplets of condensation on your skin. “You think you deserve this cock, huh?”
At these words, he dragged his clothed hardness between your cheeks, letting you feel just how riled up he currently was. You nodded, knowing that it most likely wouldn’t convince him, but at least you could still try. Theo chuckled, the sound low and holding some sort of danger, and shook his head, letting go of your jaw and letting your head loll forward. You looked into the mirror hanging above the sinks – your reflection was staring right back, your eyes filled with lust and a burning need to feel Theo inside of you right that moment.
“You think wrong, amore,” Theo answered, noticing the same exact thing as you in your eyes as he briefly glanced into the mirror as well. His hands hastily lifted up your skirt, your stinging ass now covered only by a tiny piece of red lace. “There’s no way you deserve it after that dirty little stunt of yours. I do deserve this ass, though,” he added in a cocky voice, landing another strong slap on your cheek, making it ripple at the touch. “And I’m gonna take it all.”
Your eyes widened at the implication of his words as you recalled each and every time he ‘took it all’, the memories making your pussy clench around nothing. Theo saw your expression that was exactly what he was expecting, his smirk widening as he pulled your panties down, met by the sight of your dripping cunt, arousal already starting to run down your thigh. His other hand went to the zipper of his trousers, the sound of it being undone sending a shiver of anticipation through your needy body. A moment later, Theo’s cock was freed from the confines of his clothes, springing out against his abdomen.
“Fuck, I like you like this,” he mumbled, his palms landing on both of your asscheeks at the same time, squeezing and spreading them right after. He didn’t even look at your sloppy entrance, his gaze fixed intently on the hole right between your cheeks, so damn tight and inviting. He gathered some saliva in his mouth, spitting it out right onto that pretty hole. You felt the cool liquid trickling down, swiftly picked up and spread around by Theo’s index and middle fingers.
“And you like it too, huh?” he said in pretend amusement, watching your muscles tense and relax under his touch. “Your little hole is begging for me, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…” you breathed out, gripping the edge of the counter as you felt arousal creeping right into your stomach, your whole body nearly trembling from anticipation. “Please, Theo… Need you so much.”
“What’d you say?” he taunted as his middle finger slipped right in, stretching you out, getting you ready for him. “Can’t hear you, amore.”
“Need you, baby, please,” you mumbled louder, knowing that he won’t do anything unless he hears you properly pleading for it. “Please, Theo, I–”
Your words were cut off by another finger added inside of you, scissoring you open in a way that made you moan loud enough for him to be satisfied. After a couple more moments of stretching, his fingers slipped out, replaced by the leaking tip of his cock prodding at your hole.
“Gonna take it all, bambina,” Theo said with a warning, sliding the tip in just a bit before pulling away again. “And you’re gonna take it all, like the slut you are.”
You nodded fervently, having the boldness to push against him once more. Theo let out a huff of breath, his hands firmly grabbing your ass as he finally pushed in, slowly filling you up with every single inch of his cock. The initial pain was quickly replaced by pleasure as you adjusted to his familiar size – you had done this so many times before that your insides felt like they were carved out specifically for Theo to fit right in there. You leaned your forehead against the mirror, your ragged breaths fogging up the glass, making small droplets run down the surface.
“So fucking tight,” Theo grunted as his hips pressed tightly against the flesh of your ass, signaling the fact that he was now fully in. Both of you stilled for a moment, getting used to the sensation before he started moving, his cock easily sliding in and out, wet sounds wafting through the air from the abundance of his saliva still dripping onto your skin.
You felt your muscles clench around him, squeezing his cock as if you were trying to milk him dry. And you were succeeding, judging by the moans and growls he let out from time to time, his fingers digging into your hip, surely leaving marks in a completely intentional way. The pleasure you felt was teasing, getting you to the edge and pulling you right away due to the lack of friction on your throbbing clit. Theo was perfectly aware you had never been able to cum just from anal and deliberately ignored your pussy’s need, focusing on himself – a clear statement that this was more of a punishment than simple sex. You whined each time your orgasm slipped away, your hands itching to reach down and touch yourself, but you knew better than this – Theo wouldn’t be pleased with your attempt at defiance. His own peak was starting to approach, evident by the way his thrusts grew sloppier and his moans – louder.
“Gonna fill you up, little slut,” he growled, an especially deep push almost bringing you to the edge again. “Gonna make you mine, in a way only I can. You hear me? Only. I. Can.”
Your muscles squeezed him again at his possessive words, and that was enough to tip him right over. His warm cum spilled deep inside your gut, making you shiver from the stimulation it provided, which still wasn’t enough to satisfy your own craving. Theo stayed in for a few moments, catching his breath before pulling out with a wet pop. With pure satisfaction, he eyed his seed trickling onto your inner thighs before pulling your panties up to seal it in, along with the juices from your completely neglected pussy.
“Babe…” you tried to plead, your desperate voice met by his glare in the mirror, turning from lustful to icy cold again.
“I told you that you didn’t deserve it, and you still don’t,” he said firmly, his eyebrow slightly raised in an authoritative manner. He grabbed the hem of your skirt, pulling it down to cover your ass, which served as a sign that he wouldn’t be touching you any further. You shakily breathed out, your thighs squeezing together as you felt the need tugging at your lower stomach. Theo was relentless, however, in his determination to punish you for the outfit you dared to wear and tell him nothing about, giving you another sharp look before extending his hand towards you.
“Come on, I’ll take you back to your rehearsal. Let all your little friends know exactly what you were doing in here.”
And all you could do was obey.
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multch · 4 months ago
Text
Thoughts.
Art the clown x reader [18+]
CW: actually smut \ afab masterbation
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Your boss admires your dedication to staying back late to finish off repairing most nights. What he doesn't know is affiliation with the ‘Miles County Killer’.
Who knew sewing pays in a good view…
You whipped back as the bloody black and white suit whacked you in the face. If art was anything- it certainly wasn't subtle. The smell was revolting but what did you expect? Daisies? Of course he’d smell like a dead animal, he’s a murderer for Christ's sake! Still, you would've appreciated it if he at least let you set down the jacket you had to repair first- or had the decency to cover up a little instead of walking around the studio with everything out on display.
Tonight marks the 3rd year since you had first encountered this killer clown. You worked at a humble costume shop- Often very late to scramble enough of a paycheck to pay rent, utilities, whatever, ect.
On the strange night you two met, he had walked in- completely skipping past you- and searched for some sewing supplies. He went so far as to have even checked out the staff room you had accidentally left unlocked. Regardless, he eventually waddled up to your counter and dinged the bell on your desk several times. He had waved his hands around like a maniac trying to make sense until you realised he was gesturing towards the sewing needle in your hand. If he wasn’t so charming, maybe you would’ve called the police on him right then and there.
Maybe you should’ve...
Since then, you always patched up his ripped and tattered clown costume and he would repay you by helping out around the shop when you worked late. Repairing shelves, moving boxes and pestering you incessantly while doing so. 
It was a shock when you had first discovered his more malicious side. The ”Miles county killer” plastered on every television screen for miles. You couldn’t tell what had scared you more; Art’s heinous acts or the simple fact that he seemed to spare you.
But why?
The question haunted you. Your moral compass never seemed too correct however you understood the evil that seemed to possess him was devilish. What you couldn’t understand was what a being so sinful could've thought about a seamstress that made him show not only mercy, but companionship…
Honk! Honk!
Art could’ve killed you with how well he’d scare you. They didn’t call him the ‘Terrifier’ for nothing you thought. You were just minding your business- lost in thought- until Art practically made you jump out of your skin from his infuriating infatuation with his stupid little hand horn.
He had crept right up behind you and placed himself close enough to feel the cold air escape his lungs. You didn’t know how you didn’t notice but his horn was practically touching your ear. The sound it let out was more than enough to make your eyes widen. It had startled you so much you fell backwards on your stool. Luckily for you though, Art was there to catch you.
His skin was smooth and frigid. His hands having responded by grasping your waist with his rough hands- You were accidentally pressed right up against his naked chest. 
His touch felt electric. The contrast between your human heat and his icy exposure was a feeling like no other. He helped you back up onto your seat but by then it was too late. Fuck.
Seeing him naked was one thing but feeling his bare touch was another. Your minor interest in him had easily turned into obsession over the course of the last few years. A mysterious stranger showing up out of the blue. Saturated in blood. Torn up and often mutilated.  How couldn't you be intrigued?
It felt like there was no one else in the world he treated like you.
You felt special.
Protected, even.
You tried your best to resume your repair but by the time you reached the hole by the gusset of his suit, you had lost it.
*
Maybe excusing yourself to “go to the bathroom” might’ve been a bit overkill but there was no way you wouldn’t melt in the heat that you felt just simply looking at him. His playful taunts. The way he bats his eyelashes at you. Even his disgusting black smile!
These ‘normal’ acts of his felt misconstrued into one big flirty mess. 
Despite your efforts, you were clearly just too horny to stop. Every time you think about him in this moment, you couldn’t help but remember how he’s outside right now in nothing but a mask and his flimsy little top hat. In times like this, you couldn’t help but shake your fist in the air at Art’s infamous refusal to wear anything under his suit.
(You tried to convince him once by buying him a pair of boxers, but in retaliation he had ripped out the crotch and walked out- giving you the full view of his “pencil”)
Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking but deciding to work one out sounded great right now.
You lent up against the red tile wall of the staff bathroom. It was cold. Perfect.
Slowly fondling yourself, your hands snake around your skin. One climbing up your stomach to slip under your bra. The other sneaking down the waistband of your shorts.
God, he made you so wet from just one touch. You slid in one finger first- wincing back at your contraction around so little. It made you only more hungry for what your eyes had feasted on so often yet you had never been given the chance to taste it yourself.
Seeing it made you understand why this clown always went commando because he really was hiding away a whole balloon animal. It was BIG.
Imagining it made your mouth feel empty..
You slip in another 2 fingers. Thrusting into yourself enough to make you press hard against the wall behind you. You were so cold but inside was a warmth you wanted him to feel so badly.
Your eyes squeezed down hard. You wanted to see him. His face. His body, as he thrusted into you.
You wanted him to trap you beneath his form with his inhuman strength.
To be scared he'd rip you in half if you ran away was a major turn on for you -the idea of becoming less than a victim of his by becoming a slave for his enjoyment.
Imagining it made your pussy throb, feeling empty despite your aggressive movement…
You tried to muffle your moans but the more you indulged in your fantasy, the more you struggled to show some self restraint.
A fourth finger, then a fifth.
Pounding harder and faster into your core, you thought back to all the toys you brought reimagining them as his girth. 
Art was more than a friend to you. You ached for him nightly. You felt him in your core. You've dreamt of his touch and woken up in a hot, sticky sweat because of him.
You wanted to be honest with him but only Hell knows what he'd do to you if he didn't feel the same.
The possibilities made you salivate. Being his victim would be an indulgent death for sure..
You feel yourself very quickly feeling your release build as an air of tension fills the room. It's sickly sweet.
Rubbing your pretty little pussy until it's puffy and squirting when he's in the room outside was your tipping point.
You let out one final wince before your knees give out- causing you to crouch down on the frozen tile floor. 
You can't help but imagine it's him holding you after a scene of absolute passion.
*
It's only been 10 minutes since you had excused yourself but once you had made your way back out, Art was nowhere to be seen.
You're embarrassed to say the least but you decide to push forward with your plans for tonight. 
You turn around to close the bathroom door behind you only to find a familiar face greeting you instead.
There stood Art the clown, leaning up against the wall with a shit eating grin- All while still being fully naked.
Oh god no…
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moonstruckme · 5 months ago
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hellooow i love your writing and characterization is so good 🤌🤌🤌 could you write something about james and r talking about their future together and james is like "yess and we'll live in a nice house with two or three little us running around!!" and reader is like "haha thats so cute love but i don't want kids... ._."
Thanks for requesting!
modern au
James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1k words
You tsk, adding a picture to your pinterest board. “It’s decided. Someday, when we move out of this apartment, I simply can’t live without a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.” 
“Mm.” James’ hum vibrates on your chest. He’s been lying there for some time, in and out of dozing while you’re on your phone. “I think that can be arranged. I want a fireplace.” 
“You just want to chop up wood.” 
You feel his smile spread against your skin. “And so what if I do?” 
“It wasn’t a criticism. So long as I can come watch.” 
His laugh is a warm puff of air, followed by a soft kiss just below your collarbone. This commences a fascination that involves his lips making a slow, idle perusal of your skin. “Do you think you want a big house?” 
“Not really.” Your attention has been pulled from your screen, the sight below you too adorable to ignore. You thread your fingers into James’ hair. “Too much cleaning. Honestly, if you have any questions you should just look at my pinterest. I’ve got it all laid out. We can make room for whatever TV you want, though, I suppose. Plus a secret tunnel to Sirius’ and Remus’.” 
“Obviously,” he agrees. “Yeah, I’m the same. All I need is my fireplace, you, and maybe a nice backyard for the kids.” 
Your hand stills on James’ head as a heavy weight drops into your chest. 
You’ve managed to evade this conversation, you’re not sure how. You’re not sure why either. Maybe just to make a good thing last, for as long as you could. But you know how much James loves kids. And if you’re honest with yourself, this, the proof that he does expect them one day, has always felt inevitable. You feel like a liar for not bringing it up with him sooner. 
Maybe it worsens your deception, but you keep your tone light as you ask, “Would you settle for a backyard for a couple of dogs instead?”
James gives a little laugh, tinged with bemusement. It makes you feel worse. 
“Or cats,” you say, voice growing smaller. “Or no pets, up to you.” 
It’s probably your obvious unease that tips him off. James looks up at you. You straighten his glasses for him automatically. 
“What do you mean?” he asks, and there’s no accusation in his tone, only curiosity. 
A low buzzing burrows into your ears, not unlike how you imagine it’d sound if you were drowning. 
“I don’t really want kids.” 
James’ face falls, and your heart splinters. 
“You don’t?” It’s like he thinks he might’ve misheard you. 
You shake your head. “I’m sorry,” you say, immediately angry with yourself for apologizing but not angry enough to overshadow your guilt. “I’ve thought about it a lot, and I just don’t. It’s not that I hate kids or anything, I just, I don’t want to have any of my own.” 
“Oh.” The word seems to leave James on a breath, faint and hollow. “Okay.” 
Your eyes burn, and you cannot cry right now but you can’t seem to shut up either. “If I ever did want to, it would be with you. But I just—” your voice fractures “—I don’t want to bring kids into a home that doesn’t want them, even if—if it’s only me that doesn’t. It’s not fair.” 
“No, you’re right.” James’ voice sounds a bit more like him now. He’s nodding, slowly, like he’s still wrapping his head around things. “You shouldn’t have kids if you don’t want them. For you and for them.” 
You nod. Hot tears trudge down your cheeks. 
Wordlessly, he sits up and wraps his arms around your shoulders. James is a really good hugger. Tight and warm, like he’s given and received plenty in his life. You know he’d be a great dad. Any kid would be lucky to have him, someone who comes from a love passed down and strengthened through generations. You’re just not meant to be a mom. 
You hold onto each other tightly, and you wonder if it’s the last time you will. You know in your heart that you’re doing the right thing for yourself, that you should never make such a life-altering choice based on someone else, but right now you’re desperate enough to consider it. You think you might do anything to keep him. 
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 
James pushes his face into your neck. You think, to your horror, that he might be crying too. 
“It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t want you to be sorry, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.” 
“I wish that I wanted to.” 
“You don’t. It’s okay.” 
You sit there like that for long minutes. When James pulls back, he sets his hands to your face, smiling ruefully as he thumbs away your tears. You choke out a little laugh and do the same for him. You have the urge to kiss his cheek, warm and beloved, but you don’t know if you should. 
“We can have pets,” he says in a quiet, rough voice. “And if Sirius and Rem or Lily or anyone has kids, I can just be their favorite uncle.” 
“You would be,” you say. “Being their aunt would be fun, too.” You study him anxiously. “Are you sure?” 
James’ lies down beside you, seemingly exhausted. “Sure about what?” 
You chew the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know, I guess that you’re okay with this.” 
He doesn’t answer right away, which you appreciate. You want him to think about it. A sigh leaves him, long and heavy. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to the idea,” he says finally. 
“But…for right now, you don’t want to break up?” 
“What?” James turns to look at you. Whatever he sees makes his face soften. “Oh—no, honey, I don’t want that. That wasn’t even…I wasn’t thinking like that.”
“Are you sure?” you ask again, though it threatens to bring another wave of tears. “I know you pictured things differently. I’d get it.” 
“I always wanted all of that with you,” he says, soft and yet somehow firm. “It’s going to take me some time to change how I picture the rest, but you’re not going anywhere. Not if I can help it.” His mouth curves slightly as he holds out his hand in invitation. You place yours in it. He brings your palm to his lips, kissing your heart line. “It’s you and me, yeah?” 
A pleasant feeling skitters up your arm to sit in your chest. “Yeah.”
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pretzel-box · 6 months ago
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I love you writing! Could you do something with jealous Sebastian?
A joke too much
words: 1,3k
status: non-proof read
tags: established relationship, sebastian is jealous, random nameless guy to fill in for the plot, comfort & bad diving suit jokes
sebastian might be a bit ooc but that's nothing new lol
Despite all the horrible things that had happened so far in the drastic depths of the Hadal Blackside, you were more certain than ever that hardships are easier to overcome with a group of co-workers—or, in this case, familiar victims of the expendable project that Urbanshade had set up to retrieve a simple crystal.
One of those people was a fellow inmate who shared a punishment similar to yours, which made it easier to bond over the shared misery. Their sarcastic way of lightening up every dark situation was a refreshing change of pace amid all the horrors and violence that usually surrounded your group.
"I would have worked harder on my bikini body if I knew I’d end up here," the fellow prisoner joked, gesturing to the basic diving suit Urbanshade had issued as minimal equipment. The ill-fitting suit clung awkwardly to his frame, adding a touch of absurdity to an otherwise grim situation.
"Ah yes, these diving suits definitely highlight all the right curves," you hummed back in amusement, trying to suppress a grin.
The lighthearted banter continued as you both navigated the dim, foreboding corridors. The small, wholesome moments of connection were a welcome reprieve from the relentless tension. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep the growing dread at bay, if only for a little while.
Eventually, you found yourselves standing before Sebastian's signature vent—a crude entrance that had become all too familiar. With a quick push, the piece of metal flew across the dark floor, clattering noisily. From the other side, Sebastian's disinterested voice echoed in the narrow passage.
"Welcome back, you... and you," he muttered, his tone flat as his ear fins twitched slightly, betraying his annoyance. His gaze flicked to the person next to you, clearly sizing them up. "Another day, another poor selection of team members, huh? Shame I don’t sell good ones either."
His joke, dripping with sarcasm, didn’t go unnoticed, but it didn’t have the desired effect either. You could see the faint lines of irritation on his face when he noticed your unimpressed expression. His usual wit seemed to fall flat in the current circumstances, and even he seemed to sense it.
"Really, Sebastian?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Your new companion stifled a chuckle, but you could tell they were a bit wary of the sea-serpent’s mood.
Sebastian sighed, leaning back slightly as if trying to shake off the tension. "What can I say? The company down here isn’t exactly what I’d call inspiring," he retorted, though there was a hint of resignation in his voice. He glanced between you and your new friend, his irritation giving way to something softer, almost like concern and you didn't missed the way his tail moved, showing how bothered he actually is without speaking it out loud.
“Seriously, who thought it was a good idea to send us down here with nothing but these glorified wetsuits?” Your team mate joked trying to get the comfortable atmosphere from earlier back by continuing his joke, shaking his head in disbelief. “If I knew I’d be stuck in a metal box at the bottom of the ocean, I might’ve packed something a little more comfortable.”
You chuckled, trying to ease the palpable tension. “At least you’re making it work,” you said, playfully nudging him with your foot.
Sebastian’s ear fins twitched at the sound of your laughter, and own claw-like fingers digged themself uncomfortably into his own palm. Without a care, he spoke, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of laughing at this situation.”
Your friend raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on Sebastian’s mood. He pushed off the wall and took a step closer to you, a lighthearted smile still on his face. “Hey, we’re all just trying to make the best of it, right? No harm in keeping things a little less... bleak.”
Sebastian finally faced him directly, his eyes locking onto your friend with an intensity that made the room feel even smaller. “If you’re so focused on keeping things light, maybe you should find somewhere else to do it.”
The words were laced with a possessiveness that took both you and your friend by surprise. The room fell into a heavy silence as Sebastian’s gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable. “Or is this how you’d rather spend your time?”
You swallowed hard, sensing the unspoken conflict. “Sebastian, we’re all stuck in this together. We don’t have to turn on each other.”
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Stuck together, sure. But don’t pretend like this is just another day at the office. We’re not exactly a team, are we?”
Your friend cleared his throat awkwardly, realizing he was caught in the middle of something much deeper than he’d anticipated. “Look, maybe I should just... give you two some space,” he suggested, glancing between you and Sebastian.
Before you could respond, Sebastian stood up and slithered across the room, positioning himself between you and your friend, his tall frame blocking the view. “Yeah, maybe you should,” he said, his tone final, leaving no room for argument.
The air in the room was thick with tension as your friend hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Right. I’ll, uh, catch up with you later,” he mumbled before slipping out of the room by crawling back throug the vent behind him.
Once the two of you were alone, Sebastian didn’t move, standing with his back to you, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You could feel the cold emanating from his body, but there was also something else—a vulnerability he rarely showed.
