#sigma . skin so pale

[sigmadaily]

maybe this gives you a better sense of how many frames/shots/angles I will get out of one emote, actually - these shots don't include the souvenir itself...

[oikasugayama]

YOU CATCH HIM M@STURBAT!NG

NSFW, for adults ONLY, MDNI or I'll block you. No idea how many parts this will be. Let me know which BSD men you want to see ;)

pt. 1 Fyodor, Poe, Chuuya | pt. 2 Fukuzawa, Kunikida, Dazai | pt. 3 Ranpo, Akutagawa, Ango | pt. 4 Sigma, Mori, Tetcho | pt. 5 (finale) Atsushi, Nikolai

Fyodor

Walking in on him touching himself is REALLY surprising because he doesn't seem the type to masturbate, in your mind. You straight up couldn't imagine him touching himself until the very second you walked into his office and saw his bottoms around his ankles, his top hiked up around his chest, and his hand furiously pumping over his pale dick.

His head is thrown back, eyes closed, mouth lazily hanging open. You've never seen so much skin on him before. He's PALE pale which makes the brightness of his mouth and tongue and the tip of his cock seem so much brighter.

"oh love, yes, yesss" he moans, and your whole body flushes red with embarrassment and arousal at the same time. You shouldn't be seeing this but you're having a hell of a time turning away from him. You need to leave the room. You need to go. You need to turn around.

"y/n," he purrs, tilting his head and opening his eyes half-way, looking so fucked out and erotic. "do you like what you see?"

You can't formulate an answer, you're standing in the doorway short circuiting, trying to make words but only noises come out

"since you're standing there I thought you might be interested," he says as slow and calm as ever. Even jerking himself off his voice doesn't hitch or raise or speed up and it's honestly really hot right now. "Care to join me?"

"i-i, um... I'm really s-sorry, f...fyodor."

He moans softly biting his lip while still staring straight at you.

"say it again," he purrs. "say my name."

"fyodor..."

"again," he moans, hand working faster.

"Fyodor."

you walk in and close the door behind you.

Poe

You two scheduled a hang-out at his place but despite how many times you knocked on the door, he wouldn't answer...so you try the doorknob, and hey, it's unlocked! You've been to his place many times, you don't mind letting yourself in and don't suspect he'll mind either.

After you put your stuff down and take off your shoes, you register a quiet noise coming from a different room. you sneak closer and realize two things: it's crying, and it's coming from poe's bedroom

you open the door and rush in without thinking. "poe! what's wrong, why are you-- OH FUCK"

you rushed right into him kneeling at the edge of his bed, bouncing on a dildo and not crying, whimpering, moaning.

he calls your name and you can't tell if he meant to moan it but he absolutely moans it and he sounds like a wreck and he looks pathetic and fucked out, and you feel it when he says your name.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have been this, I'm gonna go home--" you say, turning and rushing out of his room. he calls your name after you, multiple times, moaning and moaning and moaning--

you sink down against his front door, still slightly able to hear the sounds of him moaning and whining from his room. you're so horny now, absolutely drenched through your panties/rock hard in your pants. You know you should leave, you know you shouldn't still be here, but he never told you to go, he just kept saying your name...

a few minutes later, after the noises have subsided and the apartment has gotten deadly quiet, his bedroom door creaks open and he slowly peeks his head out. he must be crawling still because he's near the floor.

"[y/n]," he sighs, "I didn't want you to find out like this."

it takes you a second to collect yourself, but you manage to ask "find what out?"

"that i... i think about you... a lot..."

Chuuya

you're on a PM mission with chuuya and several other PM members. you've got to share a room with chuuya, but at least you have separate beds. it's fine. it's whatever. until.

until you wake up one morning--the clock on the bedside table saying it's only 6:23 a.m.--to the sound of a rhythmic slapping, some occasional huffs, a-- a moan?

you sit upright in bed quickly, your head turning toward chuuya's bed.

"are you fucking serious?"

"what" he huffs, and through the tiny bit of daylight creeping through the curtains you can see movement beneath his sheets.

"are you jerking off right now? dude we're sharing a fucking room."

"you were asleep," he says defensively. "not like you noticed yesterday."

"dude!!!"

"get over it, it's fuckin' natural," he says and his voice is getting tight and higher almost like he's biting back a moan or getting close to cumming.

"it's disrespectful when you have someone in the same room, chuuya," you say softer, subconsciously still trying to hear the sounds he's making. you're embarrassed at how intrigued you are

"i'm not stopping you," he says. "you can jerk it too for all i care."

"to what... to you jerking it?"

you can almost hear the smirk in his voice when he says "I never said anything about that, so you thought that up all on your own. is that what you're into, pet?"

[k0yaz]

Toots ik you got a whole lot of requests but hear me out 🧏🏻‍♀️

Jealous Arlecchino oneshot with smut or suggestive ending🧎🏻‍♀️

Like her and her hot af wife (reader) going on a lil mission in a different nation and have to continuously speak with a woman who the Fatui has connections with to help them

And reader and said woman are getting along TOO good and while reader is thinking this is some cute girls-bonding-time the woman is literally drooling over her and trying to keep her away from Arlecchino

Arlecchino notices ofc 🤗

The rest is up to you, but please no degradation or like “you were enjoying her attention” type thing in the smut/suggestive part <3

vexations.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, afab reader, jealousy, fatui member reader (rank not specified), weird lady get tf away, uh moew, the sigma inside me is yearning for deck, lowkey the no degration part gave me an idea, strap on use, praise, small bit of marking, not proofread.

A/N: GIRL OMG lowkey I love that you kinda said no degradation or the attention relishing thing bc honestly I don’t like that kinda stuff either as u can see from like a lot of my work I avoid humiliation and stuffs I like fluffy sex SO YOURE SO REAL FOR THAT BC IT KINDA FEELS WEIRD YK anyway hope u like this yayayay 🕯️

“Arle hurry up! The negotiator won’t wait forever.”

A soft nudge brushed along the blade of your shoulder as you tilted your head over, noticing your wife leaning at your side upon catching up from behind you. Arlecchino breathed out a quiet hum in response, the crisp winds of the howling sky assaulting your skin in a cold fury. Usually, the weather in Fontaine wasn’t overtly cold as it was now, typically balanced between being fairly warm yet decently cool.

Usually, your time with your dear wife was cut short from the barrage of missions piled up one after another, shrouding her schedule immensely. Mission after mission led to Arlecchino trudging out of the house with her infamous fluffed harbinger coat hung loosely over her shoulders, deep eyes looking back to the opening in annoyance upon being unable to spend more time with you. She dreaded it. The prospect of leaving you all alone so early in the morning scrambling along the fluffed sheets for her touch, only to wake to an empty edge in disappointment.

Although you were in fact slotted in a position within the ranks of the Fatui, you never found yourself venturing out on an array of missions like Arlecchino was. Preferring to keep to yourself as you weren’t exactly the brightest when it came to negotiations. Each day, you found yourself lounged on the couch of your shared home, cheek squished against the flat of your palm in anticipation for the door to creak open to reveal your beloved herself. You could only sigh as the clock hand flicked over agonizingly slow, your eyes lowered as your muscles tensed to await her arrival.

However, things were quite different when it came to the Tsaritsa’s request for negotiations in Fontaine’s watchful eye of justice, as it drew caution to Arlecchino having to go alone. It was quite clear on how oddly strict and valued the Nation of Justice’s view on lawful order was, posing a threat to her if she were to even slip up in the slightest manner. Not to mention, the Fatui were in fact highly fixated on and monitored especially in the nation, meaning every waking step she took in the streets would be monitored carefully one way or another. Of course, as the wonderful spouse you were, you had decided to take up to mission alongside Arlecchino, stunning even the Tsaritsa herself at your assertion.

Arlecchino’s eyes traced the fluffed pale clouds heaped along the clear sky, gaze lowering to the heavy stone gate solidly rooted into Fontaine’s earth. The two of you continued to approach the domed gate to one of the nation’s renowned cities, bustling crowds rushing through every corner in a split second once you both step foot through the gate. You found yourself clinging to Arlecchino’s arm at the swarms of people closing in, fingers subtly squeezing the fabric in mild discomfort.

It wasn’t long before she took notice of your visibly cramped form and furrowed brows as you grasped her arm for support, her arm circling your waist closely as a response to the gesture. Pushing past the crowd, you both ended up before a fine establishment resembling a hotel towering above you in an uncountable height of stories above. You pulled out a slip of paper from your jacket pocket swiftly, hand scrambling in the heaps of fluff before letting out a triumphant sigh upon finding it. Carefully, you unfolded the tattered paper, examining the building and the address before shoving it back and nodding to Arlecchino in affirmation.

A hollow gold light spanning across the hotel greeted you upon entering, bouncing off the gold handles before the front desk. Whatever address you had received, the negotiator sure was quite lavish in her tastes. Faint clicks of heels reverberated in your ears, the sound drawing closer with each tap against the floor. An uneasy feeling rocked within you as you could hear them, a sense of deception circling the atmosphere. You only pressed your shoulder to your wife’s to ease yourself, attempting to remain professional upon the negotiator’s arrival.

The woman’s eyes squinted down at you, clearly observing every minute detail that painted your complexion from head to toe, hand rested on her hip in a gust of silence swallowing the air. Blinking in surprise upon her hand stretching out toward you, her expression was strangely amiable, gaze lit up as she seemed ecstatic to meet you. “Ah, hello! It would be a pleasure to negotiate with you!”

You mindlessly shook her hand, puzzled at the sudden shift in demeanor from the woman as she grasped your hand. She breathed out a sigh as she pulled her hand away, huffing in response to compose herself before turning to Arlecchino. Her expression before Arlecchino quickly grew stern, voice dropping to one rather cold and unenthusiastic as they silently shook hands. The interaction alone only made your stomach twist in uncertainty, the sparking contrast in behavior she showed between you two clearly throwing you off.

“I suppose that you are in fact the renowned negotiator with such a high reputation among the Fatui?” Arlecchino inquired, voice low. You could pick up on the fact in no time that she sensed something off about this woman. She only breathed out an unsatisfactory hum in response and nodded, gaze darting back to you in seconds as her face lit up. Within seconds, you couldn’t help but stiffen when her pointer finger traced the bottom of your jawline, experimentally running it along your skin.

Rather amused at your confused look, she only smiled once more, pursing her lips together as she pulled away. Arlecchino’s gaze only grew dark as she observed her movements against you, mind stinging with displeasure at the diplomat’s unusual proximity toward you. She could only shake off that numbing annoyance elusively, looking away from the sight of someone else getting handsy with her darling.

Pulling back, the woman cleared her throat, folding her hands in front of her as she seemed satisfied with your jumbled expression. “Well..shall we begin with the negotiations? How about over coffee?” She mused. You nodded in compliance, glancing over at Arlecchino to note any objections. To which, she hesitantly provided none. Yet, she could only feel her skin bristle at the sight of the woman’s arm snaked over the back of your neck as a way of ‘guiding’ you to the said coffee store. Arlecchino was only left trailing behind, a maelstrom of fury embedded below her usually unfeeling face.

—

“Mm…(Name), sweetie, do you like the coffee I bought for you?”

You breathed out a puff of steam, expression relaxed as you only grinned at her in response. Perhaps she was to be trusted, as the negotiator had been nothing but kind to you, only treating you with the highest degree of affection and respect. Her adoring actions only led you to ease up around her, growing fairly close with her as if you were speaking to someone you already knew for years. Despite the relief that she was friendly, you couldn’t help but being unable to shake off the same uneasiness that jabbed at the back of your brain at her initial arrival. Plus, paired with her dismissive treatment toward Arlecchino only served to throw you off, shrinking away from trusting her altogether.

“Ah. Yeah…you really know your stuff here don’t you?” You chuckled in response, occasionally glancing over at Arlecchino who was left unchecked throughout the entire course of your “negotiations.” Arlecchino noticed your eyes frequently darting over to her, causing her to sit up from her slight slouch and dismissively wave her hand toward you. Nodding, you turned back to the negotiatior, elbows propped up onto the table and palms on either side of her face as she pushed her shoulders forward.

Suddenly, your wife couldn’t hold back her words for the sake of something so silly intruding on your original mission, leaning forward as she spoke up. “About the negotiations-“

The woman only shot the harbinger a sharp glare, cutting her off with a frown. Yet, it was plain obvious that Arlecchino wasn’t the meek type, a stir of hatred boiling within her for this sudden diplomat who came to snatch you out of nowhere. She held her tongue, yet not out of submission, but rather out of restraint—afraid she would be unable to keep her composure and snap at the high authority figure to quit her rather hands on approach toward you.

