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haveagarbageday · 3 months ago

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Love at first sight \\ Max Verstappen

summary: Max meets his new neighbor and her dog. They spend some time together, and he can't help but realize this might be love at first sight.

In the last few races they had been suffering, there was no better word to describe it, and Max was getting more and more frustrated as the time passed without any progress. He did all he could to help, he gave them his opinions and ideas, but nothing seemed to work properly. Yes, the races hadn’t been catastrophic, he tried to do his damn best to bring some precious points home, but it wasn’t good to see that the McLarens turned into rocket ships, Mercedes had some great races, and don’t even get him started on Charles dragging that shitbox Ferrari into higher positions.

So, no, he wasn’t in a good mood, and used the break to sulk in his apartment for a week, only leaving if it was absolutely necessary. Today was one of those days; he had no choice but to go and pick up something he ordered, but he wasn’t expecting to meet anyone on the way. Well, he wished he wouldn’t meet anyone. But the moment he stepped out of his apartment, he saw a woman stand in front of an apartment that had been empty for a while now, locking the door while her dog seemed to be very interested in him.

“Oliver, just let me lock the door, it will only take a second,” you told the dog when he tried to pull you over to him, but it was a Staffordshire terrier if he wasn’t mistaken, and they were quite strong, so no wonder you were yanked after your stubborn pet. That’s when you looked up and noticed him, and you flashed an apologetic smile at him right away. “Sorry, I don’t know what got into him, he’s usually not interested in strangers.”

The dog sniffed his leg, then moved on to check out his hand, and he seemingly came to the conclusion that he was a likable human, because he began to wag his tail excitedly, and even jumped up on him with his front legs. Max wasn’t happy by the sudden attention, but he could have sworn it seemed like the dog was smiling at him, so his heart melted a little and he couldn’t help but pet him on the head.

“Are you sure he doesn’t like strangers?” he asked with a laugh.

You shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. I mean, when he met my friends back home, he completely ignored them and decided to retreat into my bedroom to be away from the noise. Then after moving here, we stopped to talk to someone on the street, and when the poor girl tried to befriend him, he just turned around and began to pull me away from her,” you added.

Max took a better look at you, and your kind smile and shining eyes didn’t leave him unaffected. You were gorgeous in your own, unique way, different from all the girls he was used to seeing in his life, and a voice in the back of his mind began to convince him to shift the conversation to you. He wanted to know more, he wanted to be your friend, and maybe later he would ask you out on a date, because he really wished he could find out where your relationship could go.

Was this love at first sight? Was this the feeling so many people talked about?

“Do you have a destination or are you just going for a walk around the neighborhood?” he asked you, fidgeting with his watch as he waited.

For a moment, you only watched him with a surprised look, but then you looked down at you dog and let out a thoughtful him. “Well, I usually go wherever he wants to go. I know, not really an alpha-type behavior from me,” you added with a sheepish grin.

God, your smile was contagious, because his own lips curled into a wide smile at this. “How about joining me? There’s a store a few blocks away where I have to pick up a package, but there’s a dog park if we take a little detour if I’m not mistaken. We could stop there on the way back.”

You glanced down at your dog who was still wagging his tail as he watched him, so you eventually nodded and told him it sounded like a good plan. It was nice to know you weren’t against spending time with him, and it made him believe you might be open to the possibility of getting to know him better, maybe under different circumstances. He liked your dog, but there were things he would rather do without him being around. Or his cats being around for that matter, but they were usually minding their own business anyway.

Then again, he was getting ahead of himself. You were just getting to know each other; he didn’t even know your name. So, once you got into the elevator, he decided to introduce himself. You nodded, telling him you knew who he was, then assured him you weren’t some crazy fan who was obsessed with him as you supported Ferrari. That hurt, but it was still better than being a McLaren fan at this point of the season. You told him your name, and even told him you just moved here since your remote job didn’t require you to stay in your home country.

Once you opened up about your life, he began to empty the backlog of questions he had in his mind, asking you about your job, your family, your hobbies, and when you got to the dog park and let Oliver run around, he even dared to bring up the question he deemed the most important: “Did you move here on your own?” Because he was afraid you would say you came here with your boyfriend, which would mean he didn’t have a chance with you. But you only smiled and shook your head, and he could tell you understood what the question was really about.

“I came on my own, and before you ask, I’m single at the moment,” you told him as you took out your dog’s ball from your bag to throw it for him.

Max watched as Oliver brought it back, but instead of you, he decided to put it down in front of him, so he obediently bent down to pick it up and threw it away again. “That’s not why I asked,” he lied, earning an adorable laugh from you. “I’m serious.”

“All right, that’s not why you brought it up then,” you said with a grin as you nudged his arm with your shoulder. “Can it be my turn to ask questions?” you wondered as you looked up at him.

At this point, you could have asked for anything. You were so nice and kind, almost to the point it hinted at your underlying naivety, and he just felt like being the person who could love you the way you deserved, and who could protect you from mean people who might want to hurt you. It was a strange feeling he hadn’t experienced before, this protective instinct that came to the surface as he talked to you. He was drawn to you, and if it was up to him, he would have kept you in his apartment while he wanted to stay away from the rest of the world.

He didn’t even notice that he got lost in his thoughts, because he was brought back to reality when he heard you let out a thoughtful hum next to him. He almost asked you what you were thinking about, but then he remembered your question and cleared his throat. “Sure, ask away.”

To his surprise, you didn’t try to dig deep into his personal life. You asked about his cats, his hobbies, you wondered how he handled being away so much since you would probably go crazy from going from country to country all year despite loving to travel, and you closed your little interview session with a question he barely got with such sincere honesty: “How are you?” People were rarely interested in this. They asked him how he was after races, how he felt about the car or his results, but this was a question for him, the person behind the real and sim racing mask.

At first, he didn’t even know what to say. He wanted to say, “I’m frustrated because our car is terrible,” but at the same time it was also on the tip of his tongue to say something along the lines of, “I’m feeling a lot better now that I met you.” But while one was related to racing, which he didn’t feel like mentioning, the other simply made it too obvious that he was slowly falling for you. Considering you only met about two hours ago, it was almost pathetic how much he wished he could ask you out without sounding weird.

But the time wasn’t right, you would need some more time to loosen up even more around him, to get to know him in a way a lot of people never got to. In the end he decided to say something neutral. “Not in the best mood, but at least I can see the light at the end of the tunnel,” he replied.

“And what’s that light? New upgrades? Or the end of the season?” you asked him with a mysterious smile.

You.

He couldn’t say that though, not without sounding like a creep. “A mix of different things,” he replied after a short break.

After a nod, you called your dog to put him on the leash again, but he was feeling really good where he was, lying on his side and enjoying the sunshine. “I guess Oliver is so tired he’ll sleep through the rest of the day,” you told Max with a laugh, then left to collect the dog.

The three of you walked back to the apartment building, spending that time talking about casual topics, and eventually you said goodbye, then disappeared behind your front door. He stood there on the hallway for a short while, watching it as if you would return any second, but deep down he knew you wouldn’t come. He should have asked you to have dinner with him, he should have given you his number. Just in case you needed something, of course, after all you were neighbors, it was the bare minimum to have the chance to contact the other.

He spent an hour or two in the sim rig, then he somehow found himself looking for you on social media apps, hoping he could find you. And after some digging, he finally stumbled upon your account, and he didn’t hesitate to send you a DM. All he did was write about how you could always write if you needed something or if you wanted to talk, and that simple message turned into a long conversation, one that made him forget about the sim race that took place that evening. If it wasn’t for the phone call he got, he wouldn’t have remembered it.

In the morning when he woke up, the first thing he did was checking his phone to see if there were any new notifications that could interest him. And there was one that stood out: “You awake? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. How does brunch sound?” He had never typed a response faster than now that he sent you a single word: “Perfect.”

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 imagine

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pucksandpower · 5 months ago

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Silverstone Silver Linings

Charles Leclerc x Oscar Piastri x George Russell x Reader

Summary: the British Grand Prix was a difficult race for all three of your boys, luckily you have an idea to make it better

The hotel room door clicks open, revealing three dejected figures silhouetted in the hallway. Charles, Oscar, and George shuffle inside, their clothing rumpled and their expressions downcast.

You sit up on the bed, concern etching your features as you take in their defeated postures. “Oh, darlings,” you murmur, opening your arms. “Come here.”

The three drivers gravitate towards you, drawn by the comfort you offer. Charles flops face-first onto the bed with a muffled groan. Oscar perches on the edge, running a hand through his tousled hair. George paces restlessly, unable to settle.

“That was ... not ideal,” Oscar says, his voice strained.

You reach out to stroke his back soothingly. “I know, love. You all drove brilliantly, though. Sometimes things just don’t go to plan.”

George lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s putting it mildly. A bloody water system issue? After starting on pole? It’s like the universe was laughing at me.”

“At least you didn’t have to suffer through the whole race,” Charles mumbles into the duvet. “I felt like such an idiot out there.”

You frown, tugging gently at Charles’ shoulder until he rolls over to face you. “Hey now, none of that talk. You followed the call that seemed right at the time because you trusted your team. How were you supposed to know the rain would stop and Ferrari fed you wrong information?”

Charles sighs, his eyes meeting yours. “I know, I know. It’s just ... frustrating. I thought maybe this would be our weekend, you know?”

Oscar nods in agreement. “Tell me about it. P2 felt so close I could taste it. Then being held out without pitting ...” He trails off, shaking his head.

You pull Oscar closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You showed everyone what you’re capable of today. That won’t be forgotten.”

George finally stops pacing, sinking onto the bed next to you. “I just feel so ... helpless. Like no matter what I do, something always goes wrong.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you murmur, cupping his face in your hands. “You can’t control everything. What matters is how you handle the setbacks.”

Charles props himself up on an elbow, a hint of a smile finally tugging at his lips. “She’s right, you know. We’re lucky to have such a wise girlfriend.”

Oscar chuckles softly. “And a patient one. How do you put up with three moody drivers?”

You grin, playfully ruffling his hair. “It’s not easy, but someone’s got to do it.”

George leans into your touch, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “We don’t deserve you, truly.”

“Nonsense,” you reply, pulling him closer. “You all deserve the world. And I intend to remind you of that.”

Charles’ eyes spark with interest as he finally seems to notice your attire. “Is that ... new?” He asks, gesturing to the lacy ensemble.

You blush slightly, a coy smile playing on your lips. “Maybe. I thought you boys might need some cheering up after the race.”

Oscar’s gaze roams appreciatively over you. “Well, consider me thoroughly distracted.”

George grins, some of his usual charm returning. “You know, I’m suddenly feeling much better about that DNF.”

You laugh, the sound bright and infectious. “Good. That was rather the point.”

Charles sits up fully, his earlier despondency forgotten as he drinks in the sight of you. “You are far too good to us, mon amour.”

“Never,” you insist, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “You all work so hard. You deserve to feel appreciated.”

Oscar’s hand finds yours, squeezing gently. “How did we get so lucky?”

You turn to him, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’m the lucky one, darling.”

George wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “I beg to differ,” he murmurs against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

Charles watches the exchange with darkening eyes. “Perhaps we should show our appreciation more ... thoroughly?”

You bite your lip, a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. “I certainly wouldn’t object.”

Oscar’s fingers trail along your collarbone, feather-light. “Where should we start?”

“I have a few ideas,” George says with a roguish grin, his earlier frustration melting away.

You laugh, playfully swatting at his chest. “I’m sure you do, Mr. Russell.”

Charles moves behind you, his arms encircling your waist as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “And what about you, chérie? What do you desire?”

Your breath catches as Oscar’s hand skims up your thigh. “I ... I just want you all to feel better.”

George cups your face, his thumb tracing your lower lip. “Oh, we feel much better already. But we’d like to return the favor.”

Oscar nods in agreement, his voice low. “Let us take care of you for a change.”

You melt into their touches, overwhelmed by the love and desire radiating from all three men. “Well, when you put it that way ...”

Charles chuckles, the sound vibrating against your back. “I think that’s a yes, hmm?”

George’s lips capture yours in a searing kiss, effectively silencing any further discussion. You lose yourself in the sensations, grateful for the chance to comfort your boys and be comforted in return.

As clothes are shed and caresses grow bolder, the disappointments of the day fade away. In this moment, there is only love, passion, and the unbreakable bond between the four of you.

Later, as you lie tangled together in a blissful haze, Charles breaks the comfortable silence. “You know, I think I’ve changed my mind about today.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Charles nods, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Mhm. Any day that ends like this can’t be all bad.”

George laughs, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin. “I have to agree. Though I still wouldn’t mind a do-over of that race.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Always the competitors, aren’t you?”

Oscar grins, pulling you closer. “Can you blame us? We like to win.”

“Well,” you say with a mischievous smile, “I’d say you all won today, wouldn’t you?”

Charles’ eyes sparkle with amusement. “Absolutely. Though I think we should double-check, just to be sure.”

George nods solemnly, though his lips twitch with suppressed laughter. “Very true. We wouldn’t want any doubt about the results.”

You giggle as Oscar’s fingers find a ticklish spot on your ribs. “And how do you propose we do that?”

The three drivers exchange a look, matching grins spreading across their faces. “I’m sure we can think of something,” Oscar says, his voice full of promise.

As hands begin to wander once more, you send up a silent prayer of thanks for these three incredible men and the love you share. No matter what challenges they face on the track, you know that together, you can weather any storm.

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holylulusworld · 6 months ago

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Indifferent (1)

Summary: Your father wanted a bond between you and the Barnes Empire. No matter what.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: arranged marriage, angst, mentions of impotence, arguments, mafia au, hand around throat (no choking/non-sexual), strong reader, mentions of cheating/attempted cheating?

Indifferent Masterlist

He glares at you from across the dining table. His upper lip curls when you dig into the too-dry chicken his new cook prepared for you and your not-so-lovely husband.

“I’m not satisfied��” he leaves open what crawled up his ass today, but you know, it’s not the food. James Buchanan Barnes is bad at hiding he despises you when you are alone.

“You are not satisfied?” You chuckle dryly and drop the fork onto the table with a loud clank. “Why don’t you ask me how I feel?” You get up, chair scarping loudly over the expensive parquet.

His eyes darken when you dare to walk toward the end of the huge table. “What is it that bugs you, love?” He spats the last word as if it burned his tongue.

“You!” You throw your hands up. “This marriage is a farce. If I could, I’d be out and about in the blink of an eye. Everything is better than living with an indifferent, moody, and impotent man!”

“IMPOTENT?” Bucky rises from his seat. He squares his jaw and clenches his metal fist. For a second, you’re scared to the bones, but you brush it off.

“YES! If not I wouldn’t ride a pillow every night,” you spat in his face. “Just you know, I’m going to look for a lover first thing today. And I won’t be subtle about it. Everyone knows by now that this marriage is a bad joke. I refuse to be the butt of the joke, though.”

“You won’t ruin the union of our empires over selfish reasons.” You gasp when you end up pressed into the wall, Bucky’s metal hand wrapped around your throat. He leans closer to brush his nose over your cheek. “Even though, I don’t think you’ll find a lover anytime soon. Who would go for you if they can have some other girl? I’d go for someone else too if only I could…”

He drops his hand from your throat and smirks. Bucky steps away, flashes you a smile, and storms out of the dining room.

You stand there, shell-shocked at his outburst as you rub your throat. His words hurt like hell. You drop your eyes to look down at your body. It’s been a while since you felt this kind of hurt.

Maybe it’s you. Maybe Bucky isn’t interested in being with you because of your looks.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Bucky barks outside your shared bedroom. “Woman, I don’t have all day. My parents want to have lunch with the two of us. Just put a smile on and come here.”

You walk out of the bedroom with an armful of your clothes. “I think it’s for the best to not keep the act up. We are married, but this doesn’t mean I must spend time with your father.”

Bucky watches you walk toward the west wing of the mansion. He follows you hot on your heels, all the while throwing questions at you.

“Where are you going? What are you up to? Y/N, answer me!”

“I’ll stay at the west wing from now on. Annie will help me bring my belongings to the west wing. You can do whatever you want to at your wing. Just stay out of my sight.”

You walk away, leaving Bucky stunned and angry. He grits his teeth and calls you names as you slam the heavy door parting the west wing from the entrance hall shut.

“What the fuck!” He mutters under his breath. So far, you suffered in silence ignoring his unbearable behavior, and the openly shown hatred towards you and your marriage. Now you riot and he doesn’t handle it well.

“Where’s your lovely wife?” George cocks his head as his son sits down on their table. “I thought you said she’ll be here too.”

“She’s not feeling well today,” Bucky lies straight into his father’s face. What else can he do? How shall he explain that the bond your parents forced upon the both of you lies in ruins after not even six months into marriage?

“Ah, she finally snapped,” Winnifred remarks while studying the menu. She smiles to herself, while her husband and Bucky turn their heads toward her. “Good for her. I was rooting for Y/N.”

She slowly closes the menu and lies it down on the table. Winnifred doesn’t give away more. She orders her food and a glass of white wine. Your mother-in-law is in the mood to celebrate.

It wasn’t a lie. She was rooting for you to take matters into your own hands. It took you longer than she liked but now, she’ll lean back and watch her son grovel.