“Sebastian,” you started softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “What’s going on? Why are you acting like this?”
He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn around either. His voice was low when he finally spoke. “Because I’m tired of watching someone else take care of you when I’ve been the one keeping you alive all this time.”
His words hit you like a wave, and you suddenly understood the depth of his jealousy. It wasn’t just about the other guy—it was about everything you’d been through together, everything he’d done to protect you. He was scared of losing you, of not being enough and being replaced with someone you just met.
You stood up and stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, resting your head against his back. “I know, Sebastian. I know you’ve always been there for me. And I’m grateful for that. But you don’t have to do it alone.”
He sighed, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension drained from his body. Slowly, he turned in your arms, his cool hands resting on your shoulders as he looked down at you, his expression softening. “I just... I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
You reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m right here.”
Sebastian’s gaze searched yours, and after a moment, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms and tail around you in a protective embrace. The coldness of his body was no longer unsettling; instead, it was a familiar comfort.
For a while, you just stood there, holding each other in the quiet of the room, the earlier tension dissolving into a peaceful silence. Finally, Sebastian pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his breath cool against your skin. “I didn’t mean to get so... possessive.”
You smiled gently, your hands resting on his chest. “It’s okay. Just... remember that we’re in this together. Both of us.“
Sebastian nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Thank you, Sweetheart."
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nameless-pirate · 2 months ago
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Ace: fluff headcanons
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Summary: just some fluff headcanons for my sweetheart, Ace. Tags: fluff! Notes: This fluff is so sweet, it could become one of Big Mom's generals. Just saying. Also, it was my very first request!
Fluff relationship headcanons
When you first met Ace, you thought you two would be like fireworks: carefully ignited, shot to the stars, burn brightly, and end suddenly. But as you two settled into your relationship, you found that this love was warm, ever-lasting, and unyielding.
Ace loves cuddling with you. If you lay in bed, he'd put your leg over him or his over you and snuggle his face into your neck.
He spends a lot of time observing you. Watching you do something you love calms down his restless mind. Sometimes he’ll just fall asleep but if you move, he immediately wakes up.
He's your comfort person. Whether you're doing nothing together or two separate things next to each other, his company brings you peace.
Can't tell jokes to save his life, but will do anything to make you laugh, like make stupid faces or create funny shapes with his fire power.
Often hugs you from behind. If you’re smaller than him, then he’ll put his head on your head or your arm. If you’re taller, he’ll nuzzle his head between your shoulder blades.
He tells you stories from his childhood and talks a lot about Luffy. He often repeats himself, but you never complain because that’s exactly why you fell in love with him in the first place—Ace cares so deeply and he admires those he loves. You never want to see that light in his eyes dim. Sometimes you even encourage him, “Ace, what was that story you told me about Luffy? The one with a tiger?”.
If you repeat your stories, you’ll also never know. “I might’ve told you this already…”, you’ll start, but Ace only smiles and pushes you to tell it again.
You spend your casual date nights gazing at the stars and talking. Sometimes Ace will use his power to picture what you’re telling him. You’re always amazed by how your stories look dressed in his fire.
Ace is touchy! He always has his hand on your knee, thigh, or arm. When you walk, it’s either holding hands or embraced.
When you’re too warm because of his power and ask him to move away for a bit, he pouts. He can’t help his high body temperature and he just wants to stay close.
Ace admires you. That’s how he loves—with admiration.
If it’s a special date, he’ll take you away to an island for a few days. Sometimes he’ll have activities planned, and sometimes he just wants to rest with you without anybody around.
If you’re trying something new that he already knows how to do, he’d tease you a little bit. But the moment he sees you’re getting frustrated, he will help.
Wanna go swimming? No problem. Ace will take his little sailing boat and make circles around you.
One of the most intimate moments you share is the bath time. Whenever he’s exhausted or after a battle, you help clean him. You’ll wash his hair. You massage him as you put on the soap on his body. You don’t talk much then—the tenderness is in the touches and his whispers of “thank you”.
He can risk his life for you but he’d rather die than let you do the same for him. He wants you to live more than anything.
If you’re feeling sad and lying in bed, he’d lay down next to you, caress your face, and stroke your hair. If you feel bad about yourself, he’ll tell you a story from your relationship—how you looked when you first kissed, how he felt, how there was this one night when the moon hit you just right and he couldn’t believe his luck, how he saw you fighting and he couldn’t tell whether he felt admiration, fear, or both, and how good you are at doing what you love. It’s always so detailed and his compliments are never about just one thing; he pays attention.
Loves to put his head in your lap and have you stroke his hair.
You’re each other’s best friends. You can just drink tea or hot chocolate and talk for hours. You have definitely built a pillow fort together. There were a few nights you went out drinking and dancing till the sun came up. There’s a secret language only you two know how to speak, and you birthed it through endless conversations, short but fiery fights, and gentleness only your hearts know the beating of.
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barnacles34 · 2 months ago
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Mr. Rager, Can I Tag Along?
Part I
Synopsis: Mr. Rager finally joins the birds in the skies. Dedicated to the song Mr. Rager by Kid Cudi.
tags: 8k, smut, so much romance, fluff, addiction, recovery, virgin Ryujin
Ryujin x Male OC
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CHAPTER I: 
You might hear the birds singing flying around,
You never see them too long on the ground,
You wanna be one of them, yeah.
Cocaine toxicity. Solipsism finally vindicated. He was going to die—truly. That cloudy feeling of mind and body separation, as if the ribbons of heaven had finally let him grasp their reins, swaying him toward some version of forever happiness.
Mmmm.
He thought he’d care about dying right there in the nightclub. The shame of weakness, of collapsing with foam at the corners of his mouth—he’d truly thought he’d care more about it. But now, one worry gone, he was worriless. Life had its charm, but it wasn’t for him; he’d been walking on sticks until the very end. Now, the floor felt so right. His body sank into it, slipping slowly, as if turning to slime and merging back into the earth.
Each second, his grip over his fingers weakened, a constant slackening with every passing moment. His eyelids grew heavy, and the outline of the nightclub around him blurred. He couldn’t control his fingers anymore; he was truly sinking. When would heaven begin? When would this fantasy end? Mind-death, a complete and utter submission to the lifeless realm - he’d never recover.
The faint tingling of powder lingered at the rim of his nostrils. At least, he’d had a good high - a nice ecstasy haze along the fine columbian - before dying. Finally, his eyes closed, nerves shutting down, and he felt free, unchained from his body like a ghost.
"Stay with me!" A voice, deep and feminine.
Hm?
"Don’t close your eyes!" Again, that voice.
What?
Whatever. It was too late anyway.
"How many fingers am I holding up!?" Still images flashed through his fading consciousness, fingers held up just before his face, barely visible, though he couldn’t tell how many anyway.
"What’s your name?" He couldn't place a face on the voice, but it was distinctly feminine - separate from his inner voices.
They were trying so hard. If they’d responded any faster, he might’ve been forced to go back - to life.
Go back…
Did he want to go back?
Hell.
Mr. Rager - that’d be a good name, he thought. If he were reborn, given another chance, that’s who he’d be.
"Mr. Rager!"
What? Could the paramedic hear him?
"Mr. Rager! Come back! Fight back! Don’t go off on an adventure!"
Flash. Eyes open. He was alive - he was… alive.
"Mr. Rager. You’re okay; don’t make any sudden movements." A soft, padded palm rubbed his forehead with a gentle, compassionate touch. He looked up. A young woman, petite yet strikingly beautiful, looked back at him.
"What’s your name?" he asked, despite himself. Still a bachelor, after all. "My name is Ryujin." She was dressed in a way he couldn’t quite place, something different from what he expected. "I’m part-time, by the way," she said, noticing his confused look. "That’s why my clothes are different." He rubbed his forehead; it was pounding, but with a distant sort of ache, incongruous with a proper headache. “What the hell happened?” he asked, properly confused. “You went into shock, someone already administered naloxone to your body, thankfully; otherwise, you would’ve-” she abruptly bit her tongue, preventing herself from talking about a potentially sensitive topic that Mr. Rager was subjected to.
“And, by the way, this was my first call ever.” A subtle transition, a conversation starter.
He blinks, trying to relieve the soreness in his eyes, “God, I’m sorry, this is such a fucking shitty situation.” And the way he said it, that emotional self-deprecation.
She might’ve realized something, “Were you trying to commit suicide?” She asked, very bluntly.
“It’s none of your business. Thank you for the hospitality, I’ll be taking my leave now.” When he tried to take the IV fastened to his vein, Ryujin softly, with the firmest grip and tone, said, “You’re going nowhere.”
All Mr. Rager could think of were cuss words, cusses against the world, against destiny to be alive for the foreseeable future. 
A resolve to suicide is the moment the mind, at the cusp of mind-death, truly enters a dead mind. The inescapable rock-bottom, a self-fulfilling prophecy where one feels truly and utterly fastened to the floor - inhibited of all its freedoms, its happiness.
Mr. Rager, or better known as Min amongst his peers - not friends. At the hands of his peers, Mr. Rager sustained a traumatic head injury that tormented him with chronic migraines right from the start of it all - the drunk brawl, that he decisively lost in, at just the age of 17. 
See, Mr. Rager had not a single family member except his aunt who embezzled all the funds Rager’s parents left for him. And the last time he tried to talk with his aunt was when he sustained a knife wound on his forearm from her - a deeply tormented individual, she was locked in a home-made cage for most of her adolescence.
And, unfortunately, there’s not a single time where his life is measurably better than the year before - only getting worse until the overdose.
Ryujin didn’t inquire further, she was hoping somewhat that her presence might help Mr. Rager. She sat next to Mr. Rager, her hand still on the side of the hospital bed, feeling its soft fabric. Mr. Rager, still irritated, asked, “Why are you still here?”
“Cause I want to be here.” A joking undertone, perfectly acted out. In truth, Ryujin pitied him so much, her first patient, a successful businessman who tried to kill himself at the age of 29 - now that’s fucking rare, usually the cases accelerate at the age  of 50 or so.
“Why’d you take this job?” 
She replied, “Artistic inspiration.”
“Hm, fantastic idea by the way.” He was sincere about it.
“Thanks.”
“Do you have enough material now?”
“Oh. Plenty. Plenty enough.” She giggled.
“What if I don’t consent to my likeness being represented in your art - medium, whatever?”
“Mr. Rager, don’t you worry, I’ll refurbish it so much that it'll be closer to the likeness of… let’s say… me.”
“Quit the teasing,” he stated, straight to the point.
“I don’t want to.” She replied back, he was one of the few people where teasing seemed to genuinely improve their immediate well-being, and for someone like Mr. Rager - it’s huge. And, he was finally laying, no longer trying to plan an escape, on the flatbed, staring at the ceiling, observing the music player. “By the way, is this music player provided to everyone recovering?” He’s not one to mix words.
“You’re pretty smart.” She replies, a confirmation, fiddling with her torn skirt, presumably from rushing into her para-medic role.
“That’s what I owe you for?”
“Mhm.” Still fiddling, a pouty sort of face formed on her face, it was her favorite skirt.
“How do you want the debt paid?” He inquired, he’s one to never ignore the nascent attachment to his favorite items - thus, he understands: the exorbitant value placed on favoritisms. “I dunno. You’ll still owe me. Big Time.” She stared back, this time, their eyes entwined with a sort of friendliness that is almost, just almost, ethically wrong in hospital circumstances.
“Very well then.” His tired eyes kept pulling on his eyelids. Genuine sleep had seemed to completely take over his body, and yeah, that’s all the meds he’s under: naloxone, antibiotics, withdrawal medicine, and a lovely dose of morphine. “I feel new.” His voice was dozing as his intra-reflection began. As he nodded off, he felt the faint grasp of her hand, so small, yet filled with so much conviction. He’s tripping balls, but she’ll never tell him - presence was what was required of her.
And that was all the validation he needed: for sleep.
As Mr. Rager finally slept; Ryujin stayed for a bit, or about 4 hours. And, still, she’s sitting beside him - making sure that he sleeps and recovers. Just from the chance encounter of a paramedic call, she felt the compulsion to guard Mr. Rager. Poor girl, if she’d seen a dead body for her first call then she’d vomit a week’s worth onto the ground. 
After another hour, Ryujin finally decided it was time to leave. She wrote a thoughtful letter, of things that needn’t be said - obviously. But she also left a partition, finagling a creative way to demand what she’s owed. After, she let her boss know that she quit on the spot, that she’d also come back to the same room - a reservation of some sort. She left, leaving the stale, minty air of the hospital with a melancholy that wouldn’t be fixed until she saw him again. Because, when she was writing the note, she wished she asked more questions - Mr. Rager just seemed to lead on the conversation to a charming degree, that other circumstances were of lesser importance. 
Ryujin, outside, breathing in the fresh air of the summer, caught the last bus of the route. This route, passing by the road that she was taken on inside the paramedic van, also led to her apartment. Unfortunately, it’s an old, decrepit apartment where only the rudest sort of parties happen. Half the time, the floor above is vibrating thump, thump, thump from the heavy jumps, or the lower floor blasts some of the most needlessly, eardrum-breaking music.
At least she has solitude. Finally free from the dictates of those she didn’t get along with, finally separated from her friends who’d get too boring if she hung along for too long. Now, her family is charming - easy to get along with; now, her friends are always interesting - fascinating to be around. Distance is a marinating technique, or whatever.
Ryujin, the charming shut-in, finally arrived at her place, and began on her art piece. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to list that’s positive about her obsession with art. It’s the time where she vents her frustrations of being a failed trainee - rather, a placement that was restricted from becoming an idol; wallows in the misery of the color tone she loves the most: dark; and, to top it off, she gets bored of visual arts when she tries to make money off of it. Some dastardly sign from the man above, “Your hobby will stay a hobby.”
All that displeasure would be the paint upon the canvas: checkmate, mental turmoil turns to art, she thought. Swipe and swipe, the dirty colored watercolor painting had nearly no form worth thinking - almost entirely brown from the intermixing of the wet, damp color. Then the second layer, an apparition of segmentation, a deeper color, colors that entice and bite back. Then the specificity of the lines, things left unspecified were on purpose. But, this recurring thought, this pounding idea, that she left a man that fell in the depths of the void alone - really began digging into her soul. This thought unto Ad Nauseam brought her nausea that really can’t be eliminated with the will of her conscience. “I should’ve stayed, I should’ve stayed” - the recurrent thoughts that never seemed to leave her. With a sad howl, she fell to the side, crying deep, ruining all her pretty into the sheets - a room so small that her chair was the bed.
“I’m still alive”, Mr. Rager repeated this to himself over and over after waking up - not sure whether to feel some sort of rendered triumph. For a moment, he was truly tip-toed in the void, almost encased into the endless hope, of unrendered reality and a horrible sadness; now, he’s alive, breathing, with a full control of his body.
Nothing had caught his attention, the environment, whether there were people around him or not, only life as he knew it - coursing through his veins. The feeble thumps of his chest - his heart, still persevering.
Several days of this sort of morning locomotion went on, it was also the time that Ryujin came over. Poor girl brought over new confectionaries - mostly of her favorites; brought lunch boxes she herself fully funded; found ways to amuse herself and Mr. Rager during the listless hours.
“What’s the interest rate of this debt? Surely, a person like me, fastened to the bed with belts (a pure exaggeration), wouldn’t be extorted with dubious rates?”
“Mr. Rager, you’ll have to declare bankruptcy by the end of it, seriously. You owe me. Big time.” She joked back, of course, she didn’t really expect much. By her own goodwill, Ryujin was looking after Mr. Rager, an exchange of her goodwill would almost sour all her community service - again, a flash of her trait, a blithely weak trait in modern society, a subtle revulsion to being paid for her services.
Mr. Rager, however, was the opposite. Rogue-man, Rager man, Mr. Rager, a name that fits him so closely, from the early onset of consciousness, an unruly rebelliousness coursing through his veins at all times, with flourish - with the crimonest red. He’s done it all, disowning his billionaire politician parents, who still relish the thought of meeting Mr. Rager one day; losing all his wealth, gaining it back the next; then, enjoying it all on a single roulette wheel, then forgiving the casino when they couldn’t pay his winnings; and then dying for a few seconds, under the angelic influence of the so-called hellish “nose candy”. But for his closure, his preference—he’s pastless, futureless.
That’s the dilemma, Ryujin hadn’t learned a single thing about Mr. Rager that was worth pulling a strand on. Contradictory statements only confounded her further, and a reply to her joke - of bankruptcy and debt - he’d say, “I’d have to find it buried somewhere.” And she’d think, “What? What the hell? What’s buried? What’s ‘it’ ?”
Often the thought was interrupted, never fully leaving its conception—Mr. Rager wanted to keep it that way. Ryujin, often on her phone, never leaving her eyes off Mr. Rager, spent her delicate hours in the breezy, spacious hospital room.
Mr. Rager, of course alarmed, would ask - every day - “why do you visit so often?”
Then, Ryujin, really not knowing an answer, would default to a bland answer of so and so - real political talk. This procession, of nothing happening, stretching on for days was repetitive. It also made them happy. She’d put on her makeup, with her artsy hands - quick and fast. The rapidity with which she approached this situation, so contrary to all the aspects of her life - seemingly, Mr. Rager had brought vitality to Ryujin.
And in comes the day of withdrawal, the hospital withdrawal - where Ryujin and Mr. Rager resided comfortably. The door clicked softly as the nurse entered; simultaneously, Ryujin and Mr. Rager’s hairs stood up - what are they alarmed for? It was not, the nurse, no, absolutely not, the nurse was jovial, happy, thinking that she was delivering happy news.
She didn’t know that both of them found their only sources of joy inside this hospital. The nurse thought that she was relieving them of a most ludicrous bill, by ending it as soon as possible - as this hospital in particular, charges in hours, yeah, real dystopian shit. And so, it was a surprise when both the people had an almost disdainful stare towards her - it’s just my imagination, the nurse thought.
“Are you sure? You know overdraft schedules cost significantly more?” The nurse asked, confused, concerned.
“Yeah, yeah, I just want to stay here for one more day.” Mr. Rager replied.
“But, but - do you have any ailment? That’ll bring down the price.” 
“None at all, I just want to stay here for another day more.”
Rich people are nuts, the nurse, still, complied, letting him stay, leaving him for another day.
As the day progressed, Ryujin came back, again, in the evening. “Your schedule, how do you do that?” Mr. Rager was genuinely impressed with how Ryujin utilized her time, imagine his surprise when she just says, “I just skipped some stuff.”
“Alright, well, thanks for coming.” And that got Ryujin thinking, was this his first time thanking me? Which, in fact, did make her day. And, she wouldn’t dare challenge this once in a lifetime behavior - that’d be a quick way for that behavior to be stashed away, forever. Again, as soon as she entered, the atmosphere changed. 
It’s about damn time they understand the euphoric peacefulness they rouse for each other. And, today was one of the moments where Mr. Rager gives a slight glimpse of his life - the confounding ones that really led to nowhere. “I think my aversion to alcohol comes from the fact that I had kids with this chick, married this chick, bought a mansion for us to live in - and, only too late, realized that it was really the alcohol that talked.”
Ryujin’s heart sank, “what? You have kids?”
“Not anymore, don’t have custody over them anymore.” He was so unbothered, utterly unbothered.
“I’m sorry for asking, just curious—what happened to them?”
He chuckled, “No more personal questions after this, alright?”
She nodded, her beady eyes on full alert. The pillow that she borrowed from the hospital bed, on her lap. She was intently listening from the comfortable armchair. 
“I let her take the kids, she didn’t ask for alimony or anything like that—just that, on the condition that I don’t contact them ever again.” He stared at the ceiling, sorting some of it out, not sure if it was some traumatic experience. Nevertheless, he continued, “she found me unbearable after a while, and I found her unbearable as well. I was never there too: too busy with money. She probably didn’t chase after alimony because she already had a sweetheart - with money - to get back to.” With so much ease, as if he’d been through too many lifetimes - too many he can remember.
“Oh,” that’s it, that’s all the reaction she can give.
“Oh, what’s with that reaction?” He chuckled.
“I-I’msorryIdon’treallyknow-” she paused, “Hey! You’re being so annoying today.”
“Sometimes, a flipped script - like teaser gets teased - leads to masterpieces.”
“Any examples?”
“Nah, I just made it up.”
From then on, the conversations continued; the deep introspective pauses continued, listlessly; and both began to feel the drowsy effect of the combination of warm light and black-out curtains.
And a tired Mr. Rager loves beauty. 
“Ryujin.”
“Hm?” She looked back, staring at him with her doe eyes.
“You’re like marijuana.” One can say he has a way with words.
“What?” Her brows stitched in confusion.
“You’re fucking amazing to have around. But, I swore to never, nev-” He fell into a deep sleep, so contrary to his habits: he’s never fallen asleep with his own mind’s permission.
Her doe-like eyes opened farther open. Her heart began beating listlessly, skipping beats. I’ve got to leave, before I-. Yet she magneted closer to the bed, where Mr. Rager slept so peacefully. Did I do that? He’s always complaining about sleeping, yet- yet he slept so easily. She was making up all sorts of situations, scenarios, theories - none of them healthy for the mind.
And, before she knew it, under the bright moonlight radiating into the room, gentle shadows across his face, she leaned closer, letting her soft lips touch the peak of his cheekbone, causing shivers across her spine, and she thought fuck, fuck, I’m really doing it - and when that wasn’t enough - then his forehead, feeling the warmth radiating from his forehead on her lips. But no more, that’d be too much, too much.
