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osamucide · 2 months ago

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BITCHBOY ⊹

ALL I WANT IN THIS WHOLE WIDE WORLD IS TO BE YOUR BITCHBOY . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: ~6.8k

cw: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. icky pervy stoner roommate!Dazai <333 also pathetic wet cat mess of a man Dazai, afab+gn!reader, established roommate relationship, no established romantic relationship, implied bi!Dazai if you squint, referenced whore!Dazai, weed smoking+intox/noncon (reader says "stop" once and he does not stop), dubcon (becomes 'consenual' but Dazai's coercive+they're high), noncon elements can be interpreted (esp at the end) to be roleplay with prior consent! dirty talk, shotgunning, fingering, squirting, kissing, penetration, creampie, insulting nicknames (Dazai receiving), biting, this is depraved and I will answer for it on judgement day

reid: he’s all i think about.

tags: @kalsplace

You’re grumbling under your breath when you’re about to cross the threshold to your apartment because, as if the rest of your day hadn’t been annoying enough, your stupid key decides to give you extra trouble—as of late, it’s not working unless you jam it in the lock at a very specific angle and jiggle violently until just before you’re sure the knob will fall off, all whilst cursing your landlord’s neglect of the crummy old building like some enchantment or spell that ties the whole rage-inducing, access-granting ritual together.

Couldn’t your good-for-nothing roommate hear you struggling with it?

“Hey, sorry,” he chirps too brightly for the evening hour, floating out of his room as you shut the door behind you with a sigh—ever the mind reader. You forego your eye-roll this time; you’re convinced that one of these days they’ll get stuck in your skull what with how much you do it. You hear Dazai sauntering toward you as you’re shrugging your jacket off, hanging it up, tossing your bag on the table. “Was busy.”

You’re ready to turn and scowl at him, but when you face him, he’s waggling the little pipe in your face—the green one with blue flecks in the glass, undoubtedly what he was busy with while you broke into your own home—and you won’t admit that you already feel your irritation start to melt away when it slides from his fingertips to yours. You clutch it, latch onto the mouthpiece, and watch as the brunette flicks the flame out and lights you up.

You exhale gratefully, take one more pull, and hand the glowing bowl back for him to catch the remainder of before he lights it again. “Thank you," you croak before short cough leaves you. “Was real close to bitching you out for not leaving the door unlocked.”

Dazai blows his smoke directly back in your face with a small grin. “Redeemed by my weed once again.”

You chuckle and wave it away, making a point of sliding by him and toward your room to change. You need to unwind a second before dealing with him for the rest of the night. “‘S’all that ever redeems you. Crack a window, will ya?”

It’s really not a bad arrangement to have a live-in pot dealer—that’s basically what Dazai is and has been as long as you’ve roomed with him. Sure, he's also a pain in your ass; the man can hardly cook, you had to show him how to use the washing machine in the common area when you first moved in, and only a bit ago, after almost half a year of sharing a living space, have you convinced him to keep his mess of discarded socks and food packaging contained within his bedroom. It took a lot of harsh reprimanding about how you're not his parent and he's not your teenage son for you to realize it'd be a little of his own medicine to get him to start taking you seriously. Leaving your empty takeout box on the coffee table right where he liked to eat his, tossing your sweatshirt over his spot on the couch and refusing to move it for days—he took the message, albeit smugly, after that, and hasn't given you trouble since.

Even despite being a pain in the ass, though, especially now that he at least cleans up after himself, you have to admit you don't hate his presence in your home and in your life. You chalk it up to how infuriatingly charming he can be—you know he's a detective, and he's certainly got talents for sniffing out your emotions, solving your day-to-day problems, and smooth-talking, but all of that falls under being nosy and weird when he tries to guilt you into praising him for it. If he was any less annoying, you'd maybe even admit to yourself that he's kind of attractive; only physically, of course, which you've known since the day you met him, but any other way he might be—retaining a heavy air of mystery in spite of how bubbly he is, occasionally inviting you out drinking (mostly so you can drag him home once he overdoes it), smoking you up without asking for money—is just so overshadowed by what a fucking weirdo he is. You can’t separate it.

He certainly keeps you on your toes.

That’s really the worst thing about him. You know you’ll exit your room to grab your leftovers from the fridge and he’ll be pestering you to watch some movie with him—probably one of his cringy rom-coms (the fact that he watches and unironically enjoys them serving only marginally to make him a little more of an interesting character) during which he'll sling his feet across your lap or curl up into you so he can pinch your side once or twice just for your reaction, leaving you red in the face and mildly irritated while he giggles condescendingly at you. But as you always do, you think as you sigh and lift the hem of your sweater to curl it over and off, you’ll concede.

Your head’s caught in your sleep shirt when you hear your door creak open.

“Um, privacy?” you half-yelp—something you’re still figuring your way around with him. You jump out of line of the door as you poke your head through the neckline to shoot him that glare you saved from moments earlier.

Dazai just snickers, eyes wide and innocent. You're naked from the waist down. “Could’ve locked it.”

“As if that would stop you,” you snap back, stretching the hem over your thighs and ass as you skitter awkwardly back over to the edge of your bed where a pair of comfy shorts lay. “Get out!”

“Will you hurry up and put your pants on? I got My Big Fat Greek Wedding locked and loaded.”

“Yes, yes, just get out.”

He’s still snickering when he disappears behind the door. He doesn’t shut it all the way, and you mutter freak beneath your breath, secretly hoping he hears you.

You tug your shorts on and meander back out as the intro rolls, set on your leftover homemade tonkatsu; as you settle cross-legged with your plate on the couch, Dazai reaches over and plucks a piece of cabbage off it.

You side eye him as you chew. He’s already occupying himself with packing another bowl—he must've finished the first one himself. You'd half-expect him to reach for one of the prerolls he keeps in the coffee table drawer so as not to have to go to the trouble again, but he does.

“You eat yet?” you ask carefully.

He shakes his head as he uses the butt of the lighter to press it down. Of course not. Even weed doesn’t make him eat. You’ve expressed concern over his eating habits before, but he always dismisses you with a hum and that smug smile.

You make a point of tearing the remainder of your cutlet in half with your utensils. When he reaches out to pass you the pipe, you reach back, chopsticks pinching a hefty piece of pork.

Dazai raises his eyebrows at you.

You raise yours in reply, as if to say, take it, or I’m not smoking anymore with you.

So he does, reluctance veiled thinly by amusement. You know him well enough by now; or, you think you do, at least. As he chews, he balances the chopsticks back on your plate and turns to you with the lighter, curling his own legs beneath himself.

Only satisfied when he swallows, you set your plate aside, face him, and press the pipe to your lips again, looking to him. To his pretty brown eyes that search you owlishly, that you swear sparkle with a little more vigor after even the smallest bit of sustenance enters his system. Maybe you should just leave him to starve, but then where would you get your weed? You’re an idiot, you’d say if you weren’t waiting on his flame.