“What do you mean?” Bucky and George say in unison. They are surprised at Winnifred’s answer.

“You forced that lovely woman into marriage and didn’t even try to make her feel welcome. Did you at least give her orgasms?” She chuckles. Bucky’s face turns red, he swallows thickly, and uncomfortably shifts in his seat. “I see. The poor woman suffers in silence.” She sighs now. “Alright, I’ll give her the number of our gardener. He’s got a son who will gladly help Y/N take care of her secret garden.”

“What?” George is at a loss for words while his son tries to forget that his mother was asking him about your non-existent sex life. “Mother!”

“What? I’m a red-blooded woman, just like Y/N. If you don’t find satisfaction with your husband, you must look elsewhere. Men do it all the time.” She shrugs before taking a sip of her white wine. “Y/N is a beautiful woman in her best years. Her sexual drive must be over the top after six months of not getting any attention.”

“Winni, stop saying things like that in public,” George snarls. “You are making a scene.”

“I’m not making a scene,” Winnifred bites back. “I try to make our son see that his wife will turn toward someone else in no time if he doesn’t take care of her every whim soon. You’ll weaken our bond, and this will shatter both of our empires. Is that what you want, son?”

Is that what you want? His mother’s words echoed in his mind the whole way back home. Of course, he doesn’t want to weaken your empires.

The only purpose of your marriage was to strengthen not only his father’s empire but your father’s empire too.

If you turn toward someone else, an enemy maybe to get back at Bucky, the empires could crumble and fall only because he’s too stubborn to let you inside his life.

Bucky enters the mansion, a grim expression coloring his features. If only you weren’t so infuriating and stubborn he could’ve easily settled for you.

But no.

Y/N Y/L/N is the most annoying and bratty woman he ever met.

Sometimes Bucky believes you’re riling him up on purpose.

“Wait—” he stops in his tracks. Bucky furrows his brows as he tries to recall all of your little fights. “Is she doing it on purpose? Maybe she wants me to lose control and just…”

“Where are you going?” Bucky follows you out of the mansion. “Y/N stop being a brat. I asked you a question and I expect you to answer my damn question!”

“Out,” you glance over your shoulder at Bucky. “Your mother sent me something interesting and now, I want to find out if it’s for me.”

“She did what?” Bucky looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. He pants heavily and clutches his fists to his sides. “You won’t leave the ground for the time being.”

You huff. “Try me.”

He closes the distance between the two of you with three long steps to grab your arm. “Don’t tempt me to throw you over my shoulder! You’ll go back inside and listen to what I have to say.”

You laugh in his face. “Make me!”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #mafia au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #x reader #mobster!bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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nisuna · 6 months ago

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I don't know which horny spirit posessed me yesterday to think of this, but here we are, hope you enjoy!! 🫠😈😈

TW: m x f x m; male on male action, blowjob, boobjob, cum eating, spit kink, a bit of snowballing, nipple play, male and female orgasm, oral fixation, finger sucking, threesome; sweetheart, making out

boyfriend!Geto x f!reader x bestfriend!Gojo

<3masterlist<3

-------------------strictly 18+ MDNI--------------------

When your boyfriend Suguru suggested to have a threesome with his bestfriend you weren't surprised by starting off with a good old blowjob. What you were surprised by however, is that your boyfriend wanted to join in on the fun.

"Give him a boob job while I suck him off."

You blinked up at him dumbfounded.

"Go on, use those tits.", he nudged you and smiled expectedly.

You didn't question him any further, pulling your top over your head, making your tits spill out oh so deliciously.

You could hear Satoru gulp at the sight of you and Suguru bare and on your knees in front of him. You had to hold back a chuckle at his flushed cheeks and tips of his ears. His leg was anxiously bobbing up and down in anticipation while his hands grabbed fistfulls of the bedsheets.

"Do what you do best sweetheart, you know how I like it, I bet he'll love it too.", Suguru grinned at you first and shifted his gaze to Satoru.

You immediately gathered a glob of saliva and let it drip down between your breasts.

Suguru smiled at you proudly. He squeezed your breasts together, adding some of his own spit as he smeared it all over your chest, pinching your hardening nipples in between gropes. Just like that you let the first few moans of the night slip past your lips before scooting closer to Satoru's cock and starting to rub yourself against him.

You saw his head tip back with a deep groan from the feeling of being engulfed between the soft flesh of your tits. You felt proud of the effect you had on him and started moving.

Suguru was lost in thought, looking at the way your back was arching and watching as your tiny panties were digging into the fat of your hips and ass.

A whine of his name pulled him out of his trance, finally looking back into your eyes.

"C'mon~~", you whined, tits rubbing up and down Satoru's cock, "I thought we were gonna do this together." you pouted.

Suguru cracked a smile before leaning down, tongue running over satorus sensitive tip. A few cracked "fucks" left Satoru's mouth at the feeling of your slick tits in combination with Suguru's hot mouth.

As you watched him suck on the tip that was protruding from between your tits, your mouth felt empty and your pussy clenched around nothing. You began rubbing your thighs together and Suguru's eyes shifted back to you.

He could physically feel your discomfort and knew what was wrong, so he came up with something to soothe your suffering.

He pulled away with a pop and stuffed his fingers in your mouth. A muffled moan was all you could muster as you instinctively started sucking on them.

"There, all better now, hm?"

You nodded your head, saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth as your eyes rolled back. After a few sucks and tiny bites you went back to squeezing your tits around Satoru's throbbing cock.

Satoru was beyong shaking at this point, mouth agape and panting for dear life. Suguru's voice brought him back. The white haired male's eyes snapped down to the sight between his legs. Your eyes were glossed over and you looked so dishevelled already.

"Let her suck on your fingers. I can't get you off properly with my hand in the way."

It took Satoru a few seconds to register his best friend's words. When he gave him a nod, Suguru pulled his fingers out and you whined at the loss of contact, keeping your mouth open, ready to take Satoru's thick fingers instead.

He was hesitant at first, only running his fingers over your soft wet tongue.

"C'mon just stuff them in there, trust me she can take it."

Without warning he finally shoved his fingers in your mouth, making you hum contently.

"Oh, and just so you know, she likes to bite sometimes when she gets too excited. So watch out.", Suguru grinned, going back to lapping at Satoru's leaking cock.

It didn't take long after that for Satoru to whine that he's about to cum.

"Good boy, cum for us. Ah ah not in my mouth, you better cum on her face and tits."

You whined when he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and began pumping his cock instead. You waited patiently, eyes closes and tits on display to be painted. When his cum hit your skin it was hot and thick. You tried your best to stay still but your cunt was beyond throbbing at this point.

"You look so pretty for us, sweetheart, good job. C'mon let me help you with the mess he made.", your boyfriend praised.

You let out a few mewls as he began licking you clean. He paid special attention to your nipples and kissing along your face. After he had gathered enough cum in his mouth he pulled you into a kiss, basically shoving the cum down your throat with his tongue. The cum was thick and bitter but the situation you were in made you eagerly swallow every drop.

Your nipples and breasts felt oversensitive from the constant attention of being rubbed, nipples pinched and bitten sore.

As he was deepening the kiss, his hand pulled yours on top of his crotch signaling you to jerk him off. You didn't protest, way to drunk off of his lips and Satoru's cum on your tongue. While you were jerking him off he finally paid attention to your throbbing clit, running his slender yet thick fingers over the wet spot that has formed on your panties.

You felt high at this point, grinding down on his hand while pushing your soft chest into his hard one. When you felt yourself get close you put your chin on his shoulder, panting out loud while digging the nails of your free hand into the lean flesh of his toned back.

"Don't stop moving that hand even when you cum alright, sweetheart?"

You just gave him a nod, sobbing when your orgasm washed over you. You felt so sensitive and whiney, letting out the lewdest sounds they have heard to date.

All Satoru could do was watch as you two got eachother off, his dick hardening in his palm again.

When your body began to shake from the overstimulation Suguru gently pushed you onto the bed and came all over your soft tummy and swollen breasts.

You were a drooling, dripping mess trying to catch your breath as best as you could, reaching out to Suguru for some comfort. He gave you the comfort you were craving in the form of a soft palm running soothingly through your hair.

Satoru was speechless, taking in the scene in front of him. Did that really just happen? He snapped back when he heard Suguru's voice.

"Come on now Satoru, your turn to lick her clean.", Suguru edged his friend on. Satoru didn't hesitate, immediately lowering his face to your exposed skin. His tongue was running over your tummy so gently you began to squirm away, only to be pushed back down by two strong arms. He was taking his sweet time with you, his kitten licks tickling you and making your toes curl.

"Oh and don't swallow yet", Suguru warned. "I want her to taste me as well."

As he was gathering the cum in his mouth he left some hickeys along his path, them already blooming purple all over your chest. Once he was mostly done, he kissed up your body, leaning in to catch your lips in a kiss only to be stopped by Suguru's stern voice.

"No. Spit in her mouth.", he smirked and looked down. "Now, open up. Yeaahh good girl swallow it all."

You didn't hesitate obediently opening your mouth, tongue lolling out as Satoru spit the cum into your awaiting mouth. You looked like you just got fucked stupid, but they haven't even been inside of you yet. This was going to be a long night.

---------

Don't mind me I'm just chilling in my horny puddle AHHAHAHAHA as I said smth posessed me and I was in the mood for a threesome involving a boob job and the guy sucking the other one off soo loool and be honest, who'd be a better match than SatoSugu themselves ha ha

But anyway let me know your thoughts MWAH

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psi-hate · 6 months ago

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alright, this really, really sucks but i have an unfortunate update that occurred regarding my recent living situation.

not to get into too much detail for the sake of my friend's privacy, but she and her fiance offered to take me in after i was suddenly on the verge of homelessness this february. i accepted their offer and moved in thanks to everyone's support, and for the last few months, i felt comfortable and capable in getting myself together for the first time in years.

however, despite what i assumed were all positive developments, things started getting a lot more complicated. i become exposed to the treatment and stress my friend has been suffering from her fiance over many years, from being spied on via tracking apps, in-house cameras, a ridiculous jealousy complex and all sorts of other personal issues.

her friends and i have been supporting her over the years, but i didn't realize how bad it was until i started to be subjected to it as well.

my friend decided to break up with her fiance last week, finally standing up for herself but still wanting to remain friends and live as normally as they could, they still had the house and their cats and such. her now ex-fiance hasn't taken kindly to this and has been pretty passively hostile towards us, and has started to take it out on me.

she started stalking my tumblr to find things to get mad at, and checking the cameras when i leave my room. i've not felt comfortable to leave my room in well over a week other than to get some food or use the bathroom in the middle of the night, the tension has been a nightmare.

my friend and i decided we needed to move out, especially me since i'm technically not a tenant and we suspect she's going to call the police on me to get me out of here. my friend will be going to her parents at a later point, but i unfortunately need to leave within a couple weeks as i've already been "indirectly" threatened.

this is sort of a nightmare, and i feel so horrible things turned out this way for my friend. i tried my best, but this feels out of my control. trying to keep the peace has only made things worse, and we think it's best for me to book it before i get blind-sighted.

i suspect if her ex-fiance sees this, she'll retaliate, but at this point i've already made my peace with that.

unfortunately, i won't be able to bring much of my stuff with me, i only have enough money for a ticket to move in with another close friend as an emergency.

i don't have enough to buy any checked bags for most my belongings, especially my desktop pc, so once i move i'm very likely going to not be able to do my art or anything until i can afford a laptop eventually. i'm really sorry to those waiting on any commissions, i'll try my best to get them done before i move. i feel so horrible about this.

if anyone is able to help, i'd really appreciate it. even just a reblog is more than i can really ask. i hesitate to make this request because i feel like i just asked for it only for it to all be wasted once this exploded in my face. but i've been encouraged to reach out, and i apologize if this is too much. my ko-fi:

thank you so much for supporting me so far. i don't want to disappoint anyone anymore. i am so scared but i still want to keep trying.

#pk.text

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justhereforthemeta · 1 year ago

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Romantic expectations and the story we didn't see: A magic trick hiding in plain sight

Here's a hopeful meta for all my fellow celestial brainrot sufferers out there. Cheers! :)

This idea started as a dead end, trying to track the movements of Crowley’s sideburns/tattoo because I thought time travel shenanigans were afoot. I had to abandon that theory when it was pointed out that David was simultaneously filming as the sideburns-having Fourteenth Doctor, and in-universe Crowley can do whatever he wants with his facial hair whenever he feels like it. But hey - null findings are still findings!

On the bright side, pausing the show to make notations in a spreadsheet forced me to slow down and notice other changes I'd overlooked the first time around: acting choices, costuming choices, references to book lore. And possibly a few surreptitious flicks of the wrist, in places where we’re meant to be focused on the magician’s other hand.

@amuseoffyre and @ineffablefood had a great exchange recently about romance and “the significance of misdirection and three-in-one (magic) tricks” throughout the show. I suspect Neil has done something brilliant with the audience’s long-standing expectations (since the 1990s, really) for the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale to develop. And while it is a wonderful story indeed, playing to this expectation lets Neil distract his audience from the blink-and-you'll-miss-them seeds he's planting for the final chapter.

Continued below the cut...

Let’s start at the beginning of Episode 2. First, context: In the previous installment, Crowley stormed out of the bookshop, was whisked away to Hell by Beelzebub where he learns about the Book of Life threat to Aziraphale’s existence, then returned to the bookshop to dance a little apology dance and hide Gabriel with an unintentionally massive joint miracle. In S2E2, we and Shax catch up with Crowley as he's snoozing in the Bentley.

Shax: “You’re in trouble”

A. J. Crowley, cool as a cucumber: “Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Interesting! Sarcastic? Yes, absolutely; but that’s also a good 4500 years and an averted apocalypse away from “I’m a demon. I lie,” wouldn’t you say? Someone is sounding a whole lot less depressed and aimless and navel-gazey (do snakes have navels?), and a whole lot more like he’s got a project to focus on, since his "what's the point?" ruminations on the park bench in E1.

And of course we all noticed the costume change right away. Hello, black turtleneck. Feeling cute today, thought I’d cover up my graceful long neck? That sounds unlikely. Let’s put a pin in this one.

There’s also an interesting acting choice going on here. Crowley speaks to Shax in a funny, drawling, too-cool-for-you voice that we haven’t heard in a while. Specifically, not since 1967. If you go back and give the S1E3 scene in the Dirty Donkey a listen, you’ll hear it (and if you know of another instance of it that I've missed, please let me know!). In S2E2, he keeps up this odd voice (if anybody knows what kind of affect this is supposed to be, please do tell!) throughout this dialogue with Shax, except for the brief moment when she first surprises him about the joint miracle having been detected.

1967 was a fun year. Crowley masterminded a heist! And seemed like he was having a ball doing it, right up until his little caper was called off after Aziraphale brought him the thermos of holy water. Crowley spoke to his co-conspirators in that same funny, very 60’s-caper-film voice. He wore a hip 60’s turtleneck. He bought petrol for the only time ever, so he could get those sweet James Bond bullet hole decals for his car (per the book, seen on the Bentley in the show).

Those James Bond bullet hole decals would of course have been part of a promotion for this 1967 release, which you just know our film-enjoying demon went to see in the theater:

Starring this suave, be-turtlenecked guy:

And now - begging your forgiveness - a brief rant.

There are a number of posts out there that refer to Crowley’s S2E2 turtleneck as a flirtatious sartorial choice - actually, ‘slutty’ seems to be the favored accusation. There are even a few posts floating around commenting on how sweet it is that Crowley swaps out his slutty, kinky, throw-me-over-your-desk-and-take-me turtleneck for a more dressy and appropriate collared shirt specifically to attend Aziraphale’s Jane Austen ball.

Now this is all in good fun, and Crowley does indeed look fantastic here, and I do love a good fangirling sesh as much as the next person. However, fandom’s collective tendency to interpret what we are seeing on the screen through the lens of romantic expectation can, at times, give rise to a kind of blinkered enthusiasm that obscures the original text in a haze that is part Mandela Effect, part unrestrained horniness, and part in-group code talking and identity reinforcement.

Respectfully, Crowley’s black turtleneck does not appear at all in S2E5: The Ball. In fact, it never appears again after the end of S2E2.

For Someone’s sake, let’s collectively pull our heads out of the romantic fog/gutter for a moment and focus on what we are actually seeing in the book and on the screen. For Crowley, this is an uncharacteristic within-period costume change. There is a surreptitious flick of the wrist happening here, out in broad daylight, and we are all missing it.

So here’s a thing. Aziraphale appears to have settled comfortably into life on Earth, his neighborhood, his books, using Crowley as an outlet for sharing his good deeds that he would once have reported to Heaven. Meanwhile, at first glance, Crowley appears stuck in a rut. There he slouches on a park bench with Shax in S2E1: a guy who lives in his car, stagnantly clinging to old familiar habits, mulling over the pointlessness of it all.

Setting aside the bit about living in the Bentley (I’m going to attribute this to well-documented issues between him and Aziraphale, discussed in many other excellent metas, and move on), Crowley has at least two very good, proactive reasons for maintaining his contact with Hell through Shax. First and foremost, it’s a source of information he can use to keep ahead of potential threats to Aziraphale and himself.