Under her own shame, her bright flush cheeks, her dilated pupils, twin pools of dark moons: she quickly left the room, carrying all her stuff such that it’d be guaranteed to fall in the middle of the hallway, a real mess she made of herself.
CHAPTER II: 
Keep movin' forward, keep movin' forward
I'm so-I'm so reborn, I'm movin' forward
Along the way home, the realization washed over her like a molotov flame - its gentle but fiery shimmer covering the entirety of her body. And the way her heart pumped, any performative act she could do to stop it was useless - ultimately doing nothing, nada, zilch. The sound of his roaring laughter from her jokes, the curve of his smile, the messy stubble, god, she was really losing it inside the bus. Her every thought, motion, every constriction of her body - pulse and all - was consumed by him. Her legs rubbed together desperately, and the slightest, faintest moan left her quivering lips as she let her imagination go wild. 
And the fact that… that an elderly lady was behind her, judging her provocative movements, just nudged her on further - full on deviant shit.
As soon as she’d be home, she’d have a towel under her.
Fortunately, past the hospital departure, they wanted to see each other again - platonically. However, it’s been days, and though that may seem quite short, they’ve never been separated for more than 12 hours. 
And these days, these listlessly long days, let Ryujin know of her sympathetic entanglement, and, seemingly intensifying it. Ryujin, with her sore body, stared at Mr. Rager’s phone number on her phone - the curves of the numbers kept reminding her of everything she thought about days before (the curves of the numbers some dubious correlation with Mr. Rager). She’s about to do it again, two fingers, knuckle-deep, into her folds until she’s a drooling mess on the bed. She was already a mess to begin with, a crook in her neck, half her bed unmade, sleep-deprived.
That isn’t to say that Mr. Rager wasn’t just as affected. He never succumbed to the pleasure of the hand, but the dreams, the wistful dreams. Imagining her close smile against him, moaning soft and goading phrases right into his ear - melodiously erotic. Her soft palms against his broad back, pressing deep - trying her best to not scratch up his back. You’re fucking me so good, mm- she’s whimpering, right on your ear, fuck, shivers throughout. Then, halt. It’s the fucking alarm.
Both awake, going through their groggy morning routines to finally meet again. Would it be as magical as it was in the hospital? Would it ever be so calm?
The time to meet was approaching quickly. Ryujin got ready, her perfect face, judiciously given with all her perfect talents, was colored with minimal effort, any more and she’d show off her inexperience with makeup - Mr. Rager would’ve lost it all regardless. Because, she was dressed in this tight dress, the type of dress that a girl like her deserves, expensive, ornate, sexy; but, she was a special case, she’d never worn something so ornate and so revealing, and the mirror would reflect a little doe desperately pulling on the hems that revealed her taut thick thighs, the cusp of her petite bosom, and any effort to cover was an ultimately futile effort, this was something she had come to terms with, before leaving her small studio.
And, as if she were in a Wong-Kar Wai movie, she entered the bus: all glammed out in a shitty environment. And the nervous eyes in the bus quickly looked away, intimidated heavily; still, some passengers hoped that they could get a glimpse with the spasm of their pupils to her direction - that’s how good she looked.
She sat down mindfully, crossing her legs - alarmingly aware of the stares. Her face adopted a natural blush - a face too beautiful to hide. Her eyes, set beneath her delicately arched eyebrows, stared at the reflection of herself from the wide glass. She’d never be able to understand her own beauty, too often enveloped in imposter syndrome, and the only person, Mr. Rager, would be the one, who could tell her the beauty of her cascading black hair; her large eyes, accentuated by a deep-set gaze; the beauty with which she carried herself, awkward, yet enigmatically, always, the most beautiful person in the room.
Mr. Rager, gaunt from the opioids, still looked herculean, a fitful combination that fit any clothing piece. With an androgynous face that was covered with sharp eyebrows, dark under eyes, high cheek-bones, and a sort of asymmetrical face that was almost better than the conventional symmetry: in summary, he was someone you couldn’t miss. This inherited comeliness comes with its risks, from the ease of life to the women, things that Mr. Rager succumbed to in violent fashion. Other than that, his preparation was pretty rapid, hopping into his entirely dark-tinted - for obvious reasons - car and set off into the gentle night.
Ryujin landed at the closest bus point to the meeting point. Her dress was unsuited for the weather, and her body began going frigid under a chilly summer day. That’s until a black car, a mercedes s-class, stopped ahead of her. It was nothing to be worried about, she’d just pass by it, acting as if she didn’t see it. However, the figure that exited the car was all too familiar: Mr. Rager.
“Ryujin.” Mr. Rager took a look, scanning her body - making it all too obvious with his pupils - instantly realized why he’s been thinking constantly about her - she’s just the most beautiful person.
And Ryujin, the way her knees slightly folded from seeing Mr. Rager, a slight spasm in her joints - she really missed him. And her hands crossed together between her loins, her eyes opened slightly larger.
“Don’t be so nervous.” He chuckled, that chuckle, that deep chuckle - Ryujin could feel the heat in her core. “Come in, you still have a long way to go,” she gladly accepted, entering into the car: feeling the soft seats, the fragrance of the unusual smell of vanilla and sandalwood (in a car?), and the overwhelming luxury around her surroundings.
“Be sure to dial the temperature or dial whatever you need, I’m sure you were pretty cold outside.” Mr. Rager said, aware of how Ryujin is not one to engage in something without permission - only if he knew what she’d done, the moment before she left, that day. However as he talked, all Ryujin could respond with was a chuckle, she was too focused on how the sentence sounded, how his eyes placed on her face, and occasionally, how it landed on her chest. And that was just the pinnacle for her.
He couldn't stop his gaze, this fermentation of a pending calamity was bounding closer and closer, and thrilled both parties to no end - they couldn’t even hide their own temptations behind the screen of a platonic hang out. By the seconds, the passing seconds, they got bolder, he got bolder. He let his eyes wander far down, her creamy white legs, her meticulous maintenance of it all. And Ryujin was wallowing in it all, his sharp gaze made her feel warmer, wetter - enticing her to dial down the temperature, a contrast from when she was so cold outside.
Still, they’d say nothing, despite it all. The silent hum of the tire scraping against the asphalt was all the credence, the distraction, they were allowed. The rest was this endorphin-filled, endorphin-crazed environment where both of them knew that they were pushing too quickly, given the fact that this companionship began from a suicide attempt.
Still, there’s this slip of time, where they could, possibly, love each other. Though, before these exponential entropic forces caused all sorts of calamity, they arrived at the spot. This run-down complex, that hid a quaint restaurant with private rooms, was a source of nostalgia for Mr. Rager. Ryujin followed, climbing the stairs, ascending just behind him, pulling down on her dress, sticking her thighs together as she climbed (a natural precaution). The restaurant was exactly that, quaint. They entered one of the tight-fitting cubicles, where they sat across from each other, a small sitting-table separated their bodies - unfortunately.
“Don’t be too worried about this restaurant, it may be run down, but it’s a great experience.”
“Oh, no, no, I’m not worried about that, I frequent far more run down establishments than this.” As the words left her tongue, Ryujin cringed, frequent? What am I? A prostitute? Her eyebrows knitted.
“Relax Ryujin,” he chuckled, “enjoy yourself, I’ll pay for it all.”
“That’s the first step to the debt?” Ryujin grinned, loosening, gaining her natural confidence.
“Perhaps. Come on, go crazy.” There it is, that nice toothy grin, her cheeks ripple into some sort of whiskers - god, he’d do anything for that, again and again. 
The dishes came, oily dishes full of food, and Ryujin’s eyes glazed in excitement. After a brief, too quick, moment of eating, both of them leaned back - absolutely full.
“You got a bird’s stomach for your ambition, Ryujin.”
“And you’re a head taller than me, but you’re leaning as well!”
“Good point.” He chuckled, fighting indigestion through it.
“I don’t even like oily food.”
“Me too.”
This time, a collaborative laugh.
Mr. Rager paid the meager bill, leaving all the food to rot on the table - the plight of abundance.
“Anything you want to do today?” Mr. Rager asked, putting on his seatbelt.
“It’s really late, I really wanted to punish your wallet, you played your cards right going out so late..” Ryujin relaxed into the seat, fully comfortable, in-tune.
“Well, if you don’t have any plans. Mind if I go the reservation for us?”
“What reservation?”
“That’d ruin the surprise, Ryujin.” The ambient sound of the tires against the ground in combination with the dark night - the darkest night before morning - was an even more intense atmosphere.
This peaceful atmosphere, intense, yet peaceful, again, just like the hospital visits. This interesting continuation of happiness, so foreign to his life, was something that he could get used to. His forearm pressed against the storage compartment, letting his hand spill over; his other arm was loosely steering, as loose as the gentle dark night. 
As he trailed the road, occasional peeks at Ryujin showed her transition to sleep: drowsy eyelids that infrequently close for periods of time, then, longer periods, then, sleep. 
Who was this angel? This angel that wrought Mr. Rager all manners of hope, of happiness, of reflection. If he hadn’t been so stubborn about his affliction towards personal information, maybe, just maybe he’d understand her more, this girl - so beautifully clad in a flowery dress.
Is this love, this elusive feeling? How could it be so cruel? So cruel as to bring it to me at a time so random, and so heavily…
Again, he forgot his bad habit: speaking his thoughts out loud.
He realized too late, and he could feel her large eyes staring at him, confused. 
Yet, and yet, he felt the gentle warmth of another palm on his forearm - a reassuring grip.
“Min, I love you too.”
CHAPTER III: No Longer Mr. Rager
I want to kiss you on your space below your navalette
The place you keep so neat, so moist like a towelette
Ryujin, her beautifully beady eyes looked at you, as she lifted your forearm, planting little kisses all over it.
“Oh Ryujin.”
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for that, Min.” A statement that left her lips as she continued worshiping his forearm.
Jesus, this woman.
He pulls into the closest parking spot, giving not a single fuck that there were a few cars there - all likely empty, anyway.
And, with all pretenses and courtesy removed, the forearm that was so judiciously worshiped, wrapped around her nape, pulling her into a searing kiss. That deep moan, that accepting moan as his mouth opened against hers. He almost forgot the most essential question - suddenly, slightly pulling away from the kiss.
“How’d you find out about my name, Ryujin?” Min asked.
“A woman doesn’t disclose her secrets, besides, how could my love not have a name?” Cheesy, feisty, what a woman.
“Good point.” Another searing kiss, dynamic, evolving, every step more depravedly romantic than the previous.
He was pretty sure that he’d break something, in the middle compartment, that separated you from total body connection. Again, you pull away, this time, it brought out a desperate whine out of her, her arms that wrapped desperately around you kept pulling you in - like a vortex.
She understood the memo as soon as he exited the car - love connection. This time, with a wider space, still constricted, was the best they could do, and they’d relish this extra space. Min, naturally assumed dominance over Ryujin, her body acclimated against his aggressive pulls and pushes - all for the pleasure of Ryujin, and she didn’t take it lightly, each breath heavy with the densest pleasure. Oh, oh, oh, keep manhandling me. She’d whisper. And he’d obey.
As Ryujin, with her tight dress, splayed against the seats on her back, took initiative to take off Min’s clothes, button-by-button. “Oh I’ll fuck you so good, Ryujin, so fucking good.” He’d repeat, over and over, and Ryujin would get more aroused by each iteration: “Yes, yes! Please.” Occasional soft bites were felt all over his collarbone, his neck, his earlobe. “Possessive little bird, I’m not going anywhere.” He caressed her head, making sure that he’d also mark her, a heavy hickey on her neck.
And Ryujin fucking loves it, she softly caresses him, soft grasps against his back, locking her taut legs around him, begging for continuations. And, Min would obey, in his own rebellious way, tightly grabbing her breasts - hidden behind the dress - then pressing kisses all over her neck, nearly all of them hickeys. 
“Fuck the reservation,” he grunted, it was an expensive reservation, but he doesn’t give a fuck: Ryujin’s right under him, begging for him to ravage her taut body. And she replies, “That’s right, that’s right, mister, master!” The end of her sentence was capitalized by Min’s heavy grasp on her breasts.
“That’s right, little bird.” Low grunts against her ears, his thick shaft, covered, grinded against her body, while his mouth assaulted hers.
And she cums, her head turns up, looking wherever - straining her neck - to release her pleasure. “Ngghhh!!!” A heavy whine, so enthusiastically human, straining against the seats that held her back. “Holy shit! That was so amazin-” enough talking, he’d motion, locking mouths together.
Silent moans, “mmmf..” hummed against his tongue, Ryujin was so turned on, and he’d love to fulfill all her wishes. Each rotation of his hip against hers were accentuated by Ryujin’s deep moan, squeaky moans, the moans that she couldn’t hide by covering her mouth. His hand, fixed onto her breasts, finally ventured below, feeling her lithe abdomen - the slightest abs - then letting his hand rest on her pelvis, just above her pussy. 
He finally released himself from the hypnotizing kiss, staring at her body - mostly still covered by the dress: now, that, won’t do. He pulled on the bottom hem of her dress, revealing her wet core, an embarrassed squeak along with it all. “You’re so fucking hot, Jesus,” he had a taste of what her body looked like, and he just can’t get enough. All precaution thrown out the window, the expensive dress was about to be ruined, and Ryujin - ever resourceful - seemed to allow it. He pulled the upper hem of the dress down, breaking the straps that could’ve been removed easily - this is a statement, I own you - Ryujin seemed to get the memo - all beady and begging.
Her soft breasts, creamy, smooth, with pink nubs spilled out from the tight dress. He pressed both his hands, all over her body, exploring the transitions from her taut skin to the scrunched dress, making sure to remember every facet of it all. “How badly do you want it?” He whispered, wholly focused on her body, subtly noticing her wet core, the outline of her pussy growing clearer by the second. And Ryujin didn’t even have to answer the question, locking her legs around his waist, frantically trying to get her hips on his covered shaft - yeah, she’s fiending for it.
And Min, ever the indulgent, gently moved and hovered his hand over her neck, waiting for that confirmation, that wink, that nod - and, Ryujin, calming down from the intense pleasure, nodded. That first grasp, tight, measuring her tolerance, measuring just the moment when the eyes go back to her eyes - and he seemed to completely pinpoint it, that slight spasm of her body, and her inner thighs are just soaked.
Finally, Min decided it’s time to give her sopping cunt some attention. Peeling the layer to the side, wet with the highest arousal, hid her bright pink core - and it, her core, was begging to be sated, pulsing, glistening, beautifully fragrant.
Firstly, he let a single finger prod, then entered. And Ryujin was already shaking, her eyes went straight to the back of her head, and her neck vascularized - all veiny - from the soft choke. It would’ve been too cruel to give her too much pleasure, so he took his hand off her throat, instead, patting her head - letting her know that she's doing so good, so good. 
In and out, motion of the ocean, slick covering his finger the deeper he went, earning the most virile moans out of her cute mouth. “You like that, huh?” He dug deeper, until his knuckle - a loud moan. She had never felt anything like this, her two fingers could never compare, and she’s a virgin after all, and she’s about to get deflowered in the backseat of a car - and, she loves it. 
In a swift motion, where Min continued his manhandling of Ryujin, he pulled his finger out - in a hook motion to agitate her g-spot, earning a girlish yelp - then, let Ryujin taste her own juices on his finger.
“You’re doing so good.” Min whispered, so overly joyed by Ryujin, how her petite body convulsed in pleasures beyond what he could ever imagine.
“I know.” Ryujin replied, defiant to the end. She knew exactly how this inspired him to be rougher - and she loves it. He gripped her waist, gripping harder, letting her firm abdomen mold against his grip, dug deeper into her cunt, placing his thumb over her engorged clit. One. Two. Three motions around her clit, three motions of his finger into her cunt - before she squirted onto the side window, far more girlish yelps, and desperate panting. This time, Min with his wet hand, spread it all over Ryujin’s face - the essence of her arousal, via his hand, spread on her face, where makeup was placed so thoughtfully, only to be ruined by her own squirt. She’s panting amidst all this, unable to process anymore than her overwhelming second orgasm. 
“You’re a fucking mess, Ryujin, cumming this quickly?”
“You made me this way…” She huffed, “you fucking brute.”
This time, all Min does is press against her pelvis - specifically, the pelvic bone, where just below is her g-spot, and the slight pressure, was absolutely deadly. All the while, he declared, “That’s right, little bird. I’ll press you against the seat, face-down, slam into your ass with all the force I can muster - then, when I’m deep, too deep, cervix-level deep, I’ll release all my cum into your precious little womb.”
“Nghhh~~!” And another squirt, where her legs closed together, toes curled, and her head hung back. While Ryujin was trying to recover, Min placed a quick and wet kiss on her lips, but that'd be the only romanticism that Min allowed her. Quickly, he let her sit up, pulling her by her thin wrists. Then, he pulled down his own pants - letting his shaft free from the restraints of his tight clothing, the painful onset of an early blue balls in its conception, that was only fuel to the fire to fuck Ryujin good, and hard.
“Sit on my lap facing me, Ryujin.” He demanded. And no matter how much Ryujin came, squirted, panted, and yelped - she’d always oblige in Min’s demands. She quickly hooked her other leg over him, in a hovered position rather than sitting. This time, he passed his fingers through her wet hair, letting it pass behind her ear, “safe word is Mimetic,” and he earned a soft nod from Ryujin, and consent to batter her sopping, wet, sticky, engorged pussy.
He slithered a hand around her waist, holding her in place; then, placed his other hand around her neck, just on the nape. He pulled her in for one last kiss. The last bit of eye contact before penetration, and all that could be seen in Ryujin’s eyes - beady and all wet from pleasure - was a fiending desire to be fucked silly.
Slowly, he let her descend, right up until his tip kissed her wet folds. She winced from her sensitivity, just from the touch. And that’s when it flashed in her eyes, she wasn’t sure if she was ready, given the fact that she hadn’t told him about her virginity. Before she could realize her thoughts through speech, she felt the intense heat of something foreign entering - something so thick and large - and it wrought every emergency signal in her brain - all of them, positive. “Oh–OH, fuck…” is all that Ryujin squeaked out before he pushed in deeper, feeling her gentle pussy wrap around his shaft - all wet and moist. A constant sizzling whisper could be heard from Ryujin as he buried his cock deeper, until, halfway in, where she let out a deep moan. “Holy fuck,” she moaned again, deeper. Holy fuck is right, her body was so resistant, tight right at the start to the end, yet, the way it also sucked his shaft into its wet folds - Min was already addicted.
“Ryujin, you’re so tight.” He said as he kept nudging Ryujin to move farther down, waiting for her glistening pussy to completely wrap around his shaft - then, eventually, completely devour her in the backseats of his own car. Yet, as he went through it with her, he began clueing in on the note - Ryujin is very.. Too sensitive. Why Ryujin focused on getting herself down, skewering herself on his length - desperately breathing, her chest dilating in and out. Through it all, as Ryujin tried to, adorably, hide her inexperience, Min pressed a compassionate kiss right into her mouth. 
“I love that. The fact that you’re so horny for a virgin.” He whispered against her mouth, breathing hotly, immeasurably hard.
And Ryujin needn’t respond at all, all she needed to do - well, did - was reach out with her tongue for his mouth, with those prey eyes, begging to be taken, testing her fickle fate - a sign that he needed to kiss her, devour her, again and again until hell freezes over. And finally, during the desperate haze of a reunification of mouths, he finally buried himself straight to the hilt, in her pink, glistening, sopping, beautiful core. And slowly, the wet sounds of sex, so blatantly loud in this claustrophobic environment, reverberated inside the car; the wet sounds of her moans covered this hazy atmosphere, coming from her lips that detached from his mouth, streaks of saliva still connecting them both; and that feeling, this mutual feeling of utter bliss, how her back bent - contorted - into every pump.
They couldn’t stop staring at each other, two perverts, two soulmates who couldn’t go for a second without looking at each other. Even when Min pushed up harder, letting his full length pass through her virginal hole, they still maintained that sensual eye contact - that essential eye contact.
“You fuck me so good, Min.” Ryujin said as her two small breasts jolted from every pump, every contraction of his length leaving her one step closer to ruin - until her eyes went back to that dangerous place, that orgasm line. And the resulting pressure, that heavenly pressure, pressed against his shaft so strongly, that his tight-lipped mouth let out a few growls of pleasure, a sign that he’s close to painting her womb in baby batter. 
Ryujin, ever the caretaker, felt the convulsions, and began pressing desperate kisses over his face - anywhere she could reach, whilst patting him on the back. And Min would never admit he liked it, that he loved it, and he didn’t need to admit it, Ryujin already knew. 
And she knew exactly, that this was the final straw that she needed to break before she was filled with his essence, the catalyst of that final convulsion. Min immediately seized, grabbing Ryujin in a bearhug - one that could’ve bruised her - and pumped hard, that final wet sound of sex, before, rope after rope of release entered deep inside her, splashing against her cervix, filling her womb.
“FUCKKK!!” He growled, he hadn’t felt this good since ever. And the same for Ryujin, who cried a leaky yelp, where her last bits of squirt flowed down the slightest nook from their love connection. They were static for a moment, relishing in the deviant copulation they engaged in, where, almost, the condensation of their lovemaking was visible in the air of the car.
“I love you.” She kissed him again, staring all lovey-dovey, as if her pupils had gone and turned into hearts.
“I love you.” He stared at her, happy, smiling.