Throughout the course of the uncomfortably drawn out conversation, consisting of downright lewd hints thrown out from the negotiator toward you only felt like an eternity of malaise tainting the atmosphere. An annoyed scoff from Arlecchino finally caught your attention as she stood up, the silverware and glass rattling against the table from the sheer force of her palms planted onto the table for support to raise her to her feet. She huffed out once more, shoulders hunched over in order to retain her emotions boiling up within her.

Fangs of jealousy sunk into Arlecchino as she walked away from the table without a word leaving her lips, the bitter taste seeping into her mouth only pushing her further into a deep annoyance. She typically didn’t show any sort of emotion that would come close to nearly eliciting this type of anger from her, yet perhaps her sole affection toward you only fueled her otherwise closed off heart. Her guarded heart that only beat for you.

—

“A-Arle- mm..please..”

You lay helpless below her touch, soft gasps sharply rushing past your lungs as her lips glided along yours in a slow, passionate rhythm. Her darkened hands only curled around your wrists to hold you down, continuing her flaming kisses burning against your tongue as your eyebrows raised with that needy expression she loved oh so much. Quiet pants echoed in your ears as Arlecchino pulled away, eyes glossed over as the woman hovering above you looked foggy from your slightly blurred vision.

You couldn’t help but relish in the feeling of her sharp nails dragging along the protruding veins of your wrist in slow circles, crimson lipstick smeared across a new area of your throat every time you looked down. Arlecchino only hummed in satisfaction against your flushed skin, her own body weight along yours locking you down in place as the strap fastened around her waist pressed down onto your lower abdomen.

Muffling through your endless barrage of whimpers, you managed to breathe out through her relentless assault on your body. “I- ah- m’sorry Arle..I- didn’t realize she- mm..was doing that..I promise I didn’t enjoy-!” Your voice resembled that of a choked back sob, immediately hushed by Arlecchino’s soothing voice vibrating from her throat.

“Shh. It’s okay, darling. I would never think so lowly of you, and I know you aren’t that kind of person. The woman I fell in love with is below me, only desiring my actions in this moment, right?” She assured, lips stretching in a gentle smile as her pointer finger dragged down your chest all the way to your stomach.

You only heaved a sigh of joy, which was almost immediately cut off by a high pitched moan upon feeling her middle finger trace your slit. Your panting came out in shallow breaths as her x-marked eyes bore into you, gleaming red like that of a blood moon shone brightly to illuminate your complexion. Her touch was all that you craved in this moment, feeling a wash of affection overtake you at your wife’s calming presence soothing you in even your greatest moment of uncertainty.

Underwear nearly dropped down to your ankles, Arlecchino only seemed entranced by your slick glistening along your folds as such a gorgeous sight to behold. Her eyes darted back up to you once more, gaze meeting yours.

“May I continue?”

To which you only nooded eagerly, eyes flickering to her silicone cock pressed along your stomach. The second you felt the tip intruding along your walls, you immediately gnawed on your lower lip defensively, suppressing your inevitable noises.

Her lips pushed against yours once more, capturing you in a deep, languid kiss as her hips rolled against yours in circular motions, length fully pushing into you with each thrust. Your walls clamped around her faux cock like a vice, moans bouncing off the walls as her cock continued to massage that one spot within you. Everything was absolutely intoxicating. Arlecchino’s scent, her praises, her body pressed to yours, the way she was buried inside you. It was all as if she was so deeply connected to you that she never wanted to let go—as if it went to show how much she loved you with everything she had.

“Just like that. Archons, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

It didn’t take long for the sensation bundling up within you to finally snap, your walls tightening around Arlecchino’s cock to make sure she couldn’t pull back. Your juices coated the strap all over, the messy fashion of it dampening the sheets below you as she let out a satisfactory breath in response. Slowly, Arlecchino waited for you to come down from your high to loosen your grasp around her dick, her palm pressed to your face gently as she thumbed at your cheek in a reassuring manner to take your time,

Before long, you were strewn out on the bed, exhausted as Arlecchino’s arm was draped over you protectively. Her face was nuzzled into the crook of your neck, taking in your warmth as her nerves eased up. As she law curled up beside you, protecting you in her arms as you slumbered, it was as if all her vexations had disappeared from earlier today, her mind was finally put at ease.

That you were hers. And hers only.

—

The next morning, you met up with the negotiator once more, with her face twisted in confusion and mild hint of disappointment at the sight of Arlecchino holding you up to help you walk. Surely your legs weren’t functioning well enough after the previous night. The woman only tapped her chin with an unintelligible grumble, eyes darting away as you let out an awkward chuckle.

“I- ah..ahem..shall we discuss the negotiations..?”

Funny how quickly she had switched up the second she realized that you wouldn’t even think about leaving Arlecchino’s side. You loved her far too much to detach yourself from her arm even. You nodded toward her as you leaned your head onto Arlecchino’s shoulder, eyes dreamy and filled with a sort of solace tinged into your soul as you gazed up at her.

She stared back down at you with the same affection that she would only reserve for the likes of you, hand tightening into your protectively once more.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A/N: WOOOO DID THIS ON A SCHOOL NIGHT IT IS 12:43 AM I THINK IM FUCKED BUT THATS OKAY 🔥🔥🔥

FINISHED MY PHYSICS LAB FEELING GOOD I LOVE EATING THE WALL I AM HORRIFIED TO SLEEP CAUSE I JUST WATCHED SMILE 2 AND HOLY SHIT THEY WERENT WRONG ABOUT NOT WATCHING THE MOVIE IF YOU WERENT IN THE BEST PLACE MENTALLY BUT THATS OKAY BC IT WAS GOOD AND I LOVE NAOMI SCOTT. I’m still fucking scared of the curse and the stupid entity tho

Why am I dumping this what this was a long ass a/n rant probably bc I’m traumatized from the movie lol I don’t wanna step foot in my hallway in the dark.

Anyway please enjoy dinner is served and back to school but break is soon so we’re good

monker

[luvfy0dor]

“You Know That I'm Obsessed With Your Body ♡⁠˖” BSD Men x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Chuuya Nakahara, Osamu Dazai, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Sigma, H.P. Lovecraft

Warnings; Suggestive, kisses, hickeys, bite marks, allusions to self harm (Dazai), sh scars (Dazai), prolly a little ooc

Description; BSD men and their physical attributes

A/n; CAS lyric title!!! But I cannot bring myself to write reqs RN so............but guys i actually talked to a guy OMG never thought I'd have big enough balls but I got his ig ^w^

⑅Chuuya Nakahara⑅

Chuuyas arms are beautiful to you, they're not insanely buff and they're not thin, but at a perfect equilibrium. They're decorated with intricate tattoos and beautiful colors, and sometimes small dotted lines left by your teeth or maroon spots formed by your love and passion for each other. You loved feeling them wrap around your torso or waist with him leaning his head against your back, letting all the thoughts in his mind flow from his mouth like a waterfall. Other times, he'd hang his arms over your shoulders, letting you feel his biceps against the nape of your neck, ghosting over the baby hairs on your skin. His arms can carry you too, no matter your weight. If it'd make you feel better, he'd use his ability to help and reassure you that he won't drop you or let you get hurt.

“There we go, darlin', see, I told you I wouldn't let you get hurt. Literally not even the strongest gust of wind could knock me over with you right now, so quit worrying.”

⑅Osamu Dazai⑅

Dazai has such a gorgeous torso, bandaged or not. His skin is soft on contrast to the rough and volatile life he's always lead. The only patches of skin that aren't smooth are the ones that are littered with past scars, whether self inflicted or from other people. When Dazai trusts you enough, he'll ask you to help him take off his bandages before bed, letting your fingers brush over the rigid bumps and sharply inhaling while adjusting to your sweet touch in a new, naked place. He lets you kiss the scars and it helps him feel a little relaxed receiving your acceptance through soft kisses and affection instead of being pitied or shamed for his past. It's not like you encourage it, but you don't waste your breath on lecturing him on why he shouldn't have. It's in the past, so instead you'll offer your support for him now rather than dwelling on what you can't change.

“Mmnn...your lips are so soft on my back, baby...keep going, sweetheart, you know how much I love feeling your kisses on my skin...”

⑅Nikolai Gogol⑅

Nikolais thighs could resurrect a dead man, and you couldn't help but feel the same way every time you had your head between or against them. Occasionally your hands would hold them apart and squeeze or grope at them, feeling the firmness beneath the palm of your hand. The pressure from your fingertips leaves temporary pale spots with every pinch and your teeth and tongue leave red ones in your wake as you kiss, suck, and bite all over his thigh, and he loves it. Nikolai loves the harsh feeling of your teeth clamping around his skin, making him gasp and giggle in excitement with a hand on your neck encouraging you to continue. He's got a higher pain tolerance, so if you like to give lovebites, especially on thighs, he's your guy.

“Ah-! Oh, don't worry dove, it doesn't hurt. You know I have a good pain tolerance! You can keep going, hehe, I don't mind it.”

⑅Fyodor Dostoevsky⑅

Fyodors hands are thin and pale aside from some select spots with higher blood concentration. His nails are bitten down to the quick almost always and his fingers are bony and thin. They rest gently on your hips when you sit on his lap while he types or just relaxes with you, his thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric of either your top or bottoms. Sometimes they'll travel upwards, resting against your midsection and making you shiver from their low temperature. He'd laugh under his breath at your reaction and slide them further up, loving the idea that he has you squirming in his grasp. Otherwise, he'd keep a hand on your thigh, rubbing it out of habit modestly. In public he keeps his hands to himself, but in private his hands have a mind of their own.

“Are they that cold, Moya Lyubov? You'll get used to it eventually, unless you'd like to find your own way to warm my hands up?”

⑅Sigma⑅

Sigmas jawline is so defined and Everytime you look at it, an overwhelming urge to kiss along it bubbles up inside of you. Sigma doesn't dislike it, but he'll act like he does, always squirming and playfully grimacing. Eventually he'll give in though, holding your hand while you pepper soft pecks along his skin. He'll return them all over your cheeks and nose, tickling your skin and making you giggle. You can't help but watch Sigmas fingers trace over his jawline while he's deep in thought about this that and the other, admiring how perfect it looks on him.

“H-hey, knock it off, I'm in the middle of fillin' out papers! I said quit it- huff...fine, just a few though! You're really distracting, you know that?”

Bonus; ⑅ H.P. Lovecraft⑅

His hair is so long and luscious- how could you not want to run your fingers through it while your sleepy boyfriend lays his head in your lap? The upper half is smooth and straight while it changes into silky curls towards the bottom, though they're not the tightest and allow for your fingers to brush through them with minimal effort. He loves the feeling of your hands against his scalp, giving soft hums and groans of a relaxed pleasure. His face has his usual neutrality regardless of how nice it feels to get his head massaged by his lover. He frequently lets you pull it into a ponytail or put it into braids or whatever style you please. He lets you brush it, too, as long as you start at the bottom instead of ripping the brush through his hair.

“Mnn...that feels nice, dear...don't mind if I fall asleep on top of you, I can't help it.”

A/n; I feel so bad for not getting to requests, something like this was the easiest thing to do this week though because I had mock trial comp right after school so i couldn't write anything from 8am-7;30 pm some nights and it was the end of the quarter so i had to focus more on school work.

[son-ofthe-father]

Today was the day of visiting the priest. Sigma didn't like doing that. He thought that the priest was scary, and so was his house. He heard that the priest had a son, but he'd never seen him before.

Sigma waited patiently, standing next to his father, as the other knocked on the door.

- @a-different-kind-of-angel

The person who answered was a little taller than Sigma, and looked a bit on the slimmer side. He had pale skin, and his hand was trembling on the doorknob.

"Ah, you must be someone Father knows.. Come on in, I'll have supper made soon." He said quietly, stepping aside to let Sigma and his father in.

"Father is currently at work, aren't you two supposed to be there as well?"

[queer-n-here]

Hey I was the one who asked for the Sigma and Atsushi fic ur fine 😭 but anyways Atsushi n Sigma who love bite you without realizing that theyre doing it and it leads to smth else 🤫

Hey, thanks for sending it again bro! I'm double posting today cuz I felt kinda guilty for making you send this twice (and also cuz I literally have nothing else to do so...)