But also, I would posit…he kinda likes it.

Recall that book GO was first conceived as a parody, with Aziraphale and Crowley as spy-against-spy (but not really) field operatives in an ages-old cold war between Heaven and Hell. Their entire book dynamic is rooted in the trope of two opposing agents who have been in the field for so long that they now have more in common with each other than with their respective head offices. Their St. James’s Park meetings among other spies and ministers trading secrets are a sendup of what was once a well-known Cold War-era cliché.

Our contemporary Crowley still likes slick outfits and hellaciously expensive watches and high-performing vintage cars and pens that write underwater while looking like they could break the speed limit. He coaches Shax on how to blend in as a demon on Earth, and he helpfully redirects the wayward contact looking for the Azerbaijani sector chief. He loves improvising and getting away with shenanigans under the institutional radar. And boy golly was he impressed with Jane Austen: master spy, brandy smuggler, and mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery.

And if you look at it a certain way, for as long as Crowley has considered himself to be on “[his] own side” - going at least as far back as Job - he could almost think of himself as a sort of double agent. It’s actually a very romantic sort of notion, befitting our hopeless romantic of a (professedly former) demon; but it’s romantic in a very different way than we, the audience, have been primed to watch for.

In other words, in a very “on my own side” kind of way, Crowley really gets a kick out of being a spy. Or at least, dressing up and accessorizing as one, and moonlighting as a good-doing double agent when he can get away with it. And also being a plotting criminal mastermind. Two sides of a coin, really. Just look at Jane Austen.

My point is: No, Crowley did not wait around for Shax to come find him in a turtleneck so that he could go flirt with Aziraphale later. He’ll flirt with Aziraphale no matter what. No, this:

is actually this:

Much like the one he wears to the Dirty Donkey in 1967:

whilst holy water heist-plotting. Here's a clearer shot with gratuitous Bentley, because I love them:

…and which he'll wear again, with appropriate camouflage, while infiltrating Heaven in S2E6:

That is the 1967 planning a HEIST turtleneck for committing ESPIONAGE and STEALING THINGS in. Because turtlenecks are what modern human master spies wear to get their hands dirty - after all, he saw it in a movie once.

Crowley dons his tactical turtleneck sometime during the first major break in the action (which doesn't happen until after the joint miracle to hide Gabriel) after he learns about the threat the Book of Life poses to Aziraphale. Loverboy started mentally preparing himself to go after that book immediately upon learning that it was in play as a genuine threat.

Now let’s pick up at the S2E2 Dirty Donkey scene, reading the story from this angle. Of course, Crowley enables Aziraphale’s delusions about Heaven by hiding information from him, and does not disclose the Book of Life threat when they meet again. They go into the pub, Aziraphale shamelessly paws Crowley’s chest like the seductive Bond Girl he is, and Crowley gets to act all smooth and suave and intimidating as he chases off the interloping Mr. Brown (or Mr. Collins for the Pride & Prejudice fans, take your pick).

Ergo, theory: beginning in S2E2, Crowley is already thinking of himself as a Jane Austen/James Bond action hero (“How will our hero cope?”), psyching himself up to rescue Aziraphale by getting his spy game on and stealing the Book of Life.

Now, watch closely...This is where Aziraphale and Crowley brainstorm their plans to solve the problem they both know about: getting Maggie and Nina to fall in love and thereby get Heaven off their backs. Crowley’s vavoom plan is drawn from yet another movie (“Get humans wet and staring into each other’s eyes - vavoom, sorted. I saw it in a Richard Curtis film.”). But Crowley also implicitly shares his solution to the problem he hasn’t told Aziraphale about. And true to form, Crowley’s Jane Austen solution isn’t the same as Aziraphale’s Jane Austen solution.

Two solutions that fail by the end of Season 2, and a secret third one that might still work...and there's our magic trick of three.

‘“I’m lost. Am I doing a rainstorm?” Yes, babe. And a heist, too - just not until season three. Can I get a wahoo!?

I won’t spend time on A Companion to Owls during this meta, except to note that in all three minisodes, we get to watch stories that involve Crowley acting as a double agent on “his/their own side” - successfully making Hell and Heaven think he’s fulfilling their will while saving Job’s goats and children; failing to fool Hell when he does a good deed in Edinburgh; and of course, collaborating with Aziraphale whilst evading detection as an infernal turncoat during the Blitz.

(Because this is getting long, I'll also skip over Crowley's interrogation of Jim in this episode - I'll probably come back to that in another meta. But interrogating is a rather spy-ish thing to do.)

When we catch up with Crowley again later, he’s already slipped out of the bookshop, having left Aziraphale to his biblical reverie about Job. He saunters snakily down Whickber Street as usual, but with a very pointed and swift glance over his shoulder (see pic above). This demon is up to something - possibly something we didn’t get to see, something that may have happened offscreen while he stepped out. In any case, knowing there’ve been unfriendly angels in the neighborhood that morning, he’s rightly concerned about being spied on.

From this point until the beginning of episode six, there isn’t a whole lot of opportunity for Crowley to make any next moves. He babysits the bookshop, during which time he manages to wring some crucial information out of Jim; he follows his Crowley’s Angel around like a puppy, and downs a bottle of red like a good old fashioned lovesick boy once that’s been pointed out to him. If any plotting or scheming is underway, this occult being is keeping stumm for now.

This has been a long one, so I’ll wrap up with Crowley’s infiltration of Heaven with Muriel. The turtleneck disguise works (Archer fans, be vindicated!) long enough to gather some information that will be crucial not just to the denouement of S2, but also to Crowley’s journey in S3 (previous post on Crowley's Fall, Saraqael, and memory wiping). And Aziraphale gets to enjoy that view exactly zero times. The point isn’t oh, a turtleneck! How flirty! So cunty! So cute! Y’all. Everything matters. The costume change was a deliberate choice. In-universe, Crowley’s decision to wear his special spy turtleneck for spying in is a signal that he is out doing spy things, even as we watch.

In sum: Beginning in S2E2 and continuing through the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are actively living out the scripts of two parallel, concurrent, and completely different Jane Austen stories. But you and I, dear fellow audience member, we came here for a comedy with a hefty jigger of romance, and that’s what Neil gave us to focus on. And right up until the Final 15, that was the only story we saw.

Meanwhile, Special Agent A. J. Crowley doesn’t have time to mope around at the end of S2E6. He’s kicked down, but he’s not out. He's got a Book of Life to steal, a very serious bone to pick with a certain memory-wiping angel, and his Angel and the world to save.

“‘Heigh ho,’ said [romantic, optimist, former demon, hero, master spy] Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.”

#so honestly #I think the biggest mark against this conclusion is that Crowley sees his mirror Maggie taking a nap at the end of S2E6 #there is a strong chance of a depression nap before any further spying gets underway #but I am counting on Muriel to be a dorky ray of sunshine and snap him out of it with Clues #good omens #good omens meta #good omens 2 #crowley in a turtleneck #demon bookseller plantdad spy

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osarina · 9 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 DRIVE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: against all odds, you come across dazai osamu again, and you somehow find yourself roped into being his date for an event celebrating the armed detective agency. you're not falling. you swear. (you're lying). {wordcount: 9.2k; fem!reader, sfw, romance}

AUTHOR'S NOTES part 2 is hereeeeee! i hope you guys enjoy, this scene had one of my favs to write so i hope you like it too!! reblogs definitely appreciated!! i’ll reblog with the taglist as soon as it decides to show on the dash & in the tags!

SEE: BADLANDS SERIES MASTERLIST READ: UNREAL UNEARTH SIDE B

“We really need to stop meeting like this.”

You aren’t sure how you feel as you stare at the man hanging upside down, tangled in a tapestry—amused, concerned, partly puzzled, a combination of all three really. Dazai Osamu looks half out of it as his gaze focuses on you; you wonder how long he’s been hanging like this, and how he managed to get in this position in the first place.

For the second time in two weeks, the man manages to catch you off guard, this time on your way home from a date that had gone horribly, horribly wrong with a classmate; you’d already spent the past two hours wandering the streets upset over all of this and you were ready to get home, but now you find yourself hesitating.

“Ah, my sweet, sweet belladonna, my lovely savior,” Dazai sighs, directing a quick, flirty smile toward you. “Won’t you help a poor, suffering man?”

“How did you manage this, Dazai?” you ask, letting the entertainment slip into your tone to distract yourself from the stress of the failed date as you look around and try to figure out the best way to get him down from where he’s entangled. You’d have to climb up onto the nearby dumpster to get enough reach to cut him down but you don’t even have anything to cut him down with.

“I tried to jump off that building,” he sighs, and you follow his gaze up to the tall building right to the left of the two of you. Your lips part in shock, you suppose you should have figured something like that because how else would he end up tangled upside down in a tapestry, but it’s still jarring to hear. “But I hit this on the way down and got stuck. I’ve been here for way too long, so many people have passed me by without helping—what a cruel, cruel world.”

“You are either the luckiest or unluckiest man alive,” you murmur, catching sight of a jagged piece of metal underneath the dumpster, picking it up and doing your best to climb onto it, but it’s difficult in heels and a dress. “Why are you so intent on dying?”

“Why are you so intent on living?” Dazai hits you with a question back instead of responding, peering up at you as he slowly spins in the air while you do your best to cut through the thick tapestry.

You frown at the question, brows furrowing. “Because I have things I still need to accomplish. Goals to achieve. Don’t you?”

“The only goal I need to achieve is finding a beautiful lady to do a double suicide with,” Dazai says, lips curling up into another charming smile but the effects of it are diminished because of the way he was still hanging upside down, spinning in slow circles. “Would you like to join me, bella?”

“Maybe in fifty years,” you say dryly.

“I’ll-”

Dazai doesn’t get to finish his sentence as you finally cut through the tapestry and he tumbles down head first to the ground. You bite back a smile as he lets out a loud yelp, crumpling on the ground in an unceremonious heap. You lower yourself back down to the ground, eyes settling on him as you watch him push himself into a sitting position, rubbing the back of his head.

He looks up at you through his lashes, the charming smile on his lips a bit more lazy and casual as he looks over you. “My, aren’t you dressed pretty? What’s the occasion?” As you prepare to give a bullshit excuse, he holds up his hand and says: “Wait! Let me guess. A long day of work and no one to go out with after, so you decided to get all dressed up and walk around the city to see if fate would lead you to someone, and since our fingers are tied by that thin red thread, naturally, you were led right to me. Oh, my fated, no wonder I’ve evaded death so easily despite so many attempts, destiny refused to let me die as we’re predestined to be together.”

You stare at him, watching as he presses the back of his hand to his forehead, tilting his head back because what the fuck?

“I was on a date,” you say, ignoring the entire rest of what he said to answer his question, truthfully at that because his whole tirade about destiny and fate had thrown you off.

Dazai wilts, but then straightens up again and says, “Well, it couldn’t have been a good one if he didn’t at least walk you home.”

You grimace. “I think I should be insulted by how pleased you look at my night being ruined,” you mutter, holding your hand out to him to help him up.

Dazai places his hand in yours; long, thin fingers wrapped around your hand as you help him to his feet. He doesn’t let go immediately, nor does he back away, brown eyes lidded as he looks down at you, so close that your clothes were brushing his. The corner of his lips tilt up, his fingertips grazing your inner wrist. “How about we make the most of a ruined night then?”

You raise your eyebrows—you think you should get back to your apartment, get some work done to make up for how much of a mess the night had turned out, but you find yourself hesitating because do you really want to go wallow alone now?

“How do you plan we do that?” you ask instead of giving him an answer, although he evidently takes it as an answer considering his face lights up at your words.

“Come on,” he says, tugging your arm as he turns to make his way down the sidewalk, dragging you along with him. “I’ll show you someplace.”

“O-okay,” you fumble over your words in surprise, but it isn’t like Dazai is giving you much of a choice considering the way he’s pulling you along with him.

Your face feels hot when you notice the people still prowling the streets shooting the two of you odd looks—Dazai doesn’t seem to care, focusing on getting you to whatever destination he has planned, but you can feel their eyes burning into you with every step you take.

“Ignore them,” Dazai says, as if he can read your thoughts. He tosses his head over his shoulder as he looks at you, the corner of his lips curling up into another lazy smile that makes your breath catch. “They don’t know how to have fun.”

“Yeah,” is all you reply with, a bit doubtfully as you turn your gaze up to the dark skies, where the dark clouds you had noticed earlier in the day are now gathered over the city. “It’s going to rain.”

Dazai only raises his eyebrows, face riddled with disbelief as he turns fully to look at you, walking backwards without a care in the world as he forces people to walk around him. “Now, you care about rain?” he asks, referring to your first meeting.

You let out a puff of laughter. “I guess you have a point.”

“Naturally,” he says, teeth gleaming beneath the streetlamps as his grin widens. “I’m one of the Agency’s sharpest detectives, after all.”

“How humble,” you note, but your voice is light, teasing, and you’re almost embarrassed.

Dazai is unbothered by your playful dig, spinning back around to turn down the sidewalk onto a busier street, carelessly pulling you along with him and causing people to swerve around the two of you. You try to fumble out apologies as people shoot the two of you dirty looks but Dazai barely gives you enough time to speak the words as he continues down the street.

“Have you heard?” Dazai asks, returning to walking backward so he can look at you, garnering even more angry looks. “We’re heroes now.”

You have heard, of course, it’s all over the news. You hadn’t been in Yokohama when everything happened, you were visiting a friend outside of the city, but you’d seen it all going down on the TV as it was happening. And naturally, it’s impossible to avoid all of the news articles honoring the Armed Detective Agency and their part in taking down the threat to the city afterward.

“I have,” you drawl, and then add after a moment’s hesitation: “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating instead of…”

Instead of trying to kill yourself.

“This is me celebrating,” Dazai says mournfully, so casually that it takes you aback as he tilts his head back in grief. “It was supposed to be successful this time.”

“Well…” You aren’t sure what to say to that, the words dying on your lips as the first raindrops begin to fall from the sky. “I’m glad it wasn’t successful,” you finally decide upon, averting your gaze as Dazai’s face shifts into one of surprise as he looks down at you.

His lips part as if to say something, but seems to decide against it, instead letting a smile slip onto his face as he says: “Speaking of celebrations, my sweet belladonna, this hero needs a date to the celebratory event that the government is hosting for us in two weeks. Join me?”

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, as the rain begins to come down harder—a flash flood, you realize. You watch as people start scattering around you, running for cover, but you and Dazai remain standing in the middle of the sidewalk, him awaiting your answer and you trying to figure out how to politely say you’d rather die than go to a celebratory event with people you don’t know.

You wonder if Dazai suspects your answer because he does not, in fact, give you the chance to speak.

Your eyes widen as he tugs you closer to him. “What’re you doing?” you stutter over your words as his free hand finds your hip and he spins the two of you around recklessly, forcing several people to dodge again as they run past the two of you and into a store to wait for the sudden rain to pass. Only his firm grip on you keeps you from slipping on the puddles forming on the sidewalk beneath the two of you. “Dazai!”

“Dancing,” is all he replies with, eyes shining as he lifts his arm to twirl you beneath it, your heels splashing in a puddle as he drags you along with his dance like a puppet. “It’s supposed to be romantic—dancing in the rain—I’ve seen it in movies, are you romanced, yet?”

You aren’t sure what makes you want to laugh, maybe it’s the absurdity of the situation or the way Dazai keeps having to blink away the raindrops that fall into his eyes, but before you know it, you're biting your lower lip to withhold the giggles rising through your chest.

“Are you laughing at me?” Dazai gasps in mock offense as he spins you outward once. You nearly trip over your heels but before you can, he’s spinning you back toward him, arm wrapping around your waist as he dips you down. “And here I was thinking I was doing a good job romancing you.”

His voice drops an octave as he lowers his voice, dark eyes searching yours, and you think that there’s absolutely nothing romantic about this. Rain is pouring down over the two of you, his hair is wet and matted against his forehead, dripping in your face as he hangs over you, you can feel his breath fanning against your lips and his body heat radiating against yours. Lightning webs across the sky above him, illuminating his face in a way that has your breath catching. You’re in heels and a dress and you can so easily trip and break your ankle, it’s only his hold on you preventing that from happening. It’s dangerous, and stupid—and maybe it’s a little romantic.

“I-”

You aren’t even able to get the admission from your lips because as soon as you begin to speak, someone slams into Dazai from behind. You yelp and his eyes widen as he stumbles forward, twisting the two of you around so he takes the brunt of the fall. He hits the ground hard with an ‘oof,’ half in the muddy grass and half on the sidewalk, and you fall on top of him, lips parted in shock.

“Well,” Dazai finally says after a few moments of stunned silence. “This is distinctly less romantic.”

And you laugh. Unable to hold it back now, you burst into laughter—hands braced on his chest, body flush against his, there’s mud splattered across his face and you’re pretty sure your makeup must be running down your cheeks from the rain. You think that your heels are probably ruined and you’d have to spend hours getting the stains out of your dress, but you laugh because you can’t remember the last time you actually had fun and weren’t stressed about school and the future, and your night had been going so horribly that you’d lost any hope of it taking a turn for the better. You might’ve been crying a bit too, you aren’t sure why, but it’s raining so you hope that he doesn’t notice.