“I love you more.” She added, exaggerating her laugh, trying to tease.
“I concede.” He replied.
“Heyyy! You’re supposed to say it back!” “I’m more for physical demonstrations. Wanna see?”
“Uh no. Please. It feels like it's about to fall off.” She was mentioning her pussy, all swollen and gummy to the eye.
“I love it, it’s so beautiful.” He replied, fully serious, digging his mouth into her neck, he was absolutely crazy about her.
“Min, I gotta take a shower, you’re being gross-” that’s when Min pressed a finger onto her - still engorged - clit, and proceeded to say, “I’m fucking crazy about you.” 
“Ngh! Stop! Seriously, it’s about to fall off.” Unfortunately, the collected accumulation of their love juices swiftly dripped down as Ryujin jolted back from him touching her clit.
“Isn’t this gonna stain your car until the end of time?” She stared at the significant puddle of who knows what.
“Let it. A commemoration of our intense copulation.”
Ryujin blushed, quickly grabbing the tissues that Min offered her, and wiping off all that she released, her entire lower half, essentially, was wet. And Min got aroused from watching Ryujin cleaning herself - her little winces when she slightly grazed her cunt only adding fuel to the fire. “Clean my cock.” Min demanded, but when Ryujin grabbed the tissues - ready to oblige - he replied, “with your mouth.”
To be continued...
Ahhh, I love cliffhangers. Enjoy waiting for 10 months! (just kidding!)
Honestly, I wanted to take months with this project, but I just can't seem to stop myself (from writing mid stuff).
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novemberheart · 4 months ago
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{overview} The cycle completes itself
{warnings} fem reader, poly 141, a/b/o dynamics, MDNI, p in v smex, mating cycles, marking, cursing, Simon and John chapter
Chapter 33 <- Chapter 34 -> Chapter 35
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It wasn't like how everyone had described it.
It wasn't some euphoric high, that had you screaming with pleasure.
It wasn't painful.
It was gentle.
It was stable.
It was secure.
You were no longer alone in the world.
You were protected, loved, and valued.
You weren't alone in the world.
You were safe.
You were no longer alone in the world.
Warmth flooded you. Tears rolled down your cheeks. Your heartbeat slowed in your chest, your muscles relaxing. Those three seconds felt like a lifetime, your mind moving from its halt to overdrive. You leaned forward your teeth catching his shoulder completing the cycle. He growled against you, the vibrations going straight through your new mark.
It burned.
Hands grabbed you ready to pull you away. He wasn't deep enough in his rut for it to not hurt. He held up his hand to stop them, his mouth still refusing to leave your neck.
He had experienced much worse for far less reward.
He knew this might’ve happened when he marked you. It would only be natural for you to return the favor.
The initial pain left, a sudden wave of iciness crashing over him. It was welcomed compared to the feeling of being lit on fire from the inside out. He was changing. Every fiber of his being altering to better serve you. He was no longer just an alpha.
He was your alpha.
The greatest title one could have.
His fangs throbbed at the excursion and he finally felt satisfied enough to detach himself. He licked across the teeth indents, his saliva the perfect remedy to help it heal nicely. Couldn't have you walking around butchered after all. You whined against him, the warmth leaving your body in an instant.
You wished the feeling stayed. You whimpered, your fangs shrinking back to their normal size, your mouth detaching from his shoulder with a pop. Your mind worked on its own, instincts running hot. Your tongue soothed over the spot, sending a pleasant shiver up his spine. The two of you were useless, needing all the help you could get to roll you together. You both woke up a bit from the jostling, you pushing your way under his tank top to press against his chilled skin. They built a nest around you as best they could, you still clinging onto Johnny’s shirt. Their bodies acted like walls to keep out even the idea of any threats entering this sanctuary. Simon's eyes met theirs- hazy yet thankful, before lulling to sleep.
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He woke up to your teeth on his arm. He chuckled lowly, his hand smoothing over the back of your head.
“Yes, pretty girl?” He murmured, nothing but patience and adoration in his voice. You smiled up at him cheekily, rolling onto your back, exposing your neck to him. Simon's bite was developing nicely. It was too bruised to make out the details yet. “One bite wasn't enough, hmmmm?” he grumbled, his teeth grazing against your chest.
“No,” you breathed in agreement. Your body twitched in excitement, your hands wandering around his body. John had the perfect balance of muscle and fat, warmth and strength.
You purred at his scent. His normal campfirey scent weighted down by the scent of an alpha in a rut. You preened at the thought that you were the one that brought the scent forward.
“What do you need, sweet girl?” He hummed, his lips soft against your shoulder.
“You,” you mumbled, your fingers racking through his hair. “And maybe a bath?” you added, making him chuckle.
“I like the sound of both of those,” He smiled, already moving to stand. Simon was still out like a light next to you. “How ‘bout we leave that here so it doesn't get wet,” John suggested.
“Simon?” you questioned softly. John's shoulders shook as he laughed, his hands reaching out to grab at Johnny’s shirt you were still clinging to.
“This, sweetheart,” he said softly, pulling it away from you. You flushed, rolling your eyes at yourself. You didn't have time to dwell on it, his hands hoisting you up from under your pits. You were about to insist on being able to walk, but the feeling of being so close to him quickly drowned that out.
He drew the two of you a bath, his thumbs already beginning to loosen the tight muscles that had formed.
“Where are the betas,” you questioned, your hands smoothing over his broad chest.
“Your betas are getting us some lunch,” he responded instantly. “How does your bite feel?”
“Fine,” you assured. It only stung a bit when you got some of the warm water on it. Your body wasn't rejecting it. You sighed, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat could easily lull you to sleep, your eyes already growing heavy, yet your body had other plans.
“Alpha,” you whined, resting your chin against his chest, and staring up at him. He groaned, leaning down so his forehead was against yours. He pressed a kiss against your head, shushing you softly, continuing to clean. He maneuvered you so your back was against his chest.
You purred as his soapy hand ducked between your thighs.
“Easy, pretty,” he soothed one large hand prying your legs apart. His thumb ran over your folds, before settling on a lazy rhythm against your little bundle of nerves. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, your hips rolling against his hand.
He pulled his hand away.
You growled nastily at him and he swatted your bottom. He put you on your feet and wrapped you in a fluffy towel, letting the tub drain out. He turned over his shoulder staring at you expectantly.
“I'm sorry for growling at you,” you mumbled, your eyes shining with tears. You should know better than to egg an alpha on while he was in a rut. He placed a kiss against your lips.
“S’alright sweetheart,” he soothed. His eyes were soft, almost like the interaction had amused him. “Now how about you hop up on the counter and spread those pretty legs for me, hmmm?”
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“You two done in there?” Simon grunted from the bed. John chuckled, seemingly unfazed by the brutal pounding that just took place in the bathroom. John tossed you on the bed, Simon's hand immediately spreading across your lower stomach. Could he feel John's warmth from there? You sighed happily, stretching your sore- but satisfied limbs against the sheets.
You could faintly hear a ruckus coming from the living room, John rolling his eyes.
“Betas must be back,” he nearly chuckled. He moved towards the door, throwing an ‘I’ll be back’ over his shoulder.
You rubbed at your tired eyes, slowly rolling them over to look at Simon.
He was already staring at you.
Your breath hitched in your throat, the overwhelming desire to press yourself so close to him so you would be joined together forever.
His jaw was clenched shut, his eyes unsure of what to do. Tears welled in them, and he quickly cleared his throat beginning to move away from you.
“No!” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “You’re my alpha now,” you breathed. “You can't just pull away from me because you feel something, Simon. Please don't run away from it,” your words were desperate, your face buried in his neck, your cheek brushing against the mark on his shoulder. “I need you,” you whined, your grip on his tightening.
His body relaxed from above yours causing both of you to sink into the mattress.
“Then you'll have me,” he muttered with absolute certitude. The sentiment was more powerful than an ’I love you.’ For Simon, the act of giving himself was more terrifying and meaningful than throwing around those three overused words.
He groaned against you as you slammed your lips into his. It was sloppy, relentless, and passionate just like your relationship with him.
“Wanted to make you mine for so long, pup,” he groaned, his tongue flattening against the mark on your skin. His mark. His mouth swallowed yours again, the thick fabric of his sweats not able to hide the throbbing member confined in them. “Whose mark is this?” he growled, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep them spread.
“Yours,” you panted. “My alphas,” you gasped. He vibrated against you, the purr in his chest feeling like a bolt of lightning against your skin. Your hands scratched at his broad torso, pulling at the light gray fabric.
You could feel his smirk against you as he kissed the various love bites that littered your skin.
“Can I take you, pup?” he murmured against you. You nodded rapidly, rolling your hips up to meet his. The question was; could you take him? You couldn't even bring yourself to look, keeping your eyes steady on the ceiling. He clicked his tongue at you, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll go slow, pup. Won't hurt at all,” he assured. You rested your hands on either side of his cheek, connecting your lips with his.
It felt so right being in his arms. Looking back now all the fights and feelings you had towards him felt silly, but it made you appreciate this moment all the more. Your hands rolled down his body, pulling at the hem of his tank top. You faltered when you felt him flinch.
“Can I?” you whispered. “It is mine after all,” you smiled up at him. He smirked, nodding softly. He pulled the tank over his head, dropping it to the floor. Your stomach turned a bit at the painful scars that littered him. The biggest going all the way from his collar down to his ribs. One spot caught your eye. A burn mark on his hip, just peeking out over the waistband of his sweats.
“Look familiar?” he teased softly, following your gaze.
You wiped your eyes.
“It does.”
It was the injury that sent you to them.
How far you all have come.
You traced your hands over every inch of him. He let you, his eyes shutting softly. You paused at your mark, running your fingers over the sore flesh. It had already begun to heal and scab over. It looked a little funny next to John's large one, but they complimented each other. Your hands pulling at his sweats caused his eyes to open.
“Alright, sweet girl,” he hushed, helping you shake his pants off. Your eyes still refused to look down at him, feeling the weight of him slap between your thighs was enough. He pushed the pillows around and brought the blanket up over the two of you, a sentiment that made your omega purr. He was building a nest for the both of you. You rested your heated cheek against his shoulder, taking a deep breath when you felt the head of his cock catch against your entrance.
The push-in was slow, your body greedily accepting every inch and stretch. You thought it was safe to look down, figuring you were almost there only to see only half of him buried inside you. Your head flopped against the pillow, your half-lidded eyes meeting his. You were too embarrassed to admit the pressure building in your stomach was about to snap.
“Simon,” you mumbled, your thighs shaking around his waist.
“Doin’ so good, pup,” he breathed. His thumb circled your clit lazily, a rough growl leaving him as you came around his cock. “That easy?” he grumbled, teeth biting at your cheek.
“Feels so good,” you gasped, your hands resting on your shaky thighs.
“Wasn’t even fully in and you’re already comin’ around me?” he smirked. “Such a good omega,” he praised, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
You grew restless when he refused to move, his eyes taking in every inch of you.
“Simon,” you muttered, wiggling your hips. He snarled, large hands keeping you in place. “You’re too big to stay still like that,” you whined. It wasn't unpleasant, it was a toe-curling fullness, but the spasming happening throughout your body was wearing on you. “Simon, please,” you continued.
“Fuckin’ made for me weren't you?” he mumbled, sending a shockwave through you. The last bit of his self restraint snapping when you rippled around him. He pulled out just enough for you to miss the fullness before pushing his hips back into yours. You couldn't help but squeak your hands grabbing at the pillows for support. He grabbed your hands guiding them to his shoulders. “Don’t worry about scratching me up, pup,” he purred, his pace quickening before you could process his words. Truth be told he wanted you to claw at him. He wanted every bit of proof, every bit of assurance that this was real. You were here. Under him and marked, beautiful wet eyes staring up at him with such feeling he couldn't hold your gaze for as long as he craved to.
God, did he fucking love you.
You whined when you felt a growing bulge at the base of his cock.
“Don't worry ‘bout that, pretty,” Simon panted, holding himself sheathed inside you. It was a pattern for him, give you five or six hard thrusts before keeping himself buried to the hilt inside you for as long as he wanted.
“I want it,” you whined, nails dragging up his sides.
“Yeah?” he questioned breathlessly. He pushed his hips deeper, the tip of his knot pushing you closer to your limit. You didn't care though. You needed it. Needed to be filled by your alpha. It was the only thing that would make you better. The only thing that would calm the fire blazing through your veins.
“Need it,” you added through a shriek. His thrusts were rhythmic now, working you open as much as he could to take his knot. “Yes,” you repeated like a mantra. It only spurred him on, his hips halting against yours, favoring to slowly bully his knot into your pretty cunt. “Simon,” you moaned.
You came with a scream, your body shaking against the bed as his knot pushed into place at just the right moment for every ounce of his cum to be locked into you. He pressed you into the mattress, his face burying in your neck as he came with a gritted groan, his own shoulders twitching from pleasure.
The room was nearly quiet, except for the thrumming of both your heartbeats. Neither of you could move even if you wanted to, too blissed out for your own good.
“Comfortable?” he checked, having to dig deep to get his vocal cords to work. You nodded softly, wrapping an arm around his neck to keep him as close as possible.
“Yes, alpha,” you sighed, completely and utterly content.
He waited till you were asleep to let a tear fall from his eye.
After years he finally had something he had always denied himself.
A pack.
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You were grumpy when you woke up. Your body still exhausted from all the strenuous activity it had been put through.
Your alphas didn't seem to mind at all. Their fingers and lips trying to gently smooth the frown off your pretty face. You felt a bit better after eating, yet you could hardly hold the spoon. Kyle was happy to feed you, wanting to return the favor after you had so dutifully taken care of him.
You took another bath and were ushered into a clean bed with clean sheets. You should be happy. Yet there was one thing weighing on your mind.
One half of your neck felt empty.
“Bloody do it,” Simon huffed, his alpha on edge from your attitude.
“Please,” you added, through wet lashes. Your hands reach forward tangling themselves in the soft fabric of his shirt. Your lips ghosted over his pulse. Right there. Right, in plain sight, but could still easily be covered by facial hair or a scarf if needed.
“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he lulled, tilting his head back to allow you the room you needed. You didn’t need to be told twice, your fangs already throbbing at the sight. They sunk in with ease, a confirmation it was the perfect spot. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, his hand gripping onto Simon’s arm to steady himself. His jaw fell open, spots appearing in his vision as a wave of peace flooded over him. It was an addictive high. One that he knew he’d be chasing through you till the bitter end. You released him, your tongue soothing over the area just like Simon had taught you.
“Think you broke him, love,” Simon chuckled, watching as John’s eyes grew hazy from the euphoric high. A shiver ran up his spine as those same eyes zeroed in on your neck. Simon rested a hand against your cheek, tilting your head back to give John the perfect view. “Relax, pup,” Simon smiled down at you softly, making your eyes well up. His thumb ran under your eye, trying to ignore his own pounding heart as he felt your heartbeat quicken. You could feel John’s teeth hit your neck, not giving you a moment of relief as they sunk into your tender flesh.
You felt a moment of bliss before passing out.
It wasn't completely uncalled for, you had been through a lot not only this week but today.
The pleased smile across your face gives them no room for worry.
As silence settled over the three of you, one known fact cut the silence in the air.
A new phase of your lives was underway.
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Hi friends! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! This will be the last chapter of SECTION 1 of As Needed. Section 2 will begin in THREE DAYS! Lots of love!
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piastappies · 5 months ago
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 FORTS AND DADDY TIME! ᡣ𐭩ᯓ
pairing. oscar piastri x leclerc!wife!reader
summary. when you need to stay at work for longer than expected, you leave oscar with your daughter. when you come home earlier than your husband thought, the cutest scene plays in front of you.
notes. tysm for loving my previous dad!oscar fic!!! this one’s also not proofread but lets pretend like there is not a single mistake in here 😙😙😙
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days like this were the hardest, especially with the thought of oscar’s summer break inevitable ending occupying your mind. every year, you wanted to make sure you had spent the maximum time with him and chloe, before parting your ways for a while again. going back to the office, while you were spending the precious time with your husband and daughter, was something you hated, mostly, because chloe was the biggest daddy’s girl on earth. some people might’ve gotten jealous over the fact that they’re not their baby’s favorite parent, but you loved watching oscar interact with chloe.
but honestly, leaving them alone was still a bit of a stressful situation for you and your emotions were all over the place as you tried writing down all the necessary things just in case oscsr forgets, which wasn’t likely to happen, but still — you wanted to be more than sure.
“baby, i know how to look after chloe.” oscar laughed softly, his arms wrapped around your waist as he stood behind, placing a single kiss on your neck. “we’re gonna have much fun today, right, squish?” he asked, when the little girl leaned on his leg, looking up at the two of you with a sweet smile. she nodded eagerly, earning a small chuckle from you.
“i good girl.” chloe replied confidently, wrapping her arms around oscar’s leg, wanting to stay as close to him as possible, despite it was you the one leaving (even if it was for a few long hours). “mommy good girl, too! and daddy good girl, too too!” the two of you had to stifle a laugh as your daughter praised you on being good girls.
a few minutes later, quite a couple of reassuring words from your husband, a few wet, sloppy kisses on your cheeks and a literal push out of the door and oscar was left with your little squish. at first everything was calm, chloe was sprawled out on the carpet, playing with her little’s pet shops collection, making a little voice-over, while your husband was preparing a strawberry smoothie for her.
though, before he knew it, he was dressed in one of your dresses, wearing a plastic tiara on his head with stickers plastered all over his cheeks, while sitting at chloe’s small, colourful table with some of her favorite plushies (a panda named jimmy, a koala named arty [after her favorite uncle], ginny the giraffe and daphne the dolphin).
“c’mon, princess squish, do a spin for daddy.” oscar smiled, watching as his daughter did a spin. he helped her get into her purple tutu dress, put a tiara and a few hair clips in the strands of her blond hair. to make her princess tea party experience even better, he took some of your eyeshadow palettes and put some on her to match her purple dress.
“i so pretty, daddy!” she squeaked happily, doing a little dance. “tea?” she asks as she plops down on her dad’s lap, pouring a pretend tea into his pink cup. “tasty, tasty.” she nodded, taking a sip.
“yeah, you’re my pretty princess, squish.” oscar chuckled, earning himself one of the most beautiful views in the world — his daughter grinning, showing him her baby teeth. your husband couldn’t help but to grin back at her, feeling her little arms wrap around his neck as she went in for a hug.
oscar was a sucker for moment like those, as much as he wished you were there to witness it, he loved spending time with chloe, seeing her grow up every day, noticing those slight changes in the way she constructed her sentences and how the incoherent babbling started to turn into actual words and sentences. he was counting down the days till she was old enough to not tire you out whenever on a flight, so he could see her happy face after a race and to show her the beauties of the world on a free day. god, she was the the most important person in the world for him in a way he could drop everything to make sure she was happy.
his heart ached painfully, every time he was away from you and chloe for longer than a few days and with his hectic schedule. everything seemed to be a lot better, when his lucky charms were next to him.
the princess tea party went on for almost another hour until the princess hosting it started to slowly get tired and tired, snuggling up to him after they finished cleaning everything up. it took them some time, because she had to give each of her plushies a few kisses before placing them in her bed, tucking them in. “you’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you, baby?” he chuckled, watching her as he leaned on the doorframe of her room.
she tilted her head with a tiny smile as she ran towards her dad, unfortunately, she tripped on the edge of the carpet, scraping her knees at the friction as she fell. tears started falling down her cheeks in an instant and oscar’s heart broke in half. he knew accidents happen all the time, but he wasn’t prepared for one involving his daughter, when he was all alone, even if it was just a small scratch.
“shh, hey, what’s with the fuss?” he asked in a calm voice, gently picking her up. your husband placed a few soft kisses on chloe’s wet cheek to calm her down. “s’okay, daddy’s gonna take care of your ouchie.” he reassured as she nuzzled her teary face against his neck, sniffling quietly.
“fait mal, daddy.” she sniffled. oscar was glad that once in a while, your brothers wanted to mess with him and spoke only in french before chloe was born, so he could pick up on what his daughter was saying. hurts.
“i know, squish.” he sighed, gently sitting her down on the couch, telling his baby to sit still, while she tried to wipe away her flowing cheeks. he sprayed antiseptic on her scratches, holding her hand with his free one. a small gasp left his daughter’s lips as the spray coated her ouchies. “such a brave, girl.” he coaxed, placing two band-aids on her disinfected knees (with puppies, of course). when her face was no longer in tears, a sad pout appeared on her lips, making oscar’s stomach turn.
“how about, we make a blanket fort and watch some cartoon before you go to sleep, hm?” he suggested, the pout disappearing in a second, being replaced my a grin. a blanket fort? that sounds super cool. he pulled a few chairs together, putting a blanket on top of it as chloe’s eyes widened in shock and excitement.
the final product was breathtaking, at least for chloe, because oscar did everything he could to make the blanket fort look magical as he put pillows on the floor, put up lights and brought his ipad to play chloe’s favorite movie.
before he knew it, his little girl was curled up against his side, his hand gently moving up and down against her back as her head rested on the side of his chest. her eyes were slowly closing, but she wanted to stay in the fort and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with a tantrum of a sleepy, cranky little girl.
when you came back from work, the apartment looked clean, as if oscar sedated your little ball of energy and hired a cleaning company. that was your thought process, until you noticed a blanket fort in the living room and your heart melted like a chocolate in a water bath. you quietly took off your shoes and tiptoed to the fort, peaking inside. seeing the view completely shattered your heart in the most positive way possible.