But before he can light it for you, he pulls the lighter away, and you chase it with a soft hey—he’s grinning at you again, like a devil, like always.

“You always do that, you know?” he asks.

“Do what?” you mumble impatiently against the piece.

He gives in and dips the flame down into the bowl; you inhale deep, flower crackling softly as you do, and he only answers when the smoke’s halfway down your throat.

“Look up at me all cute like that every time I light it for you.” Those brown eyes bore into yours and you become aware all too quick of the fact that you do—you do indeed peer up at him through your lashes; your eyes water as smoke burns your throat and you blink away, trying not to cough out your hit at how he’s gazing at you, but he doesn’t stop there.

He would never stop there.

“Makes me think bad things.”

So you cough out your hit anyway.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask, choked, face red from more than just the sting of the weed. You busy yourself with pulling another hit while it’s still lit.

“Mhm,” he agrees. “Lots of ‘em.”

Your head swims now—you’ve built up a decent tolerance from living with him, but forgetting to breathe at his words and zeroing the huge puff you take next surely doesn’t help. You cough again, and nothing leaves your lungs this time as you debate whether to take his challenge.

Another thing you’ve learned about Dazai—he loves to fluster people. If living with him wasn't enough proof, you’ve seen him do it millions of times to pretty bartenders, or on the off-chance his partner from work joins you drinking; off-chance, truly, because Kunikida already has to put up with Dazai all day at the office, and anything more than what’s required of him might be better off called torture rather than fun. And beyond loving it, Dazai demonstrates it like a long-honed skill—the exploitation of people’s humiliation, the monopolization on people’s most sensitive spots. He had previous work in it, he’s said, but you can’t imagine what job could possibly entail all that. You think he just doesn’t know when to shut his mouth—no, he’s smart enough to know when to; he just doesn’t like to. He’s what most people would refer to as an asshole.

And yet, you find yourself torn between feeling disgusted and entertained by him all the same. Although you often find yourself the victim of his little mind games, you’re not above jabbing back at him. What does that make you, you wonder? The question briefly crosses your mind, but you shake it off as, in your buzz, you swat away the bait; decidedly, you’d rather watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding in peace, finish your tonkatsu, and then go to bed tonight.

“You’re gross.” The scoff you let out sounds more like a chuckle.

Dazai tilts his head, flicking the lighter for you again; he sparks the bowl as he watches you, as if in exceptional contemplation, and you make a point not to do it again—you inhale and gaze straight down at the flame.

“You don’t wanna hear what it makes me think about?” he asks cutely, unwilling to let you get away just yet.

You ignore the slight flush undoubtedly on your own face as you slip the bowl back to him; doubly so, you try not to watch the way his lips wrap around the mouthpiece.

But right now, you can’t seem to help that your bleary-eyed attention is on him. Just as he exhales, you remember you haven’t replied.

You’re not quick enough. He doesn’t take your silence as an invitation; it’s an opportunity. You see it in his smirk, just a second too late.

“Makes me think about how pretty you’d be looking up at me like that from your knees.”

He’s good at his games—he invents them, after all. But you’d be damned if he thought you wouldn’t shut him down when you weren’t in the mood.

“Yeah, no, don’t particularly wanna hear about it, thanks.”

This might be a new low, even for him, you think. Who the fuck just says shit like that?

When you think about it a second longer, though, he really hasn’t brought anyone home to fuck obnoxiously (a boundary you were quick to set with him) in at least a couple weeks, so maybe he’s just pent up. Either way, his comment makes you wrinkle your nose, furrow your brow—hopefully negating the pink inevitably tinting your cheeks. Fucking weirdo.

“N’ now you’re blushing all cute, too,” he observes; you scoff again, more pointedly this time. “Thinkin’ about it?”

As if, you want to say, but the words get stuck against the roof of your dry mouth, so you conjure up some of your spit, swallow it down, and hope he doesn’t notice—but it’s Dazai; he will—that your high's settling onto your shoulders swiftly. He’s pointing the bowl back at you, and as you grab it robotically, you’re still trying to speak—a sure sign you should both shut up and keep your places on opposite ends of the couch and watch the movie and finish the tonkatsu, but instead you just balk. No matter what you do, you play right into his hands—that’s how it happens all too often, and you certainly won’t learn now or anytime when his weed’s coursing up to your brain and back down to your thumping heart. Dazai lights your next hit for you, laughing like it’s all some big joke, and maybe it is—maybe you’ll blow your smoke in his face this time and pick up your tonkatsu and shut up and just watch the damn movie.

As if you’d ever be so lucky with his antics.

You’re shaking your head in near-awe when you pass it back to him once more.

“I mean, we basically kiss through this thing all the time,” he says like it’s relevant, waving the pipe about. “I don’t think it’d be so weird if we fucked. Or if you sucked me off, at least.”

“It—it would totally be weird, Osamu,” and when you speak his name so lightly, blinking at trying to muster up your own laughter as a defense mechanism, his sight flickers up to yours. “That doesn’t even—I’m not sucking your dick.”

“Shame,” he purrs. “‘Cause I know how pretty you’d look. Your lips all wet and pouted against my t—”

“Oh, my god, shut up.” Now you laugh, out of pure disbelief at how far he’s taking it. He pokes at the tail end of what’s left in the bowl and chuckles, too, seemingly ready to let it go now that he has you laughing. "You're horrible."

The more you let him talk about it, the more you entertain him, maybe you can let it peter out.

“What about me? Do I look pretty when I do it?” he asks, batting his lashes as he pulls another hit off the pipe.

“Sure, yeah, whatever,” you let your laughter idle as he doesn't tear his gaze away from you. He looks pretty. Whatever. You cross your arms as you feel the familiar tingle of your high behind your eyes.

“Would I look pretty on my knees?” he prods.

You could slap him—if nothing else, just to make his face burn half as much as you know yours is. When he sets the bowl and lighter aside and goes back to observing you, eyes low-lidded and red, chin rested on his hands, propped up by his elbows on his crossed legs, you have half a mind to shrink away from him—but you keep cool, even if the way you're at eye level with his searing stare feels a little too intimate.

You mirror his position. “Hmm, I don't know.” You steal his thoughtful tilt, too, and tack on, “Maybe if you were begging like a little bitch.”

You're prepared for him to laugh tauntingly again and then let this die where it stands because he got a reaction out of you, right? That’s always what he’s looking for, so it’s about time he goes back to his corner of the couch where you'll bully him into a few more bites of tonkatsu.

But he stays locked onto you, quietly.

And then he's shifting forward off the couch and down to the ground.

“Osamu—”

“Uh-uh,” he chides you softly, crawling to situate himself directly in front of your figure. Looking up at you all cute. “I’m gonna be the one begging, remember?”

Your disbelief swirls with refusal as he paws at the hem of your shorts as if to say, turn, please, and fuck—what can you do other than turn red as a rose as he grabs your ankles, unfurls your legs, and props his chin on the cushion between your thighs? You feel alarmingly higher, blearier when his fingers creep up beneath the fabric, slowly, looking at you as if for reassurance.