I hope you like it, and I hope it's worth the double ask!

Contents: Atsushi bites you in instinct first thing in morning, so you fuck him. Sigma bites you mid-breakdown, so you calm him down then fuck him!

Warnings: Smut, top male reader, biting (reader receiving), marking (Atsushi), nipple play (Atsushi), dubcon (Atsushi), cnc (Atsushi), edging and over stim (both mentioned for Atsushi), comfort (Sigma), gentle sex (Sigma), praise kink (Sigma)

Nakajima Atsushi

I can imagine him biting you. He's a tiger bruhh.

Anyways, on a more serious note

Atsushi who bites you first thing in the morning when you wake up beside him, too sleepy to even processing what he's doing.

Atsushi whose eyes widen when he finally does process it, scrambling away from you and apologizing profusely.

Atsushi who keeps opening and closing drawers to find a medical kit; he drew blood from your shoulder. You have to grab both his hands to stop him from moving.

Atsushi who blushes and shakes his head when you ask him if he's into that.

But you'd be stupid if you listened to him.

So don't.

Push Atsushi onto the bed, rip his clothes to pieces as he struggles beneath you, arguing how it's so early in the morning, that even the sun's not up properly, you can't possibly-

Prove him wrong, show him that you can fuck him that early in the morning, pinning his arms down on either side of his head as you kiss and bite his nipples, making them swell and grow erect at the touch of your lips.

Take both Atsushi's wrists in one hand and spread his legs wide open with the other, his asshole already loose from last night's activities.

He's struggling under you now, but you know for a fact that that's just how he likes it, that perverted little cat. He wants to feel your control of him. He wants to feel helpless under your strong grip.

Slowly, Atsushi's arguments will turn into moans and cries of pleasure as you enter him, your dick swelling at the sight of him beneath you.

Fuck him, pound him till his mind breaks, till he looses all his shame and reason.

Fuck Atsushi till he forgets his denial about biting you, and his teeth clamp down on your shoulder for the second time that morning, making you hiss in pain and speed your thrusts up.

Bully his nipples and mark his collarbone, his pale skin turning red and purple under your insistent lips as he pants and huffs, his back arching under you.

Make Atsushi see stars, edge him till he's begging you for release, hips bucking into yours.

Or over stimulate him till he hasn't got a drop of cum left in his balls, till he's coming up with dry orgasms.

He's all yours to play with, so don't stop till he really can't go on.

When you're done, kiss his forehead and tell him how good he did.

Sigma

Sigma bites you in the middle of a breakdown, so despite the spark of heat that that sends down to your crotch, you don't react.

He's barely able to breathe, heaving and panting as more tears stream down his already wet face, his hands fisting in the material of your shirt as he tries to remain in control of his mind.

You talk to Sigma, your voice soothing as you murmur sweet nothings into his ear, praising him incessantly, stroking the back of his head as he presses his face into your chest.

You're worried that he will suffocate, and so you try to pull away, but he doesn't let you, muffling his sobs and sniffles in your shoulder and clinging on.

You let him, holding him close to you and rubbing circles into his back to try to get him to calm down. He needs to calm down, and you hold him till he does.

Once Sigma relaxes, the stream of tears finally coming to a halt, you wipe his face gently and kiss his forehead, asking him if he's alright. He nods slowly.

You let him collect his bearings, not wanting to make him uncomfortable in any way. It ends up being him who brings it up.

Sigma notices the bite mark on the side of your neck, wincing at the broken flesh.

"I'm sorry... I really didn't mean to."

He won't stop apologizing easily, so kiss him and slide your hand under his shirt, murmuring that you didn't mind, that he can do it again if he wants.

Flip Sigma over, make him lay on his stomach with his face pressed into a pillow and ass high up in the air. Enter him slowly, gentle as you can.

Kiss his shoulder blades, tell him how pretty he looks; that alone will have his wet hole fluttering around you beautifully.

Fuck Sigma, slow and gentle and just the way he likes it, his pants turning into loud moans as he tries to muffle them in the pillow, failing miserably when one particular thrust makes him arch his back and whine your name.

Hit his prostate again and again and again, each touch of your tip making his eyes blur up.

Be gentle, he likes it when you treat him like he's breakable; or be rough, he doesn't mind when you treat him like the cheap whore he is, either.

He's all yours to play with, so fuck him till you're both satisfied, till his beautiful hair is plastered to his forehead from fatigue, till his cheeks are all red and stained with tears, till his thighs are trembling with fatigue.

[kouyou-arc-when]

Theory on Fyodor's ability: Crime and Punishment

With the latest chapter, I can sort of imagine like 30 theories about what Fyodor's deal could be. Honestly, there are so many hints scattered way back from Untold Origins until now about the large-scale world-building of Bungou Stray dogs that we can imagine all sorts of possibilities for a person like Fyodor. I'll attempt to entertain one of them (this is not my only theory). In my opinion, it is clear he has a power that allows him to "endure" for long periods in one shape or another. That could be resurrection, reincarnation, regeneration, life force related power..- I guess the easiest way to describe it is an ability that helps him stick around. Right now Fyodor appears immortal, but I want to theorize on different aspects of what we know about him. These are key elements I want to focus on for my theory - they helped me narrow down certain options. I feel like the solution to the puzzle is figuring out how one ability can allow him to kill people and remain alive for long periods of time. 1. Fyodor's health, lifespan, and care for personal security: From what we've been able to gather, it seems Fyodor was alive in the 15th century, based on certain references from the latest chapter. However, there is an interesting aspect to his character: He cares very little for his physical safety - he gets intentionally captured all the time. We know this to be true from the time he got caught by PM, and there are theories he also ended up in Mersault partially because he wanted to be there. Within the latest chapter, he appears to have been captured by Bram's people on purpose once more. Furthermore, he tells Ace that he is prepared and "trained" to endure starvation.

This isn't the only time he gets in harm's way - arguably the entirety of Dead Apple was him putting himself at risk. Even so, while he MAY be immortal, and he puts himself in danger of losing his life, he is very sensitive about his health. In one databook, he mentions that his number 1 weakness is specifically his weak, sickly constitution. It seems getting ill is so upsetting to him that even if he survives a difficult endeavor like getting drowned, it's something he "isn't able to afford". Fyodor mentions this when he tries to drown Sigma and Dazai. He is anemic and hates getting sick/needs to be very careful about his health, every cover is drawn to show his dark circles and pale skin, Fyodor even admires good complexions on other people because his isn't that great according to databooks. This is a huge part of his character, and whenever we see additional material about Fyodor, there is 50% chance it's about his health issues (even for DA side material, the joke was he can't do much on weekends because his doctor told him to be careful about his blood pressure, according to one bit). What could this tell us about him? Fyodor constantly complains about getting ill: if he can regenerate ultra fast, this typically wouldn't be a problem. He says getting sick would be "intolerable for him". Ultimately, in a logical setting, an immune system largely allows a person to "regenerate" and many sickly people have a reduced capacity of doing this. Fyodor being able to regenerate super fast doesn't make a ton of sense. It is perhaps possible that Fyodor can regenerate large chunks of damage, but then his body enters a state of "suspension" which is why he's sickly - however, this doesn't fully track with the rest of what his abilities can do. I believe the biggest issue with Crime and Punishment is figuring out how the same ability that can kill others also allows him to live a long life (assuming this is all one ability). To continue examining this aspect of Fyodor, the wounds on his hand from his tick of finger biting don't seem to regenerate any faster than regular?

Harukawa is not overly consistent with any of this, just like most mangaka, and we don't see Fyodor biting his hands much later down the line, but there are a couple of times when it seems she's drawing him with wounds and scars on his arm.

I can remember like 2-3 other panels that show a lot of mini-scars, but manga artists tend to not be consistent with this level of detail. Hands are hard to draw af.

2. Bleeding I am pretty sure Fyodor's ability has to do with blood. I always theorized that he murders people by sacrificing some of his own blood, leading him to be anemic - there is very specific bleeding imagery whenever he kills people, and they usually die from bleeding out. I thought that was his "punishment" for committing a crime.

How would this work into immortality? In Christianity, life is heavily related to blood. You'll hear phrases like "Blood of the covenant", "blood of a lamb", and "sacrificial blood". Every person he kills "bleeds" out, yet he is anemic? Seems too random for it to be unrelated. So, what do we know? 1) He was alive in one way or shape in the 15th century, those are his memories, implying he, as a soul, has existed for over 600 years. He is long-lived. 2) Fyodor appears to be relatively unconcerned with dying, but appears to be worried about getting sick? 3) Fyodor himself says that being ill is his biggest weakness. It's canon he is anemic, and his health never gets better. 4) His scar from getting slashed by Bram healed since then, since there is no scar right now.

5) The wounds on his fingers don't heal super fast, meaning he likely doesn't have hyper regeneration. Being so sickly implies he doesn't have pure regeneration as well (from a logical point of view, but I suppose in a fictional setting it could make sense depending on how sensitive Asagiri is to detail). If he had regeneration, even to a baseline of his regular sickly self, he wouldn't say getting sick was "intolerable" for him, in my opinion. Fyodor isn't dramatic to complain about shit that doesn't get to him - he's alright with starvation and getting beaten. This sounds like he's afraid of more permanent damage (as an immune-compromised person, I can relate) If he got much sicker, he'd return to his old self eventually if he could regenerate, and he wouldn't have to worry that much. It is more likely he has something like complete resurrection from a state of being dead, rather than being able to regenerate over time. That follows what we already know. 6) His ability is connected to blood - making others bleed, and he himself being anemic. Blood in Christianity is associated with life. Does he have some form of life force manipulation? How does all of this come together? He is old af - meaning there is something up there. How could the above connect with immortality? A super sickly immortal? Why is he so sickly if he could regenerate? How would the same power that helps him live long also help him kill people?

I think it's possible that whatever he does with his abilities wears him out, and he has to change to another body eventually. Possibilities: 1) Killing people makes him sacrifice blood, so he gets sicker, until he dies. 2) Whenever he dies, it takes him a while to come back, so he can't afford to get sick and miss out on plans. However, if he has to die, it's still not a big deal if the reward is worth it, especially since he can come back, and others cannot. 3) Purely dying and reviving is easier than just switching to another body from sickly decay. The guy seems to panic more about getting sick than getting killed. Meaning he possibly has "periods" between resurrection/reincarnation/reviving. Perhaps he needs to die to revive into full health.

I guess it's possible that Fyodor's ability is related to life force itself? But how does that relate to the Crime and Punishment aspect?

Right now, I'd like to theorize that Fyodor's ability is essentially to "possess" people like a demon. Stay with me here. I'll try to explain what I mean by this: Fyodor can "possess" bodies. If he possesses them the right way, he takes over them and "rewrites them" to become him, including the physical appearance, which is why he looks the same throughout centuries. If he possesses them "wrongly", they die. The "crime/sin" is taking the body of another person - this is a profound violation in many religious teachings. "Possession" is a sin. Being able to possess bodies is one of the main trademarks of a Demon, which is how Fyodor is always nicknamed. Before he dies, he can change bodies.

I guess the easiest theory for me to imagine is that Fyodor is just a consciousness at this point, and he needs to "possess" bodies to keep living. Every single body he possesses occasionally wears down (this is the "punishment" part of his power), and he needs to keep finding new ones to keep living. Killing people wears down his current body even faster. Every time Fyodor "possesses" a new person he completely returns to his "baseline" form, and that is why he has no "old" scars from the 15th century. I assume finding a good body to possess may be more difficult, so that is why he avoids wearing down the current body with his power. Perhaps he starts killing his current host to possess another? And that is why he starts losing blood, making him anemic. The trick is that he doesn't finish the process. The reason Sigma was "brought into the world" was for Fyodor to have another "clean" body to possess. Asagiri even mentioned that Sigma was created in relation to specifically Fyodor's color pattern. Additionally, Asagiri told us to pay attention to "Chekhov's gun" cliffhangers, and this is one of the elements of the story we never got a resolution for - why was Sigma brought into this world, and why was he specifically made in relation to Fyodor's character? Having a body created by the Book, as a clean slate, may be perfect for Fyodor. Perhaps he cannot fully recover anymore from his broken health, even when he "reforms" after possessing someone, and that is why getting sick is worse for him than death - every time he "possesses someone" and takes their body, his body recovers less and less. Now, I want to elaborate on this. Why did Crime and Punishment not attack Fyodor in the mist? I guess one possibility is that Fyodor is a sentient ability. An ability that keeps possessing people.