You notice Dazai’s eyebrows lift a bit in surprise before his face seems to soften, a small smile tugging at his lips as he lets his head fall back against the mud.

“So,” he says, “about that date?”

“Nobody believes I have a date for the event,” Dazai complains two weeks later as he enters your apartment and throws himself onto your couch, watching as you dab on some dark red lipstick—an occurrence you’d become quite used to the past two weeks, because evidently Dazai Osamu does not need a key nor invitation into your home, he just picks the lock and comes right in. At least you’re expecting him this time. “Atsushi-kun laughed in my face. He laughed in my face! Can you believe it? After everything I’ve done for him, the nerve.”

You grin, glancing up into your mirror to catch his eyes. “To be honest, I still don’t believe you have a date for the dinner and I am your date.”

Dazai blanches, throwing his arm over his face as he slumps into the couch. “Et tu, bella?” he sighs sorrowfully and you laugh, spinning around in your chair to face him.

“Think of it this way,” you say, twisting your lipstick back into its container and placing it into your purse. Dazai peek up from the couch, eyes focusing on you as you speak. You almost feel a bit flustered under his gaze, it’s more intense than you expected. “You’ll get to see the looks on their face when they realize that you do actually have a date.”

Dazai brightens a bit at your words and then, as if a sudden thought passed through his head, he begins cackling like a madman—although you’re beginning to think the description is far more apt than you believed, Dazai Osamu is simply not sane. “Kunikada-kun is going to be so mad that I have a date and he doesn’t.”

“You’re wrinkling your suit, sit up straight,” you say and turn your attention back to the mirror, discreetly watching as Dazai lets out an exaggerated sigh before doing as you ask. Your eyes linger on him for a moment—he looks different dressed up nicely in a sleek, dark suit than his typical tan trench coat. He still wears those odd bandages all over his body, but you suppose that’s just a him thing, and no fancy event would get him to take them off. You can’t quite place what the exact difference is but you find that your gaze keeps dragging back to him.

He catches you staring and winks, you roll your eyes and look away, grateful that your embarrassment doesn’t show on your face as you glance one last time at yourself in the mirror to ensure that nothing is out of place

Dazai, you have learned over the past two weeks, can’t stand silence, so you aren’t surprised when you hear him start complaining about something else as soon as the conversation dies down.

“Did you know I pushed two of my little protégés to work with each other?” he asks, reaching out to grab the papers on your coffee table when he thinks you aren’t looking. You throw one of your makeup brushes at him. He yelps and draws back his hand.

“That’s nice,” you say absently. “Do they work together well?”

“Oh, they work together great,” Dazai says, and you glance back at him when you notice the sheer bitterness in his tone. “I think they love each other now.”

Your brows furrow, unsure of why Dazai seems so irritated by this. “That’s… great, isn’t it?” you asked slowly.

“No!” Dazai says so vehemently that you think he might leap to his feet in outrage. “That is not great. They are not allowed to be in a relationship before me. I forbid it.”

Your lips part a bit, a noise caught between a laugh and shock escaping them as you look over at Dazai again. “Okay,” you say, dragging out the word in amusement. Dazai shoots an affronted expression toward you in response, but you don’t give him the chance to speak again. You rise to your feet and swing your purse over your shoulder, glancing at the time, realizing you had about fifteen minutes to be at the City Hall, which is a forty minute drive without traffic and it’s a Saturday evening, so there’s always traffic.

“Oh god, we have to-”

You turn to leave only to bump right into Dazai. Blinking in confusion, you look up at him to ask what he’s doing but the words die on your tongue.

He’s too close as he looks down at you, you can smell the faint scent of his cologne and you can feel his body brushing yours, the corner of his lips twitching up. “Have I earned a kiss yet?” he hums, leaning his face down a bit so that his lips are almost barely grazing yours.

“Maybe,” you say, eyes flickering down to his lips for the sparest second before you watch his eyes light up only for you to take a step back, “but even if you did, you’re not messing up my makeup.”

Dazai looks as if he’d been shot in the heart, head dropping back as he groans and pouts at your words. “You’re so mean, bella,” he sighs, voice a long whine. “Won’t you indulge me with just a taste?”

“No,” you say, slipping past him to make your way over to the door where the keys to your car are hanging on a small hook. “Are you ready? We’re going to be late.”

The exaggerated grief that paints Dazai’s expression instantly disappears as he eyes your keys with a look that’s nothing short of devious. Distantly, you frown and close your fist around your keys, putting them out of his sight, but Dazai is undeterred, walking over to you.

“I can drive us,” he says, that same expression on his face as he holds his hand out. You don’t trust the look on his face, nor do you trust the way he’s all but bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’s the least I can do, right?”

You’re doubtful, looking down at his extended hand as he waits for you to drop the keys in them. “I can drive,” you say, but Dazai immediately pouts at your words, looking genuinely bummed out, and you feel a little bad because you don’t even like driving, you just don’t trust Dazai to be a good driver. You hesitate. “Do you even know how to drive?”

“Of course,” Dazai says hurriedly, dark eyes lighting back up.

You exhale, reaching out to place your keys in his hand—the smile on his face is wicked, dread builds in your gut. You think you might have made a mistake.

You’re surprised that your car is still in one piece as Dazai parks crookedly across three spots in the parking lot of the city hall. You’re surprised that you are in one piece. You don’t move for a second, fingers still biting into the leather seat you’re buckled in, eyes wide and barely breathing. As Dazai turns the car off, you finally turn your head to the side to look at him before getting out of the car, grateful to be standing on solid ground.

“Never again.”

Dazai’s unbothered, as always—his smile is wide and restless, eyes exhilarated as they dart around the car, fingers clutching the keys as he finally steps outside. He looks as if he’d just won the lottery, that gleeful over having been given the chance to drive. You knew you should have gone with your gut when the man first asked if he could drive, and as miserable and anxiety-inducing it was racing through the streets, in between cars and half on the sidewalk, you think it might’ve been worth it, a bit, considering Dazai’s reaction.

“Maybe once more,” Dazai bargains, holding out his arm to you.

“Never again,” you repeat, but your voice is light as you take his arm and let him lead you up the steps to the city hall. “I cannot believe you didn’t get us pulled over.”

“Must not have been that bad then,” Dazai says, proudly.

“Ha! More like they didn’t want to risk their own lives trying to stop you.”

Dazai pouts terribly and then adds petulantly, “But it was fun.”

“It was something alright,” you agree idly. You aren’t sure if you were having fun in the moment, you were more scared for your life and your car, but you suppose looking back on it was a bit entertaining.

“You’re so mean, bella,” he sighs exaggeratedly. “You refuse my well-earned kiss, you mock me, now you insult my driving skills.”

“The only thing insulted tonight was my car,” you mutter to yourself, glancing back once more at it before Dazai steps forward to push open the wide doors to the city hall.

Instantly, you’re met with the sound of loud chatter and laughter and a young, unfamiliar voice calling, “Dazai-san!” excitedly.

Your gaze drifts up from Dazai to where a teen with silver hair and pretty eyes rushes up to the two of you. He’s so tunnel visioned on Dazai that he doesn’t even notice you until he’s standing right in front of you, and when he does, his eyes go so wide that you think they might pop right out of his skull. He looks between you and Dazai questioningly, lips parting and closing like a fish out of water.

Dazai looks like the cat that got the canary, eyes gleaming at the expression on Atsushi’s face and lips twitching up into a wicked smile.

“Atsushi-kuuuuun,” he drags out the boy's name in a long sing-song. “Meet my sweet belladonna, the one you so rudely claim didn’t exist.”

Atsushi looks flustered as he turns his attention toward you, eyes wide with panic and redness rising to his cheeks. “I didn’t-I mean-I just-” he stutters so badly that you’re forced to take mercy on the poor boy.

“Don’t worry,” you say with an easy grin. “I wouldn’t believe I existed either coming from Dazai.”

Dazai gapes. Atsushi snickers, hand coming up to cover his mouth to hide his smile. Atsushi glances once at Dazai and then looks back at you and whispers, “Is he paying you?”

Dazai looks thoroughly offended.

“Unfortunately, he doesn't need to,” you say with a snort, "but I'm sure he would if he had to."

Dazai gasps.

Atsushi snorts loudly and then looks a bit embarrassed. A woman with pretty eyes and short dark hair comes up behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She throws a sharp grin at you. “You must be the infamous woman that Dazai has been talking about nonstop for two weeks,” she says, ignoring how Dazai looks like he wants to wither as you raise your eyebrows at him. “Blink twice if you need help.”

Dazai looks appalled now. “Yosano-sensei,” he complains, “That’s so-”

You pointedly blink twice. Yosano barks out a laugh and nearly chokes over it, Dazai gasps again, louder and far more dismayed. He slumps over your shoulder, burying his face into the top of your head.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he grumbles, voice muffled against your hair.

You pat his waist as another man approaches the group of you, blonde hair tied back neatly in a ponytail and glasses hanging on the edge of his nose. His eyes are sharp and narrowed as he looks at where Dazai is draping himself all over you. “Oi, you shitty waste of bandages, have some decorum, would you? We're at a government event, stop throwing yourself at people.”

Dazai perks up, that unscrupulous smile instantly returning as his gaze focuses on the blonde. “Kunikida-kuuun,” he now sings the other man’s name, arm slipping around your waist to tug you into his side as he says. “Come meet my date. She’s a grad student at Waseda University.”

You have a distinct feeling that he’s rubbing it in Kunikida’s face, and from the way the man’s expression twists in genuine surprise at Dazai’s words, you figure that said feeling is correct. Kunikida turns his attention toward you. “And you’re with him?” he asks so distastefully that you almost laugh. “How did you even meet him?”

You give Dazai a side-eye, considering whether or not you should tell the truth. You notice the pleading expression on his face and squint, but before you can make your decision, he speaks up, voice loud and exaggerated: “A fateful encounter under the moonlit shore of the Zushi Beach, we stumbled into each other as if guided by the hand of god himself. I-”

Suspicious now of the sideways explanation he’s giving about your own meeting with him, and recalling the tale he regaled you of his meeting with the very boy standing a few feet away from you, you cut off Dazai and turn to Atsushi. “Atsushi-kun, how did you and Dazai meet?”

Dazai flounders, hands flying in front of as if to wave Atsushi off from answering, but Atsushi only scowls and says, “I had to jump into the Tsurumi River to free him from where he was floating upside down in a barrel trying to drown himself. Then he had the nerve to yell at me for it.”

Pointedly, you look at Dazai, who at least has the decency to look sheepish as he glances at you. “I did take him out to dinner after though,” he offers.

“With my money,” Kunikida rages loudly and Dazai throws his head back with a loud sigh of complaint.

“None of you have my back. Not a single one of you,” Dazai accuses. “I would be a good wingman for you guys.”

Kunikida looks downright insulted. “You are the opposite of a wingman,” he spits. “In fact, you go out of your way to embarrass me in front of women, you lousy liar-”

“I will not have you make me look bad because you’re jealous any longer,” Dazai proclaims, holding his hand up as if to silence Kunikida.

“Jealous?” Kunikida booms after Dazai, but Dazai is already dragging you away, stealing two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one over to you with a misleadingly innocent smile.

“It’s true, he’s jealous,” Dazai says, lacing his fingers into yours as he idly walks around the event hall with you, sipping at his champagne. “He has fifty-eight criteria for his ideal woman, you fit at least forty of them. He’s probably soooo mad you’re here with me.”

You blink and look at Dazai, wondering if you heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, what?” you ask with a laugh. “Fifty-eight-”

“Criteria, yeah,” Dazai confirms, “and he wonders why he can’t get a girlfriend—blames it on me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m sure you don’t help.”

Dazai pouts but then his amusement fades a bit as his eyes scan the crowd of people, dark eyes taking upon an uncharacteristically serious visage. His lips tighten and the corner of his eyes wrinkle as he squints, as if something about the whole event is bothering him.

“You okay?” you ask and Dazai looks at you, a bit startled.

“Yeah,” he says, and you watch as he smooths his face out—as if you’d seen something you weren’t supposed to see and now he was trying to play it off and pretend you didn’t. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You’ve noticed over the past two weeks, as you’ve gotten to know Dazai Osamu a bit better, that he’s far more complex than he likes to portray himself to be. He puts on a theatrical show with bright smiles, loud words and over-exaggerated clownlike behavior, and he’s very good at making sure that the mask he puts on rarely wavers. You’ve only caught it faltering a few times, including that first time you met when you’d woken up in the middle of the night and caught his empty expression as he stared out into the storm.

He doesn’t take well to people pointing it out though, you’ve realized. You tried to once a week ago when you caught him looking a bit lost and alone at a picture you had of you and two of your friends at a bar downtown. He’d broken into your apartment, as you’ve grown unfortunately used to over the past two weeks, and he was waiting for you to get back from class, snooping around while he waited. You weren’t supposed to be back until much later but your five o’clock class had been canceled, and he was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard you enter your apartment until you were a few feet away and asking if he was okay.

He promptly fled with a half-assed excuse about an urgent mission and he didn’t come back to your apartment for two days. When he finally did, he acted like nothing happened. You think that it’s not really your right to push and you don’t want to step over any boundary of his, but a part of you is starting to long to figure out what exactly is behind the mask he wears and that scares you. You find yourself smiling a bit too much whenever Dazai is around, your face always feels a bit hotter and your brain always feels a bit fuzzy—the tell-tale signs of falling are starting to appear and you want to know the man behind the carefully constructed mask before you start to fall only to realize that there’s no one there to catch you.

“You looked a bit lost in thought,” you finally say, testing the words on your tongue and scanning his face to see if even that would be too much of a push for him.

It is.

“You see right through me, don’t you?” He laughs it off as a joke, but you can all but taste the bitterness in his tone and you can see the mirth thinly veiled behind his eyes. “I’ll be right back, the boss is calling me over.”

Dazai doesn’t wait for you to respond, he tosses you a wink and another casual smile before he sets off across the room but you aren’t fooled by the faux-charm this time, knowing that he’s fleeing because you got a bit too close to asking something that he doesn’t want to answer. Lifting your champagne glass back to your lips, you idly watch him make his way over to a handsome, silver-haired man who’s in deep discussion with a young man with messy black hair.

You sigh and wave over a server to grab another flute of champagne before you even finish the one in hand, disappointment sweeping through you as you realize that the night is likely going to be a very, very long one.

You’re finishing your fourth glass when you hear someone call your last name and pause a bit in confusion, turning around to face a tall middle-aged man with graying hair. Your eyes widen a bit as you recognize Tonan Tanzo, the Vice Minister of Justice, making his way toward you with a glass of wine in hand.

“Tonan-san,” you greet, nodding your head a bit in respect for the older man, who you spoke to briefly at the Ministry’s panel at your university a week and a half ago. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you,” the man replies distantly, more a nicety than anything else. “I must say, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. You’re acquainted with the Armed Detective Agency?”

There’s an edge to his voice, one that you’re not sure if you like. You wonder if he has an issue with the Agency, but you don’t see why he would, they’ve been nothing but helpful in fostering peace in the city.

You only smile idly. “Vaguely,” you respond, not giving away all too much. You wonder if Dazai knows anything about whatever the man’s issue is—you’d have to ask him later.

Tonan hums, as if your answer wasn’t satisfactory, and then he says, “I was meaning to email you about the internship you were hoping for under Minister Hasegawa—all of the chaos of the past week has prevented me from doing so. I’ll be sure to do so by the end of this week so we can work to finalize something for winter break and the summer. Perhaps we can figure something out with your schedule to get you some training at the office before the semester ends.”

Your lips part a bit in shock at the suddenness of the offer but you school your expression quickly, mind racing as you force out, “I would appreciate that very much, Tonan-san. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Tonan Tanzo only hums again, nodding at you once before his eyes flicker up above you, a bit distastefully, just as you feel fingers brush your lower back. Tonan doesn’t even bother to greet Dazai as he turns to leave with a faint parting to you. You look up at Dazai, whose expression is cold as he stares after Tonan until the man disappears down a nearby hall.

“What was that about?” Dazai asks, the cold expression melting as soon as he looks down at you, dark eyes warm and curious as if he hadn’t just abandoned you for almost an hour. You almost feel a bit flustered beneath the gentle stare. Almost.

“I think he just offered me the job I was trying to get at the Ministry?” you say, still a bit dazed. “Although, I don’t think it’s necessarily because he wants me there, but it doesn’t really matter, I just need it for my resume.”

“Hm,” Dazai says to himself before his lips flicker up into a smile. “Well, congratulations are in order, I suppose. Good thing I grabbed us some more champagne.”

He lifts his other hand pointedly, showing off the two flutes he’d grabbed on the way back and you grin a bit, taking one from him, feeling a bit giddy now even though you’re pretty sure Tonan only hit you with the offer because of your affiliation with the Armed Detective Agency.

“You should probably slow down,” you note as you sip your own glass. “You’re on like seven now.”

“I’m fine, and you have no room to talk,” Dazai shoots you a playful smile. “Dance with me.”

“What?” you ask, eyes widening as Dazai takes the glass from you before you even take a second sip, placing it down on a nearby table with his as he grabs your arm and drags you to the center of the room, onto a dancefloor that nobody is using. “Dazai, no.”