“We're not—you can quit fooling around, seriously.” You want to laugh again but it comes out deadpan, strict; you feel heavier with each landing of his fingertips against your skin, and he just keeps looking up at you. Cute. Pretty. Taking it too far.

“I want to,” he mumbles, retracting his hands only for them to find your hips, your waistband. “Come on. ‘Wanted you so bad for so long. I know you want me, too,” he speaks your name slyly, quietly, and it prompts your breath to quicken a little; he traces circles into your hipbones with his thumbs, toys with the elastic at your waist, snapping it softly, and you squirm. “Please?”

For so long? you think. How long?

“I—I'm not high enough for this, Osamu,” you try to joke, but he just twists around to the coffee table drawer for one of those prerolls and his lighter.

“I can get you higher,” he offers—tone still much too innocent, motives still haphazardly veiled by what a big jokester he is, and he sticks the joint between his lips and lights it.

Before you can coherently protest, he rises, supporting himself on your thigh with one hand and removing the joint from his mouth full of smoke; when he leans into you, you catch his wrist to keep him from ashing on the back of the couch, grab his face in a half-attempt to stop him in his tracks—but ultimately, when his mouth meets yours, you open for him.

The plume of smoke he shotguns into your mouth is thick; you breathe it in. His palm like a brand against your thigh.

And he doesn’t stop.

“Osamu,” you whine against his lips, still mushing his face away and hating how your dry throat roughens your voice. He just kisses you, kisses you, and your fingers find the pulse point in his wrist—he’s a decent kisser, you think, at the very least. You have half a mind to let your fingers slide to the mess of brown hair beyond the apples of his sharp cheekbones, and—

You backtrack in your mind. You’re actually probably too high for this.

You have to detest the way it feels so heavenly when he squeezes the fat of your thigh, dodges your lips, and works steadily in a line from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, all tongue and teeth in his pursuit. You have to detest it. Fucking weirdo, you repeat in your mind. The joint burns between his fingers. You snatch it from his grasp and pull your head back, raising your feet to kick him weakly in the abdomen, and he relents—your toes feel asleep when they hit the carpet again, and you hoard the joint between your fuzzy fingers when he reaches for it back.

“Osamu,” you say again, stern, eyes wide. The weed. You're high. You're both high, and this is weird. He’s just your weirdo roommate and you got home wanting to end your stressful day without complicating anything else in your life today.

So why, when he looks at you like you’re a caged animal that’s just as afraid of him and he is of you and works the joint from your fingers to take another drag, do you let him cup your face and exhale more smoke down your throat?

Why do you chase his lips when he blissfully, needily, sinks to his knees once again and starts to traverse beneath your shorts?

With the right focus of mind, like staring at your hand when you’re spinning and convincing yourself that the world around you is actually moving and you’re staying still, you can almost pretend he’s a stranger—some sexy, enchanting stranger that you met on the train home after your shit day, meant to relate to you with docile nods and hums as you air your grievances about work or school or whatever, meant to kiss it off you like it’s just a little bit of dirt.

Getting out of your shorts is like getting out of second skin. You're taking another hit, unwise or not, because it's back in your hand and you don't know what else to do; you watch him in your haze with a mix of anticipation and distrust, but right now, anticipation is winning by a small margin. You’re high, you tell yourself—twitching already, in that way that has nothing to do with desire but rather just means you've smoked a little too much too quickly, and the idea that Dazai might still fake you out and send you to bed feeling half-hot and bothered, half-violated, with no pants on and a near-empty stomach bobs around in your inhibited brain—again, you expect him to laugh, say you’re fried, clap you on the shoulder and tell you it's a joke but he doesn’t, he cranes for a hit from the joint and you hold it to his lips shakily and he touches you on the exhale, the pads of two of his fingers nestling carefully between your folds over your underwear and when he brushes your clit it’s—

Fuck, it’s electric.

“Osamu, stop,” you say, hoarse and abrupt, grabbing his wrist. "I'm—"

“What?” he asks, teasing lilt to his tone. Beneath your hand his thumb comes up to replace his fingers, to loop circles around you, and you're shuddering, back bowing, and he's grinning at you wickedly.

“I—I'm high,” you admit, voice feeling thick, soupy as it leaves your throat.

“So? Me too.” He blinks at you, slow like a cat, in a way that you're pretty sure he's still mocking the way you apparently always flutter your gaze at him when he lights you up. “‘S the best way to do it.”

“Yeah, but—”

He doesn't interrupt you with but what?

And yet, you still don't finish your sentence.

You glance down to where he’s rubbing you gently, where you hold him at bay—where you could yank his arm and twist it uncomfortably if you really did want him to stop but the longer he circles over the fabric that’s growing increasingly, alarmingly wetter, the more you melt away from yourself and you think, fuck, he really is gorgeous as he’s resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh.

“Scoot forward f’me, please?” he almost whines; his voice changes, stricter when he says, “And stop letting that burn. Smoke it.”

And you comply, shuffling your hips forward and placing the filter between your teeth.

Dazai looks up at you. All cute. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. Hungry.

And you look back, apprehension sparking but then fading with each drove of smoke you inhale. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. All cute.

“Let me taste you, please,” he almost whispers. You almost find yourself a little endeared by his pointed pleases.

“This is fucking absurd,” you croak, but your resolve is leaving you. He’s a little blurry. “You’re such a sicko.”

His smile widens against the word. Sicko. Almost like he’s pleased to hear it leave your mouth. “Surprised it took you this long to figure out, baby.”

His touch is impatient and restless and crawling as your underwear goes, too—and you don’t appreciate how good it felt when his thumb was on your clit until it’s back again and you’re slipping the joint out of your mouth to let you jaw fall slack; you tangle a hand up in that messy hair that is much softer than you could’ve imagined and all but yank him back toward your cunt.

“Please,” you echo him, finally. “It felt so good—do it again.”

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages you in your whimpering, fingers prodding at your hole and tongue landing a feather-light lick to your wetness. “I know you want it.”

The sounds are lewd. Disgusting, really—fitting for how he’s acting. Dazai swirls his tongue in circles around your clit as he works his middle and ring fingers into you; cracked gasps leave you at the intrusion, and you can’t keep your eyes open when he curls them upward ever so slightly as he makes out with your clit. If you were sober you’d, of course, be embarrassed at how you’re already gushing for him, but all your mushy brain can think about right now is the sparks bolting to your otherwise-numb fingers and toes with each suction of his pretty pink lips against you—isn’t this wrong? Shouldn’t you feel weird? Yeah, probably—but you’re forgetting why, and you’re forgetting to care.

He hums against you and it sends a shockwave throughout your already-vibrating body; the moan you release into the air is like song, even to yourself. Is he really good at this, you wonder, or is it the weed?