Fyodor's ability won't attack him, because it is the consciousness controlling the body. "Crime and Punishment are close acquaintances, the borders between us vanish"

His fake speech to Sigma might be based on "half-truths" I have a theory that Fyodor's power ultimately synthesized with his real personality and became one indistinguishable whole. "The borders between us vanish" could possibly be a reference of the border between him and his power disappearing and leaving him corrupted. In my opinion, this would also explain why Fyodor wants to get rid of abilities - he wants to remove this curse from himself. While the ability may have conjoined with the real Fyodor, it still may be lost in how to act, and the real him continues being the root of all his desires. Dostoevsky's character was based on a chapter from Brother Karamazov where Vanya talks with the Devil - I feel like this is a huge hint to his character and the possible "possessive" part of his ability. Did human Fyodor summon a devil and had it become his power? Are abilities demons? Honestly, there are so many ways to interpret what we're seeing in BSD at the moment. I find it interesting that Fyodor wanted to see Bram and his "evil"

I think Fyodor may be fascinated with the existence of "good" and "evil" as equals - and is possibly fascinated by why "someone like him" exists. Why would God create an ultimately "evil" ability? And what about others who were born with evil powers such as Bram? They are just like Fyodor, which is why he relates to him. I feel like there is a lot of discussion to be had about the possible origins of abilities - the religious imagery, decay of angel themes, Nephilim theories, but I will leave this for another post. Also, I could write pages about Fyodor's ability, backstory and how it may be influencing his world view. I sort of have two theories in my head: Fyodor is a demon, or Fyodor is a human who was influenced by his "demonic" ability. I wrote this in a rush, so it's not well thought out at all, just a bunch of rambling, so thanks for reading again <333

[idle-daydreams]

idk if you’re doing oc-reader requests. But uh…yeah

could you do a Yandere fyodor with a reader inspired by my oc, Nera?

the gist is, she’s the guardian of the book(the one everyone wants). However, she has a deep rooted loyalty to the agency. The only thing rivaling that loyalty, would be her love for Sigma, one of the few she views as family. She’s distrustful of people, but still nice to people she knows and likes. Her ability allows her to feel the emotions of others, but she’s very sensitive to it. She usually wears mostly back formal wear, liking pants better so she can defend herself if need be

[A.N.: Sorry for being so late, I've been busy with midterms. Hope you like it!]

Rat And Mouse

Tw: Yandere, kidnapping, manipulation, mentions of murder and torture.

Nobody knew about your connection to the Book.

It was something you’d never discussed - not with the agency, despite your loyalty to them; not even with Sigma, though he’d been born of its pages. You’d kept your head down, continuing to pretend that you were just another Agency member, just an ordinary person with a near-useless Ability. It was worth more than your life if anyone found out.

And yet somehow, Fyodor did.

You cowered before him as much as you could while tied to a chair. Though the room was cold, your skin was slick with sweat, hair hanging loose around your face. Your head was still a little fuzzy, but you were certain you’d been chloroformed in your apartment.

The man sitting before you smiled serenely, one leg crossed over the other.

“Be calm, dorogaya,” he said.

You grimaced. Your ability allowed you to feel other peoples’ emotions, yet you could sense nothing from him. Not anger, nor excitement, nothing.  It was as though he wasn’t a real person, but an empty doll with blank eyes and an unsettling smile.

It was unnatural, inhuman, and utterly terrifying.

“What do you want?” you said, trying to keep your voice from quavering.

Fyodor spread out his pale fingers. “Come now, I know they do not hire idiots at your Agency. Do you believe I do not know about your connection to the Book?”

Your heart leapt to your throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, trying to inject as much confusion as you could into your voice.

Fyodor smiled. “How disappointing.”

He stood up. You’d never seen Fyodor Dostoevsky in person before. In photos he’d seemed unimpressive – a pale, thin man with lanky hair and a tired expression. But what those pictures had failed to capture was the malice of his demeanour, the aura of darkness that hung around him. It was almost palpable, making your flesh crawl as he came closer.

“Please,” you said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just an innocent—”

“—secretary? Forgive me, but I do not believe you.”

You tensed as he placed a hand upon your face, expecting blinding pain before the oblivion of death overtook you. But nothing happened. His hand was ice-cold, but nothing else.

“I said to be calm,” he murmured. “I am not looking to kill you.” To your horror and confusion, he ran his hand through your hair in an almost gentle caress. “You are very beautiful. I should have noticed a piece of such monumental importance earlier.”

“I-I-” you began, “I’m not ly-”

“Ah, please do not. Sigma has already told me everything, so there is no need for you to lie any further.”

No. A leaden weight dropped in your stomach. Sigma wouldn’t have - he couldn’t have! ‘But he could,’ a treacherous voice in your head reminded you, ‘his Ability allows him to extract information from people with a touch, remember?’

You looked up to meet Fyodor’s indifferent gaze. “You’re lying.”

He shrugged. “Believe what you wish, dorogaya,” he said.

Then he turned and left the room.

You exhaled, mind racing a mile a minute. Sigma wouldn’t have betrayed you, even if he did have the ability to do so. He hated Fyodor, and had no reason to work with him ever since the Vampire Incident. But then, the only other person who’d known your secret was your ex – actually your first, and only – boyfriend, whom you hadn’t seen in several years, and whom Fyodor had no reason to contact unless he’d already suspected you of hiding something. And the only thing which would give him cause was...

‘No,’ you firmly told yourself. ‘It wasn’t Sigma. He would never betray me like that! I trust him with my life. Fyodor must have found out... some other way.’

You shook your head vehemently to convince yourself. It didn’t matter much at the moment anyway. What was more important was the fact that Fyodor would use you to find the Book. Though you were its Guardian, you possessed no supernatural link to it, only the knowledge of its location. Something that he could draw from you through torture.

You looked around. It was a small room. There was no window, no clock, no way to gauge the time. Fyodor had tied you up rather cruelly; the rope binding your wrists had been looped around your neck, so that you were forced to keep your arms bent at an unnatural angle to avoid strangling yourself. Your eyes welled with tears as the full extent of your plight hit you. Fyodor was a madman, a cruel and barbaric terrorist no matter how mildly he acted. Your ability was useless, your fighting skills non-existent - how were you going to get out of this alive?

‘Its fine,’ you told yourself. ‘The Agency will know that I’m missing. They’ll find me. I just have to hold it out till then.’

Your arms were burning, sweat beating your brow, when Fyodor returned.

“Ah, my bird has kept herself on her toes,” he said, as mildly as though he’d caught you in some trivial task. “I am glad my arrangement was not beyond your capabilities.”

“What do you want?” you said through gritted teeth. “I’m not telling you where the Book is no matter how matter what you do, so just forget about it.”

“No? That is quite the bold claim. Are you not afraid that I will hurt you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You swallowed. “No matter how much you t-torture me or whatever. I’m not telling you anything.”

Fyodor nodded, looking only mildly disappointed. “I admire your resilience.” He reached for your hair again, running his fingers through it to straighten it out. “There is a lot about you that is to… admire.”

His words sent a chill down your spine. Fyodor movements were gentle, almost tender – more suited to a lover than to a lunatic. You tried to pull your head out of reach, only for him to pause with a raised brow.

“You do not like it?” he said. “Apologies.”

He stepped away. You followed his movements nervously as he began fiddling with the things on the sideboard. “Tell me,” he began, as there was the clink of glass, followed by the sound of pouring liquid. “Determined as you are to keep the location of the Book from me – what makes you think I do not already know?”

“What?”

You started. Fyodor turned back to you, a full wine-glass in his hand.

“Would you like something to drink?” he said, proffering the glass to you.

“No,” you said distractedly, ignoring the dryness in your throat. “What do you mean, you already know? You know where the Book is?”

Fyodor slowly took a sip of the wine as he strolled over to you. That faint, awful smile danced upon his bloodless lips as he leaned closer. “Well, we have used a page from it before,” he said softly. “Did you not wonder where and how we got it?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Your position as Guardian meant that you knew the Book’s location, but you had no way of knowing if someone had removed it from its place. If Fyodor had somehow found it…

“Ah, I have agitated you. I am sorry for that.” He held out the glass to you once again. The wine smelled enticing; it was a deep red colour, almost the rich red of blood in the dim light. Yet your stomach roiled at the sight of it. Fyodor had the Book… if Fyodor had the Book, then the world was already as good as done for.

You met his soulless eyes, and dropped your gaze to the floor.

“You’re lying,” you said miserably, trying to think of what to do next. It was your worst nightmare; to be battling wits against one of the smartest terrorists in the world.

“Why would I lie?” Fyodor casually circled behind you, tracing a finger across the rope around your neck. You braced yourself yet again, imagining his finger slicing your throat.

“If you already had the Book, you wouldn’t need me,” you said, biting back the scream that threatened to erupt from your lips. “You’d already be halfway already to your next awful scheme.”

“Oh?” He ran his fingers along the base of your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “And what makes you think that you are not part of that scheme?”

‘It can’t be.’ Your heart drummed painfully against your ribs. The door before you seemed to dance, the shadows in the corners laughing at your misfortune. “You – I’m only as important as the Book. The only reason you could want me is because of the Book. There’s no other reason.”

“Before the vastness of God, everybody is insignificant. But for sinners such as us, there might be other reasons.”

Something simmered beneath your skin, a faint flicker of an emotion so dark, so twisted, it made you feel ill.

Desire.

Lust.

Obsession.

It disappeared in a flash, as though dragged back into the void.

“I will give you a chance to make your own decision,” Fyodor murmured from behind you. There was a soft swish, and the pressure on your neck and wrists slackened. You slowly pulled your hands to your lap, realizing what had happened.

“You’re letting me go?”

Fyodor stepped back into your field of vision. “I told you; I am giving you a chance to make your own decision.” He pointed at the door. “You wish to leave? Leave.”

You stared at him, alarm bells ringing in your head. “What are you planning? You’re planning something.”

He smiled that awful, soulless smile of his. “It would not do to reveal all of my secrets, yes? You must figure out some things for yourself.”

You looked from him to the door, then back. There was no point in arguing with him. Fyodor hadn’t become who he was by being honest or transparent. There wasn’t a chance in hell that this wasn’t part of some elaborate strategy – but this was also your only chance to escape.

You stood up slowly, joints stiff after the prolonged restraint. “I don’t – whatever you’re planning,” you began guardedly, as you began backing towards the door, “but you’d better drop it. I’m not so stupid as to lead you to the Book.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be.”

“So—” You broke off as you bumped into the door. You were wasting time. Fyodor watched as you fumbled with the doorknob, making no attempts to stop you. His eyes – those empty, all-knowing eyes – chilled you to the bone. You looked away as you flung open the door, fleeing the room. There was a narrow corridor that led down a flight of stairs, but you barely paid your surroundings any heed in your desperation to leave. 

‘I have to get to the Agency,’ you thought. ‘I have to tell them about the Book. And I need to go check up on the Book, see if it is still safe. It has to be – I’d have known otherwise!’

But an awful thought hit you just as you reached the front door. What if Fyodor did have the Book?

“What is it?”

Fyodor spoke from behind you. You jumped; you hadn’t realized he’d caught up to you.

“Nothing.” You spun towards him, hand still gripping the door-knob. “I – stay away from me!”

He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I have done nothing,” he said. “That door is unlocked; you are free to leave. Why do you not do so?”

“Because you brought me here!” Wrung by a sudden jolt of anxiety, you threw open the door. A blast of cold wind hit you; it was night, a chill wind howling through the trees. A snow-covered landscape surrounded you, a foreign horizon visible from the distance.

“Where are we?” you said with dread.

“Siberia.” Fyodor cocked his head. “I did bring you here. But even I can make mistakes sometimes, can I not? Or do you consider me incapable of fault?”

“No! But—” Your head spun. You hadn’t drunk the wine; you hadn’t ingested anything back in the room. Were you still suffering the aftereffects of having been drugged? Or had Fyodor done something to you?

“But you said that I was part of your scheme,” you said, rubbing your temple. “Don’t tell me you realized your mistake in the last five minutes. So it stands to reason that letting me go is part of your plan.”

“Is it? What if you’ve already told me what I need to know?”

“Because I haven’t told you anything!”

“Haven’t you?”