“Dazai, yes,” he corrects with a wild grin and your face is aflame as eyes begin to turn in the direction of the two of you, curious as to what’s going on.

You want to die when Dazai forcibly spins you under his arm, much like that night out on the streets of Yokohama when the two of you ended up drenched and muddy except now there were dozens of eyes on you whereas then, people were more focused on trying to get to cover from the torrential downpour.

“I’m going to kill you,” you hiss, embarrassment flooding through you because for as thin as Dazai is, he’s deceptively strong and you cannot break free of the grip he has on your hand and waist.

“Please,” he breathes out longingly. “A death at your hands would-”

“Stop.”

Dazai pouts, and then as if punishment for interrupting him, Dazai launches you into a dramatic dip, leaning down with a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat’s to shame as he nudges his nose against yours before pulling you back up and spinning you beneath his arm again.

“This is embarrassing,” you say, but Dazai is paying no mind to the attention that the two of you are gaining—in fact, he looks utterly pleased with himself. “I-”

“Look! Yosano-sensei and Atsushi-kun are joining us!” Dazai cheers, turning the two of you just enough so that you can catch sight of Yosano physically dragging a protesting Atsushi out onto the near-empty dance floor.

“Yosano-sensei, please, I’ve never danced before,” Atsushi pleads, tugging his wrist away from the older woman but her grip is iron clad as she tugs the boy toward her, taking the lead in a wide ballroom dance.

“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai sings. “Don’t look so nervous.”

Atsushi shoots Dazai a withering look, clearly blaming him for the unfortunate turn of events, and you relax a bit as you realize that Yosano pulling Atsushi onto the dance floor triggered a wave of several others: a dark-haired girl dragging an orange-haired boy onto the floor, the president of the Agency holding a hand out to a young girl who keeps shooting longing looks in the direction of the people dancing, a few older couples.

“See, everyone was just too nervous to be the first,” Dazai preens, tugging you close as he shifts from a wide and theatrical ballroom dance to a slower and more intimate one.

Your breath catches as he wraps an arm around your waist, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your lower back as his hand flattens. His other hand slips from where it’s intertwined with your to join his right on your waist. You’re so close to him that you can smell the faint scent of champagne on his breath as you loop your arms around his neck with a small smile.

Dazai’s dark eyes are glittering as he looks down at you, warm as melted honey and soft as velvet, you’re almost entranced. His lips are curved up into a gentle smile—you think you want to kiss him, and you swallow nervously as soon as the thought crosses your mind. You also think he might be able to read your mind, because his smile becomes a bit more mischievous as he leans down.

He doesn’t kiss you, but you think he might as well from how close he is to you—you swear that his lips are all but brushing yours. You feel a bit dizzy, and although there are enough people swaying and spinning around the two of you that you don’t really have to worry about any attention being on the two of you, you still feel a bit flustered by the thought of so many possibly seeing this.

“Now, do I get my kiss?” he whispers, and your lips part to respond but no words leave them. You think that’s dangerous because you definitely should not kiss him right now but your brain will not cooperate in formulating the words. Dazai lets out a small puff of laughter, his breath is warm against your lips and you want to kiss him even more—dangerous, you think again. “Fine, fine, I’ll wait just a bit longer.”

He doesn’t back away though and your heart feels like it’s lodged in your throat as he hums along quietly to the music playing, swaying back and forth with you tucked neatly in your arms. You think this is far too intimate for two people who aren’t even technically dating (you won’t admit that you’d been questioning it earlier with how often he frequents your apartment and his casual intimacy with you and felt a bit embarrassed when he made his comment about his proteges being in a relationship before him), and you think you should probably back away, but instead you find your fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

There’s something indecipherable in his eyes—conflicted and confused, but with a far heavier emotion thinly veiled behind it, something caught between longing and adoration but with a hint of melancholy. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you figure that now’s not the time and he’ll probably just blow you off in the same way he did before.

So instead, you just give him a small smile and watch as his dark eyes widen a fraction at the action—you wonder if he realized that you noticed that something’s up with him and more importantly, you wonder if you weren’t supposed to notice. With bated breath, you wait to see whether or not he’s going to close off.

Around the two of you, the President lifts his arm to let the young girl spin beneath it, Atsushi is still letting out panicked protests as he and Yosano sweep across the dancefloor, an older couple laughs loudly as the man dips her and the teenage girl with dark hair is giggling as she takes the lead in the dance with the orange-haired boy.

Dazai doesn’t react for what feels like an eternity.

But then he smiles—it’s light and soft around the edges, matching your own, and though that indecipherable look is still in his eyes, maybe even more wistful now, you can’t help but notice that his shoulders feel much less tense beneath your arms.

You consider it a win.

Dazai thinks that he might be in trouble.

His gaze lingers on you as you make your way across the room in the direction of where Atsushi and Kyouka are talking. Atsushi had waved you over after everyone finally made their way off of the dance floor, Dazai’s a bit insulted because Atsushi and Kyouka both made it abundantly clear that they only wanted you to join them, which Dazai thinks is quite rude but what does he know?

And Dazai’s heart is racing, his cheeks feel warm, his lips are tingling, and he wants to blame it on the alcohol but he knows deep down that the alcohol is not the issue, you are.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The thought rings through his head as he watches you walk away, eyes tracing your figure while an emotion that borders on longing wreaks havoc on his heart. His throat feels clogged with it, his lungs feel as if they’re filled with ash. You make it to Atsushi and Kyouka and Atsushi is immediately talking, animated and excited.

He thinks you look beautiful—you’re wearing a red dress and it clings as if it was made perfectly for you even though he’s pretty sure it’s a dress you’d found on Uniqlo’s clearance racks, he remembers you raving about your luck with it last week, and as you look over your shoulder in his direction, your eyes glitter as brightly as the rhinestones sitting on your collarbone, teeth gleaming as you smile at whatever Atsushi is saying to you. Dazai doesn’t dare to ponder what his protege could possibly be telling you to make you look at him like that, he doubts it’s anything good, but he finds that he doesn’t even really care because he thinks that he’d sacrifice all of his pride and dignity if it means you’d continue to smile like that in his direction.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It was meant to be a little fun once he realized that you were just a civilian with no connection to the underground—a distraction, a way to gloat a bit to Kunikida because of course Dazai can pull a girl that fits almost every single one of the man’s ideals while Kunikida himself can hardly dream of it. He convinced himself that he was playing a long game by spending every waking second outside of work at your apartment, wooing you so that he could get a kick out of Kunikida’s inevitable explosion. He convinced himself that the fluttering in his chest whenever you laughed at him was just some strange heart palpitations that have arisen as a chronic consequence of one of his attempts, paying no mind to the fact that it only happens when he’s with you. He convinced himself that his face is warm whenever he’s around you because of the weather even when the temperature chills and the wind is bitter.

But it’s hard to convince himself now—his lips tingle from where they’d just barely been brushing yours, there are goosebumps on his skin where your fingers had once been, and the image of your smile is branded behind his eyelids, the gentleness of it and the understanding. And he thinks it’s ridiculous honestly, because he doesn’t think that there’s anyone left in the world that could possibly understand him, but since that first day he met you, you’ve seemed to be able to see through him in a way that few people have ever been able to, going out of your way to try to make him feel more comfortable in a way that no one ever has.

When did he start to…

He can’t even finish the thought because acknowledging it means that it’s real and if it’s real, then Dazai is in trouble because Dazai is not a man who is capable of love anymore—or maybe he still is capable of love, or something close to it at least, what he feels for the members of the Agency proves that at least, but he’s not a man who’s capable of being loved.

Not for who he is.

Even if you do fall for the facade he puts up—the smiling jester who laughs and jokes and never lets anyone close enough to realize that the only thing within him is a black hole that consumes anything and everything he touches—you’ll realize one day that the man you fell for is a fraud and you’d leave. Dazai has been left behind once, in a way that was so excruciating that it’d almost entirely killed off Dazai’s withered heart, and he’s decided that he’ll never be the one left behind again. He’ll run before people can leave him, and he’ll keep everyone else at arm’s length. He’s probably wrong anyway; he doesn’t care for you, not like that, the line between obsession and love has always been dangerously blurry for him. He-

“Atsushi’s taken to her pretty fast, don’t you think?”

Dazai starts at the sudden sound of Yosano coming to stand next to him, a half-empty glass of wine in hand. There’s a lazy smile on her face as she watches where you, Atsushi and Kyouka are all chatting—well, you and Atsushi, mostly, but Kyouka seems enraptured in whatever conversation the two of you are having.

“Yeah,” Dazai agrees, and his voice is a bit more rough than he meant for it to be. He pointedly takes another long swig of his drink. “That’s a first.”

“Isn’t it?” Yosano laughs loudly, drawing some attention to the pair. “A good sign, he’s got pretty good instincts.”

Yosano nudges his shoulder playfully but Dazai can hardly gather the energy to mask the sudden and unwelcome sorrow weighing on him. He manages, if only scarcely, but it’s unconvincing if the way Yosano’s brows furrowed has anything to say about it.

He speaks before she can question it in an attempt to distract her from her concerns. “She’s quite the catch, I know. My sweet bella, if only she would join me in a double suicide, I don’t think I could even dream up a better way to go.”

Yosano only waves off his comment, and Dazai knows that she’s right—maybe it’s his tiger senses or maybe it’s just his intuition, but Atsushi usually has a good eye for good people. His lack of reservation around you, when he was even reserved around the Agency at first, is certainly a nice sign, even if it is partly because he’s had a few glasses of champagne. But Dazai also just can’t find it in him to be pleased over it because yeah, it confirms that you’re a good person but Dazai, no matter how hard he tries to be, is not one and he’s not sure if anything will ever change that.

The thickness in his throat returns, his eyes flutter shut momentarily as he tries to regain some semblance of control over himself.

When he opens his eyes again, his gaze instinctively is drawn back toward you and-

Oh, Dazai thinks, his breath catching and lips instinctively turning up as he watches you start to giggle and lean into Kyouka, who must have finally joined the conversation, while looking over at him. There’s a hazy look in your eyes, courtesy of the constant stream of champagne Dazai has been supplying you with all night, but you can’t seem to draw your eyes off of Dazai and Dazai can’t seem to draw his from you.

Yosano nudges his shoulder again to try to get his attention but Dazai can’t look away from you so he hums as if to tell her that she has his attention—if only partly.

“Enjoy it, Dazai,” Yosano says quietly and Dazai finally glances over to her, catching the oddly coherent look in what should’ve been drunken, glazed over eyes. “Don’t sabotage this for yourself. Enjoy it.”

Dazai thinks maybe he was wrong about you being one of few to be able to see right through him. Maybe he’s not as subtle as he thinks he is—or maybe it’s just his shared connection to Yosano through Mori that has her able to read him so easily. He avoids Yosano’s gaze as he looks back out into the crowds. Naturally, he finds himself seeking you out again, and you’re already looking at him. There’s a soft expression on your face as you admire him, not having realized he’d caught you staring yet, and you look as if you’re barely listening to what Atsushi is saying, and Dazai’s heart seizes because no one has ever looked at him that way before.

Well, he decides, maybe Yosano is right. He might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Once you realize that the front he shows you is just a mask to hide the rotting carcass that lies beneath, you’ll turn tail and run, and then everything can go back to normal again. He just can’t let himself get more attached than he already is—that way it won’t hurt when you leave.

Dazai catches his lips turning up as he watches you start giggling at something Atsushi and Kyouka say, Dazai’s heart does that damning flutter again, and immediately, he averts his gaze.

Still, he thinks, he’s far too sober for this.

Later in the night, when people have begun to say their goodbyes and you start to make your way to the restrooms to freshen up before heading out, Dazai corners you against the wall of the hall leading out of the event venue. You don’t even hear him following you or notice his presence until you feel his fingers snatch your wrist as he yanks you back toward him.

Your eyes widen but you’re able to bite back the yelp that nearly escapes your lips when you recognize his dark eyes looking down at you, mischievous and glittering beneath the soft lights.

“Do I get my kiss now?” Dazai breathes out. The wall behind you is cool against your back, and you can hear the chatter from the event down the hall as the event begins to come to an end. You part your lips to respond to him, with what? You aren’t entirely sure, but it doesn’t seem to matter because no words leave your lips regardless. “The party’s over, no need to worry about messing up that pretty makeup now, bella.”

“Only one,” you finally say, voice a bit more throaty than you would have liked but it’s hard to concentrate with Dazai’s fingers grazing your hips and his body brushing yours. You wonder if the man has ever learned about the concept of personal space—you severely doubt it. “Make it good, and maybe you can have a second.”

The smile on Dazai’s lips is nothing short of sinful as he brings one hand up to cup the side of your neck, thumb running along your jawline and fingers entangling with your hair. He doesn’t waste a second as he dips his head down to press his lips against yours, they’re warm and soft, and taste distinctly like the champagne that had been served earlier in the night. You let out a quiet noise of surprise against his lips, eyes fluttering shut.

The kiss is tamer than you expected it to be—he makes no move to deepen it, lips moving slowly and gently against yours as if he’s hesitant to take it any further, but Dazai Osamu has never been hesitant about anything in all of the times you've encountered him. Your hands rest on his forearms as he keeps you pressed up against the wall, unconcerned with the fact that all of his coworkers and many government officials are naught but half a hallway away.

You think to yourself, a bit embarrassed, that you might be able to spend an eternity kissing Dazai Osamu and never grow tired of it, and you wonder why it's taken you so long just to give in to his request from nearly a month ago.

You aren’t sure if ten seconds, ten minutes or ten hours have passed by the time he finally separates his lips from yours. He doesn’t move far away at all—his nose still nudging yours, his soft lips still brushing your own, he leaves no space at all between the two of you as he asks: “Good enough for a second?”

Your lips curve up into a smile, eyes meeting his dark ones as you look up at him through your lashes. Though, you have half a mind to agree, your previous thoughts still ringing through your head, you can't help the teasing words that spilled from your lips: “I’m not sure. I guess I’ll sleep on it and let you know my answer the next time we see each other.”

The laugh that Dazai lets out is breathless.

“Deal.”

#dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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sunshineandspencer · 3 months ago

Text

Cowboy hat rule, Part 4 (Tyler Owens, Twisters)

A/N: Let’s put it this way, I don’t remember writing this. But it certainly exists so you may have it, I want to rewatch this movie completely legally🏴‍☠️, but I’m not at home and I can’t. Physically weeping as I type this.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader.

Summary: In between butting heads with Javi’s team and running a successful YouTube channel based entirely around tornadoes, Tyler Owens is introduced to the most interesting woman he’s seen in a good while - and her sister.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: kind of suggestive (honestly not sure, it’s pretty late and my brain doesn’t work), minor swearing, I’m beginning to forget the movie so forgive me, very limited knowledge of America (I’m English).

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

I have redone the form for the taglist now that I’m apparently expanding from Criminal Minds

A rodeo, he brought her to a rodeo.

And not just any rodeo, but one in the middle of tornado valley. For the amount of tornadoes this place gets, there are a lot of people here. It makes her nervous.

Thankfully, there are idiots on horses to keep her entertained, and reminiscing about her childhood.

At some point, Tyler leaned over. Pressing his shoulder to hers and ducking his head so she could hear him. His breath just ghosting her ear.

“Not your first rodeo?”

“Not even close.”

Her eyes flicked to his, grinning up at him. He’s certain the sight of her smiling at him is going to be seared in his brain forever.

Especially when she shuffled closer, so that she could be heard. Their thighs pressed together nearly as close as their shoulders. He could smell the faint traces of her perfume, he wishes she’d put some on before they’d left.

“Daddy used to compete in rodeos, up until we were eleven. He had an accident, and mom told him that if he ever did it again it wouldn’t be the bulls he had to worry about.”

He loves her mom, right now she’s the greatest woman in the world. Besides the pretty woman that she created, sat pressed against him.

Her eyes went back to the rodeo, but his didn’t, watching her profile and wondering how he got so.. smitten.

Nudging her with his shoulder, he gave that bright grin - a real, happy grin that people are accustomed to.

“I’m learning all sorts about you Alpine.”

“That you are, and yet you remain an enigma.”

“Aww, you don’t have to go about using all kinds of fancy words, you can just call me pretty.”

They both laughed at that, hushed and slightly giggled. Like a pair of schoolchildren mucking about in assembly and didn’t want to get caught.

Leaning into each other, wondering why everything feels so much funnier when they’re together.

But then she nudged him, telling him to actually tell her something about himself.

“I used to compete too, got stomped in the head a little too much and figured college would do me a little better.” He fidgeted with his watch, fitting it properly to his wrist. “I don’t mean to pry, but since we’re in a sharing mood, what’s up with Kate and Javi?”

She gave a long suffering sigh, and he realised he might’ve just hit a sensitive subject. But before he can tell her not to worry about it, she’s smiling at him.

She’d leant away now, and he doesn’t like it, leaning with her arms on the back of the seats, her legs crossed and no longer against his.

Is it selfish? To want her close again? Because he can be selfish if that’s what it takes.

“He’s always had a thing for her. We used to work together, a group of us. Me and Javi were dating, Kate had her boyfriend, but I knew he loved her. I looked a lot more like her then.. I was a replacement but that was fine because at least I could pretend I was loved.”