Oh right, the weed. The weed, the weed, the weed.

You pull his mouth off you, almost dropping the joint that’s not much of a joint anymore—only the filter remains.

“I don’t think this is—”

Fuck, you keep going back and forth. You keep breaching the surface just for him to tug you beneath the water again and convince you the drowning feels nice. And it does, for a few seconds—until it starts burning your lungs to a crisp again, at which point you tear away from him kick up, and in the moments you spend sucking in air you don’t get how he stays beneath for so long, like it’s nothing, how he doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop, his fingers still curling inside of you, and you’re going under again to the sound of his voice.

You feel suffocated. More delirious by the second. It’s nice.

“You already told me it feels good,” he mumbles against you, lapping at you, and you’re letting up on his hair, letting him become a weight again where you should float.

And the lack of oxygen must be getting to your brain because, even though you still don’t think you want to drown, you cease your kicking. For the last time.

“Osamu,” you cry. It sounds like a moan. It might be.

“I know, I’m such a sicko.” There’s no remorse in his words; there can’t be, not when he’s still curling up into your g-spot in just the way that makes you croon his name again—undoubtedly a moan this time—but when he comes into focus again, he looks so apologetic. “You can say it again, baby. It’s okay.”

“S—sicko,” you mutter disapprovingly, but rolling your hips all the same.

He smiles. Soft, kind, apologetic.

You’re scared to move. You know if you do, you’ll both be able to see the wet stain collecting beneath you on the cushion. You feel it.

So you barrage him with more.

“You—you’re a fucking pervert. You’re disgusting.” You feel wetness on your face, too. You deduce that it’s from how perfect his fingers feel inside you, goading that warm slick out of you and into his palm, onto the couch; regardless, you don't stop berating him, your tone harshly contrasting your wriggling hips. “You disgust me.”

“I think you like it.” He presses up, hard, and you gush, gasping. A short, clear spurt narrowly misses his face; he leans back down to lick it off, off the cushion, off your thighs, off your crying cunt. “I think you like how nasty I am.”

“Disgusting,” you whisper. “Disgusting. You're disgusting.” It’s a little chant you hold onto as he rises again to kiss you, messily—a means to replace his lips with his wet fingers, shoving them past your lips and against your tongue where you lap at them instinctually, like you’ve been waiting for it. It’s so wrong to be tasting yourself on his fingers, but your eyes roll back anyway, just to lurch forward as his hand retracts and you find him grinning once more as he slips his sweatpants and boxers down in one swipe. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting,” Dazai mocks, giggling. “You just tasted how fucking wet you are.”

“Osamu,” you whine as he kicks his garments aside; you begin to draw your feet up, your knees to your chin, but his hands, stronger than you anticipate, pry you open and flip you to your back and he grins, biting into his bottom lip all the while. Why, you wonder, when the dim living room light glints off his teeth as he situates himself between your legs and leans down to cage you in between his arms, do your hips hitch toward his? Why are you so adamant to deny him?

“You gonna say it again? C’mon, I love hearing my name,” he breathes, ducking down to lick across your jawline. “But I love when you call me those words. Say it again. Tell me how nasty I am.”

“You’re the worst,” you groan, but it sounds comical, even to your own ears, because you’re scratching at his shoulders in a way that draws him closer to you rather than further away.

“More, baby,” Dazai hums into your neck, reaching down to swirl his tip against your wetness. When you feel him, you jump.

It feels good. It feels even better than his thumb and you don’t know if you’re still on your way up but you feel higher and higher by the second and the instinct to push him off is slipping further beyond your grasp. When he pulls back to watch your mouth fall open as he rubs himself into you, you almost let the word pretty slip past your lips—he looks so pretty, tongue flicking, eyes dark, and you catch yourself with your lower lip between your teeth, reflecting the desperation he conceals in everything but his words.

Pretty isn’t what he wants right now, though—and suddenly you feel compelled to give him what he wants, if only it means he’ll keep touching you like this.

“S’fucking nasty—degenerate fucking freak—” you eek out; you don’t know much longer you can tiptoe the line between repulsion and sheer need, but you’re tilting further and further with each circle of his dick and you can tell he’s getting off on the way you’re lurching into him now, running toward his touch instead of away from it.

You think you need him to fuck you, now, or you’ll cry.

“Osamu, please,” you continue, sounding on the verge of tears now—where you should’ve been before, when you genuinely wanted him off you, yes. You wanted him off of you before. Didn’t you? There was a time, a mere few minutes ago, when his fingers in your skin and his animalistic gaze were revolting. Right?

“What’re you beggin’ me for?” Dazai asks like he doesn’t know. He knows. He knows what you don’t want to admit to yourself and he’s going to dangle it over your head, he’s going to rub it in your face, he’s going to make you answer through your hazy high that he never should’ve come onto you through to begin with, and you’re going to give him what he wants—you always give him what he wants, even if you don’t mean to, even if you don’t want to, but now you think you want to. You want to, because it feels so good, and he’s slowing down, he’s stopping and when he takes his hand away to swipe his thumb across your chin, pull your lip from between your teeth and work your mouth open with his fingers again, the loss almost hurts. You want it. You want to.

It’s going to hurt even more to say it, but you want it. And before you can even get it out, before the words even hit what little air is between your lips and his, Dazai looks thrilled at what you say next.

“Please, fuck me,” you whisper.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely—” He reaches back down, but the smugness doesn’t waver; his tip catches on your entrance—emitting a lewd squelch that should make you cringe but instead prompts your lip to fly between your teeth again—and you hook your tingling feet behind his back, legs astride his waist as you're pushing his bangs from his face all in one motion. “I guess I’ll fuck you, pretty baby.”

"Yes," the dreaded word falls from your lips when he finally works his way into you, past that tight ring of muscle, to nestle snugly inside you until the head of his cock kisses your cervix.

The noise you draw from him—something between a sigh and a moan—is heavenly. His nose nuzzles the trail he licked across your jaw before and you find your hands linked behind his neck, urging him down, onto you, into you—and when he recoils his hips to thrust back in again, quick and short, you keen against him, pathetically, in a way your past self—the one from four or five touches ago—would hate you for.

You should hate how gross this is. How gross he is for this.

But you don't, and you're not going to torture yourself with asking why anymore.

The friction inside you doesn't feel comparable to anything; for the first time in a second, you feel grateful for the weed pulsing through you. You let your eyes roll back and flutter shut without consequence.

Dazai moves against you like water. Water you're content to drown in this time; his touch doesn't crawl anymore as much as it seems to soothe and as he picks up his pace, brings a hand to your cheek to wake you back up, pull you back above the surface.

"You sound s'fuckin cute," he sighs; those eyes, predatory before, are now just brown and melty, honey-colored backgrounded with red fog, not so searching as much as they seem attentive, not making you feel so uncomfortably vulnerable as they do softly seen. He thinks you sound cute. You giggle through the unrivaled pleasure, giggling through your own moans which hit your ears and do sound cute—sound especially cute woven through his.