“I—” You ground your teeth. You didn’t know. You didn’t know what Fyodor wanted. But if he was simply done with you then he would have killed you, which meant that letting you go was part of his plan. He was either hoping for you to lead him to the Book, or he was somehow using you to get to the Agency. There was no way to tell unless you wrenched it out of him.

You looked at him, and felt yet again, that faint prickle of desire radiating off of him. He claimed to be a human… and humans were capable of more than just fault. They could hunger, for more than just food or water. They could desire, and be swayed by it.

“You… want me,” you said slowly.

Fyodor smiled. “The awful thing is that beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and the devil fight; and the battlefield is the heart of man.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Is it not obvious?”

It wasn’t. The only obvious thing was that he trying to trick you, to manipulate you somehow. Whether or not Fyodor was attracted to you – and the idea made you both want to laugh and scream – his main motive was the Book and the eventual destruction of the world.

‘I can’t stand against him,’ you thought. ‘If I try to foil him directly, he’d crush me. But if I stay close to him, I may be able to get a hint of his plans, enough to take down the Decay of Angels for good. I could just pretend that I’m f-falling for him or something. So long as I don’t reveal anything about the Book, it’ll be fine.’

It was a sickening thought. The very idea of staying close to Fyodor filled you with dread; pretending to be his lover was straight-up repulsive. And the longer you stayed with him, the more you were at his mercy.

But you were a member of the Agency. And you were a Guardian of the Book. And if that meant putting your life on the line, you were willing to do it.

You took a deep breath.

“You want me,” you said, fighting down the panic clawing in your chest. “That’s why you brought me here. And you’re letting me go because—?”

“I brought you here in a fit of passion, but it is obvious that you don’t want to be with me. And I do not want a woman to submit to me by force.”

“That’s considerate of you,” you said carefully. “But I hope it isn’t a lie. You really have no interest in the Book?”

His smile widened. “Even if I swear on my life that I am not lying, would you believe me?”

‘Fair point.’ “So if I walk away, you’d just let me go?”

Fyodor gestured towards the snow-covered woods in response.

You bit your lip. “And how far are we from the nearest airport? How am I to get home?”

“Are you really asking me that?” he said, raising a brow.

“I don’t fancy travelling through the snow at night by myself. Your guidance is as good as flailing around blind.”

He inclined his head. “True. Well, we are far from the nearest city, at least a couple of days on foot. In any case you would find it difficult to go home from there — you have no documents on you, after all.” He slyly cocked his head to the side. “My private transport will be here in a couple of weeks; you are welcome to stay with me until then.”

The revulsion deepened. But you forced yourself to nod politely. “Then… I guess I have no choice but to stay.”

“A difficult decision.”

“But—”

The words stuck in your throat. How could you talk about living with a murderous psychopath like him? How could you simply state your demands as though hashing out a deal with a roommate?

Fyodor stepped up to you, leaning to whisper in your ear. “Do not worry, dorogaya,’ he said softly, his breath tickling your ear. “I will not force you in any manner. Anything you do will be entirely by your own will.”

You shivered. His presence pressed upon you like a shroud. ‘This is just a game,’ you reminded yourself. ‘A game of cat and mouse. Just play along for a while and you can bury this guy.’

“Thank you,” you said out loud. “Could you please step aside?”

Fyodor pulled away. You threw a glance over your shoulder, at the stars twinkling in the night sky. Then, squaring your shoulders, you stepped into the Rat’s Lair.

[apoapsis]

@xynchronicity // [ x ]

            By now, anyone would concede that, no, SIEBREN was not to be trifled with– at least, not without some degree of retaliation. Unlike his bubblier counterpart, the less amicable facet of the two was notoriously foul-tempered and easily agitated. Reaper, of course, was some degree of an exception to his incorrigible temper– but only just so. Enough to tolerate, but constantly teetering on the razor-thin edge of SIEBREN’S patience.

Initially, very little notice is taken to most advances; the astrophysicist in question maintained such a harsh routine in his daily rituals as opposed to Sigma, that despite their newest accommodations within TALON, he often found his research habits completely exhausted the greater majority of his energy reserves. Reaper’s pursuit of him is relatively unnoticed as a result, yet as things begin to become misplaced, his frustration begins to crawl under his skin, an agitated string of muttering escaping the old man when he finds himself yet again without the mug of coffee he’d painstakingly gone to retrieve. 

            Ancient bones creak under his burdensome manifestation of the ANOMALY, the man grunting as he lurches up from his desk chair to shuffle stiffly towards his mug’s unusual location: the nightstand. A statistical impossibility, that he himself would leave it in such an atypical place. Then again, SIEBREN’S mind was certainly elsewhere; numbers and symbols cloud his vision– so preoccupied with the flashes of intuition within his mind’s eye, he often found himself blind to things in front of him. That’s usually why he preferred to allow Sigma his time to meander– he was never really paying attention to his environment as-is. It wasn’t very practical for both of them to be tuned out of reality. However, this mechanical logic is immediately tossed from his processes upon registry of his paperwork finding itself out of order. Papers and diagrams intermingle at random– there, the graph he’d just been analyzing, unceremoniously cast to the bottom of the pile as if it hadn’t been in use. Agitated from his routine, reality comes back into focus, pale indigo eyes blinking dryly down at the state of his desk before his attention shifts scope. 

It’s difficult to place, SIEBREN doesn’t detect disturbances as clearly as his counterpart, but once his focus is broken, the pervasive feeling of being watched begins to bleed in. It isn’t Sombra– a concrete living body would be too easy to detect within his room. When he feels something touch him, he’s done playing around. He hated being touched– 

           Ah. Of course. 

Gravity bends abruptly when SIEBREN perceives a fragment of the wraith’s form, and with little more than a callous leer, flecks of darkness are pulled from the environment, forcibly collected within the flux of gravity. Little care is placed into how things are assembled– SIEBREN merely takes one and allows the other billions of particulates to rapidly condense together, allowing Reaper to take shape as his nanites chose… But not necessarily allowing them to escape. 

          “I have told you not to touch my research. I should hit you.”

[mrsrookhunt]

Hello ! can you please do One shot for Yan!sigma with s/o who runaway from him ?

If this idea is not good, just reject it, thanks!

Yan!Sigma x Reader

Midnight Rendezvous

--------------------------------------

You didn't specify how dark you wanted this to get or anything like sfw or nsfw so I just went with the direction it took, which came out very dark, so I'm sorry if you didn't want that. I love your idea by the way!

Warnings: 18+, Gun violence, implied character deaths, implied past harm/abuse, yandere themes, implied Stockholm syndrome

Why did you run?

Why did you?

You weren't quite sure you understood your own motives, and he sure didn't either.

You were so well cared for. Everything, from the smallest want to big expenses was provided for you, all wrapped up in a big bow in the name of Sigma's love.

Love.

Yes, that fickle thing that drives him crazy. You don't love him, and he knows that. It drives him so insane. How is he supposed to make you love him, when all his "gifts", all the things he does for you, are so unappreciated?

Just tonight, he'd found you, running down the side of the road and waving down a car-- his car- for help. He saw it all- you weren't looking for him-- the way your face dropped, your complexion paling, the way your already red eyes filled with tears.

There was no emergency the way you'd tried to tell him, no animal in the building, no scary pest in the corner; he didn't even bother to look. Why would he? You were using him. Using him, lying to him, keeping your love from him out of pure spite. He knew. He didn't even have to look you in the eyes to know that the look you gave him was one less of fear and more of brutal hatred.

You had long stopped fearing him. Let you death come, and let it come swiftly if you disobey, you had begged him one evening when he sliced the soft skin on your chest, pale and shaking like a leaf, as a weakly acted upon warning to be obedient to him. Obedience. What a funny word. That incident was a year past now, and obediently, like a good dog, you'd learned to do whatever he asked of you. Cook dinner, clean the house, fill the hummingbird feeder every week, then come inside and lock the door behind you and give him the key.

This time would be no different. For a year, you had been his good dog, never disobeying, always heeding his instructions with the utmost care of a broken shell of a person walking on eggshells miraculously thinner than the one's you'd come to be made out of.

And then you heard it. There it was, that scream of anguish echoing down the steps of your tiny, two bedroom house, the sounds of a broken man, one who gave everything, God willing, to you, cracking and shattering like all the eggshells had just been crushed, crushed by your false devotion, crushed by his heavy hand, which would certainly come down on you later.

For a moment, you don't think when you hear the click of the gun barrel snapping into place. You don't move. The question is, is the bullet coming for you, or will he put it to his own head?

The trigger must be burning his finger, he who has not decided who God's reckoning will bear down on yet. All he is sure of is that someone must face retribution tonight.

Carefully, he loads a second bullet. Too soft, you'd never hear it.

One step, two steps, three steps, four steps. He's padding down the stairs, little bedside pistol he always kept in hand, pointed at himself.

"Me or you?" He asks flatly, eyes dead and dull.

You cannot live this life without him, that routine existence interspersed with brutality you could not recover from.

He cannot live this life without you, who burns his heart like the scorn of the sun.

"Both." You whisper, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

One last look. One last look into your accursed lover's eyes, equally tearful as he points the gun at you, no longer shaking with innocent fear.

There is no goodbye, no words of reassurance.

Just the silence of impending death.

Bang!

Bang!

[sigmadaily]

[sokumotanaka]

Nah realistically this is how it'd go.

---

I got alot to say about this so let's go down the line.

First and foremost;

The specific lyrics don't correlate on a comparison front. RWBY never showed Adam the light of day, they killed him, could of easily jailed him, fixed the racism in the world no need for it to be like our own. But the white writers were lazy and then tried to blame it on them being white! When they hired expensive voice actors and yes men all the time!

Second; My hero failed really hard in terms of addressing the prejudice they set at the start of the series. Apparently this was better adressed in the manga but I looked at it and it seems exactly the same there. It's very late that they talk about mutant prejudice and it's in the lense of a back flash where all the characters say it sucks but then never talk about it again. I don't know about you but when me and my friends talk about prejudice and anti POC racism, it's never just one time, we discuss it often.

It was weird to think that certain stores wouldn't let Froppy and Ojiro in cause they're mutated. (Despite a quirk being a mutation for everyone but SURE) You'd think the heroes would have opinions on this. And Izuku has the worst opinion on prejudice. In the later arcs people start not letting mutants into places, not even shelters while villains are roaming around! Deku comes across this giant fox girl that's being attacked by random dudes who claim that because she's walking around looking like that it scared them...scared them into attacking with lethal weapons on an unarmed woman.

Now if this were well written you'd have some form of social commentary, but Horikoshi sucks as a writer and Deku tells the woman who was attacked "I'm sure those guys were scared too." Which is horrible to tell a person attacked based on her appearance but SUUURE! That's def what I want to hear from the HERO PROTAGONIST! Then during the great ninja war they have a bunch of mutants turn towards the only black character in MHA and repeat things like "Don't shoot, we aren't looters, you'll never understand!" like black people don't face racism and prejudices....ever!

Quirks are still relatively new to the world, they didn't exist forever, it's not uncommon for your grandparents to be quirkless so it's not like mutants have faced decades of racial segregation (And that's not me brushing aside their suffering but having them turn to a black person and say 'you won't understand' is ...tone deaf.) And not to mention the only villain Spinner fighting for mutant equality by trying to take down the system, gets stopped by Shoji, a character who didn't get to BE one until he had to step in to fight another mutant- then him telling spinner "You're gonna set us back 40 years!" Is so silly and funny coming from a character the narrative didn't want to give and growth to till he had to fight his own people so they can stay marginalized I guess.

MHA has the same issue as RWBY where the narrative and writers think that second class citizens should sit on their hands and just *Wait* till racist and republicans want to give us equality, then, we'll earn in.

Series like these embarrass me, especially when people compare them too X-men cause neither of these shows have a dark skinned poc even in the main roster- Ororo, STOMPS on your all pale skinned cast of fictional races and people with tails who don't get to do crap. That series at least addresses the sigma, the prejudice, the unfairness and people get to be angry and tell off racist.

MHA and RWBY? They'd so much as FAINT if they had to talk about racial and societal issues.

[twilightxsun]

there's no calculus without "us"

You're struggling with your homework from the Calculus class you're taking at Macabria University. Raven, who loves math, takes it upon himself to tutor you.

some spoilers for chapter 30+

content warnings: kissing, sexual tension

rating: teen and up

word count: 1,540

ao3

For all the monsters you’ve slain and challenges you’ve overcome, you never considered that calculus might be your downfall.