Giving Tyler a soft smile, she realised that was probably a little more than he bargained for.

Not knowing that he was currently cycling through all the ways he could murder the guy and shove him into a tornado to make it look like an accident.

He could do it, it’s not hard to shove a dead body into a tornado when you drive into them for a living.

“Maybe he’ll finally get his head out his ass and ask her out. I doubt it though, he’s terrified of rejection.”

Tyler nodded, eyebrows furrowed, and then leant back with her. Arms going around the back of the chairs, fingers dusting her shoulder.

Somehow, even that small touch was enough for her body to become instantly aware of the lingering heat from when they’d been pressed together.

Then he gave her another one of those smiles, and she could’ve melted straight through the plastic.

“If you want, I could run him over and send him up into a tornado. Let God and the weather do their things.”

She laughed - thank God she laughed - and he’s certain that he’s found something more beautiful than any tornado he’d ever chased in his entire life.

And when she calmed down to look at him, smile still playing at those pretty kissable lips, her hands swatted out against his chest.

“Don’t make it sound like you murder people so often, I have to get back in the truck with you.”

“Ahh, don’t worry about that Alpine. You’re too pretty to murder, can’t have the world bereft of that face now can we?”

Before she can answer, a swirl of leaves assault the audience, including them. Leaves that, really, were too violent to have just been caught up in a gust of wind.

Picking one up, she crumpled the leaves and then opened her palm. The way they spread out left her nervous.

“Were you tracking out this way?”

Looking to him nervously, she didn’t like that look on his face. Because they had been, but from the data, even Kate said the one out this way shouldn’t form anything too bad.

Maybe the conditions for the tornado improved, because it definitely seems like something had touched down. By the way the bleachers are rattling.

He didn’t answer either, just looking around at all the people here, calculating the tragedies if something did set down.

But it hadn’t, or else they would’ve gotten—

All at the same time the tornado warnings sounded on their phones, and everyone began to panic, including her.

Snapped out of it by Tyler taking her hand and getting her up. Pulling her through the crowd.

“Come on, we need to find shelter!”

It’s hard to hear over the wind, and when she heard shit start flying off behind them, her blood felt sharp in her veins and she kept up the pace next to him.

Glad he’s got her hand in his or she’s not sure how fast she could run.

“I don’t- I don’t go into tornadoes, I do the data. I don’t go into the fucking things! I’m not you, I’m not used to this.”

He pulled her to a stop just inside a motel parking area, thankfully covered for now. Grabbing her shoulders and looking at her sincerely, realising that she really was scared.

He knew she stayed back, he didn’t know why, but the genuine terror on her face said enough.

“You’ll be alright, I promise. I won’t let you get hurt by this thing. But we need to get to shelter, okay?”

As he started pulling her along, all the noise rushed back to her and made her feel sick. Aware of the crashes and the screams, and the drag of metal on metal as the motel threatened to break apart.

A woman was trying to get her daughter into the car, and she dragged Tyler to a stop.

“No! No, don’t get in your car!! Get out, come here!”

They did, thank God, and joined them in the motel. Shoving past the idiot at the desk who clearly doesn’t know what’s going on.

Everyone talking all over each other about basements or shelters.

She was going a little haywire, and caught onto the crash of a metal gate swinging back and forth. The pool. It’s emptied and the wall would’ve been opened for maintenance.

There’d be an alcove for them to huddle in and hopefully things to hold onto.

Grabbing Tyler’s arm and shouting over everyone else.

“Come on! We haven’t got time to argue, follow me!”

Shouldering open the door, she knew the woman and her child were close behind. As well as the clerk, while Tyler was trying to convince the two idiots that there was actually a tornado.

Helping the woman into the pool, both her and her daughter were sobbing, not that she blamed them. It’s a miracle that she isn’t.

Once the little girl was safely in her mom’s arms, she motioned for them to get to the end of the pool.

Turning around to look for Tyler, she felt his hands on her waist from behind, easing her quickly towards the ladder to get into the pool. Allowing herself a moment to breathe.

Until she caught sight of that couple trying to drive away, getting caught up in the tornado that is way too close for comfort.

Hurrying down, she reached up for Tyler, half wanting him to just jump down, and get to safety as quickly as possible. Pressing a hand to his back to stable him as he dropped down.

Both of them rush over to alcove with the woman and her daughter.

Showing them where to hold, and that she should keep her daughter’s eyes covered from any debris. And not to let go or look around for any reason.

As she started to get a grip on the pipes, she heard a shriek from the motel clerk. He had tried to stand up while Tyler was helping him, and was sent to the shallow end.

Then the idiot tried again and was dragged off into the sky. Her heart was heavy in her throat as she watched Tyler turn and start to crawl back to them. Fighting against the wind.

Holding on tight to the pipes, but leaning out with her hand as far as she could go. Desperately reaching for him.

Especially when a bus or something landed in the pool and started to tip over them. He’d be crushed.

She’s too panicked to really think about anything other than making sure he grabbed her hand. Because she wasn’t losing anyone else - not him.

As soon as his palm connected to hers, she pulled hard, to give him that small bit of leverage he needed right as the bus fell.

He pressed up behind her, keeping both her, and the woman pinned to the pipes, holding on as best he could. They got a little more cover from the bus, thankfully, but the wind was still bad.

With one arm still curled around the pipes, her other reached back to get a handful of his shirt. He was not going anywhere.

Once it was over, all of them soaked and panting, and pretty injured from projectiles, they finally let go.

Of the pipes, anyway. She couldn’t let go of his shirt yet, even as his hands found her waist. Digging in, to help her stand and reassure himself they’re still alive.

Once they’d stood, and stumbled out from around the bus, they walked up to the shallow end to look around.

The town - the rodeo - had been decimated.

And with his hands still comfortably on her waist, she eased the grip on his shirt. Finally turning and wrapping her arms around him. Squeezing as tight as she could to try and now reassure herself.

They’re both alive; they’re both okay.

He hugged her back just as tightly, and she’s not sure if it’s the adrenaline from surviving, but she never wants to be anywhere but his arms ever again.

Want more?! Good!

#tyler owens #twisters #twisters movie #twisters 2024 #twisters fanfic #twisters x reader #twisters spoilers #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens fanfiction #twisters fic #tyler owens fic

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gwendolynnderolo · 4 days ago

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critical role ships as hozier songs

vax / keyleth : francesca

percy / vex : work song

pike / scanlan : foreigner's god

fjord / jester : nobody

beau / yasha : as it was

caleb / essek : from eden

imogen / laudna : NFWMB

orym / dorian : like real people do

ashton / fearne : dinner & diatribes

specific lyrics that i feel like represent the pairings under the cut!

vax / keyleth : francesca

how could you think, darling, i'd scare so easily?

my life was a storm, since i was born, how could i fear any hurricane?

if i could hold you for a minute, darling, i'd go through it again

it was too soon, when that part of you was ripped away

i would not change it each time, heaven is not fit to house a love like you and i

percy / vex : work song

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth, no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her

and i was burning up a fever, i didn't care much how long i lived

but i swear, i thought i dreamed her, she never asked me once about the wrong i did

if the lord don't forgive me, i'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

in the low lamplight, i was free, heaven and hell were words to me

pike / scanlan : foreigner's god

she moved with shameless wonder, the perfect creature rarely seen

her eyes look sharp and steady into the empty parts of me

wondering who i copy, mustering some tender charm

breaking if i try conveying, the broken love i make to her

fjord / jester : nobody

i'd be appalled if i saw you ever try to be a saint, i wouldn't fall for someone i thought couldn't misbehave

but i've had no love like your love from nobody

if i had the choice between hearing either noise, the excitement of a thousand, or the soothing of your voice

and on the other side, why should we deny the truth? we could have less to worry about, honey, i won't lie to you

beau / yasha : as it was

and in a few days i will be there, love, whatever here that's left of me is yours, just as it was

the lights were as bright as my baby, but your love was unmoved

tell me if, somehow, some of it remains, how long you would wait for me and how long i've been away

the shape that i'm in now, your shape in the doorway, make your good love known to me or just tell me about your day

and the nights were as dark as my baby, and half as beautiful too

caleb / essek : from eden

there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?

honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

innocence died screaming, honey, ask me, i should know

there's something broken about this, but i might be hoping about this

a rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree

imogen / laudna : NFWMB

give your heart and soul to charity, cause the rest of you, the best of you, honey, belongs to me

ain't it a gentle sound, the rolling in the graves?

if i was born as a blackthorn tree, i'd wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies

ain't it the life of you, your lightning of the blaze?

orym / dorian : like real people do

i will not ask you where you came from, i will not ask and neither should you

i know that look, dear, eyes always seeking, was there in someone that dug long ago

honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do

ashton / fearne : dinner & diatribes

i knew well from our first hookup, the look of mischief in your eyes

your friends are a fate that befell me, hell is the talking type, i'd suffer hell if you'd tell me what you'd do to me tonight

honey, i laugh when it sinks in, a pillar i am, upright

now that the evening is slowing, now that the end's in sight, honey, it's easier knowing what you'd do to me tonight

oh, let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised and that kind of love

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shaisuki · 6 months ago

Note

Hi there, Shai!!

This idea had been eating my brain for a long time soo Here we goWhat are your thoughts about jjk men who would collar (and maybe even chain) their wife up after they tried to escape / were disobeying?

I'm so sorry for wasting your time over this

I LOVE your work!

Keep it up!!

Byeeee (^-^)/

-Anon

❝𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗢𝗡'𝗧 𝗗𝗢 𝗜𝗧, 𝗜 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗞 𝗡𝗢𝗧. ❞

featuring gojo satoru, nanami kento, toji fushiguro, geto suguru

content warnings yandere themes, nonconsensual themes, chains and collars, minor pet play, ankle cuffs, electrocution, degradation, dark content, gaslighting, manipulation.

synopsis yandere jjk men who would use a chain/collar on their darling

GOJO is the least fond of it. finding the contraptions unpleasant to the eyes and it doesn't suit you. you were the esteemed wife of him and you would be treated as royalty like him. princess treatment and all but he could make exceptions when you're particularly disobedient.

a day is enough of you wearing that collar. he knows how humiliated you feel in that contraption and he did feel bad a little when he sees the tears in your eyes. clawing at the leather in such panicked state that you're already begging for him. saying you'll be good and you will never do it again and satoru believes you...

“you wouldn't do it again, my sweet wife?” he coos. cold slender fingers are wrapped around your neck. his nimble fingers unfastening the cold buckle pressing in your skin. blinking the tears away and sniffling, you nod. too eager and distressed that you were willing to do anything just to get the collar removed.

from how gojo sees it and how you were dead scared earlier. he knows you will be good and learned your lesson. it pains him that you can't even speak while you claw the collar in your neck pulling it that it left claw marks in your skin. droplets of blood making its way outside of your skin and he don't want that again to happen.

satoru froze for a second when you come latching at him after the collar was removed. he expected you to come scratching at him. screaming obscenities from how vile he was instead your soft body is molded against his lean one. “i'll be good.” you repeatedly whisper and your dear husband softens at what you have said. “i know you will.” he replies. hugging you back with such tenderness and no matter how bad he felt. it honestly feels rewarding to see you this clingy to him.

the collar wasn't that bad after all.

NANAMI is not the one you could drive with a reason. deeming that is was unsafe for you to go outside and so when the first idea came running in your mind. a second he was fast to chain you up. nothing to the extreme but ankle cuffs that send jolts of electricity the moment you step outside.

he doesn't like the cuffs in your ankles but he isn't that willing to let you go easily. escaping him means disobeying and who would want that for their spouse to do it. you're not the only who's suffering from it, he also does but tells himself that it would be the good for you and him.

nanami pulls the knot in his tie. effectively loosing the fabric and making him breathe in relief. he's finally home and he can't wait just to be with you. when he's about to turn in the living room. he hears it. the soft thump of a hard object repeatedly being smacked against a pillow and then his heart breaks at the sight.

you were frustratedly tugging at the cuffs wrapped around your ankles. silently screaming and in the verge of tears when it won't just break. punching the throw pillows in the couch as your way to vent the anger, of being chained, of not being free.

noticing nanami's presence you immediately wiped the tears pooling in your eyes and avoiding his gaze. hugging yourself and pretends nothing happened.

sighing, nanami kneels in front of you. gently putting your feet in his lap and unlocking the device that made your life miserable than it is. “better now?” he asks and you nod, not bothering to wipe the tear that trickled down your cheek. “it's for the better.” he murmurs and you remained silent. your feet still on his laps while he rubs the sore spots on where the cuffs where wrapped around you. it's a routine for him. take care of his darling wife. pamper them after leaving them for a long time and please them.

it's a small price to pay when you've given him your dues.

TOJI humiliates you like he needs the air. the chains dangling as he pulled it attached to where your collar is buckled. forcing you to look at him with a furious look in your eyes. cute. as you should be akin to a mutt that no amount of yapping could remove the cuteness. whetting the rage growing aside from desire.

“you're a bitch and you know what happen to bitches. they get punished, you ungrateful bitch.” toji scowled. the sharp lines of his body are defined than it was. eyes glimmering with anger. pulling the chains until your face is in his large hand. gripping your soft jaw so tight they might crush under his raw strength.

he got no qualms about treating you like a pet. you earned it. if you weren't such a bitch you wouldn't be collared and pulled like a toy you are. there's no explanations of it and it's the only known way of the sorcerer killer to discipline someone like you. hope you will be learning your lesson after he's done with you or you're back to the leash if you misbehave again.

GETO finds it highly degrading. it's not pleasing for his eyes to see his darling all chained up or somehow collared. punishments are served by isolating you to others or simply reprimanding you. knowing how affected you are by it and you seem behaved this days. he keeps you grounded and the mere thought of escaping are shut. you didn't even plan it.

he's a man of control and is confident in his skills that he won't let you out of his grasps and when you really wanted to be punished bad. expect he had the stuff, tucked away in a hidden corner that you won't even think he possessed. imagine you really messed up bad and you're wrists are chaffed from the materials rubbing in your skin.

the thoughts of escaping/disobeying is something you shouldn't even think of. you won't like the results.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader #yandere themes #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x chubby reader #tw collar #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro

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mr-ys-phantasma · 1 month ago

Text

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Chapter 1. - Chapter 2. - Chapter 3

Chapter 4. - Chapter 5. - Chapter 6

Chapter 7. - Chapter 8. - Chapter 9

Chapter 10. - Chapter 11. - Chapter 12

Chapter 13. - Chapter 14. - Chapter 15

Chapter 16. - Chapter 17.

Word Count: 1521

Chapter 17:

The lyrics left Agatha's lips smoothly, her good voice once again echoing across the room.

I have learned the lesson

Of all that's foul and fair

Our love was forged in Fire

Water, Earth, and Air

The spell is cast how long it lasts

I can not divine...

While other times you would let her voice enchant and put you in some sort of trance, this time you fought it.

Your fingers moved across the strings on their own, though more than once you dared to glance at them to ensure you were focusing on the right notes.

Who knew what would happen if you played a note wrong.

As the song continued and Agatha sang louder, you all joined her; once again backing her up like the first time you summoned the Road.

Yet despite the singing, everyone was on edge. Not only were they trying to see if they could spot this curse but also because of the raging fire that seemed to have started out of nowhere.

It spread almost all around and it was threatening to break your concentration, only for Agatha to snap and remind everyone to keep playing; the fire a clear sign that the curse was being harmed.

Close to the end, as Alice was getting carried away by the music; she dared to look up.

"The curse. I see it. I can see it." She exclaimed, and then something clicked in her mind. "I can kill it."

Your head snapped her way. "Then do it!" You barked at her, trying to be heard above the sound of music as the song was slowly coming to an end.

Wherever it may bend

I'll see you at the end

The last few lyrics came louder and louder, passion and need guiding the invincible magic emitted from all of you.

The loudest of all was Alice, now more determined than ever to defeat this curse for good; take revenge for her mother and every woman in her family that suffered because of it.

By the last lyric, Alice had spread her hands as flames seemed to erupt on and even behind her; giving quite a spectacle to all of you.

Once done, everyone exchanged looks; wondering if this was it or there was something more.

You did not feel the dark energy of the curse in the room, and something was telling you that you had been successful with this trial as well.

Your confirmation came as the metronome stopped ticking and he piano lid opened on its own, showing everyone a ladder and your way out.

"We did it!" Alice exclaimed, feeling lighter and stronger now that she had defeated the curse.

A smile formed on your lips and you looked at Agatha, who tried to hide her smile; though the relief was evident in her blue ones.

You had done it, you had finished one more trial and you were one step closer in reaching the end.

However, the good mood did not remain for something unexpected happened.

In the very next seconds, Teen collapsed on the ground; shocking everyone as you all rushed to check on him, worrying for the worst.

"Teen!" Alice exclaimed. "What happened?"

Agatha did not hide her worry this time. "What's wrong with him?"

Jen dared to move his coat to the side and her eyes doubled at the sight of a glass piece sticking into his flesh, blood slowlu coming out of it.

"He's bleeding."