"Y'sound... so," you start, "so fucking—unh, Osamu, don't stop!"

He chuckles now, low and breathy, and you push his hair back from his face again; his eyes roll back when you do it, and you just do it over, over, over, drawing clipped groans out of him, stealing the words from his throat as he steals yours and you tug, you tug on his hair and the moan he lets out, broken between thrusts, is so raw and laced with need that you moan in reply, clenching around him because, fuck, he sounds so cute, too. "Wanted this for so long, baby. Pussy feels s—so much fuckin' better than I could've imagined."

"How long?" you finally poke back—you want to know. You want to know how long he's been holed up in the mess of his room, jerking off to the thought of his cute little roommate finally falling between his fingers—you want to know how bad he's wanted this, and if getting you high out of your mind just to get it was worth it. You focus your voice to ask him. "How long you wanted this, 'Samu?"

"So long—since—" he gasps, fucking into you harder, faster, deeper; you tug his hair again, exposing his neck, and yank him down to sink your teeth into his neck. You need the reprieve as he starts hammering against the deepest parts of you, eliciting wet smack! after smack! from between your writhing bodies. You jostle beneath him as he finds his breath; "Since I fuckin' met you. Always wanted you."

"Yeah?" You mean it to be a teasing little rhetorical question but it comes out more like encouragement amidst the bliss radiating from your cunt throughout your whole body, but you find it in you to continue— "You been—you been thinkin' of me under you like this? Like the sicko you are?"

Unbelievably faster and harder. You choke on a scream; Dazai's grunting above you, and it hits you that those names really do spur him on. You're far from offending him—you're bringing him closer and closer to filling you up with each and every insult and jab you throw his way and if you were any less cockdrunk you'd be hurling even more barbs at him about how that makes him so much worse, so much more gross but it just spurs you on, too, right now—and you realize, when he looks at you with those fucking eyes again how bad you want him, how bad you've wanted him, too, for so long; you couldn't—wouldn't admit it because he's just your weirdo roommate but really, maybe that's what you love about him. You certainly love the way he makes your toes curl when he reaches down to play with your clit again. You cry out against him.

"Osamu, fuck!"

"Say it again," he begs you, pretty brown eyes glassy as they fall shut, as the tip of his nose touches yours. "Say it again, please, baby."

You know what he wants.

"F—fucking pervert," you huff, doing everything you can to hold onto the rope that's uncoiling rapidly inside you, coming further and further undone with each slam of his hips into your ass. "Ah—you're disgusting. Disgusting."

You fall back on your mantra and it has his thumb moving faster, harder, just like his thrusts, just like his voice, even if it sounds unconvincing through the shockwaves of pleasure; you feel it, the unraveling, it's washing up on you so quickly, so much quicker than it should be at the hands of your weirdo roommate.

"Don't stop," he pleads like he's not the one fucking you to orgasm; you see white, you feel as light as air—god, has cumming always felt like this? Shouldn't you hate it? Shouldn't you hate that it might never feel like this again?

You do, you do—you hate weed and you hate sex and you hate your weirdo roommate Osamu Dazai for coaxing the most mind-blowing climax you've ever felt out of you, but you don't hate any of those things, not really; you hate that it's never felt like this before, and that it can again if only you can push your pride down for a few more moments and call him a—

"Freak—gonna—gonna cum in me?" you goad, breathless, lucky for speech as he fucks you through the otherworldly high, as you clamp down on him and screw your eyes shut until you can keep going. "Gonna fill me up like the nasty motherfucker you are?"

"Ngh—yeah, yeah, yeah...!"

Dazai, in all his depraved beauty, fucks his fat load into you mercilessly; you twitch, shake beneath him, driving strained sobs from his chest and talking him through with soft yeahs, want y'r cum, filthy fucking sicko freak, you disgust me. He loves it. He falls apart, and you tug on his hair once more as he slows, as he spills out of you, as he looks at you with so much adoration in his eyes.

"You—" Dazai's breathless, heaving. "You're amazing."

You giggle again, wiggling a bit and trapping him further close to you, fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. Soft. You don't feel any less high; just blissed out. "You're cute."

"Knew you thought so," he sighs, lopsided smile coming back; you don't know where in the pleasure he'd lost it, but its return has you tilting your chin up to kiss him once more. Soft. Gentle, sweet, no tongue; not gross, not hungry, just sweet. Satisfied.

"But you're still weird," you tease against his lips. Sly.

When Dazai pulls back, the hunger in those eyes sparks again.

"Want me to show you how weird I can get?" he threatens.

"I dare you," you taunt back.

And he grins, fully and wickedly, once more; you can count on it. He'll show you, alright.

#i want to first thank italics. id be nowhere without italics #dazai x reader #dazai smut #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs smut #nnnsfw.ᐟ #mdni #with love—reid

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roebeanstalk · 7 months ago

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6/2 Update: Security deposit has been paid!! Thank you so much to everyone for the help 💚 I still have to pull together all of June rent for my current place which is $675. Thank you everyone for all of the help so far 💚

I’m asking for help with June rent, which is $675 and needs to be paid ASAP.

Cashapp https://cash.app/clawshot

venmo https://venmo.com/rmck89

ko-fi https://ko-fi.com/roebeanstalk

Any help at all is super appreciated. Every dollar adds up, and shares are so helpful too. I know that I’ve received so much help from people in the past and I can’t thank you all enough. I hope that this is the last of these that I have to do.

Needs:

June rent: $23/$675

Security Deposit: $495/495 Paid 💚

Bonus:

July rent (First month at new place): $495

Movers + Uhaul: $300-350

More info on my situation under the cut!

Thank you so, so so much.

I have a history of mental health issues, and as a result I have a very difficult time getting and maintaining employment. My mental health also impacts my ability to keep up with and complete freelance/commission work in a timely manner. While I have made some incredible steps forward lately thanks to the right combo of therapy, medication, and a support system, I am still not at a point where I am self-sufficient yet. I am getting there – and I am committed to keep trying no matter what.

Original post blurb, taken out of main post since deposit has been paid:

My landlord has decided not to move forward with me as a tenant due to my history with payment/mental health. While this is frustrating as heck, it’s allowed me to find a better, more affordable housing situation. I have signed a lease at a new place and move in July 1st!Once the deposit is paid, my space on the lease is officially secured and I am good to go. This is the main thing that I am looking for help with.

Why I need help:

This new housing situation is incredible for me – it’s a room in a quiet house with two other queer folk, and the rent is very affordable compared to my current situation. The new place is $485/month, the current place is $675/month. Even with utilities, my total overhead for shelter will cost less than rent at my current place. If I can secure my spot in this house and move forward, I see such a clear path forward for me in terms of self-improvement and self-sufficiency.

For the first time in 15 years, I feel like I can tackle the things ahead of me. If you’re able to help out I would really, really appreciate it.