“you’re back already?” oscar asked quietly, not wanting to disturb chloe’s sleep as she was laying down on his chest. “thought it’d take a little longer.” he smiled affectionately at you.
“think there’s some room for me?” your mouth curled into a small beam as he nodded, quickly taking a spot next to him, finally noticing that he’s wearing one of your dresses and you had to stiffle a laugh.
oscar noticed your expression and groaned quietly. “we had a princess party.” he explained, though the pretend angered look quickly dissolved, replaced by a playful smile. “your daughter didn’t let me be a prince, so i had to stole one of your dresses. i’ll show you the photos tomorrow morning.” he kissed your temple as you snuggled up closer, your hand gently rubbing chloe’s back.
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apomaro-mellow · 1 year ago
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Steve gets the wrong number and starts texting an interesting guy. Steddie, modern au, no upside down
Steve had been feeling pretty good. He’d gone out, had a nice conversation with a girl at the bar and gotten her number. He didn’t feel sparks but she was nice and cute. They didn’t talk about anything too deep but when Steve had asked for her number she put it in and then left with her friends.
He tried not to be too desperate. But he wanted to let her know he was serious and that he would (eventually) be good boyfriend material. So a little before midnight, he shot a text to her to make sure she was alright.
[11:47] Hey this is Steve just making sure you got home okay 🙂
He had debated on the emoji but figured it was harmless and innocent in the end. He put his phone down and got ready for bed, expecting her to text back after a couple of minutes. Unless she didn’t get home safely. Steve tried not to think about that.
After changing his clothes and brushing his teeth he checked his phone. He lit up when he saw that Misty had replied.
(11:52) Sure did Steve-o (11:53) Thanks for your concern 🫡
Misty texted a little different from the way she talked. A bit more…well he wasn’t sure how to describe it. Misty seemed like a really straight-laced woman. She was in the process of getting her education degree.
Steve shot back another message, saying that he had a good time tonight and he really hoped to see her again. There it was. A clear intention. If she responded positively, he’d ask her out right then. But the reply didn’t come as quick as he wanted. When it got around 12:30, Steve finally called it a night. Misty had probably gone to sleep as well.
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[11:47] Hey this is Steve just making sure you got home okay 🙂
Eddie stared at the text he just received. He racked his brain for whoever Steve must be and what he had done all day today, wondering if he met someone but their name just slipped his mind.
But nope. He had spent this lovely Saturday at home, lounging around in his apartment on his day off. He hadn’t gone out. And he hadn’t met anyone named Steve. The message came when he was in the middle of making his near-midnight dinner of mac and cheese. Whoever this guy was, he was clearly checking in on someone.
Eddie looked at his surroundings. Decent place, a bit cramped but big enough for just him and for anyone who needed to crash on his couch. He had popped out earlier to get some cigs and he had in fact made it back safely.
(11:52) Sure did Steve-o (11:53) Thanks for your concern 🫡
And who said he didn’t have impulse control? He thought about it for at least two minutes before sending the message.
[11:55] I had a nice time tonight. Hope to see you again.
Eddie looked at the new text, his chewing slowing to a stop. This Steve guy had met someone, spent some time with them, and was now trying to set up another date. There were a few ways to go about this. For just a moment he considered what a rational person would do, just a moment though.
A rational person might’ve said right away ‘wrong number’ or ‘wires crossed’. But Eddie’s brain didn’t function on rationality. So even though Steve clearly meant to text someone else, Eddie thought of the best way to reply. It did take him a bit to send it, the macaroni was calling to him. But by 1, Eddie had sent something back.
(1:07) You saw me?  (1:09) From my apartment?  (1:10) Creepy
He went to bed, thinking he’d wake up to a very confused man and when morning came he wasn’t disappointed.
[8:13] What are you talking about? It’s Steve? From the bar?
Eddie checked his clock. It was ten in the morning. Who got up at eight on a Sunday? Eddie’s first thought was a church-goer. Those folks were early risers. But they didn’t frequent bars too much.
(10:29) Sorry man (10:30) I think you got the wrong number (10:30) I didn’t go to a bar last night.
Once he sent it, Eddie belatedly hoped the words weren’t too blunt. It couldn’t feel nice, getting a number error. But after a moment of thinking, he started coming around to the idea that maybe Steve wasn’t such a catch. People didn’t give wrong numbers after a good time. Maybe he actually was a creep.
[10:36] Oh. Well, I’m sorry to bother you.
Eddie rolled from his back onto his stomach. Curse his soft heart. He didn’t know anything about this man and somehow he felt sorry for him. But he wasn’t about to go gushing to a stranger. Who knows what kind of interactions Steve had with this mystery number? So instead, he went the typical Eddie route and tried to lighten the mood.
(10:38) Probably dodged a bullet (10:38) They could’ve been a serial killer (10:39) Or worse someone who jogs in the morning
He put that little dig there just to feel out Steve. If he wasn’t at church, maybe he was the kind to go and workout in the morning. In the middle of making his coffee, Eddie realized he was trying to learn about the dude and thought he might be courting danger. Then he heard a ‘ping!’ and any ideas of caution were thrown to the wind.
Leaning against the counter, the only sound was the percolating as he read what Steve had said.
[10:46] Okay confession. I did actually go for a jog this morning. Is that weird?
Eddie started to visualize this man and another alarm went off in his mind that he promptly shooed away.
(10:47) No not weird at all (10:47) It’s perfectly natural for an insane person (10:48) Didn’t you go drinking last night? (10:48) And then you went for a jog this morning? (10:49) You might just be more scary than a murderer (10:50) Scratch that (10:50) This seems like text book serial killer behavior (10:51) Bet this is how you scope out your targets
The coffee finished brewing and Eddie starting pouring it and it was only then he realized the wall he’d sent Steve accusing him of being a killer. It looked like texts from a crazy person. He looked crazy. His friends had complained more than once about him sending these streams of texts instead of keeping it all in one response. Steve was going to see that and leave him on read, or just block his number.
[10:57] Damn guess I better come up with a new tactic.
Eddie didn’t realize how hard he was smiling until he tried to drink and spilled hot coffee on himself. Alarms were ringing in his head again but he might as well be deaf.
Part 2
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osarina · 4 months ago
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ᡣ𐭩 I PRAY, DON'T FALL AWAY FROM ME
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FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: murphy's law has never been more true. anything that can go wrong will go wrong. and it does.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: HAPPY FRIDAYYYYYYY, we're finally getting into the thick of this series, the next few chapters will be INTENSE, i hope you enjoy them as much as i enjoyed writing them ;) this chapter was actually a doozy for me - i struggled a bit with reconciling civzai with canon!dazai and figuring out how to make civzai react to everything that's happened in a way that a civilian would, but i didn't want to make it too far removed from how canon!dazai would act. i ended up rewriting a few times, but i'm mostly happy with how it came out. anyway!! reblogs and comments greatly appreciated as always!! ENJOY heheh!
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. depictions of dissociation, brief depiction of gore in first scene, dazai's implied to be in a bit of a manic episode in the second scene and then crashes hard in the third (he is not coping well with everything that happened), reader is all strung up and agitated most of this chapter which leads to some very stupid decisions, dazai also makes some very stupid decisions.
ANOTHER THING TO NOTE: our lovely reader IS A MAFIA EXECUTIVE !! as a port mafia executive, she does port mafia things, this will become very apparent in the next chapter and the rest of the upcoming chapters. it hasn't been as apparent in the past few, so it might be a bit jarring to read but it is something to keep in mind. additionally, she is FLAWED and that is very apparent in how an argument goes down in this chapter. i wanted to add this warning just to give you all a bit of a heads up.
SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST
You look so… serene. 
Dazai’s knees are tucked to his chest as he sits on the bed next to you, watching as you rest. You’re fast asleep, even puffs of air escaping your lips as you curl up close to him beneath the comforter. You look a lot younger right now, not anything like the hardened mafia executive that he knows you are. Dazai’s breath catches when he sees you shift to get a bit more comfortable, moving closer to him so that your forehead is pressed against the side of his thigh.
Still, none of this feels real. He hardly breathes as he reaches out to brush the back of his knuckles against your cheek, watching as you let out a soft noise in your sleep before nuzzling a bit closer to him. Dazai believed that he was a man destined to be alone for his whole life; never in his wildest dreams did he ever think someone would love him for who he is, much less someone like you who could have anyone you wanted.
It doesn’t feel real.
Was it all just a dream? 
A nightmare? 
He blinks and suddenly blood stains the back of his knuckles where he’d been touching you, dribbling from your lips to the mattress below. Your eyes are still closed, but Dazai knows if they were open, they’d be glassy and empty. His breath quickens and his gaze flickers down the bed to your torso where he knows the gaping wound is hidden beneath the sheets. He feels the weight of a gun in his right hand and hears a thud to his left of a body hitting the ground and-
“Stop thinking so hard.”
He physically jumps at the sound of your voice, eyes widening as he looks down at you. Your eyes are still closed and you haven’t budged an inch, but the blood is gone and the weight in his hand has disappeared. For a split second, Dazai thinks he might’ve imagined your voice, but then, as if you can sense the thought, your eyes crack open, sharp and squinted, not at all glassy or empty.
Just his mind playing tricks. 
“I can feel the shitty thoughts tossing around up there,” you mutter with a yawn, stretching a bit next to him. His face heats up when you press your lips against the sliver of bandages peeking out from where his shirt is riding up his sides. You sigh as you push yourself into a sitting position, dropping your head on his shoulder. “What time is it?”
“Half-past seven ish,” he answers, voice catching as he looks down at you. “You slept late. Your meeting is in twenty minutes.”
“Did you sleep at all?” you ask with a frown. You sit up straight again to look at him, a concerned expression on your face. “You’re not usually up this early.”
Dazai did not, in fact, sleep. Besides the fact that every time he closes his eyes, he’s plagued with the sight of your dead body, his mind has been in shambles over how easy it had been to pull the trigger of the gun you’d given him. Odasaku had instilled morals into him, morals that Dazai has strictly followed since the day he met the man, even more so after he died to save Dazai to honor the older man. And Dazai had known that being with you would compromise said morals but…
But it’s different when he’s actually the one stomping all over them.
Life should be treasured. Spend your days helping people.
Why had pulling the trigger been so easy?
Dazai stares down at his hands, willing an answer to come to him. He thinks the worst part is that even now, he can’t muster guilt. He should feel guilty—he knows that—he took someone’s life, someone who had people waiting on him if what you were saying held any merit, but he’d done it to protect you and he just can’t seem to feel guilty when it had been a choice between your life and an enemy’s.
Still, he thinks, it shouldn’t have been so easy.
He shouldn’t feel nothing.
Not for the first time, Dazai thinks there’s something fundamentally wrong with him. Something that sets him painfully apart from the rest of humanity. Something that leaves him grasping at straws as he tries to put on a face and convince the world that he’s just like everyone else. Something dark and empty that festers—it festered while he was on his own in Suribachi, it festered after Odasaku’s death, and it festers now with blood on his hands and no remorse to be found. 
“Osamu,” you say, more concerned now, but you sound like you’re underwater and Dazai can’t even turn his head to look at you.
That’s not even to mention the message from Professor Ui. The more he thinks about it, the more anxious he gets. A tip-off. Professor Ui hadn’t given enough context for him to try to narrow down what it might be about, and there’s been so much going on recently that Dazai couldn’t possibly hope to narrow it down on his own. The only given is that it would be bad for you.
He almost doesn’t want to tell you.
No, he doesn’t want to tell you. Not at all. Not yet. Not when all he can give you is more to stress about, more to be paranoid about. All he’s been able to do is come to you with issue after issue, he’s been a burden—the least he can do is figure out the scope of this new problem before saddling you with it.
He can handle it himself. He can. He’ll go to the meeting and figure out what Professor Ui’s tip-off is about so when he brings it to you, you can formulate a plan of action to handle it. He can’t just tell you ‘Hey! Remember that journalist that’s trying to target you! He got a tip-off that he’s planning to do something about!’ when you already have so much on your plate.
He-
“Osamu,” you say, reaching for his wrist but the sudden touch jolts him out of his spiral.
His heart rate spikes and his surroundings blur and Dazai is instinctively pushing you away from him as panic subsumes all coherent thought, unsure of where he is and what’s going on. The sheets feel too much like the soft dirt, the fingers on his wrist are too tight, the air is too brisk and cold, the early morning light shining through your blinds into your apartment is so reminiscent of the way it shone through the tall trees into the forest.
“Don’t touch me.”
His feet tangle against the sheets as he scrambles away and tumbles right off of the side of the bed—pain shoots up his ankle and for a moment, Dazai forgets where he is and it’s not you on the bed reaching out to him, but the rotted skin of Arahabaki, your blood dripping off its fingers. Dazai can hardly breathe as he tries to reorient himself, nails digging into his palms.
It takes a concerning amount of time for Dazai to remember where he is, who he’s with. By the time he does, you’re kneeling at the edge of the bed, an expression on your face that Dazai is just too out of it to understand, and Dazai can feel his face heating up in embarrassment, a heavy feeling of mortification spreading through his chest when he realizes how he just lashed out at you.
“Osamu,” you try again, voice a bit softer and there’s no mistaking the concern in your eyes now, but Dazai just wants to bury himself alive, throat spasming as he hides his face in his lap. “Hey, it’s-”
“Go away,” he snaps, humiliated. “Go away. I’m fine. Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”
“It can wait,” you say, too understanding. “Osamu, I-”
A burden. 
He’s a burden—he brings you issue after issue, distracts you from your work and gets you in trouble. For some reason, despite all of that, you still want him, and all he can repay you with is lashing out at you and causing more trouble. Now because he’s fucked in the head, you’re going to be late to another meeting that you can’t afford to be late to because you’re worried about him and he’s just so tired of being a liability all the time. 
“Go.” His voice cracks over the word, he hates the way it comes across as more pleading than angry; he doesn’t have to look up at you to know the way you must be looking at him. “Please just go. I’m fine. Please.”
For a terrible, terrible second, you don’t respond and Dazai thinks you might be about to press more. He’s not sure if he can handle that. He just needs you to go to your meeting so it’s one less thing that he’s fucked up for you. He needs you to go.
“Okay,” you finally say after a few moments. “Okay. I’m going to get dressed.”
The breath that Dazai lets out is too heavy and too relieved. He doesn’t dare to look up until he hears you shuffle off of the bed and make your way to your closet. His eyes slide shut as he leans his head against the wall he’d backed himself against, forcibly calming his unsteady heart.
After a few minutes, you finally come to kneel in front of him, dressed in your suit and ready to head out. He looks up at you, hoping he doesn’t look nearly as much of a mess as he feels, but he thinks he fails because the conflicted expression on your face only becomes even more worried.
“Please go,” he repeats, voice raspy.
You sigh, gaze lowering to the ground, but you nod so Dazai can only feel relief. His lashes flutter shut as you lean in to brush your lips against his forehead and again, Dazai’s chest swarms with guilt and self-loathing because he wishes he could just be normal.
“I’ll order you some takeout,” you finally say as you lean back to look at him again. “I probably won’t be back until late tonight. You have any preferences for lunch and dinner?”
Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows. “Crab?” he asks, voice too strained for comfort.
You roll your eyes, but you smile. “You’re not eating crab for lunch and dinner,” you say lightly, and Dazai smiles back a bit, but his smile feels a lot more wobbly than yours looks. “I’ll order it for lunch, I’ll pick dinner.”
Dazai’s nose wrinkles. “No mushrooms.”
“No mushrooms,” you agree as you rise to your feet. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Call me if you need anything.”
He definitely won’t, but he nods anyway. “See you,” he whispers.
You don’t immediately walk away, lips drawn tight as you look down at him. “I love you,” you say after a few moments and Dazai inhales sharply, gaze flickering up to you.
“... I love you too,” he echoes, the tightness in his chest easing when he sees how your expression smooths out at his words. You linger for a few seconds longer before sighing and leaving your bedroom without another word.
Dazai doesn’t budge until he hears the elevator bing, signaling its arrival to your floor.
Even when he’s sure that it’s gone—and you with it—he doesn’t move. 
He doesn’t want to. His hands sting where he’d pushed you away from him and his legs feel bolted to the ground beneath him. He can hear his phone buzzing somewhere in front of him, probably tangled in the sheets he’d dragged off of the bed with him. He knows that he should get up and check—the meeting is in two hours and Dazai not only needs to get dressed, but he needs to figure out how he’s going to sneak out of this building without alerting any of your subordinates.
For you, he reminds himself as he sighs and pushes himself to his hands and knees and drags himself over to the mess of sheets on the ground, rifling through them until his hand closes around his cell phone. He’ll go to the meeting, get the information, and come back before you’re even finished with work… before that actually, he’ll need to get back by noon when you send someone here with takeout. If they show up and he’s not here, they’ll definitely report that back to you and he doesn’t want you to know that he’s going out because that’ll just cause you more stress and the whole point of this is to try to lessen your burden.
He unlocks his phone to see a few messages in the group chat and he cringes as soon as he reads them.
Koda Hinami: Is it okay if we meet a bit later today? I have an appointment in Tokyo and the soonest train I can catch is at 14:30.
Professor Ui: Does 15:30 work?
Otsuka Ayato: good with me, i’m free all day
Koda Hinami: Yup! That’s perfect.
Professor Ui: Dazai-kun?
Dazai supposes that this gives him more time at least—he doesn’t have to rush back before you send food for lunch. He doubts that you’ll be back before nightfall, and you probably won’t send dinner until 19:00 so that gives him almost four hours, which is more than enough time. He can spend the morning plotting out how he’s going to get out of the building without being seen.
Dazai: that works
He puts his phone back on the charger, a bit more pep in his step as he tells himself that he’ll make everything up to you. He pushes away all of the thoughts plaguing him, dressing himself in one of the outfits he’d left at your apartment. Those nagging feelings of doubt and self-loathing linger in spite of his attempts to shoo them away, but he does his best to ignore it. He needs to get himself into a better mood before seeing his professor and classmates—he doubts they would notice, but on the off chance they did, he needed to be ready to distract them from it in some way and he most definitely is not ready for that now.
But he has time now, so-
Was that the elevator?
Dazai’s head whips to the side to look out your bedroom door just as he finishes pulling on the new sweater you bought him. He creeps out of your bedroom slowly, wondering if you came back because you forgot something, but when he steps out of your room to the top of the staircase, he freezes because it is not you standing in the living room but instead a different, but unfortunately familiar, face.
Great, he thinks bitterly, expression twisting into distaste when he sees Nakahara Chuuya leaning on a pair of crutches. The man looks equally irate at the sight of Dazai standing on the balcony, making no effort to hide the way he scoffs and rolls his eyes. 
“Why are you here?” Dazai asks, eyes squinted as he stares down at the other man. 
He looks awful and Dazai isn’t sure why it makes him feel smug, but it does. Chuuya looks like he’s hardly able to hold himself up, leaning heavily on his crutches, face pale and beaded with sweat. He’s dressed in a thin t-shirt and sweats, so Dazai can see the aggravated scars running up his arms, but his eyes can’t help but linger on Chuuya’s hand. 
His left hand—the same one that had torn through your body, that had killed you, the same one that had tried and failed to kill him. If Dazai looks hard enough, he swears he can see the rot spreading across the other man’s skin again, from his fingertips to his wrist to his elbow, as Arahabaki takes back over, so Dazai forces his gaze back up to his face.
All of the aggression that had been plain on Chuuya’s face disappears when he notices where Dazai was looking. He shakes his head and asks roughly, “Where the hell is she?”
Dazai scowls. “Why do you want to know?” 
“You little-” Chuuya hisses, gaze sharpening. “Where is she?”
Just to be annoying, and because Dazai has no sense of self-preservation, he asks, “Why should I tell you?”
“I’m going to rip your head off,” Chuuya spits out, unnervingly quick on his crutches as he makes his way over to the staircase. Dazai darts into your bedroom, hand on the door so he can quickly slam it shut if Chuuya tries to come closer, although he’s not sure if a door is going to be enough to stop him. “Get back here.”
“You tried that already,” Dazai says lightly, watching Chuuya’s reaction carefully. “You failed, remember? … Or that’s right, you wouldn’t, would you? What’s his face… Fireboy? He mentioned that you probably wouldn’t… So, was he right? How much do you remember?”
Chuuya’s entire expression shifts at Dazai’s words, lips tightening and gaze averting down to the ground. The shame is clear on his face as he lets out a sigh, glancing up to see the bruises around Dazai’s neck just too shake his head and look away again.
“Enough,” he says quietly. “I remember enough.”
Dazai tilts his head to the side as he examines Chuuya. The scars on his arms indicate the shadow of Arahabaki’s presence in his body—Arahabaki, the violent and destructive god who had killed you and tried to kill Dazai. He expected to be more anxious around, or even scared of, Chuuya after what happened. He supposes he is to some extent, he can feel the itchiness on his tongue that always signals those unwelcome emotions approaching, but Dazai thinks it’s not because of Chuuya himself like he expected—he still feels the ever present urge to antagonize the man due to petty jealousy and the acute irritation his appearance and existence in general causes him.
 It’s natural, he rationalizes. It’s not like Chuuya is Arahabaki or Arahabaki is him, so there’s no reason for Dazai to be scared of Nakahara Chuuya. Arahabaki, on the other hand… he watched you die to it and he nearly died himself, although the former is decidedly more traumatizing, so it makes sense. But Dazai has never been fond of fear, he’s learned through his own experiences alone in Suribachi and from Odasaku that it’s the most treacherous emotion, the quickest to kill, so he’s swift in his efforts to channel those lingering nerves that Arahabaki is causing into an emotion he’s much more capable of processing: curiosity.