It’s not that you’re bad at math—really, it’s not. You’re perfectly capable of understanding the concepts and performing the problems given to you. It’s just that there’s a learning curve, and sometimes the equations and theories seem like Greek to you.

“That’s because it is Greek,” Raven drawls. “Theta, sigma, alpha—and onward. You know that.”

“Obviously,” you reply, feeling a bit flushed as the admonishment. Taking classes at the local Macabrian university seemed like a great idea until you realized you have to manage your studies alongside the rest of the kingdom. It doesn’t matter that you’re Dracula’s designated heir; no legitimate professor will give you a slide on slipping grades, even if you did have to protect the town from an onslaught of rebel werewolves.

At least your Calculus II professor is understanding enough, and gives you extensions on the homework should there be a true emergency. That doesn’t excuse you completely, however, and so now you’re forced to spend the whole night at your desk catching up to meet the new deadline.

Thankfully, Raven is here to help. He caught you earlier in the library, peering over your shoulder to notice you struggling with integration by parts. At first he snarked at you, but then took a serious tone as he realized the severity of the situation. As much as he enjoys teasing and lording over you, he loves math even more—at wouldn’t shirk an opportunity to show off his skills to you, even if it does mean helping you pass your class.

You look down at your assignment. Only five more questions to go on this one, and then you’re moving on to trigonometric substitution. But that’s getting ahead of yourself—you’re still trying to understand how to integrate   multiplied by sin(x).

“Look, it’s simple,” he tries to explain. “The function only seems like you’ll endlessly integrate. There’s a trick to it. I’ll show you.”

You nod, and watch as he scribes on a piece of paper. You’ve been a little distracted by him; his lithe hands, the angular knuckles and long fingers. The sheen of his pale skin under your lamplight. How his eyelashes flutter when he looks down to concentrate on a question. You wonder how those hands might feel entwined in your own, or how they might trail down your body… the line of thought leaves you somewhat heated, and you force yourself to focus on what he’s doing. 

You watch him integrate the function once, but it leads to another integral.

“Hang on,” you say.

He looks up expectantly.

“I never remember what order to put the U, V, dV, and dU in,” you admit, “what is it again?”

Raven gives you an expression that’s a mixture of exasperation and barely concealed smugness. For a tutor, he’s exceedingly arrogant, and it would annoy you if he didn’t proceed to carefully explain what you’re confused by every time.

“Think of it like this,” he tells you. “UV light, minus voodoo. U times V, then subtract the integral V du. That’s how I remembered it.”

“UV light, minus voodoo,” you repeat. “I can remember that.”

“You’d better. Don’t you have an examination this week?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I’m not sure how I’ll do.”

His gaze sharpens on you, and he puts his pen down. He lifts his hand up to your chin, and turns your head to look straight at him. “You’ll do excellently,” he says confidently, “you have my help.”

You hold his gaze. “Are you expecting to take the credit if I pass?”

He laughs. “Considering that you’d never pass without me, I absolutely will.”

You pull back. “Never pass?” you say in mock outrage. “You have so little faith in me?”

“Fine,” he amends, “perhaps you’d barely pass.”

You roll your eyes. His fingers are still on your chin, and after a moment, his hand moves forward to caress your jaw. It’s an intimate gesture, and sends a spark of warmth through your body.

You want to lean into the feeling, but responsibility drags you back to the paper in front of you. Reluctantly, you pull out of his grasp and recenter your focus on your homework. 

If he looks disappointed, you don’t see it; your eyes are back on the problem. “You can continue your explanation.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then resumes as if nothing happened. “As I was saying, you integrate twice with integration by parts. First the whole function, then only the term with an integral sign. It produces two terms that don’t need to be integrated, and one integral matching the other side of the equation. Do you see?”

You nod.

“What do you think happens next?” he quizzes you.

Looking at the equation, you consider the possibilities. “Do you add the integral of e to the x times sin of x to the other side? That would give you two of them on the left…”

He looks pleasantly surprised. “That’s it—maybe there’s more hope for you than I thought. What then?”

You think about it. “If you divide by two, is the right side of the equation the final answer?”

He grins. “Well, look at that. You got it right. It seems you have been paying attention.”

You smile in return, gratified that you’re finally getting it. “I always pay attention to you,” you confess.

His eyes gleam in the dim light of your room. “Do you, now?”

Raven’s expression has gone from pleased to knowing. There’s a hungry glint in his eyes, and the look sends a shiver through you. You turn towards him, setting your assignments aside for now.

“Let’s take a break,” you suggest. “We’ve been working for hours.”

“Fine by me,” he says, “anything in mind?”

“Well,” you say, “I was thinking… I should thank you, somehow.”

He leans forwards, intrigued. Your knees knock together with his, and you keep them there. The contact is activating—drawing you closer. You find yourself near his face, and your gaze drifts to his lips. He does the same, lidded eyes glancing up and down before meeting your own.

Tension rises between you, taut like a bowstring. You observed him all evening, unable to deny the magnetism that draws you toward him. You know you’re not alone in the feeling; he’s been looking back at you. It’s why you make the final move, pressing forward to catch his lips in a sweet kiss.

It’s not the first, or the second; but it is the only time you’ve been completely alone together. True intimacy is difficult when you’re with a group, especially when Alexis was right there, watching you give into desire for somebody else. There’s a shred of guilt at the thought, but you push it away. They know you’ve never been one for exclusivity. Still, you know it hurt them when Raven dragged you in for a hard, claiming kiss in front of everyone; and again, when Alexis chose to appease Percy while you sat off to the side, indulging Raven.

You can’t help it. He’s a burning flame, and you’re the moth, unable to resist his dangerous light. You think you can taste the fire on his lips, as heat washes through you. The kiss starts slow, but quickly evolves into something more passionate. His touch taps open a dark want in you, riveting your senses like no one else can. 

It’s not like with Alexis, who’s been your steadiest and most loyal companion for years. Their love is leisurely and unchallenging; you’re pretty sure they scored 99% vanilla on the BDSM test, but they hid the results from you, so you’re only speculating.

Raven is wild; undulating rapids, the roaring whirlpool sucking you into dark, hidden depths. You crave that excitement, the all-consuming blaze. It’s a terrible want that only satiates when his lips press against yours, and you hate to admit it, but you’ve been pining in the weeks since your last encounter like this.

For minutes, you just kiss. You find yourself in his lap, thighs around his. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. Teeth clash together and he sucks on your tongue, and you breathe heavily between kisses. You wish the heady feeling you’re overcome with would never end, but alas: the unfinished homework sitting on your desk calls out your name.

Regretfully, you break away. He looks dazed, pupils blown in his cobalt blue eyes; hair mussed, lips swollen from kissing—and some biting. Self-satisfied at his unkempt appearance, you smirk. He raises an eyebrow.

“Well,” he says, a little breathlessly, “that was unexpected.”

“Oh, come on,” you croon, “you didn’t think I was going to send you away without a reward?”

He smirks back. “The night’s still young, Lord Protector, and you’ve quite a bit more to do. Would I be right in assuming you’ll have a grander thank you later for me?”

You laugh lowly. “Mmm… maybe if you help me pass my exam.”

He laughs back. “Oh, trust me. You’re going to ace it.”

[dokk-fukuro]

High Enough [Sigma x f!Reader]

A/N: AFAB reader, SMUT, femdom, alcohol, strangers to lovers, mentioned of female genitals

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞

I still don’t understand how it happened that I knew the people who provided me and my girlfriends with a whole week off at an elite casino in the clouds. However, the very fact that I have to hurry to avoid being late makes my heart flutter. There are a lot of different conversations about Sky Casino. Someone says that this is an elite place where you can feel like the king of the whole world, someone says that this place is too hyped to get so much attention on it. But many moneybags with their sugar babies in cocktail mini dresses speak of the establishment almost like Paris. “Visit the Sky Casino and die” is how you can describe the impressions of most of my friends.

I also heard often that no one had ever seen its owner. He is like one of the wonders of the world. Everyone heard about him, but no one had ever seen him. And, perhaps, this interests me much more than playing poker or roulette. I would like to know who he is, to see him live, because if I succeed, I can say for sure that my life hasn’t been lived in vain.

“Girl, allow yourself a little more.” I twirl in front of the mirror, looking at the way I'm wearing a formfitting dress, more suitable for an office worker than for going to a pompous establishment. Mahiru, one of my friends, who persuaded her “daddy” to knock us out to visit the casino among the clouds, approaches me from the back, and only her reflection in the mirror doesn’t allow her to scare me with her sudden presence. “You look like you’re going to work on Saturday. Shake it up!”

Mahiru has always been so easy-going. Ever since high school, when we began to study together, she gave the impression of that very instigator and ringleader who could well shake even the deadest crowd. I haven't seen her since graduating high school, because this lady got herself a job in a modeling agency. However, it would be surprising if this did not happen. Bright and noisy, she could always easily attract attention. In addition, Mahiru was artistic, thus paving her way into the school theater club. Moreover, the lion's share of her success was her appearance. Long, well-groomed hair, expressive eyes against the background of pale skin, plump lips and a pleasant face shape, reminiscent more of a heart.

On her background, I looked a little awkward when we were schoolgirls. For a long time I wore glasses, cut my hair short enough so as not to be complex due to youthful swelling, although I never suffered from excess weight. The work of a gray mouse in an office somewhere in Yokohama was provided to me. But who knew that my passion for baking in high school would end with me now running a chain of franchised cat cafes? Well, I didn't know either.

I glance at my reflection and can't understand why Mahiru doesn't like my appearance. Yes, it's strict in comparison with her, but I'm comfortable. And yet, something haunts, as if an obsessive thought is spinning in the head over and over again: “Look at something else. You're a gray mouse again." Also, my friend looks at me expectantly through the cold surface of the mirror. As if she knows that I will give up anyway. And... I give up.

"Okay, let's see something else together.” I sigh, realizing with a hindsight that I'm not going to a reunion of graduates, and certainly not to business negotiations. In the end, I also need to rest from severity. Mahiru, like a small child, jumps around me and says that at last a bright thought descended on me. Little fool.

It takes almost an eternity as we rummage through her wardrobe to select what suits me and pleases me so much that I don't want to constantly worry about adjusting something in my outfit so that I can just hide myself like in a bag of rice. Our choice falls on a fitted wine-colored satin dress. Open back with radial draping that repeats in the deep neckline. The hem of the dress wraps around the hips so it becomes even awkward. And chains, many chains. They are both part of the decoration on the back and what, in fact, holds the dress in front. Too much open skin, but for some reason I even start to like it. Mahiru literally squeaks in my ear. Restless.

We both agree on the opinion that this is exactly what I need, so it's up to makeup. I don’t know how to make up myself, so I completely trust myself to my friend, who understands this much more than I do. The brushes tickle a lot, I sometimes sneeze from the powder, but Mahiru does her magic on me, and all I can do is sit and endure. She's so funny when she's focused.

I have no idea how much time passes, but in front of me in the mirror reflection is a completely different person. Lipstick in the color of the dress, a languid look due to shadows and eyeliner. I'm a cover girl! I look at Mahiru, who just shrugs her shoulders and doesn't understand my surprise. Yes, what is there not to understand. I have never seen myself from the side of a fatal girl who, without a twinge of conscience, walks through other people's hearts, like on a red carpet. The girlfriend whistles and nods contentedly.

“Your place is on the podium, dear!” My cheeks are covered with a blush that breaks through even a light layer of powder. For some reason, I vividly imagine the picture of me walking down the catwalk at the show, hundreds of eyes are looking at me, and I twist my leg. Both funny and embarrassing at the same time, but I pull myself together and hold back the rolling laughter.

We fly to the Sky Casino by private helicopter. I still marvel at Mahiru's good fortune without a drop of envy. We are flying with a couple of our former classmates. Hanako flew in from Germany to take a break from her work. “Being a CEO in the beauty industry is terribly exhausting.” Most of my friends have connected their lives with the beauty, modeling or design industry. And only I was more mundane, having only a few cafes in my chain. But I can say that I am completely satisfied with my life.

At the landing site, we are met by guards with serious faces, all in black. With these, try not to feel like a person with VIP status. We are told that it is strictly forbidden to bring weapons and prohibited substances into the territory of the casino, so we are examined thoroughly. This is a common thing for establishments of this type, at least it seems to me, so I have no extra questions. At the reception, we are greeted by a rather pleasant-looking girl in a formal suit, who, smiling, hands us cards.