What I’m doing:

I am job hunting for something that works well for my situation. With the cost of rent, I think that a part time job will be able to cover it. The process of getting a job is difficult for me, but I am committed to continuing to work at it.

On the art front, I have occasional comic coloring jobs that help me out. I also have commissions – I have finally been moving forward at a good rate and have been really happy with my work. In time, this will be able to be a more standard income route. I also have a Patreon that brings in about $65/month.

Cashapp https://cash.app/clawshot / venmo https://venmo.com/rmck89 / ko-fi https://ko-fi.com/roebeanstalk

Thank you so much for reading over all of this. Thank you to everyone who has helped with donations or kind words or reblogs. Thank you so much to every commissioner and customer who has been patient as hell with me on artwork, communication, and stickers. Thank you thank you thank you. Thanks to every single one of you I have been able to keep pushing myself forward, and I'm so happy to keep doing it and make good on everything. And eventually, give back to my community. I love you all so much, even though i don't know any of you that well. Thank youuuu. <3

#trans #mutual aid #moving #trans mutual aid #help moving

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gothcsz · 4 months ago

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Summary: Caught in a charged and unexpected moment with Javier Peña, you struggle between resisting his relentless seduction and giving in to the tension that has been building since the last shoot.

Tags: smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, no use of Y/N, reader is shorter than javier but other than that no physical descriptions, some dirty talk, semi-public sex (we're in an elevator this time around), reader really doesn't like javi, steve being steve, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: this was supposed to be a short lil thing but then my ass had to drag it out just a little because their dynamic is very fun to write 😭 he's like whyyy don't you like me and she's like how much time do you have? lmfao. this is dedicated to @auteurdelabre 🖤 #1 pornstar javi stan, i almost submitted this for your trope off but decided to save that honor for my other story! anyways, i hope you guys enjoy javier begging to eat you out 🥂 let me know what you think 🖤 mandatory mutual tags: @almostempty / @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

You sit in the cramped waiting room outside of Robbie’s office, the stale air clinging to your skin as you shift uncomfortably in the worn-out chair. The place is too quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city outdoors.

You glance at the clock on the wall, anxiety creeping up your spine. You have a shift at the bar in an hour, and time is slipping through your fingers. The laundry, the groceries, the endless list of errands— it all piled up today, and now you’re cutting it too close.

But you need this check. It’s the only reason you’re here, tapping your foot in impatience. If you don’t get it today, the money won’t hit your account in time to cover rent, and you really don’t want another lecture from your landlord. It’s bad enough you’re already behind— no need to give him more ammunition to chew you out.

You sigh and lean back, eyes closing as you try to drown out the frustration swirling in your head. That’s when you hear the unmistakable ding of the elevator down the hall and turn your head to see who’s joining.

Your stomach drops and you sit up straight. No. Not now. The air feels heavier, thick with that familiar irritation, as the slow, deliberate sound of boots against the tile grows louder.

Javier Peña.

Just the thought of him sends a hot wave through your being, a mix of irritation and something else you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t want to think about that last shoot, the one where things shifted. Where shit got weird. You behind the camera, filming as always, while he was balls deep in another woman, claiming you were on his mind.

“Bet you’d look just as pretty like this, nena.”

“Did you like what you saw? Like watching the way I fucked her but was thinking of you the whole time?”

It was like he’d stripped you bare with just a few words, leaving you more exposed than them in the midst of their carnal fucking. And the worst part? You’d been affected by it. Skin on fire, pussy wet. It also didn’t help that Steve had heard it too. The mic catching the flirting, the hitch of your breath getting stuck in your throat, clear as day.

He’d asked you about it later at Lucky’s, as promised, all smug and drinking that God-awful beer. But you’d brushed him off, hoping he’d drop it. Thankfully, he had— for the most part— but you could still feel his restlessness, wanting to stir the pot.

Now, Javier is here, of course, because the universe just loves to mess with you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms, leaning back against the chair in defiance. You refuse to look at him. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he gets under your skin.

His footsteps stop just a few feet away, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore. You can feel him looking at you, feel the weight of his brown eyes like a physical thing as they rake over your body.

You keep your gaze glued to the wall, focusing on the ugly, generic painting hanging there like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You gonna act like you don’t see me?” His voice is deep, smooth, and frustratingly cocky, just like always.

You grit your teeth, biting back a response. You won’t give him an inch. Not again. This motherfucker will take a mile.

“Okay, so that’s what we’re doing.” Before you can react, he plops down beside you. You stiffen immediately, moving your crossed knees to the side, angling yourself away from him, as if the few inches of space will protect you from the onslaught of whatever the hell he’s about to say next.

He spreads his thighs wide, his posture screaming obnoxious confidence. You just barely catch a glimpse of his bulge pressing up against his left thigh and how the fuck does it look so big even when he’s soft? “You know,” he says, voice dripping with that lazy, arrogant drawl, “you’re the only woman that treats me like this, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

You snort, the sound sharp and humorless. You still don’t bother looking at him.

Javier frowns, flitting his tongue across the top row of his teeth. “Is it because I came off too strong the first time we met? ‘Cause if that’s the case; then I’m sorry. Can’t help myself from flirting with pretty little things like you.”

You roll your eyes so hard, it’s a wonder they don’t fall out of their sockets. He doesn’t sound sincere at all.

Thing is, you didn’t mind the flirting. Even if he, like he’s so romantically put it, does flirt with pretty little things all the time; it did make you feel like just that. Pretty. It’s what came after that soured your Javier Peña experience.

He huffs, like a petulant child, frustrated by your silence. You don’t give him the satisfaction of even a glance. Instead, you shift in your seat, your mind racing, wondering what the hell is taking Robbie so damn long. He never works, barely lifts a finger unless there’s money or something else in it for him, and now, suddenly, he’s busy? Yeah, right. He’s probably in his office jerking it to one of his films, getting off on his own work. Typical.

You’re done waiting. With a sharp movement, you stand, startling Javier, though you still don’t give him the time of day. He’s used to women catering to his every whim, hanging on his every word. You aren’t going to be one of them. Not even if he did manage to get you all hot and bothered.

You stalk over to the door and knock harder than necessary. “I’m busy,” his voice grumbles through the wooden surface, and you resist the urge to scream.

“And I need my check. Just slide it under the door or something,” you snap, the urgency in your voice making it clear that you’re not in the mood to get fucked around with.

There’s a pause, followed by the sound of shuffling papers before the door cracks open just enough for Robbie to stick his hand out, an envelope clutched between his fingers. He practically shoves it into your hand before slamming the door shut again.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the envelope with your name scrawled across the front. Surrounded by imbeciles. Just one shift to get through tonight, and then maybe, just maybe, you can get some peace. Enjoy the first weekend off you’ve had in months.