You stared at the wound, feeling like an idiot for not spotting it right away. You should have, and yet you didn't, leaving the kid to loyaly play the guitar with you while fighting his injury.

"We've got to get him out of here." You ordered, and everyone nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Working together, you all helpd carry the unconscious and injured boy out; before laying him on a big flat stone that had been conveniently appeared for you.

You were back in the woods, your clothes changed to normal but that was the least of your worries.

Your priority was to save Teen, though almost no one knew what to do. Jen made the mistake of pulling the glass piece out, only for the wound to get worse.

"There's so much blood." Agatha exclaimed, passing her hands through her thick hair while trying not to panic

Jen tried to put pressure on the wound, do her best to help stop the bleeding. "I got it." She snapped back.

It was not enough for Agatha. "What else can we do? What else can we do?"

Lilia looked at the boy and then at her. "He's young. He's strong..."

"Don't!" Agatha exclaimed, pointing a finger at the older woman. However, her expression did not remain cold for long as worry took over. "Don't." Her voice cracked.

You had never seen her that way, so vulnerable and open... it brought pain to your heart but also made you wonder what was the true connection between her and the boy.

To react such way... you felt there was more behind it, or you fear she was reacting due to her past trauma with her son; Nicholas.

The wound kept bleeding, and not even Jen could help, not without her magic. Fearing for the worst, Agatha turned to you.

"Please" she begged, using a tone you swore you would never hear before. "Please, save him" she continued, fully aware you could do something; he coven's last chance in saving him.

"Agatha -" You tried to stop her, for she seemed to have forgotten how you did not directly interfere with such things.

She did not let you continue as she moved to grab both your hands into hers. She looked deep into your eyes, doing her best to remain in control.

"I trust you. You can do this. Please... save him..." she begged once again, making it impossible for you to argue.

A lump formed at the back of your throat, and in the end, you nodded. "Okay," you sighed, and she let you go before taking a few steps back.

You turned to the other witches and walked closer to the flat stone, eyeing the bleeding wound and the unconscious boy. His skin was paler than before, and you swore he did not have much time to live unless you did something.

Ignoring the stares of the other women, you losesned your tie. In the process, your three phased moon necklace was drawn from its hidden place beneath your swirt; earning a silent gasp from Lilia, who noticed it first.

Next, your sleeves were pulled up all the way to your elbow; making visible a faint birth mark on the inside of your wrist; the same symbol of your necklace, forever imprinted on your skin.

You took a few deep breaths as you concentrated, feeling the faint moonlight coming from above. It passed through thick dark branches, forming beams of white light that fell on the small clearing and on you.

Your eyes closed, and you turned your palms to be parallel to the ground and to one another. Your fingers curled faintly as suddenly white magic started to form and gather at the space between your palms.

Jen and Alice gasped faintly when your white magic started to extend, creating thin branches of magical energy that passed next to them; illuminating faintly the dark atmosphere around you all.

Alice even dared to extend a finger, impulsively thinking of touching it, only for Jen to slap her wrist and pull it down; giving her a look.

Your eyes were half open, preventing the others from noticing your white irises as your magic rushed through your veins and your body. Slowly, you brought your hands towards the wound before flipping the palms so both were facing the injury.

You gently touched the wound, feeling the warm sensation of blood tickling your skin but you focused as your magic started to enter the boy's body; cleansing and cleaning his wounds.

Some white branches of it spread around the boy's body, giving him an ethereal look. One single strand reached his face before gently entering his nose.

The very next second, Teen took a deep breath; his chest rising and falling with it. Yet his head fell back in exhaustion and trauma, but he was alive.

You withdrew your bloody hands, allowing everyone to see that the wound was gone; a faint scar was the only reminder that it was once there.

"He should be fine. Just let him rest for a while" you explained as you looked at them, your eyes back to normal as your magic had disappeared; leaving the plain old you standing there.

"Thank you," Agatha muttered in a faint whisper, barely audible to the others.

You offered her a gentle small smile, all you could master at the moment. Seeing hope back in her blue eyes was the reward you did not need but also the reassurance that you had done right; acting and saving the kid.

Chapter 18

#agatha all along #i know jen healed Teen #but I wanted to give Reader sme credits #You have no idea how long I waited to publish this chapter #agatha spoilers #agatha harkness #agatha fanfic #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #moon phases fanfic #marvel #kathryn hahn

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muiitoloko · 22 days ago

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Hi, first of anything I love and ate up every single thing you wrote. That said I NEED a story where Sev is about to be a dad, they are both in the last week of pregnancy just waiting for the moment the little girl (why do we all see him as a baby girl dad tho?) and he's just reflexive on how his life is right now after suffering so much and thinking he would die alone. If you want to add the birth and baby birth that's even better 💔 thanks.

Title: The Twin Stars in Snape's World

Summary: Severus's world shifts entirely with the birth of his daughters, filling the shadows of his past with light and love that he never thought he’d experience.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Author's Notes: It’s not exactly what you asked for, but I was already working on a third chapter for my fanfic Daddy Snape's Dilemma, and your request totally nudged me to finish it up and post it! Hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

First, Second and Third part here.

Also read on Ao3

The final week of your pregnancy arrived, and Severus Snape was, without a doubt, more nervous than you had ever seen him. Over the past months, his protectiveness had gradually intensified, but now, as you neared the end, it had reached an almost comical extreme. He refused to let you out of his sight, shadowing your every move with the intensity of a hawk, his tall, lean figure looming close no matter where you went.

At Hogwarts, his vigilance took on a new form. Snape had all but bullied Dumbledore into hiring a temporary teacher to cover your Ancient Runes classes. You could tell Dumbledore found the whole thing rather amusing, indulging Snape’s demands with a patient, almost fatherly tolerance. As for Snape, there was no humor in it—his determination was fueled by what seemed to be genuine, bone-deep fear.

Instead of teaching, you were relegated to a bedroom at the back of the Potions classroom, with Snape popping in between his own lessons to check on you. You had never seen him so anxious, his usual stoic facade cracking more with each passing day. He would pace outside your quarters, shoulders tense, the dark circles under his eyes deepening. Despite his best efforts to hide it, he was deeply stressed, behaving as if he were the one about to give birth.

You noticed that this worry manifested in another unexpected way: the matter of naming your daughters. Every day he would bring you lists, scrolls of parchment filled with options he had painstakingly compiled, poring over the names with the same scrutiny he’d apply to brewing a delicate, dangerous potion. Each name had to be perfect, meaningful, and worthy.

He had presented you with everything from mythological names to obscure, poetic words he’d found in ancient texts. You, however, had a different approach. “Severus,” you said one evening as he handed you yet another list, his expression serious, “I know you want to have everything planned, but… we’ll know their names when we see them. Don’t you think?”

Snape’s gaze turned sharp, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if the suggestion was almost sacrilegious. “And what if we don’t?” he retorted, his voice low and pointed. “What if we look at them and realize we’ve failed to give them names that reflect who they are meant to be?”

You bit back a smile, reaching out to touch his hand, feeling the tension radiate from his slender, calloused fingers. “Severus, we won’t fail them just because we haven’t decided on names yet. They’re our daughters—they’ll be extraordinary no matter what we call them.”

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a fraction as he looked down at you, the intensity in his gaze softening. “I’m merely trying to… prepare. It is my responsibility as their father to see to it that they have everything they need—even a name that will protect them from the start.”

His protectiveness tugged at your heart, and you squeezed his hand. “You’re already giving them everything they need, Severus. They’ll have you.”

Snape’s expression shifted, a rare vulnerability flickering across his angular face, though he quickly hid it. “Yes, well…” he muttered, glancing away. “I still believe we should at least shortlist a few options.”

Over the next few days, you managed to narrow down the lists together, though every time you thought you’d settled on something, he’d return with yet another alternative he deemed equally worthy. It became almost endearing, watching him struggle with his need for control over something as uncontrollable as birth.

You chuckled one evening, teasing him, “You do realize, Severus, that the girls might decide their names for us? They could arrive and look nothing like any of these.”

His frown deepened, though a hint of amusement flickered in his dark eyes. “They will look like you,” he replied, his voice almost possessive, as though that was an immutable fact. “And if they resemble you, then any name I choose will be worthy.”

In the quiet moments, you could see past his impatience, his need for everything to be just so. He was terrified. The great, imposing Severus Snape, who had faced dangers most wizards could scarcely imagine, was terrified of this unknown journey. And though he hid it behind his meticulous planning, his anxiety was evident in every line he wrote, every name he researched.

One night, as he sat beside you, poring over yet another scroll, you couldn’t help but place your hand over his, stilling his movements. “Severus,” you said softly, your voice gentle, “it’s all right to be scared.”

He didn’t pull his hand away, but he didn’t meet your eyes, his jaw tight. “I am not afraid,” he replied, though his tone lacked conviction. His voice was softer, almost strained. “I simply… cannot afford any mistakes. Not with them. Not with you.”

You placed a hand on your belly, feeling a gentle kick as if one of the babies could sense his unease. You guided his hand to the spot, letting him feel the movement.

“They’re already telling us they’re fine,” you whispered, smiling as his eyes softened, a faint blush creeping up his pale cheeks. “And you’re going to be an incredible father.”

For a brief moment, the tension melted from his face, replaced by a rare, unguarded expression. He watched you, his hand lingering on your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles over the spot where he’d felt the kick.

“Two girls,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice filled with a strange mixture of awe and dread. “I don’t know if I’m prepared for this.”

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, your heart swelling with love for this man who had, against all odds, become so much more than you’d ever dreamed possible. “You’ll be ready, Severus,” you assured him, your voice full of conviction. “They’re already lucky to have you.”

In that moment, as he held you close, his face buried in your shoulder, you knew that no matter what names were chosen, no matter how unprepared he felt, your daughters would be loved beyond measure. And for Severus, that was the truest magic of all.

Snape sat at his desk, his gaze flickering over the rows of students carefully attempting the day’s potion. A faint curl of distaste tugged at his lips as he caught sight of Potter, who, as usual, seemed perilously close to ruining his cauldron’s contents. Snape had already reprimanded him once that morning, his words slicing through the dungeon air with the sharpness he reserved for the boy. Yet now, as he sat in silence, the other students barely daring to breathe, his attention drifted elsewhere, pulled toward thoughts far removed from the dungeons of Hogwarts.

Just behind him, a faint rustle and creak filtered through the door to your shared quarters. The faint sounds of movement as you stirred from sleep. A warmth crept into his chest, breaking through the stoic shell he maintained with such precision.

As his gaze returned to the students before him, he felt the familiar, bittersweet pang of Lily’s memory—his first love, and his greatest regret. For so long, her shadow had been his constant companion, filling him with a cold, unrelenting ache. Protecting her son had become his purpose, his penance. And after her death, he had accepted that this mission would likely be the only meaning his life would ever have. There had been a time when he thought he might die carrying it out—perhaps even hoped for it.

But then you had entered his life.

A sigh escaped his lips, almost inaudible beneath the simmering of potions and the scratch of quills. The world had shifted when you came into it, and now, with the prospect of your daughters’ arrival in only three days, he felt that shift more acutely than ever. A sense of purpose, something wholly separate from his debt to Lily, had taken root within him.

You had given him a reason to live that went beyond atonement. The life growing within you, two delicate lives entwined with his own, felt like a redemption he had never believed possible. For the first time, he could imagine a future not defined by sacrifice and solitude, but by something richer, something gentler.

Snape’s hand tightened briefly around the edge of his desk, and he watched his students, their heads bent over their cauldrons, oblivious to his thoughts. He had spent years mastering his emotions, transforming them into weapons, shields, armor against the outside world. But now, he realized that he could no longer afford to wield that armor so thoughtlessly.

These children, his daughters—they would be born into a world fractured by war, a world where he had a role to play in the coming darkness. Yet for them, he could not allow himself the luxury of despair or surrender. For the first time, he couldn’t imagine simply fading away into the shadows after Voldemort’s defeat. It was no longer an option to leave this life without knowing that his daughters would grow up strong, safe, and surrounded by the kind of love he had never known.

As the thought took root, Snape’s jaw tightened, a new resolve settling over him like a cloak. He would survive this war. He would survive, not because of some duty to the past, but because of a responsibility to the future—to his family. He would see his daughters grow up; he would teach them, protect them, stand by their side as they learned about the world and perhaps even found their own places in it.

For once, the prospect of living beyond the war held something other than pain. A faint vision of two young girls, with bright eyes and curious minds, drifted through his mind. His daughters, growing up, asking questions about the stars, about potions, perhaps even about love. And you—by his side, guiding them with the warmth he could only hope to echo.

The shrill sound of a student’s cauldron hissing sharply brought him back to the present. He narrowed his eyes at the offending student, who paled under his glare and quickly adjusted the heat, stammering an apology. Snape stood up abruptly, his dark eyes narrowing as he prepared to address the room. But before he could say a word, a loud crash echoed through the dungeons as the door to his quarters burst open.

He whipped around, dark eyes narrowing, but whatever sharp retort had been on his lips vanished as he took in the sight before him.

There you stood, gripping the doorway, your face flushed, one hand braced against your lower back and the other cradling your rounded belly. The look on your face was equal parts determination and alarm, but it was the words that followed that sent his heart racing.

“It’s happening,” you gasped, your voice shaky but clear.

For a moment, Snape stood frozen, your words echoing in his mind, the meaning of them almost surreal. Happening? He glanced down, his mind racing. Surely not—

His thoughts halted abruptly as Ron Weasley’s voice, loud and tactless, filled the silence. “Why’s she peeing herself in front of everyone?”

Hermione’s horrified gasp quickly followed, and she smacked him on the arm, whispering furiously, “She’s not peeing herself, Ron! Her water’s broken! She’s giving birth!”

That was all it took to snap Snape out of his stunned stupor. The babies were coming—now. Much earlier than planned. His eyes widened, and he lunged from behind his desk, moving to your side in an instant, his usual composure nowhere in sight.

“Merlin,” he muttered under his breath, one hand hovering awkwardly near you, unsure whether to support you or hold back in case he only made things worse. “You… you’re sure?” he stammered, though he immediately realized how absurd that question was.

You managed a small, pained laugh. “Quite sure, Severus.”

His mind raced as he attempted to regain his bearings. The portkey to St. Mungo’s—they’d had it prepared weeks ago, but it had seemed more like an overcautious precaution at the time. Now, with the urgency of the situation hitting him, he felt his calm shatter.

He shot a look around the classroom, and his gaze landed on the nearest student—Hermione Granger, who was watching with wide eyes, clearly understanding the seriousness of the situation. “Miss Granger,” he barked, his voice laced with barely concealed panic, “fetch Professor McGonagall. Tell her to cover this class immediately.”

Hermione jumped to her feet, nodding fervently as she dashed from the room, her own nervous energy amplifying the urgency. Meanwhile, Snape turned back to you, his heart racing as he tried to mask his worry.

“Severus,” you breathed, clutching his arm. “The portkey—”

He nodded quickly, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yes, of course.” His hand moved to his robes, fingers fumbling as he retrieved the small, inconspicuous glass vial enchanted to transport you both directly to St. Mungo’s.

He held the vial up to you, and you grabbed it, your other hand gripping his arm tightly as the room around you vanished in a whirl of colors. The bustling noise of Hogwarts faded, replaced by the sterile quiet of the St. Mungo’s ward as you both landed in the reception area, nearly stumbling from the sudden shift in location.

A Healer rushed toward you both, her eyes widening as she took in the scene. “Mrs. Snape—oh my, it’s early!” she exclaimed, gesturing to an available stretcher as she signaled to her colleagues. “Let’s get you to a delivery room.”

Snape’s hands hovered near you, his face a mixture of worry and focus as he helped you onto the stretcher. As the Healers moved you down the hallway, he kept pace beside you, his long strides easily matching their quick pace. He reached out to take your hand, gripping it tightly as you squeezed back, the intensity of the contractions beginning to set in.

“You’re doing fine,” he murmured, his deep voice steadier than he felt. “Just breathe.”

A faint smile crossed your face despite the pain. “Severus Snape, giving breathing advice. Now I’ve seen everything.”

He quirked an eyebrow, though his expression softened. “Mock me all you like, but keep breathing.”

The Healers moved efficiently, ushering you into the delivery room and setting you up as Snape hovered close, his dark gaze flicking anxiously between you and the medical staff. He could feel the old fear surfacing—the fear of the unknown, the helplessness of standing by while others took over. But your hand in his grounded him, your presence reminding him that he was exactly where he needed to be.

A Healer turned to him, her expression calm and reassuring. “It may take a few hours, Professor. These things are rarely quick, and with twins…”

Snape’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, settling into a chair beside you, his hand never leaving yours.

Hours passed, though they felt like mere minutes to him. He was acutely aware of every moment—the sound of your breathing, the tightening of your grip during contractions, the reassuring words from the Healers. He remained silent, his face a mask of concentration, his own discomfort forgotten in his focus on you.

The hours stretched, each contraction increasing the tension in the room. Severus remained by your side, his hand firmly gripping yours, his dark eyes watching every move the Healers made with suspicion. But the moment the lead Healer suggested you get up and walk to help progress the labor, his calm snapped.

“Walk?” His voice, usually controlled and low, rose sharply, filled with uncharacteristic alarm. “You expect her to walk in this state? Are you out of your minds?”