“It's a master key,” she explains, displaying instructions on a screen behind her. The girls and I are closely watching what is happening on the screen. But the men who arrived with us are obviously not the first time in this institution, therefore they do not show any interest. “This key allows you to open the room located on the floor above. Also, this key is a card with which you can pay for drinks in our bar or order food. The key cannot be presented as a bet in games, unwinnable money is not charged to it. Also, the money that you replenish the key balance cannot be cashed out. The basic rules of our casino: do not disturb other guests. It is also forbidden to flirt with employees, you can not stick to the girls of the staff. You can leave the casino at any time.”

We are given quite unusual Hanko seal pads, they shimmer strangely and have a completely unusual bright blue color. For a while I doubt that everything is in perfect order, but I agree. The whole company puts our seals on the keys, and they seem to become one with the surface of the plastic.

“Mahiru-san, Yamada-san, you and your friends are coming with me. Your escorts will be escorted by security. We'll show you your rooms,” the receptionist bows and leads us forward to a large glass staircase leading up to the floor above.

In the casino itself, a genuine atmosphere of excitement and desire to be a winner hovers. The Great Hall combines a turbulent mixture of modernity and what is now easy to point the finger at and say that this is the last century. Slot machines, roulette tables, poker and blackjack tables and much more. But that's not what draws my eye.

A young man with long hair dyed white and lilac. He is absolutely calm, as if the owner of this establishment, walks along the slender rows with tables, nods to the employees behind them and moves on. His white clothes with a black, sparkling lining of the “tails” of his jacket stand out against the general background, as if on purpose. It can be said that the young man does not walk, but hovering between the tables. It takes me a moment to realize that Hanako, walking with us, is waving her hand in front of my face.

"Earth summons Yamada! Yama, what are you up to?” I shake my head and look away at exactly the same moment that stranger turns to us standing on the stairs. And it seems that he is looking at me, I can almost feel his eyes! It becomes terribly awkward, but I quickly pull myself together and answer:

“It's all right, I'm just... just amazed by the scale of the entire casino,” I say the first thing that comes to mind, but I myself can’t get that stranger in the bright one out of my head. It's too catchy.

Having reached the rooms, we are shown them from the inside. I rarely stayed in hotels, so it's hard for me to compare with something specific, but the scale of the room... it's impressive, as is the huge panoramic window from which you can see very tiny Yokohama and clouds, clouds. It's fresh inside and warm enough to complain about the cold. Most likely the ventilation and cooling works. A huge bed in the center next to the window, a wardrobe, a mini-bar in the room with glasses and an entrance to the bathroom. Everything is thought over to trifles.

We are told that the seals that we put on the keys secure the numbers for us without the possibility of opening the door in any other way. We are also told that there are also double rooms, in case we want to stay alone with our friends or relatives. “The seal of Hanko disappears from the key as soon as you leave the casino and hand it over to me. Have fun," is the last thing I hear before the girl leaves us.

To be honest, I had no plans to play in principle. I was offered to unwind in a special way, and I was not particularly against it, although I don’t understand anything at all about it. I even play poker badly. Oh, Mahiru...

And here I am, sitting with people at one of the free poker tables, keeping my cards with me and once again missing the bet. Next to me is a glass with a cocktail, but I myself don’t understand at all what to do, I feel as if a huge piece of my life has gone nowhere. As if gambling is the missing link that was missing to say: “I tried almost everything.” My real “almost” is not even half of my friends life.

"Is everything okay?” The same young man whom I saw earlier sits down next to us for a free chair. Straight profile, pale skin and unusual lavender-colored eyes. It even seems to me that there is so much warmth and care in them, as no other person will have. I again feel my cheeks begin to tingle. The blood rushes, apparently.

I honestly confessed to him that I had never gambled, so I can not fully understand what's what. The young man nods understandingly to me, offers to give up positions in the game and follow him. And so I do, trusting him entirely. All the staff looks at him with respect and nods, but I still don’t get what’s going on. We walk in silence to my room, although I stagger slightly. This is far from the first cocktail that I have drunk.

Already in my room, the principle of playing poker is explained to me, although I cannot concentrate my attention on it at all. I keep looking at the attractive features of the young man next to me, and a crazy thought shoots in my temple: “Sit on his lap.” And the devil pulls me to obey.

By the way, I'm wondering who you are? I mutter, not immediately realizing that I'm doing it out loud, but instead of embarrassment, I just giggle. The young man in white gulps nervously and looks at me sitting on his lap. “You are obviously an interesting person, since the staff looks at you with such respect.”

Silence comes in response to my words. It's amazing that after drinking so many cocktails I'm still able to speak. Hopefully, when we get back, I will have at least some memories of today. He looks at me with confusion and some embarrassment. Finally, the stranger gives in, and I take control of myself, quickly apologize for the unambiguous posture, and sit back down.

“I’m the owner of this casino. Sigma.” I kind of started to sober up. So, without any hesitation, I sat on the lap of the owner of the casino! What a shame! His head starts to hurt, which draws Sigma's attention. He speaks quickly into the phone he has pulled out of his trouser pockets, and a moment later, a girl is standing in front of us with a pack of aspirin and alcohol. “Take an aspirin before you go to bed, and now you better drink to keep the same level of alcohol in the body. Trust me I can drink with you.”

The casino owner is right. After a short period of time, the pain disappears, but intoxication increases. Sigma gets to the same condition as me pretty quickly. He shares secrets with me, says that it is terribly difficult to manage a casino, and in order to do it at a height, sometimes he has to not sleep at all, studying the personal affairs of all the guests. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.

We chat about everything for a while, although I think that some topics make him uncomfortable, and therefore I do my best not to touch on them in the future. So I told him that I owned a small chain of cafes that were more a franchise than entirely mine, and that in my early twenties I did not have a permanent relationship, seasoning it with jokes that I would never say out loud when sober. Jokes about loneliness, about a lot of free space on the bed. And behind all this, I lose sight of the moment when we both sit close to each other so that the tips of our noses are touching.

Fraction of a second. Strike me down if I'm lying, and much more time passes before I again sit on Sigma’s lap and kiss him on the lips. It's very difficult to resist the temptation, so I don't try, feeling slightly cool hands on my bare back. I snuggle up tighter, digging my fingers through the two-tone hair, which is so silky and so soft to the touch.

The kiss is greedy, like we're both so hungry for someone else's touch, although Sigma shivers a little. From excitement? May be. But he still tries to take the initiative in the kiss, stroking my back, but chastely does not go lower. The touches are almost weightless, very hard to feel, and this is the reason why I get terribly ticklish.

But the head, like a bullet, breaks through with lightning speed the question: “What are we doing?” He is the owner of a casino, and I am a person who came to relax and experience the vanity of vanities. I should not continue what is happening here and now. I gently move away from his lips, breathing heavily, but I do not take my eyes off his. The young man is a bit puzzled, looks at me blankly and also breathes heavily. Sigma's eyes are completely lost, he clearly does not understand what is happening and why I stopped, the question is almost hanging in the air, but I hasten to voice the answer to it before the casino owner says a word:

"I'm not sure what we're doing," I hesitate, feeling his fingers lazily twirl through the chains on my dress. Not trying to dissemble and escape thereby. I'm not really sure that sitting on Sigma's lap and kissing him while leaving light cherry lipstick marks on him is a good idea in itself. I will soon be forgotten, but what if one of the staff finds him in not the best shape? Will there be rumors that the owner and direct employer were seduced by one of the guests?

My words seem to only confuse him more. The young man tilts his head slightly to the side, his cool hand touching my face. Fingertips caress my cheek and gently caress. My heart is pounding in my chest like crazy, and something gloomy in my mind wants to break out. The sudden urge to pull Sigma under me, to see his confused expression and hear him whine and moan under me breaks through the ceiling. God, where do these thoughts come from?

“We can stop at any moment and pretend that nothing happened,” the young man suggests huskily, but for some reason his version doesn’t please me at all. Gulping down the rest of the drink in my glass, I muster up the courage to pull him by the tie to me and kiss him on the lips. It is worth seizing the moment while I am here, above the city in a heavenly fortress-casino, sitting on the lap of an attractive young man who is the owner of the establishment.

Sigma seems to be plucking up his courage as well, his touch feeling more confident, and I'll be damned if I say I don't feel anything. The only moment when I manage to step back a little to bring my breathing back to normal just a little, it treacherously gets stuck in my throat. The palms of the owner of the Sky Casino are felt on the hips, they are trying to pry off the hem of my dress in order to move it up. It seems to be nothing unusual, but it’s as if current discharges pass through my body. However, the young man, instead of pulling up my dress with his hands, wanders over my body with them, touches my chest, reminding me that it is not covered by a bra.

Kisses fall on my neck; I tremble violently and during this time I let out the first quiet moan. The skin on my neck is quite delicate, because other people's touches are felt sharper at times. Sigma's hands rest on my ass and squeeze hard. No, this is not going to work, I need to urgently take the initiative.

I grab onto the knot of his tie and pull it down as far as the fancy vest will allow. I undo a couple of buttons on his shirt. Pulling back a little, I manage to unbutton two of waistcoat buttons. Now, nothing will stop me from pulling off the tie, but first ... my lips touches to the open areas of the neck, which aren’t covered by the high collar of the turtleneck, for some unknown reason, worn under the shirt. My ears pick up the noisy exhalation as Sigma's hands begin to roam my body again, as if searching for the zipper of my dress. The waistcoat flies somewhere towards the edge of the bed, but the same does not happen with the tie that dangles around his neck, fully untied. Oh no, I still need it. Reaching for it, I pull it off and apply it with a wider part to the young man's eyes. He chuckles in puzzlement.

“What is it for?” He seems to be a little stressed by this, but I intercept the hand that is trying to pull off the makeshift blindfold and point it at my chest, which Sigma grabs and squeezes. I can feel his flat palm touching my nip. I'm finishing tying the knot.

“It’s more interesting that way,” I explain, and I smile quite a bit. Now that Sigma can't navigate visually, the focus will be on sounds, smells, and touch. It suits me, so I deftly rid him of his shirt, pull off his turtleneck, and milky skin appears to my eyes. Despite all his visual subtlety, the young man hardly fits the description of a thin person. Yes, he looks neat, like any average office employee, but it even suits him. For some reason, it's hard for me to imagine him more pumped up. I wander with my hands along his naked torso, kiss his neck and sink lower, grabbing the skin on crook of the neck with my teeth. The owner of the Heavenly Casino shudders, however, even having the opportunity to pull his tie off his eyes, he does not. Apparently, he got a taste for it.

When it comes to his trousers, I can hear the zipper on the dress softly zipping behind me and sliding down. It looks like the young man found the clasp by touch. I disentangle myself from the dress, and at that very moment Sigma's hands and lips are attached to my almost naked body. He greedily kisses my shoulders, noisily sniffs the scent of skin mixed with alcohol, and moans as my crotch, covered with lace, presses against the eloquent bulge on his trousers.

"You smell great," he breathes into my collarbone, and I'm willing to swear he's not the only one almost going crazy with the sensations. When I push Sigma on the bed, I move a little, sitting on his groin. His cock is twitching in his pants, it's not that hard to catch. Hand movements are uncertain. The young man does not see me, but he feels very well, so his hands roam up my hips, slide along my waist and find my breasts. Sigma caresses my nipples with his fingers, twists and squeezes a little, and in spite of him I fidget on his dick, feeling how his hands weaken and do not obey at all, so I fall exhausted on the snow-white bed. I fall to his lips, kiss him, putting all my growing desire in my chest. It swells, presses on the lungs, preventing normal breathing. I go down with kisses, almost bite into the collarbone, listening to the muffled groans. The owner of the Heavenly Casino is breathing heavily and often, biting his lips, and I don’t even touch his cock with my palm. It's okay, we'll fix it. Moans are like music. I wonder if he had a girlfriend before me, or is he like that in life? However, such questions are a little irrelevant.

I take off his pants, which I did not originally plan. Sigma wants to be teased, pushed to the limit and... not given what he wants. Well, I'll have the opportunity. Under the fabric of the underpants is quite impressive size. I swallow nervously, realizing that this is our first and last time together. It's even sad. But, pushing not rosy thoughts, I touch a hard dick through the underwear. The young man bites his lip and goes into a big shiver. I continue to caress through his underpants, watching the bead of precum forming on them. No, that's not enough for me. I want to see it.