Now that you have what you came for, you spin on your heel and stride down the hallway, ignoring the handsome pornstar still lounging in the chair behind you. From your peripheral, you can see him sitting there, skinny jean clad legs spread, looking all annoyingly sexy without even trying. It would be so much easier if he were ugly— or literally anyone else. But no, it’s Javier fucking Peña, with his ridiculous good looks and that cocky smirk that could probably charm the panties off half the city if he wanted to (it probably has, to be honest).

You mentally map out the next hour: hit the bank, dash home to change, then off to work. You could walk to the bank, maybe catch a taxi home if you’re lucky. But with traffic in this city, luck isn’t really on your side. You start considering your options— do you skip changing and just head to work as you are? Would your other boss even care if you showed up a little underdressed? You’re so lost in your thoughts, focused on cutting corners to save time, that you don’t hear the quiet footsteps behind you.

It’s not until the elevator dings and you step inside that you realize you’re not alone. Javier’s slipped in just before the doors close, sliding smoothly into the cramped space beside you. The sudden proximity makes your heart do this stupid little jump, and you curse yourself for it. You’re trapped now— stuck way too close to him in the tiny metal box.

The air feels charged, his presence impossible to ignore yet again. The smell of his aftershave hits you first— spicy, with a hint of something woodsy, layered under the scent of his leather jacket and the faint, lingering whiff of cigarette smoke. He tries to drown it out with minty gum, but it’s still there, clinging to him like an old habit. And damn it, your knees go a little weak, despite your best efforts to stay cool.

The height difference between you is glaringly obvious now. You’re eye level with the habitually open portion of his cream colored shirt, the buttons undone just enough to give a peek at his brown chest. It’s frustrating how effortlessly he pulls off the whole rugged look— like he doesn’t even try, but somehow manages to look better than most men who spend hours on it.

You swallow hard, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you can smell him, that you can feel the heat radiating off his body in the tight space. He’s just too close, and the damn elevator isn’t moving fast enough. You’ve got a million things to worry about right now—rent, work, your life— and the last thing you need is to be distracted by him.

But, like always, he’s right there, invading your space, making it impossible to think of anything else.

“What the fuck do you want?” You snap, breaking your vow of silence. You frown up at him, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface as you cross your arms defensively over your chest— a bad move, you realize too late, as the motion only pushes your braless tits together beneath the thin fabric of your tank top.

Predictably, his eyes drop immediately. You curse yourself for not wearing something more substantial. It’s not like I was planning to run into him today, you think to yourself.

“To understand why you hate me so much,” Javier says, his voice low, carrying that annoyingly casual tone, as if this whole conversation is nothing more than a mild inconvenience to him.

Your brows knit together, and a dry laugh slips from your lips before you can stop it. “Well, for starters,” you bite out, “you can’t even look me in the eyes when you ask.”

His gaze snaps up so fast it’s almost comical, his dark eyes locking with yours, defiance flaring there. But there’s something else too— something that makes the air between you even more tense. You hold his stare, daring him to say something, to make this worse for himself. His expression tightens, but you continue before he has a chance to speak. “And I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you. You annoy the shit out of me.”

He flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The smallest chink in his armor. You reach around him, your hand brushing against his side as you press the button for the main floor. The contact sends a ripple of awareness through you that you try to ignore. You don’t have time for this— for him.

Javier scowls, his mouth pulling into a frown that mirrors yours, and before you can react, he half-turns and punches a button for a different floor, effectively canceling your request. The elevator jolts, shifting direction.

You groan audibly, exasperation washing over you. “And here you are, proving my point,” you mutter under your breath. Every second you waste in this shitty elevator with him is another second closer to being late for work. Another second closer to not getting everything done that you needed to today. He’s not just in your way—he’s deliberately in your way, and the worst part is, he knows it.

“You don’t like me,” he counters, turning back to face you fully, his tone edging into frustration, “but you never even gave me a chance.” His jaw is set now, his eyes searching yours as if he’s waiting for you to crack, to admit that there’s more to it than just annoyance. Like he wants you to say it’s something else, something deeper.

If you had the luxury of time, you’d lay it all out for him, explain in excruciating detail just why you’ve avoided giving him that chance. How his arrogance grates on you. How his charm, though admittedly effective, feels hollow. How the way he flirts isn’t even the problem—it’s the way he looks at you, like he knows something about you that you don’t want to admit.

But you don’t have that kind of time.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to steady your nerves. “As fun as it’d be to stand here and explain this shit to you like a child,” you say, your voice tight, “I have important things to do, and you’re keeping me from them.” You jab the elevator button again, hoping the damn thing will just go where you need it to without another unnecessary detour, but you already know it’s a losing battle.

Javier shifts closer, just slightly, his presence looming. You can smell that damn aftershave again, all spice and leather and smoke, and it only pisses you off more because your body reacts to it before your brain can stop it. You feel your resolve slipping, just a little. His eyes are on you, unwavering, intense in a way that makes you want to both slap him and pull him closer at the same time.

“I’m not trying to keep you from anything,” he replies, softer now, the edge in his voice gone. His tone is almost... apologetic? No. It can’t be. Javier Peña doesn’t apologize. At least not in any way that feels real.

You don’t even bother responding, just stare at the numbers above the door, willing them to move faster. The sooner you’re out of here, the better.

“Just—fuck, give me something. Anything,” he growls, frustrated as all hell. His eyes are wild, and you can see the cracks in his usual suave demeanor, like he’s barely holding it together. “Ever since that last shoot, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, and I don’t know why. You think you’re exasperated? How the fuck do you think I’m feeling over here?”

You raise a brow, leaning into your disdain as you pout at him mockingly. “Oh, boohoo. Cry me a river. A girl doesn’t like me back, wahh.” You mimic the sound of a crying baby, bringing your fists up to rub against your cheeks in the most exaggerated way possible. Then you drop the act, face deadpanning.

His eyes narrow, and you think you’ve finally hit a nerve. Good. Let him stew in it. But instead of backing down, he does something you don’t expect— he turns, reaches out, and slams his palm against the emergency stop button. The elevator lurches to a sudden halt, the hum of motion disappearing as the car freezes between floors.

Your eyes widen, a sharp spike of adrenaline shooting through you as the reality of the situation sets in. “What the hell, Javier?” You’re about to cuss him out, to let him know exactly what kind of shit he’s just gotten himself into, but before the words can leave your mouth, he takes two long, purposeful steps toward you.

Instinctively, you move back, the sudden intensity in his eyes sending warning signals through your brain. But there’s nowhere to go. You can’t escape the tight confines of the elevator, your back is pressed up against the cold metal railing. You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as his broad body looms over yours, trapping you in a way that leaves you feeling both furious and breathless.

He’s too close. His chest brushes against yours, and you can feel his gaze as it drags over your face, down your neck, and lower still, lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle.

Any insult you were ready to hurl at him gets stuck in your throat. You hate how your pulse quickens, how your breath catches. You can feel every inch of him— solid muscle, tense with whatever storm is brewing behind those dark eyes.