The Healer, a kindly-looking witch with graying hair, gave Severus a reassuring smile, accustomed to nervous fathers. “Professor Snape,” she began gently, “encouraging movement can help speed things along. It’s quite common, especially with twins.”

Severus’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his face paling even more. “Common?” he echoed incredulously, his gaze darting from you to the Healer. “My wife is in labor, Madam, with twins, and you want her to walk about like she’s merely out for a stroll?”

Despite the contractions, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his outburst. “Severus,” you managed between breaths, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “It’s fine. I can walk a little.”

He looked at you, his dark eyes wide with concern, clearly torn. The thought of you enduring even the smallest discomfort was driving him nearly mad. “If—if you’re certain…” he muttered, though his grip on your arm was firm as he helped you out of bed, as if preparing to catch you at the slightest misstep.

The Healer guided you both down the hall for a short, careful walk, Severus muttering under his breath with every step, shooting fierce looks at any Healer who dared suggest you keep moving. When you paused, wincing as another contraction hit, he practically growled at the Healer. “If there’s any risk to my wife or our daughters…” He let the threat linger, his face a mask of furious protectiveness.

Finally, you were able to return to the bed, and though the labor continued slowly, Severus remained at your side, holding your hand and murmuring soft reassurances. His fingers trembled slightly as he brushed back your hair, the love and worry in his gaze evident even as he tried to keep his composure.

It was nearly dawn when the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by a cheerful voice that could only belong to Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster entered, his arms laden with trinkets, including tiny stuffed owls, a miniature cauldron, and a set of rattles that jingled softly. He looked as though he had raided the entire children’s section of Diagon Alley.

“Severus, my boy!” he called warmly, his blue eyes twinkling as he approached. “I heard there was a new arrival or two on the way. Ah, and Minerva!” He turned, gesturing as Professor McGonagall entered, a faintly amused smile on her face as she took in Severus’s tense form by your bedside.

Dumbledore began to hand out trinkets, placing the little toys on the table near your bed, each accompanied by a soft hum and a lemon drop he popped into his mouth with relish. “The finest wares from Diagon Alley,” he declared, his tone bright. “Only the best for the future Misses Snape!”

Minerva moved closer to you, her expression softening as she reached for your hand. “How are you holding up, dear?” she asked, her Scottish accent laced with warmth. “Severus here has kept us all quite informed on your progress. I daresay I’ve never seen him in such a state.”

“Nor has anyone else, I assure you,” you replied, managing a tired smile. Severus shot Minerva a look that could have melted cauldrons, though his hand never left yours.

Dumbledore continued to rummage through his collection, holding up a small toy wand that emitted a shower of harmless sparks. “I thought this might suit,” he said with a wink. “We must start their magical education early.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Healers gave the signal. Severus held your hand tightly, his face a mix of awe and terror as the final stage of labor began. You saw a single tear slip down his usually composed face, his grip tightening as he whispered, “You’re incredible. I— I am so proud of you.”

The Healers wheeled you down a quiet, dimly lit corridor, Severus’s tall, shadowy form looming beside you, never letting you out of his sight. His dark eyes, usually hardened and calculating, were softened with a mixture of awe and profound vulnerability as he took in every detail of the room being prepared for the birth of your daughters.

The faint echoes of magical murmurs from the Healers filled the room as they adjusted the equipment and spells needed. Severus moved to your side, his long, slender fingers brushing against your hand with a tentative gentleness. You could feel his nervous energy, the intense worry that he tried so desperately to mask beneath his stoic exterior.

As the contractions intensified, he bent down, his pale, angular face close to yours, his hair falling forward to shield his expression. His deep voice, usually sharp and guarded, softened as he whispered, “I’m here. You’re not alone, amore.”

The Healers instructed him to step back slightly, readying themselves for the delivery. Though he complied, his piercing gaze never left you, as if he were willing every ounce of his strength to help you through this moment.

Moments later, the room filled with a powerful, almost sacred silence as the first cry rang out—a thin, wailing sound that sent a tremor through Severus. One of the Healers approached, cradling a tiny, wriggling form swaddled in soft white fabric, and extended her towards Severus. His expression froze, and for a split second, he seemed almost paralyzed by fear.

The Healer’s voice was gentle. “Would you like to hold your daughter, Professor Snape?”

He nodded, though his hands trembled as he reached out. Carefully, she placed the baby in his arms, her tiny face peeking out from the blanket, her features so delicate and small they seemed otherworldly. Severus looked down at her, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. His usually cold demeanor melted away, replaced by an intense, overwhelming tenderness that softened every line of his face.

“She’s…” His voice faltered, thick with emotion. His eyes glistened, and he swallowed hard, blinking back tears as he took in every detail—the soft curve of her cheeks, her tiny fingers curling into fists, her miniature nose. She was perfect, and in that moment, he realized he would do anything to protect her. He bent his head, his deep voice a reverent whisper. “You’re perfect.”

Just as Severus seemed to settle into the awe of holding his daughter, your voice cut through, strained yet filled with strength as the next contraction began. He looked up, his dark gaze flickering between you and the tiny life cradled in his arms, torn between staying with his newborn daughter and being by your side.

“Severus,” you managed, breathless, a smile breaking through the exhaustion, “go on… be there for her.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a beat, his expression raw with admiration, before he gently passed the baby to a nearby Healer, ensuring she would be safe. He crossed the room quickly, his dark robes sweeping behind him as he returned to your side, his long fingers slipping back into yours. You felt his grip, firm and unyielding, grounding you, as he whispered encouragements, his voice unsteady yet filled with pride.

Minutes later, a second cry filled the room, high and clear, and you saw Severus’s shoulders tremble with relief and elation. One of the Healers brought over the second newborn, a twin as delicate and perfect as her sister, and Severus stared at her, his heart swelling in his chest.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice choked with a depth of feeling he rarely revealed. He took her into his arms, his slender fingers cradling her small head, his thumb gently tracing her cheek. His usually cold, intimidating face softened into something unrecognizable, a fierce love that lit his dark eyes with an intensity that left you breathless.

As he held her, the first Healer approached, bringing the other twin over to you, her tiny face nestled in the blanket. Your heart filled as you looked down at her, at the small, precious life you had brought into the world. In that moment, the room felt full of magic, not the kind that could be taught or brewed, but the kind that was born out of love, pure and unconditional.

Severus looked over at you, his expression softened beyond recognition, his piercing gaze filled with an almost painful tenderness as he watched you holding your daughter. For once, his stoic mask was gone, replaced by the vulnerability of a man who had finally found something worth living—and dying—for.

“They have your eyes,” you whispered, noting the dark lashes and tiny features, a hint of his unmistakable presence in them already.

He nodded, speechless, his voice catching as he tried to speak. When he finally found his words, they were barely above a whisper, his voice thick with emotion. “They’ll have your spirit… your kindness. And they’ll know they are loved.” His gaze met yours, a profound, unspoken promise shimmering in his eyes.

He reached out, his long fingers gently touching your cheek, and for the first time, you saw the walls he had so carefully built around his heart crumble, replaced by the love he had tried so hard to hide. Here, in this room, with his daughters in his arms and you by his side, Severus Snape had found his redemption. And it was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #severus snape x reader #severus snape

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solxamber · 2 months ago

Text

Antinomy - Leo Kurosagi x reader

You and Leo have been at each other's throats for the past few years. So why does it feel so wrong when he shows up at your door bruised and bloody? aka the prompt: "I didn't know where else to go"

The knock is sharp, almost a thud, one that echoes through the room like the reverberation of some bad omen. It’s well past two in the morning, and nothing good ever comes from visitors at this hour. But still, curiosity gets the better of you, and you open the door with more force than you intend.

You freeze. It’s Leo.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, disheveled, one arm clutching his side. His usual smug demeanor is nowhere to be found; instead, his face is bruised, streaks of dried blood trailing from his nose. There’s a cut above his eyebrow, barely clotted, and his shirt is torn like it’s seen better days—like he’ seen better days. It’s probably the first time you’ve ever seen him so out of sorts.

“What the hell…” You can barely get the words out as he leans more heavily on the frame, gritting his teeth.

“Look,” he rasps, voice rougher than the usual annoyingly smug tone, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You stare, unblinking, taking in the sight of him—your infamous rival, the bane of your existence, now standing battered and barely on his feet. A barrage of thoughts rush through your mind. The first: how the hell did he end up like this? The second: why is he here?

When you don’t immediately move or speak, Leo’s mouth curls into something resembling a smirk—though it’s weaker, a shadow of his usual arrogance. “Sho’s out of town… and as much as you love hating me… we both know you don’t hate me enough to leave me out here bleeding.”

Your jaw tightens at that. The nerve. But he’s right. Damn him, he’s always right when it comes to this—knowing just how far to push before you break.

“What did you do?” you finally snap, folding your arms, though it feels more like an attempt to shield yourself from whatever storm’s about to follow him inside.

“Picked the wrong fight,” he mutters. “Didn’t turn out quite the way I expected.”

“Clearly.” You look him up and down, incredulous. “And Alan? Why didn’t you just call Alan?”

A wince flashes across his face as he tries to straighten himself. “I'm already on thin ice with him. I'd rather not hear it from him right now.”

“You expect me to help you? You do realize who you’re talking to, right?” You bite out, though a part of you already knows you’ll cave. There’s something different about Leo tonight. Gone is the usual bravado, the mocking quips and cynical remarks. In their place, you see desperation—vulnerability. He wouldn’t have come here unless he really had no other option.

“Come on,” he breathes, his voice fraying at the edges. “As much as you’d love to see me suffer, you wouldn’t let me bleed out on your doorstep.”

You hate that he’s right. And you hate that some twisted part of you does care—more than you’re willing to admit, even now. With a sigh, you step back, allowing him entry.

“Fine,” you huff, “but don’t expect me to play nice.”

“I’d never expect that from you,” he says with a pained grin as he limps inside.

You close the door behind him, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest. You’re rivals—you hate him, really—and yet, here you are, letting him into your space, into your life when he’s at his weakest. It’s irrational. It’s stupid. But it’s Leo, and you’ve never been able to figure out why you care so much about someone who’s made your life extremely inconvenient for so long.

“Sit,” you order, motioning toward the couch.

He gives you a mock salute, then collapses onto the cushions with a groan, clutching his side tighter.

“What the hell happened to you?” You grab a first-aid kit from the kitchen, already mentally preparing yourself for a long night.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Leo mumbles, though the way he winces with every breath tells a different story. “Just got a little out of hand.”

“A little?” You raise an eyebrow, kneeling down in front of him to examine the damage. His knuckles are bloodied, the cut on his eyebrow still oozing slightly. His shirt’s soaked with sweat, and you can see the bruises spreading across his ribs. He looks like he’s been through a war.

Leo watches you with an unreadable expression as you start cleaning his wounds. “What’s with the concern, hmm? Thought you’d be celebrating right about now. Finally got me on my knees, and not in the way you imagined.”

You glare at him, pushing a bit harder on the wound than necessary. He hisses but doesn’t flinch. “Shut up, Leo. You’re lucky I don’t kick you while you’re down.”

He chuckles softly, though it’s strained. “You always had a mean streak.”

“Maybe I just hate you.”

His grin falters for a moment, something almost… hurt flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

There’s a beat of silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. You’ve patched him up as best you can and cleaned the wounds on his knuckles but they still looked raw and painful. But the tension in the air is thick, and neither of you seems willing to break it.

“You didn’t have to come here,” you murmur, sitting back on your heels, arms crossing over your chest again. “You could’ve gone to anyone. Your fans would’ve eaten this up. Why come to me?”

Leo’s gaze shifts to the floor. For the first time since you opened the door, he looks… unsure.

“I… I didn’t want them to see me like this,” he admits quietly, his usual cocky bravado nowhere to be found. “And Sho wasn’t around. You were the only one I thought of.”

Your heart skips a beat, though you fight to keep your expression neutral. “Why?”

“Because I knew you wouldn't let me bleed out,” he says, so softly you almost don’t hear it.

And there it is. The vulnerability beneath all the layers of arrogance and wit. The part of Leo you’ve only ever caught glimpses of. You’ve always known it was there, buried deep under his ego, but seeing it now, laid bare in front of you, feels… different.

“Dumbass,” you mutter, looking away. “You picked a fight, got yourself hurt, and now you’re here expecting me to fix it.”

“I don’t expect you to fix anything,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I just didn’t know where else to go.”

You take a deep breath, trying to rein in your frustration. He’s hurt, and despite all the history between you two—the constant bickering, the rivalry that’s lasted years—this is different. He came to you when he was at his lowest, and there’s something in that which makes your chest tighten.

You sit down beside him on the couch, careful to give him space but not too much. It’s a strange feeling, having Leo so close, especially like this—broken, vulnerable, his cocky grin now replaced by something far more human.

“Why do you always do this to yourself?” The words slip out before you can stop them, not exactly what you meant to say, but the only thing that comes to mind. “You pick fights you know you can’t win and rely on Sho to bail you out. What do you think will happen if he can’t make it in time?” You gesture toward his battered state. “And when he couldn’t, you showed up at my door?” Your voice trembles as you take a shuddering breath. “Do you expect me to pick up the pieces?”

Leo glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and for a second, you think he might laugh it off, make some snide remark like he usually does. But he doesn’t. Instead, he just sighs, leaning his head back against the cushions, eyes closing.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly, and it catches you off guard. “Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.”

You shake your head, frustration boiling beneath the surface. “That’s not an answer, Leo. You’re reckless. You put yourself in danger just for the thrill of it, and then what? You expect people to be there to bail you out?”

“I don’t expect anyone to do anything for me,” he says, his voice sharp, but there’s an edge of defeat in it. “Not even you.”

“Then why come here?” you press, anger rising. “Why not just go home and patch yourself up like you usually do?”

He opens his eyes, turning his head to look at you. There’s something raw in his gaze, something you’ve never seen before. It’s unsettling, like he’s letting you in, showing you a part of himself that he’s always kept hidden.

“Because I knew you’d actually care,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

And there it is again, that vulnerability, the crack in his armor. It’s the one thing you never expected from him, and it’s throwing you off balance. You don’t know how to respond, don’t know how to deal with Leo when he’s like this—so exposed, so… real.

You swallow hard, looking away. “You’re an idiot, Leo.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, leaning his head back again, closing his eyes. “I know.”

Silence falls between you, thick and uncomfortable, but also strangely intimate. You can hear his breathing, slow and steady now that he’s stopped trying to act tough. His hand rests on his lap, knuckles still raw from whatever fight he got himself into. Without thinking, you reach out, gently taking his hand in yours, inspecting the damage despite just cleaning it.

He doesn’t pull away.

“You could’ve died,” you say softly, the words almost getting caught in your throat. “And for what? A stupid fight?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost pained. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I had.”

Your heart stops. You turn to him, eyes wide, but he doesn’t look back at you. He keeps his gaze fixed on the ceiling, as if he’s afraid to meet your eyes.

“Leo…” you start, but you don’t know how to finish. You’ve never heard him talk like this—so defeated, so broken. It’s like you’re seeing a completely different person, someone who’s been hiding behind that arrogant smirk for years, and it scares you.

“I’m tired,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Tired of all of it.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Then why do you keep doing it? Why do you keep putting yourself through this?”

“Because I don’t know how to stop,” he admits, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You can feel the weight of them, pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. You’ve always known that there was more to Leo than the cocky influencer he portrayed online, but you never realized just how deep his insecurities ran.

You squeeze his hand gently, hoping to offer some kind of comfort. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. You don’t have to keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “And who’s going to help me? You?”

You meet his gaze, holding it this time. “Yes. Me.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The tension is thick, but there’s something else there too—something unspoken, something that’s been building between you for years. You’ve always been rivals, always been at each other’s throats, but underneath all of that, there’s been this… connection. This thing that neither of you has ever been willing to acknowledge.

Until now.

Leo’s eyes soften, his usual sharp wit dulled by exhaustion and pain. He watches you for a moment, like he’s trying to figure something out, and then, slowly, he leans in.

You don’t stop him.

His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, like he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to push him away. But you don’t. Instead, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s soft, but filled with years of unresolved tension.

It’s messy and imperfect, but it feels right—like this was always supposed to happen, like this was the inevitable conclusion of everything that’s ever passed between you. And for a moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in each other, everything else fading away.

When he finally pulls back, he looks at you with something like disbelief in his eyes, like he can’t quite believe what just happened.

“You…” he starts, but he doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.

You just nod, leaning your forehead against his. “Yeah. Me.”

And in that moment, something between you shifts. The walls that you’ve both spent years building up start to crumble, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re both just… there. Vulnerable. Real.

It’s terrifying, but it’s also liberating.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, Leo,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You don’t have to keep fighting.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling softly. “I don’t know how to stop.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you say again, squeezing his hand. “I’m here.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond. But then, slowly, he nods and buries his face into your neck.

“Okay,” he whispers.

And for the first time in years, Leo lets his guard down.

Masterlist

#tokyo debunker x reader #leo kurosagi x reader #leo kurosagi #tokyo debunker #hurt/comfort #tdb x reader #tdb #tkdb x reader #tkdb

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