To kill fear of something that’s mostly unknown to him, it must first become known.
He doesn’t know much about Arahabaki, only the few vague things you mentioned and the fact that it seems to be incapable of touching Dazai without being neutralized, which Dazai supposes he can also use as a blanket of security. But he has to know more.
“Can you speak to it?” Dazai blurts out, unable to help himself from firing out the question, hardly holding back the forty more.
“What?” Chuuya asks, voice flat.
“Arahabaki,” Dazai says, and then adds, “obviously.”
Chuuya gives him a withering look and instead of responding, he repeats his question from earlier. “Where is she?”
Dazai’s lips flatten as he squints again, not appreciating the way the man blew off his question entirely, but this time he decides to respond. “She went to an executive meeting, shouldn’t you be there if you’re up and about?”
“I thought I could catch her before she left,” Chuuya sighs, suddenly looking very tired, which naturally piques Dazai’s interest because why was he trying to catch you before you left? “I’m not supposed to be up yet. Doc’s gonna fuckin’ skin me alive when he finds me.”
“Why were you looking for her?” Dazai prods.
Chuuya pointedly doesn’t respond, side-eyeing Dazai before turning to walk back down the stairs. Dazai’s jaw drops in disbelief at the way he was so blatantly ignored and darts forward, kicking his leg out to drive it into the back of Chuuya’s knee. He’s smug when the other man lets out a surprised yelp, knee buckling as he drops; he’s not quite as smug when he steadies himself with his ability and turns back to Dazai, eyes blazing.
“I’m going to kill you, you shitty bastard,” Chuuya spits out and Dazai’s eyes widen as he darts right back into your bedroom, slamming the door shut hard behind him. “Do you really think that’s going to stop me, you dumb fuck?”
Dazai presses his full body weight against the door as Chuuya drives his shoulder into it to force it open. He’s the one yelping now as he goes sprawling forward onto your floor when Chuuya pushes the door open so hard that it comes off the top hinge.
“She’ll kill you if you kill me in her apartment,” Dazai threatens before he can take another step forward, voice a bit too squeaky for comfort. “She will.”
Chuuya sounds and looks like an angry bull when he lets out a heavy breath as he tries to calm himself. Dazai almost comments on it, but he bites his tongue. He might seem to be impervious to the man’s gravity manipulating powers, but he’s not quite as impervious to the brute force he’s capable of.
“What the fuck was that for?” Chuuya hisses.
“I asked you a question,” Dazai says, raising his chin as he stands back up and looks down at Chuuya, enjoying the way the mafioso’s eye twitches when he has to look up to meet his gaze. “You ignored me.”
“You-” Chuuya begins before taking a deep breath again. “I just wanted to talk to her, that’s all.”
“But why?”
Chuuya doesn’t look amused by Dazai’s insistence, but that only makes Dazai more insistent. He clearly had a reason for seeking you out and it must’ve been an important one considering how upset he seemed after realizing that you’d left already, and nobody could really blame Dazai for being curious.
Chuuya stares at Dazai for a second before sighing. “She’s… not doing good. Boss has been putting her through the wringer lately and Piano Man said it was even worse yesterday, probably gonna be just as bad today. I wanted to check in on her before she left.”
Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, suddenly all of the amusement he was getting out of irritating Chuuya withers away as the man’s words register. He knew you weren’t doing good—he knew it, he could tell from the tense expression you had whenever you thought he wasn’t looking, could tell from the way your laughs and words seemed strained, could tell from the way your smile was frayed at the edges. It’s why he doesn’t want to come to you with another issue and no solution, but hearing it from someone else…
“Don’t feel bad if you didn’t notice,” Chuuya starts to say, noticing the expression on Dazai’s face. “I’m sure she’s careful to put up a front to not worry you, does that with everyone, but she’d do it especially with y-”
“I noticed,” Dazai says, bristling. “I just… Why is he putting her through the wringer? How?” 
Chuuya looks uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want to respond, and Dazai has his answer.
“Because of me,” he realizes, a lump in his throat.
“No,” Chuuya snaps before hesitating. “Not just you. He blames this whole shitshow with the Guild on her, and then there was the stuff with the Inagawa-kai and Shimazaki-kai-”
“Which happened because of me,” Dazai interjects, lashes lowering as he looks away. Dark claws pull at his heart again and Dazai can’t push them away this time.
“We were gonna go to war with them sooner or later anyway,” Chuuya says, shaking his head. “Whether it was then or later, doesn’t matter. Not on you or her.”
Dazai doesn’t think he agrees with that, and he doesn’t even think Chuuya agrees with that considering how he reacted to finding out that Dazai was the reason for you deciding to rush the attack on the Inagawa, but he doesn’t feel like arguing about it. Chuuya doesn’t let him anyway, starts talking before Dazai can get a word in.
“Now he’s pissed about the battle with Lovecraft and Steinbeck. I had to use Corruption, and I’m pretty sure he figured out that damned doctor from the Agency was the one to save her life,” he continues, grimacing. “He’s gonna hold that over her head.”
Oh? 
Dazai’s focus zeroes in on that, brows furrowing. He’d been wondering how you managed to survive the wound Arahabaki dealt but every time he asks you, you evade.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Chuuya asks brusquely, looking a bit startled almost, as if he’d forgotten he was talking to Dazai and had started venting on his own.
“Why is he going to hold it over her?” he asks carefully.
“That’s not for me to say,” Chuuya says after a few moments, much to Dazai’s frustration. “You’ll have to ask her-”
“She wouldn’t even tell me how she survived,” Dazai interrupts, annoyed. “I just want to… I want to understand what’s going on so I can help her.”
Chuuya looks conflicted, so Dazai takes the opportunity to press.
“I can’t help her if I don’t understand what’s going on, I can try to help. You’re worried about her, aren’t you?” Dazai demands, and then adds through gritted teeth, “Please.”
“Did she… tell you about her past with the Boss? During the war?” Chuuya finally asks, leaning against the railing as he waits for Dazai to respond.
“She told me that he brought her in after her town was massacred,” Dazai tells him, fingers thrumming against his thigh. “That she spent two years trying to figure out how to use her ability to help him create an immortal military unit.”
Chuuya lets out a breath as he looks away. “She wasn’t the only one that the Boss had taken in. There was another girl—Yosano Akiko—who had the ability to bring people back from the brink of death over and over and over again. From what she’s told me, and that’s not much, Yosano was prodigious with her ability and she… wasn’t. The Boss held it over her, pit the two of them against each other and to this day, compares her to Yosano. It’s a… touchy subject for her, I’m not surprised she evades it.”
Dazai’s face twists. “But she’s good at using her ability now,” he protests even though he knows it’s not that simple.
“I know,” Chuuya says, voice solemn. “Doesn’t matter though. It’ll never be enough—not for her or for him.”
Dazai has never met the Boss of the Port Mafia, but he thinks that he hates him more than anyone else Dazai has ever known. A bitter feeling claws at his chest as he thinks of a much younger you being rescued from a warzone only to find yourself in the hands of a cruel and manipulative man that guises as your savior. Dazai is not a man who has ever been inclined to turn to violence—he much prefers battles of wits—but god, if his fingers don’t twitch for it now.
The words slip from his lips before he can stop them, tight and angry: “He’s a piece of shit.”
Chuuya stares at Dazai for a moment in disbelief before barking out a laugh and then promptly slapping his hand over his mouth and forcing himself to quiet down. 
“Shut the fuck up,” he says dutifully. “He’s still the Boss.”
“Your boss, not mine.” Dazai rolls his eyes.
“Whatever,” Chuuya replies dryly, ever clever in his response. “I’m going to go try to run into her before Doc manages to sniff me out… Don’t do anything stupid while she’s gone.”
Dazai gives Chuuya a side eye. “Wasn’t planning to,” he lies, possibly. He hasn’t decided yet if going to this meeting is a stupid idea—it might be, but the rewards outweigh the risks anyway.
Chuuya stares at him for a second suspiciously. “Whatever,” he repeats, so astute. He hesitates as he moves to leave and Dazai raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to say whatever might be running through the slow brain of his.
“Why aren’t you scared of me?” Chuuya asks after a few moments, looking uncharacteristically unguarded as he stares at Dazai, waiting for an answer.
“Why would I be scared of someone the size of a slug?” Dazai counters, giving Chuuya a simpering smile as the man’s face immediately tightens in anger.
“You’re incorrigible,” Chuuya spits.
“Big word for such a small brain,” he taunts, “did she teach you it?”
Chuuya doesn’t even respond, hissing out insults under his breath as he promptly makes his way back down the stairs. 
Dazai is unbearably pleased with himself as he gives the ginger a mocking wave while he waits for the elevator, leaning over the railing looking down at the first floor. Chuuya promptly flips Dazai off, face so red that it clashes painfully with his hair.
As soon as Chuuya’s in the elevator and out of sight, Dazai disregards the warning and begins the first phase of his plan—finding your laptop to see if you happen to have a layout of the building anywhere on it so he can figure out how to sneak out—suddenly feeling significantly more inspired to do whatever he can to ease the burden that’s been placed on you.
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You know something is wrong when you get up to your apartment and find it dead silent—there’s no trashy reality show playing in the living room, no sound of that new fighting game that Dazai had bought on your card, no excited call of your name because you came home early with food instead of sending someone with it. The elevator closes behind you and the takeout in your left hand weighs uncomfortably heavy, your gaze draws from the hallway leading to the guest room over to the kitchen.
He’s not in the living room and you don’t see him in the kitchen, so you look up at the stairs leading to your bedroom. Maybe he went back to sleep—you could tell this morning that he hadn’t slept much, if at all, last night, and when Albatross stopped by with lunch for him (after much complaining, naturally), he said that Dazai looked half dead on his feet. 
It’s why you made sure to finish up your last meeting early—it was a video call with Tolstoy anyway, he didn’t mind you running out early, only wanted to let you know that he had to go with Repin to New York but could be in Yokohama by the end of the day on Thursday if you needed. You don’t really want to rely on the Three Deaths for help in this conflict, it would make the Port Mafia look weak, but depending on how this vote goes in the Diet on Friday, you might not have a choice. The Port Mafia isn’t in the position to handle the full force of the Guild and the military at the same time. 
Why didn’t he come down when he heard the elevator?
You place the food down on the table in the living room before making your way to the staircase. He must be up there, so you don’t know why you suddenly feel so dreadful and you don’t know why it’s suddenly hard for you to make yourself move forward, like you’re walking through waist-deep water and the current is running against you. Your heart thuds painfully in your chest as you walk up the stairs to your bedroom.
He’s sleeping.
Since when was your staircase so long, it feels like each step you go up, ten more appear in front of you. You’re half convinced that it’s an ability messing with you and not just your mind playing tricks.
He’s a light sleeper. He would’ve woken up.
By the time you get up to your apartment, you know he won’t be there, but your heart still sinks to your feet when you push your door open and see the bed empty and the bathroom door open. 
Dazai is nowhere to be seen.
Your lashes flutter as you force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to keep yourself calm. You’re stiff as you walk back out to the balcony looking over your apartment. Your voice is just as tense as you raise your voice to call: “Osamu?”
No response. 
Shit, you think, vision spinning a bit as you shut your eyes, counting your breaths as your heart rate spikes. Shit, where did he go? Did someone break in? No. No one could have gotten through the building’s security. He must have left… but why? Why would he do that when he knows how dangerous it is out there? How did he sneak out with no one noticing? It doesn’t make sense.
You shouldn’t have left this morning. You knew that you shouldn't have left the moment you stepped into the elevator, but he’d just been so distressed and the longer you lingered, the worse it got. It was only when you agreed to go that he finally started calming down, so you thought you were doing what was best for him, regardless of how it made you feel, but fuck, you should have known better.
You blame Mori. You always blame Mori, but the bitterness and anger is so intense now that it has your blood pressure skyrocketing. He’s been keeping you busy on purpose—busy and angry and stressed—you’ve hardly even gotten the chance to talk to Dazai since everything that happened. When you do have time with him, you’re either exhausted or in a bad mood trying to mask it from him. He watched Arahabaki kill you, he almost died, and-
And he killed someone.
It’s a fact that you've yet to fully acknowledge yourself; it makes you sick with guilt and self-loathing, knowing that it’s your fault that it happened and that you had promised him it wouldn’t. And it’s selfish because it means he’s been coping on his own and how is a twenty-two year old kid whose biggest problem three weeks ago was a group project supposed to cope with the fact that he killed someone?
This morning had been a red flag—one that you should’ve listened to, but instead, you took the easy way out. You didn’t know what to do without being able to use your ability to calm someone down, you’ve done it for Chuuya countless times, Klaus and Akutagawa too, but for Dazai, you could only watch as he worked himself up into a panic attack over everything that happened, the only thing seemingly calming him down being you leaving. So you left. 
But you should have stayed. You never should have left him—not yesterday after the attack, not this morning. He doesn’t belong in this life, he never has, but you dragged him into it anyway and now what? You’re leaving him to process it on his own? You’re leaving him to cope with the consequences of your actions? Your selfishness? What else was supposed to happen besides him getting overwhelmed and having a breakdown over it? 
Of course he ran—you can’t blame him, how else is he supposed to react to all of this? There’s no way that the average kid would ever be able to come to terms with what had happened yesterday, especially not alone, without any sort of support system to help him. Cooped up in your apartment with only his own mind as company—of course he ran.
You had been his life jacket and you had left him to drown. 
You need to find him. He had to have gone back to his apartment, unless…
Your throat feels tight as you swallow, remembering the morning you woke up to the call from the hospital.
Fuck, you have to-
The elevator?
Your gaze cuts down to the first floor of your apartment, watching as the elevator doors slide open. You watch with bated breath as you wait for whoever came up to your apartment to step out of the elevator, fingers wrapped tight around your phone. 
It’s only when a familiar head of brown hair steps out of it can you finally breathe.
Dazai doesn’t look half as much of the mess he was this morning—there’s more of a pep to his step, his face doesn’t look as gaunt and pale, he’s dressed in one of the cashmere sweaters and comfortable dress pants you bought him. He looks… good, like he did before everything that happened—untainted by all of the darkness you’ve brought into his life.
What changed from this morning?
He freezes as soon as he sees the takeout that you dropped on the coffee table, shrugging his backpack off of his shoulders and dropping it to the ground near where you hang your jackets. His eyes are wide as he looks around the apartment trying to pinpoint where you are, it takes him a few seconds before he finally looks up and sees you staring down at him from the balcony.
The smile he gives you is nervous and it puts you on edge. 
“Hi,” he says sheepishly. “You’re back early.”
You’re relieved—you are. He’s okay. He’s safe. He’s back. He didn’t run off and get himself hurt, or worse. The Guild didn’t get their hands on him. He’s safe and you’re relieved. 
So why are you still so tense and angry?
“What did you get to eat?” he presses, creeping forward to look at the bag of food on the table. He sniffs as he peeks inside. “Chinese?”
“Where were you?” you finally ask. 
Your voice sounds distant even to your own ears, your body feels tense no matter how much you try to relax. Dazai looks up at you with wide eyes, a hesitant expression on his face like he doesn’t want to admit to wherever he went and you can hear blood rushing through your ears as frustration washes over you. 
God, you’ve just spent a whole day dealing with Mori and various other unsavory people—you’d been looking forward to coming home to Dazai and now he’s pulling this. You know you need to calm down, that you shouldn’t take out your general irritation of the day onto him when he’s already had a rough few days, but fuck the least he could do is-
“I went for a walk.”
The least he could do is not lie to you.
“You went for a walk,” you echo flatly.
“Mhm. I went for a walk,” he agrees.
You stare down at him from the balcony, not budging an inch. Dazai shifts uncomfortably under your stare, and a part of you thinks you should go downstairs and just drop this but you can’t. Dazai is lying to you—why he’s lying to you is an issue in itself, but you’re more concerned with knowing where he actually went because you need to make sure that no public CCTV tapes caught him going to and from the headquarters.
“Where did you walk to?” you ask, voice tight.
“Just… around.”
You inhale sharply and look away, biting your tongue to force yourself to calm down. “Osamu,” you say his name, low with warning when he tries to evade answering the question properly. 
He bristles. “I didn’t realize I was under house arrest,” he says defensively, raising his voice a little.
Your eye twitches as you take a sharp breath and step away from the balcony. You pace a few steps back to your room and look up at the ceiling, willing yourself the patience to not let this blow up into an argument. It’s the last thing the two of you need right now, but god he’s making it difficult.
After a few moments, you drag yourself back over to the staircase. This time, instead of leaning against the railing and looking down at him, you make your way down the steps so you can stand in front of him, arms folded across your chest. Dazai looks guilty already, chewing the inside of his cheek as he refuses to look you in the eye. 
“Osamu, I’ve had a long day. Please just tell me where you went so I can make sure no cameras caught you going to and from the headquarters,” you say tiredly. “You’re not under house arrest, I just-we need to be careful the next few weeks, okay? Just until things calm down.”
“I just went to the school,” Dazai finally admits.
Instantly, your brows are furrowing. “The school?” you question, confused. “You don’t have classes today after twelve. Why did you go there? And why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve had Albatross drive you.”
The way Dazai refuses to meet your eyes is unsettling. You feel even more on edge than before as you wait for him to respond. Fuck, you just wanted to have a glass of wine and watch him play one of his stupid games. 
“It wasn’t for class, I was meeting people for a group project,” he says after a few moments, pointedly not answering your second question.
A group project.
The only ‘group project’ he has is for his journalism class… and the fact that he didn’t tell you so you could have someone drive him…
“You met with Ui,” you realize, staring blankly at Dazai. “Why?”
“I was helping,” Dazai says and however much on edge you might’ve been before, you’re even more now. “I was-”
“You were helping?” you ask, not sure what that might mean and not even sure if you want to know. 
Ui is bad news and for Dazai to go out to meet him now of all times… He’s supposed to be smart. You rub your face with your hands, feeling the tightly wound cord that’s been threatening to snap for the past twenty-four hours becoming even more strained. It’s only a matter of time before it does snap and you don’t want Dazai to take the brunt of your anger, not when most of it is directed at Mori.
“I was!” Dazai insists, voice getting louder. You can see the way his fists are closing and opening at his sides and how his nails leave bloody crescents in his palms. You tell yourself to calm down and talk this out with him, that you’re both not in the best mental states and you need to be lenient with him, but his next words are enough to send you teetering off the edge. “I was helping, I helped. He texted last night saying he had a tip-off about our project and I went to go figure out what it was so I could warn you.”
What the fuck?
“Why on earth would you ever go there on your own?” you hiss, just barely maintaining enough control to not raise your voice at him. “Especially after what happened yesterday. The Guild knows about you, Osamu. It could’ve been a set up.”
God, you almost want to rip out your hair. In what world could he have possibly thought that was a good idea. The Ivory Eagle getting a tip-off the same night after a major conflict with the Guild is not a coincidence and you should probably be more focused on that than you are, but you just can’t get over Dazai’s stupidity. 
If he had used that brain that you know he has, he would have realized it was no coincidence. The Guild must have gone to the Ivory Eagle with information about the Port Mafia and considering that Steinbeck made a comment about Fitzgerald getting the confirmation he needed about Dazai…
Fuck, you feel sick. 
“Oh yeah, because my professor is going to set me up to be captured by a criminal organization, right,” he says sarcastically.
“You don’t know shit about this world, Osamu,” you snap at him, taking a step closer but he doesn’t budge, unrepentant. “The lengths people will go to so they can take the Mafia down. Do you even know why the Ivory Eagle is so set on us?”
“That doesn’t matter-”
“Of course it matters-”
“No, it doesn’t,” he interrupts, voice pitched with hysteria. “What matters is that I helped. I got the information you need and-and I can help more. I can help more, I’m not incapable, I don’t need to be a liability anymore. You should be thanking me, not yelling at me. I-“
What is your life? 
You almost want to cry as you shake your head and take a step away and press your hands to your lips. You can’t do this right now—not after the day you had today and yesterday, you’re going to snap and say something you regret. You need to end this conversation before it goes any further.
“No. No, I am not having this conversation with you. Sit down on the couch, eat the food I bought and be quiet.” 
“I’m having this conversation,” Dazai, much to your distress, presses the conversation. “I’m tired of being a liability, I want to be helpful-“
Helpful? What is he even getting at? He better not be getting at what you think he’s getting at?
“What the fuck, Osamu?” you demand. “You’re not a liability, where is this coming from?”
“If I’m not a liability then let me help-“
Oh my god.
“No.”
“Why?” He sounds more like he’s begging than arguing now and your heart feels like it’s lodged in your throat because you don’t know what you’ve done to make him feel like he’s a liability to you, and more importantly, you don’t know how to fix it. “I can do it. I can. And this way, there doesn’t have to be push back from your friends about us—not if I’m part of the organization too, and-”
What the fuck is your life?
You can’t even hide the way your expression twists at his words, can’t hide the way you instinctually step away from him, can’t hide the way that your hands tremble so you stuff them in your pockets and shake your head furiously. A part of you wants to believe that you’d just imagined those last few words but they ring so soundly through your head that you know you didn’t.