“Are you ready, m, Sigma? We can stop and pretend that nothing happened.” it probably sounds like a mockery, and he regards it as such. However, he can be understood: it is very difficult not to take these words as a mockery. A girl turned you on, kissed you as if she was hungry for caresses and touches, and now she is offering to stop! That's why a halfhearted request to continue sounds so sweet. However... "What are you saying? Repeat for me.”

What a bitch I am. But I really want him to say it louder, to groan if he needs to. In general, what is happening:

“Please don't stop.”

This is more than enough for me to continue. Pulling off Sigma's underpants, I swallow viscous saliva. His dick is large, wide, veins appear on it. The tip is reddish and oozes like precum, which pools in a small puddle next to the protruding pelvic bone. It doesn't fit in my tiny palm a bit, but that doesn't bother me too much. Sigma whimpers under me, trying to push his hips into my palm, but it doesn't work very well. And I like this reaction to caresses. I'm ready to watch it for as long as I want.

My hand movements are speeding up and slowing down, and the young man feels like an electric shock from this. I caress the bridle and the tip with the pad of my thumb, rubbing the precum over it, which does not get smaller. It serves as a good lubricant. The Heavenly Casino owner groans but does nothing to stop his voluptuous torture.

“Tell me, what do you want most right now?” I purr as I continue to caress his cock with my hand and stop whenever I feel it swell in my palm. Moans of disappointment escape Sigma's lips at such moments. No, I haven't played with him yet.

“I can't. Please let me cum,” he whines when I remove my hand completely. Sigma is almost ready to burst into tears. This is how his voice sounds. Plaintively, begging for more. Well, who am I to say no to such a confusing but beautiful request? Taking off my soaked underwear as soon as possible, I impale myself on the heated flesh, exhaling noisily in unison with the groan of a young man.

I move on it quite briskly and sharply, raising myself above him as much as I can, in order to feel his dick completely inside again. The young man's now weakened hands cling to my waist, helping me up and down. The room fills with our rhythmic moans and wet skin to skin sounds.

When I lean over him to kiss him on the lips, we switch places, which couldn’t be foreseen. Sigma pull the tie off his eyes and grabs me under my knees and presses them to my chest, now blatantly thrusting into my body as I let out loud moans that bordered on a scream.

He freezes with a loud moan on his lips, entering me at the very base of the dick. He looks deeply into my eyes and breathes heavily, and under me the sheets become wet. It doesn't bother me that Sigma cums inside. Pulling out of me, he collapses exhausted next to me and breathes heavily.

“I hope you visit me here more often,” I hear and laugh at it. I'd like to, to be honest.

[fyodcrs]

Salvation

Fyodor/Sigma (spoilers for ch.107) [Read on AO3]

For a while I’ve been wanting to write a fic of Sigma confronting Fyodor that parallels the scene in Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment where Raskolnikov confesses to Sonia that he committed murder. Naturally, I read chapter 107 and immediately went “This is it!” When I managed to pick myself off the floor, anyway.

Parts of the dialogue here (as well as, to some extent, the character reactions) are taken directly from that scene in C&P, but also Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov. :3 

The gun shook in his hand. It was warm, a low, unpleasant heat; it burned his skin. Acrid smoke rose from the barrel. His ears still rang from the shot he had taken.

Fyodor looked at him, calm, serene even. He looked small, sitting there on the floor hunched in on himself, small and powerless. A dangerous illusion. The left shoulder of the stark white prison uniform was soaked through with blood, but Fyodor did not seem to feel the pain. Or perhaps he was simply so used to pain that it meant little to him, and he was aware of no more than a dull sting and that his left arm now hung useless at his side.

Suddenly the weight of the gun was too much. It dropped to the floor and clattered at Sigma’s feet. A tiny, agonized cry escaped him.

Fyodor had told him everything.

He might have been lying. Wasn’t everything a lie with him? Everything he had ever said to Sigma, every moment they had shared in each other’s presence, hadn’t all of it been lies? But this wasn’t. Sigma knew it, and he could not lie to himself. The truth had been laid bare to him, finally and inexorably, and every word felt like a knife to the heart.

“Do you understand?” Fyodor asked him, terribly gentle.

Sigma looked at him, trembling all over, like a frightened child. He was silent for a time, struggling, with himself, with what he now knew, with what he now understood and still couldn’t understand. At last, in despair, he whispered, “What have you done to yourself?”

This was clearly not the response Fyodor had anticipated. His eyes darkened, but there was confusion in his expression, and even, perhaps, a hint of pain. “To myself?” He smiled, but it was a pale, strained smile. “How strange you are, Sigma. You ask me what I’ve done to myself? What about all I’ve done to you, to so many others?”

“But the worst suffering you’ve done to yourself,” Sigma said.

The smile faded from Fyodor’s face. All at once, the life seemed to drain out of him, and his eyes were empty, hollow. “To live is to suffer.”

“And to kill?”

“To kill is to suffer, as well. Men fear to suffer. But there is no salvation without suffering.”

“Salvation?” Sigma cried, in despair and in a flash of sudden, boiling anger. “Is that what you think this is?” His voice softened again. “Don’t you see? There is no one, no one in the world, unhappier than you are now. You have never been farther from God than you are now.”

The mask of calm fractured and Fyodor recoiled as if struck. “And what do you know of God, Sigma?”

“I know what you’ve told me. I read the book you gave me. I may not really understand, not all of it, but…I understand forgiveness.” He held out his hands, as if offering something. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve really been after all this time. Isn’t it? But how could you have thought you had to do this for it?”

Fyodor looked at him with his dark, empty eyes. “There can be no forgiveness, not until I have finished the work I have been given to do.”

Sigma shook his head. “No,” he said, desperately, imploringly, “don’t you see? No one put this burden on you—you placed it on yourself, because you think you don’t have a right to exist, because no one ever told you that you deserve to live. You’re not a demon, Fyodor. It’s this, this idea you’ve let take possession of you. This isn’t you.”

The fractures in his mask deepened, widened, and it all began to crumble, little by little, as Fyodor listened to Sigma and stared into Sigma’s wide, pleading eyes. But he only smiled, that wan, mirthless smile. “This is all that I am,” he said, steady, implacable.

“You don’t understand!”

“You are the one who doesn’t understand, Sigma. I know that I have been given over to the devil. I have always known. But this is how it must be. I tried to kill you twice. If you let me go, I will try again. You know that. Why do you torment yourself like this over me?”

Sigma fell to his knees before Fyodor. His vision blurred; he had begun to cry. He realized he had been mistaken—Fyodor wasn’t the one crumbling, he was. He remembered the feeling of falling, falling, falling through endless sky. He felt they were falling now, the both of them, and the distance between them had never seemed so wide. Still, he tried to reach across that distance, so at least they could fall together.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, his voice soft, choked with his tears. “Maybe just finding myself a place where I can shut myself off from the world and from everyone who would use me isn’t enough anymore. But maybe you’re wrong about the Armed Detective Agency.” His gaze fell to the floor, a sad, wistful smile briefly appearing on his lips. “It sounds like a beautiful place, the Agency. It sounds like a good life. But I know I wouldn’t belong there. You told me that you heard melodies of sadness around me. I have never heard those same melodies around anyone else—anyone else but you.”

He lifted his eyes to Fyodor again. “We’re the same, you and I. We are both alone. We both had nowhere to go. We have both done terrible things just to find something for ourselves. But it can be different now, for both of us. You found me. And now, maybe I’ve found you. This—” he swept his arms in a wide gesture to encompass both Fyodor and their surroundings, the prison walls that closed them in, “isn’t you.”

He raised one shaking hand, almost, but not quite, touching Fyodor’s chest. “Maybe…maybe that’s what I’ve been sent for. To show you that.”

Fyodor did not respond for a moment. He shifted so they were both kneeling on the floor, facing each other, like penitents, and Sigma’s hand pressed into his bloodstained shirt. Sigma’s Ability did not activate. Not yet.

“It’s too late, Sigma,” he said at last, exhausted and with a kind of sorrow, hopelessness, even helplessness.

“It’s not too late,” Sigma insisted, firmly, but even more desperately. “We can get out of here. We can save Dazai-san, and Nakahara-san, and beat this game of Nikolai’s. I know you had a plan. I know Dazai did, too. We can all leave this place alive. And you and me, we can go back to the Casino, or…or to anywhere.” His voice broke, shattered like glass. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want you to die.”

He threw his arms around Fyodor’s neck, suddenly, surprising himself. His fear was now gone. “I won’t leave you,” he promised. “I’ll follow you anywhere, anywhere at all.”

Fyodor did not move, did not speak. Sigma closed his eyes, held him tightly, and waited.

[queer-n-here]

This is for the one that asked for a fic where Sigma rides reader. Sorry that I couldn't just answer that one. Maybe it was a glitch.

Contents: Sigma riding you.

Warnings: Smut, top male reader, riding, nipple play, noisy Sigma.

The idea had originally been a mere suggestion of yours, and yet now you were wondering why you hadn't thought of it sooner.

Sigma was generally more on the passive side during sex, lying in whatever way you wanted him to and letting you do all sorts of unspeakable things that made his eyes water and brain lag. But when you'd asked him to ride you, he wasn't opposed to the idea.

He had carefully climbed on top of you, pale cheeks all flushed and rosy, making you kiss them and tell him that it was okay to be nervous. When Sigma had lowered himself onto your cock, you had wrapped your hands around his thin waist, supporting him up so that he could take it slow and steady.

But he wasn't taking it slow and steady anymore.

He was whining pathetically, hips bouncing up and down at a fast pace, hands clenching so tight at your shoulders to ground himself that your skin had given way to blood minutes ago.

Every movement of Sigma's ass around you was sending shocks of pleasure up your core, and as you hungrily bit and nibbled at his nipples, your brain faintly commented on how wonderful it would have been if you'd done this earlier.

His face was wet with tears, and you knew that the moment he came, he would collapse onto you and refuse to look at your face from shame.

That was something you'd deal with when it happened, though.

The Sigma before you now was desperate and shameless, legs thrown carelessly on either side of your waist as he rode your cock with the ferocity of a bitch in heat, sweat running down his back as you played with his swollen nipples. Every pinch, every twist, enough to make him throw his head back and make those beautiful sounds, the ones only you were allowed to hear.

"[Name]! Hah! Nngh! Mmph!" Was the only thing that his brain could even fathom to say, the feeling of your tip against his gummy walls making him lose every other thought.

And your hips were bucking up too, meeting Sigma halfway through each thrust in a way that you knew would have almost thrown him off the bed if it hadn't been for your hands at his waist.

"Does that feel good, hmm?" You panted, eyes glued to the erotic sight of Sigma's magnificent body before you. "Do you like riding my cock, Sigma?"

"Yes!" He could only scream in reply, his hips stuttering and bucking with fatigue even as he tried to keep them going. "S-so good! Hah, nngh! F-feels... So good!"

You smirked, thrusting up into him with more force as his body started slowing down. He let you fuck him, his back arched and chest pushed up against your face as his toes curled.

You lowered your head to suck on his nipples, and Sigma placed his hand on the back of your head, holding you close to his chest as he panted and moaned.

He began to blubber about how close he was, and you had no choice but to speed up to hear him scream in pleasure, so loud you knew his customers at the Casino would complain to his staff about the noise. His fingers were gripping so hard at your shoulders you were worried about it, but your first priority had always been Sigma, and it was no different right now.

Heat was pooling in your stomach, and you knew you were close, too. Just the sight of Sigma's body bouncing wildly with each of your thrusts would have been enough, but you held back, wanting to finish Sigma off before you came.

So you fucked him till he did, ass all tight and clenching around your cock as ropes of cum shot out of his untouched dick and landed on both your stomachs. You weren't far behind, emptying your loaded cock into his ass as he collapsed onto your chest, panting and heaving.

You slowed down to a stop, wrapping your arms around Sigma's gorgeous body and letting him bury his face into your chest.

"You okay?" You murmured in his ears when you'd caught your breath.

He nodded, body limp in your arms and a burning face pressed into your skin.

You couldn't help but chuckle as you rubbed circles into his back. "Pretty baby,"

And Sigma could only flush darker, tired arms wrapping themselves around your neck as he mumbled something incoeherent.

"Hmm?" You tried to pry him away from your shoulder to hear him better, but he clung on.

"I said you'd better not tell the house keepers what happened here." He muttered.

You laughed. "I won't need to. They'll see the mess of the sheets and the way you limp tomorrow, and they'll know."