“What the f…” You don’t even know what to say as you stare at him in disbelief. He’s still talking, you can see his lips moving but you can’t hear anything. Your ears are ringing and you’re desperately trying to make sure the wound up cord inside you doesn’t snap. “Hold on. Hold on. You are not part of this life, Osamu. You’re a civilian-“
“I killed someone,” Dazai cries out. His voice wavers and cracks, his eyes are wide and wild, and his hands are shaking just as much as yours but he’s not even thinking straight enough to hide them like he usually would. “What type of civilian kills people? I don’t-I don’t belong there anymore. I don’t belong there, I belong with you.”
“You killed one person in self defense, someone who was trying to kill us. That’s nothing compared to being in the Mafia, Osamu.” You try to calm him down but you don’t think there’s any calming him down now and you feel sick at the sight of him collapsing like this. You do your best to soften your tone as you continue, “Why would you want to be in the Mafia? Come on, Osamu, you’ve got good things going for you, your friend’s book to write, you don’t want this.”
“I can’t just go back to worrying about classes and homework after all of this,” he says, voice pitched as he shakes his head and tugs his hair a bit. “I can’t. I don’t belong there, I belong here, I stopped being a civilian the moment you let me into your life-”
“That’s not fair,” you breathe out, shaking your head. “That is not fair, Osamu. You forced yourself into my life just as much as I let you into it. That’s not fair.”
“It’s the truth. You could’ve cut me off at any point and you know that. You admitted it,” he hisses at you, throwing your words back into your face and it feels like a slap. “So, you can’t sit there and judge me for trying to make the most of it so things can be easier on both of us. I can do this. I belong here, belong with you. I helped you figure out how to try to get the Guild out of Yokohama, I sat there and helped you with plans, I killed someone, and I got this information for you—the Port Mafia would’ve stumbled right into the trap if I hadn’t. And you should be thanking me. You should be thanking me.”
Just like that, the cord snaps.
“This isn’t something to be fucking proud of, Osamu,” you shout at him, but he doesn’t even flinch, stands his ground about what he wants and it only pisses you off more. “None of this is shit to be proud of. Do you think I’m proud of who I am? You think Chuuya, or the Flags, or Klaus are? Do you think any of us are proud of what we do? Fuck, Osamu, how can you sit here and ask me to let you be part of this?”
“Because I could help. I could help you. Arahabaki couldn’t kill me, couldn’t even touch me—I could help, I could be the one sent to handle it instead of you. And-and I could do more, no one would expect a college kid to be part of the Mafia, I’d be able to get information for you, and I could-”
“Enough!” Your voice goes hoarse as you yell at him, unable to listen to this anymore. “Enough, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
You don’t see the way Dazai’s face falls at your words, the crestfallen expression that crosses over his face as soon as your words process through his head. You turn away from him, breathing heavily because you think you feel nauseous. 
How the fuck did this happen? 
You can’t let anyone find out about Dazai—his type of ability, the nullification, not even the West has developed anti-ability technology to this degree, they would kill to get their hands on Dazai. They’d put the bounty that had been on Atsushi to shame and you wouldn’t be able to protect him. He’d spend the rest of his life in labs being experimented on so they could replicate his ability in weapons.
Your phone starts ringing and you don’t even look to see who it is before you’re muttering out an excuse to Dazai and lifting it to your ear, pacing back to the stairs to go up to your bedroom for a few minutes alone to calm yourself down.
Except naturally, the person on the other line only induces more stress in you.
“How prompt, you’re not usually so quick to answer the phone when you’re with that little distraction of yours, little hime… lover’s spat, perhaps?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“I thought you were someone else,” you say, voice dry and sharp. “Why are you calling me so late? Haven’t I seen enough of you today?” 
Mori laughs airly on the opposite line. “My, your time spent with that boy has sharpened your tongue… To think that all it would take for you to start stepping out of your shell is this…”
“I’m not in the mood,” you cut him off before he can continue, tongue running along the back of your teeth in frustration. “What do you want?” 
“There’s an issue at a warehouse by our ports in Shinko. The ones with the weapons being ready for transportation to Brazil. Take your subordinate and go ensure nothing is out of order—we can’t afford to be late on another shipment to Machado considering you redirected the last one to Paz.”
Instantly, you’re rolling your eyes. “Shinko is Ace’s port. Send him to get control over his territory,” you snap. “I’m busy.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve asked you. So, you’ll be going. You’ve caused enough trouble the past few weeks, I recommend you do as told without making a fuss.”
You grit your teeth but you bite back the next comment threatening to spill from your lips. Instead, you ask tightly, “What’s the issue there? What am I walking into?” 
Mori doesn’t respond for a moment. “... I’m not sure. Ace got word from one of his subordinates that something was going down there, but the line went dead before he could get a response. Our cameras are down. Take your subordinate, I can have the Black Lizards ready if you wish too.”
“No,” you say, shaking your head, wandering over to your closet to grab one of your longer dark jackets. As you shrug it over your shoulders, you say, “I’ll go figure it out. I’m not making it into a big operation.”
Mori sighs. “If that’s what you want… Call me once you’re done.”
You roll your eyes as you hang up the phone, stuffing it in your pocket before leaving your room. “Look, Osamu,” you say loudly as you head down the stairs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let that escalate like that. I have to head out for a bit but…”
Your voice trails off when you make it down the steps and find that Dazai is nowhere to be seen. Instantly, that sick, dreadful feeling returns.
“Osamu?” you call louder, voice a bit more strained, cracking over his name. 
No response.
Fuck.
“Fuck!” you shout, slamming your hands against the back of the couch before resting on it, trying to push back the nausea that builds up quickly in your through. 
You fumble for your phone, finding Dazai’s contact so you can call him but your hopes are quashed when you hear it buzzing on the floor near where you’re standing—must’ve fallen out of his pocket in his rush to leave. Your vision blurs and your eyes sting with tears, your breath becomes so shuddered that you think you might be on the verge of a panic attack.
God, you can’t even remember the last time you cried, but your cheeks are unmistakably wet and there’s no torrential downpour for you to mask them with.
Now’s not the time to cry, though. You need to move. The ports are on the way to Dazai’s apartment—you’ll check out what’s happening there and if there’s some sort of disturbance, you’ll… shit, you don’t even know. Chuuya is out of commission from Corruption, Akutagawa is out of commission because the wounds he received from Arahabaki aggravated his respiratory issue, and Klaus is out of commission because he’s still suffering the effects of using his ability to heal himself as much as he did.
Maybe you’ll see if Iceman and Albatross can handle it, but Albatross already did you a favor today…
You’ll figure it out as you drive there. You can’t waste time on it now, you need to get moving. The quicker you get to the ports, the better.
Because you need to get to Dazai. 
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What the fuck is wrong with you?
Your words ring through Dazai’s head on repeat as he stumbles down the sidewalks in the direction of his apartment complex. He can hardly even breathe, his breath is ragged and uneven and his vision is so blurry that he can hardly see where he’s stepping.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
Dazai doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He’s always known that there was something wrong with him—it’s why people could hardly stand to look at him, why his mother killed herself, why his aunt abandoned him, why no matter how hard he tried to be likable, people still turned their back to him. He’s always known there was something fundamentally wrong with him, but when he’s with you, you make him forget that. 
You make him feel normal. Make him feel human. Like there was never anything wrong with him, but it was everyone else in the world who was wrong instead. Like he didn’t deserve everything bad that’s happened to him. 
Dazai has never had faith in anything—not in any god because that would mean he had to admit that even god had forsaken him and certainly not in himself because Dazai has only ever failed himself, but he had faith in you. He let himself have hope when he was with you because you looked at him like he was worthy of being loved, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered to you.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
You looked at Dazai like you’ve never really seen him before that moment and he just… He couldn’t stay there, not with you looking at him like that, not when he realized the day that he’s been dreading has finally come to pass. 
What the fuck is wrong with you?
You’ve finally seen what everyone else does when they look at him. He knew this day was coming. He knew it, and he knew he’d been pressing his luck, that he was on borrowed time, but he had hope. He had hope that maybe this time would be different, that someone would see past all of his fronts and love him for him but he should’ve known better. Dazai is not someone capable of being loved. His own blood scorned and rejected him, the woman who gave birth to him killed herself to be free of him—Dazai is not someone capable of being loved. 
What the fuck is wrong with you?
He hiccups over another intake of air, tripping over uneven ground before steadying himself against the brickwall of a nearby building. He can see his apartment complex in the distance, it’s not far now, but Dazai feels sick. He feels sick and he can hardly breathe and-
And he misses you. He wants to go back to your apartment even if he’s met with contemptuous looks and rejection. He presses his hand to his mouth to hide the way he nearly chokes over a dry sob, feeling far too lost and alone. If he doesn’t belong with you, he doesn’t belong with anyone. Doesn’t belong anywhere. He wants to call you and ask you to come get him just to see if you’ll show, but he’s too scared that you won’t—and he doesn’t feel the familiar weight of his phone in his pocket anyway.
He forces himself to keep moving forward. He’s tired and it’s cold and Dazai just wants to lay in his cheap futon and cling to the thinning hope that you might come for him even if you did think he was a monster just like the rest of the world.
His feet drag against the concrete, the noise around him drowns out and his surroundings blur together, he keeps his gaze pinned to the ground as he moves forward. 
What is wrong with him? He’d known you were stressed with work, Nakahara Chuuya had told him that you were doing a lot worse than you were letting on, and he thought going out and putting himself in danger would be helpful… He’d just been so blinded by the idea of doing something useful…
It’s not until he gets to the steps of the complex that he realizes something is wrong. That someone is watching him. His gaze lifts as he looks around, eyes wide—for a moment, he doesn’t see anybody and he’s about to rush into the building but then he sees the shadow of a figure shift out of the overhang, waving his hand in the air.
“There you are, we’ve been waiting for ya,” a cheerful voice greets and Dazai’s hair stands on end as his gaze focuses on an unfamiliar redhead. He has an accent—American—and holds a handgun haphazardly in the hand he’s waving. “Damn, you look like you’ve had a shit night.”
This must be a member of the Guild.
You were right—they have been looking for Dazai and he… he just walked right into their hands. He lets out a breath, gaze darting up to the gun before swiveling around the area. He can’t outrun a gun, but he doubts that they’re going to shoot to kill if they plan to use him against you. If he could at least get a bit further out on the sidewalk… you have your subordinates monitor those cameras, they would see him get taken and report to you and-
And you would come for him. You would. You had to. 
Right?
“Thanks for the flashdrive, by the way,” the man grins as he bounds down the steps closer to Dazai. Dazai takes steps back to match the steps the Guild member takes forward, hoping that he can get far enough into the view of the cameras. “We can finally get little miss princess out of the way. Now that girl is a piece of work, takin’ this city’s gonna be much easier with her behind bars.”
Dazai stops dead in his tracks.
“What?” he breathes out. “What did you just say?”
His smile sharpens as he lifts his hand, showing off a very familiar hard drive tucked between his middle and index finger. “Gotta give you props, we’ve been trying for so long to get something to hold over her. She’s one slippery bitch, that’s for sure. And she’s got way too many allies. I kinda wanted to meet her just to see what all of the hype is about, but guess I’m not gonna get the chance.”
Dazai can hardly think—or, he is thinking but he’s thinking too much, so much that he can’t even tell one thought from the next because they’re all tumbling over each other and jumbling together.
“Give me that,” Dazai whispers before steadying his voice. “Give me that back now.”
The redhead shrugs and tosses him the flash drive. He cradles it to his chest instantly, throat spasming as he swallows.
“Sure,” the other man says. “Not like it matters, damage is already done. Hear that?”
Dazai becomes acutely aware of the sirens in the distance and he shakes his head, not willing to believe what’s happening. He-he can’t even do anything—he can’t call you to warn you, can’t out run a gun. Dazai feels so frustrated that he’s almost sick again. He’s never felt so entirely helpless before, never not been able to think his way out of a situation.
This is all his fault. 
He never should have sought out this footage, he should’ve destroyed it ages ago. He can never do anything right. He understands now why so many people were against him being in your life and for a brief second, he wishes that they’d succeeded in convincing you to cut him off because you’d be better off that way.
This is his fault.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Sorry kid,” he sighs lazily, not sounding sorry at all. “I fear I’m boutta make your shitty night a whole lot worse. Go on, James. Let’s bring him in.”
Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to react when he catches movement from the corner of his eye, a baton cracks against the side of his head so hard that his brain rattles against his skull and he doesn’t even register hitting the ground until he can feel the cool concrete against the side of his face.
Dazai’s vision blurs before it starts fading in and out, his body limp and uncooperative even as he tries to drag himself away from his assailants. He feels two hands grab him and hoist him over their shoulder, and as his body finally starts to succumb to the tantalizing lull of darkness, all he can think of is you.
I’m sorry, he thinks, wishing you could hear him. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorryimsorryimsorryi-
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You hear police sirens in the distance as you arrive at the ferry leading to Shinko. It takes about five seconds for irritation to cloud your mind, realizing that the ferrymaster is not, in fact, waiting for you even though you called Ace and told him to have the ferry ready for you so you can check this out as soon as possible. You hate that despicable man but you need to get to Dazai, so speaking to him was a displeasure you were forced to deal with.
What a bastard, you think bitterly, shooting a text to Albatross to ask if he’s busy. You sigh as you lean against the cool wall, tilting your head up to look up at the colors the setting sun paints across the sky as you wait for a response.
You never should’ve let that fight escalate.
The thought has been plaguing you since you left your apartment. You knew better. Dazai is a civilian, he’s struggling to cope with everything that’s happened, of course he’s going to feel out of place with other civilians after what he saw, after what he did. He’d already opened up to you about his struggles to fit in with people and you knew this would make those insecurities worse but…
But hearing him say that he belonged in the Mafia scared you. He doesn’t belong there and he seemed to well and truly believe that it was the only place for him. The thought of the likes of Mori getting his hands on Dazai’s nullifying ability… It scared you beyond words could describe. Dazai belongs with you, yes, but he doesn’t belong with the Mafia. 
Still, you shouldn’t have reacted the way you did. Of course he ran, he’d been on the verge of collapse and you yelled at him, you scorned him, he was lost and looking for something to hold onto, looking for you to tell him everything would be okay, and you walked away.
Your eyes sting again. Even though no one is around to bear witness, you still close them to hide the way they mist over with regret. You’ve made many mistakes in your life—mistakes that got Itou killed, mistakes that ruined Chuuya’s life, and now mistakes that might’ve pushed away the only person who you could safely say loved you for who you are, unconditionally and unrepentantly.
You only force yourself to reopen your eyes when you feel your phone buzzing again, hopefully Albatross responding to your text. Before you can even unlock your phone, there are several more texts coming through, too quick for you to read what they’re saying—Chuuya, Kouyou, Doc, Lippmann, Piano Man, Klaus. You straighten, a heavy feeling settling over you as you look down at your phone and get ready to click one of the messages from Kouyou.
It’s only when Iceman calls that you pick up.
“What’s going on?” you ask, your voice steady even if your throat spasms with nerves.
Is it Dazai? Did something happen to him?
“Where are you?” Iceman demands. “I’m in the car with Albatross. Give us your location now.”
“I’m at the ferry terminal leading to Shinko. What is going on? Is Os-Dazai okay?” you question sharply, fingers tight and trembling around your phone. “Iceman-”
“I don’t know shit about your boyfriend,” Iceman snaps. “Have you even seen the news?”
You pull your phone from your ear without another word, fingers trembling as you pull up the news app. Your ears ring with the approaching police sirens as you read the trending headline, vision swimming and a shaky breath escaping your lips as you lean your weight against the wall so you don’t crumple to the ground. 
Vice Chair of the Mori Corporation suspected of Mafia affiliation after the release of footage from behind the Tokyo City Hall. What does this mean for the rest of the Corporation?
“No,” you breathe out, shaking your head as you stare down at the news article. You can hear Iceman and Albatross yelling on the opposite line, trying to get your attention, but you can hardly make out what they’re saying. The sound of the sirens is too loud, too near. “This isn’t real. We… got rid of the…”
“Footage from behind the Tokyo City Hall… you and the ginger with the ugly hat… splattered six guys against the wall.”
Dazai… what did you do?
No, he would never. No matter how upset he is at you. He would never hand over the footage. The real question is: what happened to him? How did they get ahold of the footage he’s been hiding? What did they do to him?
You feel sick as soon as the thought crosses your mind. The regret you felt moments before triples, quadruples, weighs on you so heavily that you think if you jumped in the bay, you would sink to the bottom. You never should have let the fight escalate, never should have given him the chance to leave.
You can see the flashing lights now, they’re rapidly closing in on you. You need to think—you don’t have much time left. You need to figure out how the Ivory Eagle got their hands on the video; they had to have gotten it through Dazai, but because Dazai would never give it up willingly… And the meeting about the tip-off right after the conflict with the Guild where Steinbeck confirmed that Fitzgerald knew about Dazai… 
The Guild must be involved. They must have worked with the journalists. They did the dirty work to get the footage from Dazai and passed it along to the journalists. You could send Klaus after the journalists, but it would condemn you if they were attacked or killed the day after they released an exposé on you. It would all but confirm your position in the mafia.
But Dazai could be in trouble.
And just like that, your decision is made.
“It’s too late, the cops are here,” you finally tell Iceman, “don’t bother coming.”
“But-”
“Shut up and listen to me, I don’t have much time,” you say sharply. “Ace set this up—have Piano Man call an executive meeting to have him executed. The Ivory Eagle journalism house. There’s a journalist called Ui Koutarou working there. He needs to be captured and interrogated immediately. Tonight. There’s a good chance that they worked with the Guild to get this video. Have Klaus do it, he’ll know what to do once he has the information… Kill the rest of them, I want them dead before I’m out on bail.”
“If we kill them now-”
“I know,” you spit. “I know what it means for me. I don’t care. Have it done.”
With Klaus behind the interrogation, as soon as Ui cracks and admits they had the Guild get the video through force from Dazai, he’ll know to go after the Guild to get to Dazai, and hopefully, Ui will have decent enough information about how he should go about it. If all goes well, Dazai will be back in your apartment and under a serious protection detail before you even get released from holding.
If it doesn’t go well… you’ll be arraigned by the court either tomorrow or the day after, Mori or Lippmann will handle bail, and you’ll put the Guild in its fucking grave before the prosecution is forced to drop the charges against you.
Dazai just needs to wait for you. 
He needs to trust you, even if he doesn’t have much reason to right now.
You toss your phone into the bay as several police cars skid to a stop at the front of the pier. The sirens are loud and piercing, the lights blinding, and you can hardly hear the words the officers are shouting as they approach you with guns drawn. You can hear the rotor blades of a helicopter thundering in the air above you as a spotlight shines down on you and the approaching officers.
You lift your hands in the air before you’re forced to your knees, arms twisted painfully behind your back as metal cuffs are locked around your wrists. You're dragged back to your feet, and the charges against you and your rights are read, but you don’t hear any of it. Your mind is only trained on one thing—one person.
Dazai, you think desperately, wait for me.
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starzblvd · 8 months ago
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Me Espresso.ᐟ
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Ellie thinks coffee tastes disgusting, but you taste delicious. Do u guys get my fire references in here, hope you babes enjoy 🍽️ Band!Ellie Bsf!ellie college!au
Hot summer nights while having your knees digging your weight into the carpet floor of your best friends small dorm room was starting to become weekly routine. Making band tees with cheap markers for her band that had its fair amount of supporters, somehow they’d sell out every time they performed. It was probably because there’d only be like 20 shirts that actually looked good enough to put out for sale.
Sitting next to you was Ellie with half of a bun she struggled to keep it together had some strands fall out and onto the back of her neck. You could smell the perfume on her, you convinced her to buy it that one time she’d agreed to come shopping with you. Wanting to be helpful you had to show her the right way to wear it, by spraying it on your wrist to then rubbing it into her collarbone, just to be helpful of course.
Holding up a finished shirt Ellie grins into the cocky face you’ve gotten to love the look of,
“Oh they’re gonna love this,”
“what your 300 Spotify listeners?”
“Ouch,” Ellie looks at you playing heartbroken to then throw the shirt right at your face. It was always banter like this, with the very few times the lines almost blurred to get somewhere further. Staying away gets harder when being with her was so natural.
“Just for that I’m so not coming to your concert tomorrow.”
“Hey hey hey I need my number one fan there, plus we’re getting ice cream after.”
You’d become a groupie to her, always front lining to every concert she was able to catch a venue in, which were basically all bars. When she’d look below to you under the neon lights playing guitar it felt like such a special moment only between you and Ellie. No crowd no other band mates, as if you knew what she was thinking of and that she wanted you too. Some of your plans started to circle around her now that she was being a bit more discovered.
”You aren’t going to talk to your fan girls?”
“Nah, I’d rather spend my time with you. You know?” Staring at each other awkwardly stopped being so awkward when they’d happen so much, it’s was perfectly normal.
And with opportunity you got to be with Ellie you already knew you’d take it. As little as you knew she was wrapped around with whatever you had been involved in too, stuck and feeding off your sweetness like a bee.
June.21.24
Just like every concert you shared your special moment, no one else can say they had Ellie’s direct attention during multiple songs. This time it was more of an outside stage with sand below you. Yellow hued string lights draped above the stage and more along the audience area. The heat was really getting to Ellie, making her glow from sweat. The black T-shirt she picked out only made her condition worse. The face framing bangs she cut herself were sticking to the side of her face.
She wasn’t even singing, but being under your watch scorched her hotter. To save herself from embarrassment she mainly looked down to her guitar playing notes, but she made a mistake looking at you when a lyric of a song she made with you in thought came up.
Tell me you never wanna lose me
Cuz I know when you call you call for me
She might’ve been a little out of it when helping writing the song, but it became too late when Dina saw the scrunched up paper and kept insisting on making it an official song for a newer album.
To you it was just another lyric that was written by anyone but Ellie. If only you knew how much she relates to your desperation to be with you in every way and any position she could. Whether your batting of eyelashes at her was intentional or not her finger slipped making an unplanned squeak slip through.
‘Fuck this is so bad she probably thinks I’m shit at playing now’
Lucky for Ellie it was the final song anyways and she could get far away from the crowd and you. Other people clapped upon their leave and when they finished their set list you knew exactly where to meet her.
”You ever going to do more than eye her when we’re up there?” Dina was putting away the instruments back to take home with help from Jessie.
“What are you even saying I don’t do that,” Ellie scoffs then sits down on a blue deflated bean bag that who knows how long it’s been in this back room.
“Oh you know what I’m talking about, your friend zone is taking longer than your time with Cat.” She crossed her arms waiting for another excuse to why she hasn’t done anything after a continued semi dating friendship since freshman year.
“She’s nothing like Cat that’s why, if I lose feelings for her after getting rejected that’s one thing but losing her completely because I fucked it up is different.” Her constant fear of never getting to be near you again because of some feelings she couldn’t stop screwed her over with overthinking everything.
In her journal it was the same thing, “She liked my shirt today, I don’t want to look weird and over wear it now, but not under wear it now. Unless she’d like to see it more often or maybe she likes my style in general she’d like me in anything?? Fucking hate this gay stuff and whys it so hard.”
One of the two large metal doors swings open with you appearing, with the smile you wore she had engraved into her mind with a hot rod of metal after sketching you a few more times she’d probably ever admit. Ellie got up and cut the short distance and accepted you into her arms trying to not look like a desperate looser that flushes over a simple hug. Her ears clammy hands didn’t make her look exactly so hot and relaxed though.
“You did amazing El’s,”
“You think so?” She lit up into a smile under your praise, no matter how many times you give it to her mind melts.
“Except for the part where she messed up on the bridge.” Ellie shot a quick mean look at Jessie, but he just turned a cold shoulder before turning away.
“At least I didn’t bump into Dina’s drums 10 times,”
While Ellie kept bickering back and forth with Jessie she still held onto you, this felt like an opening to try at doing something.
A kiss on the check seemed harmless and innocent enough to take back in the case Ellie thought it was totally disgusting. Raising your head up towards her cheek nearing the corners of her smile, pressing your lips to a pout Ellie brought her face back in your direction landing the small peck on her lips. Ellie locked in place while you pulled away, not that you wanted to, but felt too embarrassed to start a kiss you didn’t know how to finish.
“El’s ‘m so sorry, you just moved out of nowhere and-“
“No, yeah mistakes happen, it’s chill or whatever,”
Her shit faced expression wasn’t helping the full pink flush saturating deeper on her face. Ellie lowered her head to wipe the bottom of her nose trying to forget the way your lips felt, your lipgloss was still sweet on her and so was the taste of it on her tongue wiping her lips clean.
Now it was your turn to feel scared and conflicted. It was too silent in the room even with the chatter of everyone else doing their own things outside. Taking back the small kiss wasn’t so easy now that it was done and got taken up a notch further.
She dropped her arms from both of your sides, looking away from you because looking at you right now felt like looking directly into the sun.
“Ellie you should start up the car we’re done here,” Jessie throws the keys at her giving her a slight knowing look to let her go and collect herself back together.
She didn’t even say anything, walked away without a goodbye or convincing enough reassurance that would calm your nerves.
“I’m gonna go home too, see you guys.” You were left with only your actions to think about. Ellie’s response to an accidental kiss made her ran away in the other away how could’ve you imagined it going any of other way? Feeling guilt and shame were the only emotions you could feel, rethinking the crush you’ve denied yourself from paying attention to and that it should’ve stayed that way.
Instead of paying attention to the kiss Ellie let her actions drive themself, not wanting to think at all. Until she hit herself with the car door, why did I act so grossed out? Making different scenarios of how it could’ve played out a million times better she thrust the keys into the ignition.
She dug out her cracked old red iPhone from her butt pocket and threw it into the passenger side. It hit something else than the leather seat, one of the lipglosses you always carry around abandoned alone. Ellie reached for it and saw the shade label, Glassy Expresso.
It sounded like the taste in her mouth from earlier, a taste you stole from her too soon. Unscrewing the lid she contemplated just trying it on. My lips are dry anyways, she swiped the applicator across her lips twice to get an even coat and rubbed it in with her lips. Some of it slipped onto her tongue, again. If only the taste of you could come along with the gloss.
Lmk if you guys want a pt.2♡🍒
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ambivalence-is-me · 5 months ago
Text
Your Power (2)
Pairing: Azriel x reader
Summary: The day has come, you had to face the consequences of your actions. Thinking about seeing Azriel and the inner circle again made you incredibly nervous, you pray you make it out alive.
Word count: 3.5k
Warnings: mentions of death
A/N: The amount of feedback I got from this was INSANE! Thank you so much!!! I promise there will be more azriel and reader coming! I don’t know how many parts there will be of this tbh so, don’t give up on me! I’ve never had to make a taglist so, pls be patient with me :) thanks again and sorry for the grammar mistakes!
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‘’They teach you History in school, right?’’
‘’Yes.’’ Being used to talking about random stuff, your nephew continued to stuff his face with food.
‘’So, has someone ever died for upsetting, I-I don’t know, a high lord perhaps?’’
You hoped you were being nonchalant after asking, taking a sip of the drink your sister-in-law served with the meal. She rewarded you with a confused expression from across the table.
‘’Yes.’’
For the second time, you hoped your eyes didn’t show anything that you were feeling.
‘’Right…’’
‘’In Night Court, or actually, it might’ve been Autumn I can’t remember’’ He shrugged his little shoulders not thinking twice about the statement.
Not knowing that it was doing nothing to calm your nerves or fear. Which, thanks to your sister-in-law, dwindled down a bit after she reminded you that it was probably many many centuries ago where the males in higher positions were not the same ones that are now...well, at least in the Night Court.
‘’So, is there any reason you’re asking about high lords and their patience?’’
She asked after dinner was over and you were helping clean up, your nephew away in his room. And so, you told her everything. You were actually glad she was asking because you’ve been holding on to that information ever since the encounter with the Shadowsinger the day before.
After he left, physically at least because he was still very much popping up in your brain, Sabrina asked you a million questions about it but you were too shocked to explain the situation to her. She had asked again this morning but a rush of customers had walked in the shop, saving you from retelling the awkward encounter.
So really, you hadn’t told a single soul of what was going to happen in the next few days. You considered briefly speaking to your mother about it but you knew she wouldn’t be of help, instead you knew she would reprimand you for even being out with your friend on a Friday night.
‘’You’re not getting any younger now, Y/N. You have to start thinking about getting married and starting a family.’’ She always said.
Easy for her to say, she had no idea how hard it was to court someone these days. But you knew where she was coming from. There was a time when they thought there was all the time in the world for love, for a family but quickly after your brother died, it seemed like eternity was no longer secured, danger lurked in the corners, capable of snatching any one of us away without a second thought.
So yes, you understand that it’s her just worried that you were going to end up like your brother (dead) but worse because you hadn’t experience real love like he did. But truthfully, in your head, if you were going to die unexpectedly then it was better that you weren’t attached to someone. Why would you want them to go through that?
‘’I think they just want to talk about Velaris. You told them that Velaris needed them.’’
You scoffed ‘’Because it’s true, you know this.’’
‘’Yes but apparently they don’t. Which is why, I think you should go with a plan.’’
‘’A plan?’’
It ended up being more like a list (your brother would be proud). A list of all the troubles you knew some of your neighbours were experiencing, of some of the unsafe things you’ve observed while walking down the Sidra many times ago. A list of all the things they’ve missed while doing whatever it is that they do when there is not a war.
With this list, you will tell them just how much Velaris needs some reconstruction, some hope.
You had no idea if this was truly what they wanted from you but after being told 14 times that ‘’No, they’re not gonna kill you silently in a library’’, you figured it was better than going empty handed.
It makes sense, I guess, you thought the next day. The day before the meeting would take place. You edited the list about 4 times, erasing and adding, scratching and ‘’Should I put them in order of priority?’’ ‘’No, let them figure that out by themselves’’.
Every time you glanced at the list, you would remember the hazel eyes. Would he be there? Would Azriel think your list is stupid? Would he think you’re pathetic for entertaining the idea of the inner circle needing you? Would he stare at you like he did back in your office? A little bit of amusement in his beautiful eyes. Or would he not spare you a second glance? Protecting his high lord and lady from the crazy drunk female with a list.
All of these thoughts flying back and forth in your mind that night as you stared at your backyard in silence, a glass of wine in hand. In a couple of hours, you’d be making your way to The Library and Mother knows what will happen.
The backyard was a mess. Shortly after finding your job at the music shop, you found a nice little house with a big backyard.
‘’I’ll help you turn it into a nice patio where you can invite your friends and play some music out there’’. Your brother had said after you told him how you liked the house but the backyard was too big for you.
Over time, both of you had come up with a design plan of what to do with it, how to turn it around for you. In paper, it was a beautiful masterpiece and you couldn’t wait till it turned into reality. You bought the materials needed for it and waited for your brother so you could start together.
Years later, the materials still lay in the middle of the yard, waiting.
Hybern took your brother, your dreams and your backyard with it.
You knew you could hire someone to do it, honestly you knew you could it yourself (it would take time and lots of patience) or with your sister-in-law but…this was something you wanted to do with your brother. Picking up a single thing without him didn’t seem right.
Alas, your yard was a mess, leaving it like this didn’t also seem right (your neighbors would agree).
‘’Tomorrow’’ you whispered. Tomorrow you would start fixing it, you had to.
If you survived that meeting, there was no way you were going to keep leaving it like a mess. And as you continued to ponder, this whole encounter with the inner circle struck you with one thing.
After the war, they had moved on but not you. For them, life kept going but you, you were stuck. And your backyard was proof of that.
You were not going to stand by that anymore, you were going to fix it.
And so the next morning, you told Sabrina to take over the shop for a few hours and made your way to The Library. During the walk, you hyped yourself up with some words of affirmation you read about in a book once, back when the wound of losing your brother was still fresh and there were no healers available to talk about your pain. You indulged in self-help books, not that they made a huge difference but it was something.
You’re strong (sometimes).
You’re capable of doing amazing things (chaotic ones too apparently).
You matter (we’ll see how much to these faes, really).
Unknowingly to you, you failed to notice you were being followed. Tendrils of shadows following your every move as you made your way to the meeting.
Shadows that were reporting back to their master, who was at The Library waiting for your arrival.
Nervous. Nervous.
They whispered to him. And quietly to himself, Azriel chuckled. He figured you would be. If your encounter with him would be an indication of how this meeting will go, he knew one thing for sure: you were going to be terrified, but you weren’t going to back down.
He was impressed. Not a lot of things impressed him anymore, specially after everything he’s been through. Over the years, he has felt that his reputation and his true self blended into one another but not by choice.
He knew his job required it but his personal life? He didn’t want his reputation to dictate that as well. And in his opinion, he had made a good job with it well until the Archeron sisters stumbled into their lives. Now, to be quite frankly with himself, sometimes Azriel felt like he didn’t even know who he was anymore.
Kind? Yes, he was kind with his family, with the people who he walked by on the streets (they fear him, so he tries his best okay).
Serious? Yes, sometimes. There’s always a time and place for it.
Funny? He wasn’t a complete goofball like Cassian but he had a sense of humor.
Compassionate? He takes care and protects his family and his court. He makes sure they have everything they need, so yes, he is very compassionate.
But Rhysand and Cassian had all of those qualities as well, so really, what made him…him? What made Azriel, Azriel?
It drove him mad. How is it that he’s a 500+year old male and he is questioning these things? How did he let himself go so easily? Was it after or before Under The Mountain? After or before Rhys and Cassian met their mates? After he struggled to find his?
Here. Here.
The shadows whispered.
Finally, you made it.
Looking over at Rhys and Feyre who were chatting quietly to each other in the room, he spoke ‘’She’s here.’’
It was Feyre who smiled, a bit nervous but said ‘’I’ll get her’’. Giving her mate a quick kiss, she left the room leaving him with Rhysand and Cassian.
The three males looked at each other. Cassian with a smirk on his face, excited for the meeting. He was looking forward to seeing the female who had pointed a finger at his superiors and told them off without looking back. ‘’Reminds me of Nes’’, he had said.
Rhys had his ‘’I’m a not a mean high lord’’ face or trying to at least. He wanted the meeting to go well, for Feyre and Velaris’ sake. The thought that he wasn’t doing a good job to protect and take care of this city, one of the most important things in his life, his freaking job; had frightened him.
There were very few times in his life where he had felt like that so intensely: after losing his mom and sister, when he got stuck UTM, losing Feyre to Tamlin, almost losing Feyre when she give birth, and now this. Failure scared the shit out of him.
Azriel knew this, he could see it in his eyes and that’s why he was, once again, impressed by you. You managed to do that, even if you didn’t know it.
‘’This way, this is one of the meeting rooms the Library has. We figured it was the most comfortable one.’’ They heard Feyre talking to you.
‘’Right’’. He wondered if you had bowed to her, he would’ve loved to see that.
He stood behind Rhys, Cassian on his other side and waited for the females to walk in. And just when they did, he struggled to keep his amused smile off his face.
You were trying to not look terrified, but they all knew you were. Your widened eyes taking everything in, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your long skirt, hair in a high ponytail just a bit ruffled, like you kept touching it out of habit and yet…you still managed to bring a smile on his face.
So pretty, he thought.
‘’High Lord’’ you quickly made a bow and were going to make another one to Azriel and Cassian when you were stopped.
‘’That’s not necessary. Come, sit. We’re glad to have you here.’’ Rhys said with an encouraging smile.
And so, it began.
It wasn’t what you excepted at all.
You thought there was going to be a big and long desk to create distance between you and them, perhaps big chairs for them to sit at while you had to stay standing at the other end of the room. Instead, this room was pretty…homey? Surrounded by many books, the room had a seating area that consisted of lounge chairs and a pretty looking comfortable sofa. Feyre said it was a meeting room but it just looked like a cozy reading room to you. There was no desk, just a coffee table in the middle.
This is not formal, you thought. This whole setting screamed ‘’We don’t want to scare you, lets just talk’’. And with that thought, you felt a bit (truly just a tiny bit) more relaxed as you took a seat in one of the chairs.
Rhysand and Feyre taking a seat on the sofa, Azriel and Cassian standing behind them (as if you were going to do anything to harm them, laughable really).
You finally looked at him, at Azriel. Your heart beating just a tad quicker when he looked at you back.
Those damn eyes of his, you thought.
‘’We invited you here because want to hear more of what you have to say’’
So, your sister-in-law was right then. But still, just to make sure, you asked:
‘’About?’’
Rhys turned to you then. ‘’About Velaris. You mentioned how we’ve failed to take care of the citizens of the city. Please, enlighten us.’’
Azriel stiffened a little at his tone. He continued to look at you, sending you what he hoped was an encouraging look. Don’t back out, he wanted to say.
You weren’t looking at him anymore though. Although his body language said otherwise, Rhys’ tone let you know just how serious this was to him.
Good.
With a nod, you cleared your throat and took out the list. ‘’Well, I made a list-‘’
Cassian couldn’t help himself and he laughed out loud but quickly recovered when he felt Rhys’ glare.
Meanwhile Feyre, sharing Cassian’s sentiment, smiled and said ‘’Perfect. Tell us everything.’’
You practiced what you were going to say, how you were going to say it, really you did but it all went out the window in that very second. They were all looking at you, waiting.
You tried to recover quickly, to try and forget about the fact of who were these faes, to tell yourself that this was just another yap session with Sabrina. Don’t back down, you can do this, you thought.
‘’This year will be the fifth year since we were attacked by Hybern.’’
Everyone stiffened. You continued:
‘’We never ever expected our city to get attacked, this was always such a safe space and after that it just didn’t feel the same.’’
‘’We fixed that quickly, placed more wards around the city ensuring safety for everyone’’ Rhys quickly defended.
‘’Yes but what about after?’’
Rhysand raised an eyebrow ‘’Compensation was given to those who lost homes and belongings, to rebuild what they lost’’.
‘’But you can’t buy grief.’’
Rhysand stopped his defensive stance and swallowed. Feyre placing a hand on his knee, never taking her eyes off you.
‘’You gave them money to buy to stuff, to fix stuff but what about our pain?’’ Shit, you didn’t want to make it personal.
‘’You expect us to get attacked and then continue like nothing happened. To go on with our days, pretending to be perfect. ‘’
And that was what truly bothered you out of everything, the list be damned. This, this is what made your blood boil like no other.
‘’ Velaris is the city of dreams, a safe haven right? Everyone should be happy, accomplished, grateful because we were safe from Aramantha right?’’
You failed to notice how their breaths faltered at that name, too riled up to notice.
‘’Don’t get me wrong, we are extremely grateful for that, that we didn’t experience that horror. But we experienced others and are we not allowed to cry? To grief?’’
‘’Of course you are!’’ Rhys, once again. This was extremely personal to him.
‘’It doesn’t feel like it! It’s been 5 years and not once has this city mourned what we’ve lost, the people we lost! It was swept under the rug, never to speak of again like it never happened. People feel like they cant talk about it, that we can’t complain about anything because it seems weak, because we’re meant to be the perfect little city that can do no wrong.’’
Cassian lowered his head, this isn’t what he was expecting to hear.
Azriel felt his heart hurt at every word you said, quickly trying to find solutions in his brain that could help with this.
‘’This is what I mean, you want us to continue to be a perfect Velaris but we will never be the same. We are not perfect!’’ Your heart was beating incredibly fast and hard, your face turning red with anger, despair, pain.
So much pain, you could feel it right now. All the emotions you had felt the second you saw your brother’s lifeless body came back to you. Because you had found him, under all the debris that had fallen after the attack where a building had fell on him. So much pain because he was taken away, his body just another number. His ashes given to you in a small urn because they couldn’t even give him a proper burial at a gravesite.
There were no goodbyes, no way to keep his memory alive. Those who knew him, sent you small smiles recognizing the pain your family was going through but that was it, no one had dared to speak about it. But you wanted to, you wanted everyone to remember the amazing male your brother was, that those who didn’t know him, would learn of all the cool things he had done.
But no one was talking about it, about the traumatic experience they all had gone through, and you didn’t understand why until you saw the High Lord shoving (figuratively speaking) money in their faces so they could buy what they needed.
And that’s fine, no one was complaining about that, but it felt like a slap in the face. It felt like a ‘’here, don’t talk about it and be done with it’’.
And you knew, you 100% knew that you weren’t the only one who felt that way.
No one spoke for what seemed like hours.
‘’Velaris needs more healers. Accessible healers that could help us beyond the physical’’.
Clearing her throat and straightening her posture, Feyre finally spoke up. ‘’Yes, I agree. We know who could help us with that.’’
‘’I’m sorry’’.
Your eyes widened once again, you couldn’t believe what had just left the high lord’s mouth.
‘’I’m sorry. I-‘’He stuttered, the freaking high lord stuttered. ‘’I didn’t know this is how you feel, I didn’t realize I was putting this pressure on my people.’’
He swallowed, you couldn’t look away from his stare. His violet eyes seemed darker with the sadness that was in them.
‘’You lost someone and I’m sorry’’
You never ever expected this to happen. You expected skepticism from them yes but an apology? It was years late and for some, might not mean shit but to you, to you it meant something. Even if this apology wouldn’t bring your brother back, it meant something.
Azriel looked at Rhys the second he apologized; he was also surprised at this. He knew how important this was to Rhys, it was important to him as well, if it involves Velaris, it concerns him as well. Therefore, he’s happy this is the approach Rhys is taking, he’s listening, and he knows he’ll do anything to make it right.
And so will he.
‘’Since it will be the fifth year, I reckon there should finally be a Remembrance Day. A day to remember all the lives that were lost in Velaris. We should honor them, grieve and celebrate their memories.’’
Were you hallucinating? Did your heart beat so fast it made you start hearing things or did that really come out of Rhysand’s mouth?
Feyre looked at his mate, a proud smile, soft gaze on her face. She squeezed his knee and looked back at you. ‘’I agree. Will you help us to make it happen?’’
Azriel was one second away from picking you up and taking you to a healer. Your face had gone from red, to stricken white to red once again. He was sure your blood pressure was going through it, your expressions not hiding anything.
‘’Me?’’ you whispered. They wanted to work with you? They wanted you to help them?
Rhysand smiled, his charming ways coming out. ‘’Absolutely, who else?’’
An olive branch. They were trying, they wanted to fix it. They wanted to hear everything you had to say, to go item by item of your list and come up with solutions.
You don’t know how this was going to play out, how it was going to freaking work but you figured that if you’ve gone all the way to speak your heart and mind, you couldn’t back out now.
You were going to do it for Velaris, for your brother.
Azriel knew the minute you made your decision, he could see the determination on your face and he smiled, a true smile. He decided then that he would make sure you had anything you need, whatever thing you wanted, he would for you.
He was going to do it for his court, for his people.
And if it meant he would get to see you more often then, he wasn’t going to pass up that opportunity as well.
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