For a brief, dizzying moment, you forget to be mad. You forget that you’re supposed to dislike him, that he’s the last person you should let get under your skin like this but somehow is the only one who’s able to. All you can focus on is the way his breath fans across your cheek, the way the small space between you crackles with tension, like a wire pulled too tight.

“You think this is some kind of joke?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, making your pussy tingle in ways you wish it didn’t. “You think it’s easy for me to just... shrug it off? Because it’s not. Not when I keep thinking about you, and I don’t even fucking understand why.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that catches you off guard, making you pause to wonder if this really isn’t a game to him.

But you can’t let him see that. You can’t let him know how much he’s getting to you (even though he’s more than aware). So instead, you tilt your chin up defiantly, forcing your voice to stay steady. “And stopping the elevator? Trapping me in here with you? That’s your brilliant solution?”

“No,” he breathes, voice dropping to a near whisper as his face inches closer to yours. “But it’s the only way I could get you to stop running from me.”

You hate how your stomach flips at his words. Hate how much you’re fighting against the instinct to lean into him instead of shoving him away. Every part of your body is screaming at you to tell him to fuck off and leave you the hell alone.

“Do you know what I think it is?” The words come out in a low, dangerous drawl, the kind that seems to wrap around your throat and squeeze. He leans in, crowding your space, eyes boring into you with an intensity that has your pulse skyrocketing. “I think you’re too fucking stubborn to let yourself have any fun. The idea of me fucking you is enticing, isn’t it?” His lips curl into a smirk, the kind that drips with arrogance and dark promises. “Could see it written all over your face that night at the hotel. That look in your eye while I was fucking Lexxie.”

His accusations slam into you, pulling up the exact moment you’ve been trying to bury. It should have been a professional gig, routine even, nothing personal… except that wasn’t the case. Not with the way he looked at you the entire time, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to react.

And, fuck, you had reacted. You felt the heat rise in your face, the way your body betrayed you as you stood behind the camera, mouth salivating, thighs pressing together.

“Javier…” You push at his chest, your hand meeting the hard wall of muscle beneath his shirt. The intent is to shove him back, to create some space between you. But the second your palm makes contact, it’s like the air shifts, and instead of moving him, it’s like you’ve anchored yourself to him.

Goddamn him. Goddamn you for your spineless ass, for not being able to follow through on resisting the temptation that he is.

He smirks wider, clearly reading the war going on behind your eyes. “You were shaking,” he continues, his voice a dark whisper that coils around your insides. “Damn near moaning while you watched me go down on her. Rubbing those thighs together while this pretty ass was in my face as she was sucking my cock.”

His large hand snakes around you, catching you off guard, fingers gripping a handful of your ass and pulling you closer. Your body collides with his, and that’s when you feel it— his erection, hard and insistent, pressing into your stomach. The heat between you flares up to unbearable levels, and you can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, every nerve ending in your body on high alert, buzzing with want.

“You’re delusional,” it’s breathless but you’re still determined to keep some semblance of control. You squirm in his grip, your body betraying your words, the friction making your mind tilt. “You just can’t stand the fact that, for once, a woman isn’t throwing herself at you. That I’m not kissing the ground you walk on or falling to my knees, ready to suck you off.”

His hold tightens briefly, pulling you even closer, and for a second, you wonder if you’ll be able to break free at all. It’s damn near impossible to ignore the ache building between your thighs at this point. But somehow, you manage to slip out of his grip, your body twisting away from his until you’ve backed yourself into the far corner of the elevator.

You can’t breathe. Not properly, anyway. You’ve never felt so on edge, so exposed in such a small space. Every fiber of your being screams at you to keep your distance, to reassert control of the situation, but there’s a part of you— dangerous and impulsive— that wants to step right back into his arms.

Javier doesn’t move, but his eyes stay glued to you, watching your every movement like a predator stalking its prey. The elevator is still locked in place, a silent reminder that you’re trapped here with him until one of you decides to relent. His jaw clenches, and you think he’s going to say something cutting, something to tear you down. But instead, he surprises you.

“You’re right.” His voice is rough, but it carries a weight that’s different from the cocky arrogance he usually hides behind. “I can’t stand it.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavier than you expected. There’s no smirk this time, no sarcastic bite. Just honesty, and it’s a fucking curveball.

You weren’t prepared for him to actually admit it. For once, he’s not trying to fuck with you, not trying to win.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

You swallow hard, the weight of his confession making your heart leap out of your chest.

You don’t know what to say, so instead, you just stand there, staring at him, your body buzzing with a cocktail of adrenaline, lust, and confusion. Because as much as you want to dislike him, as much as you need to dislike him for your own sanity, you can’t deny the way your pussy responds to him. The way your mind keeps pulling you back to that night, to the way he made you feel without even touching you.

“Get over it,” you snap, cutting him off before he can sink any deeper into this conversation. You don’t need to entertain this further. It can’t happen, and it will never happen. The second you fall into bed with him, it’ll be game over. Javier Peña isn’t just a casual fuck— you know deep down he’d be the kind that wraps himself around your soul and doesn’t let go until he’s consumed every inch of you.

The problem is, you’re terrified that you’ll let him. It’s why you’re so dead set on not giving in.

You cross your arms over your chest again, as if trying to shield yourself from the strength in his eyes, the way he seems to reach into your very core with just a look.

You try to focus on anything else— on the fact that you still need to get to the bank, then to your apartment, and finally to your bar shift. You don’t have time for this shit, for the endless back-and-forth with him.

But then he says your name.

The sound of it on his lips makes you close your eyes, every muscle in your body tensing. Damn him. It sounds so fucking sweet, almost reverent, and you know if you make the mistake of looking at him right now— if you see those beautiful, pleading brown eyes— you’ll fold.

He says your name again, softer this time, and the way his voice wraps around each syllable has your resolve teetering on the edge of collapse. “Please, just let me show you how good I can make you feel,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his breath fanning across your cheek. “Just one taste, nena, por favor.”

And for the first time since you met Javier— he’s begging. You never imagined that he, of all people, would beg for anything. But here he is, his voice low and thick with desire, pleading with you to give him just one chance.

You blink your eyes open slowly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that have been ignited by his words. The synapses in your brain light up like fucking fireworks, each one triggering a new thought, a new possibility. There’s a moment— a split second— where you picture it.

You imagine his hands on your body, his lips trailing fire down your skin, his mouth between your legs. The image flashes so vividly, so intensely in your mind, that it steals the breath from your lungs.

You can practically feel the way he’d elicit things you’ve been trying to suppress. Your legs go weak just thinking about it, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself, to remember who you are, what this is.

But your cavewoman, horny brain betrays you— racing ahead, picturing every possible outcome. You can’t help but wonder how good it would feel to let him in, just once. How it would be to let him take control, to let him show you, like he’s promising, just how good he can make you feel.

You’re already late getting to the bank. You should be focusing on that, on getting out of this damn elevator and away from him, but your body won’t cooperate. Every part of you is ablaze, screaming at you to just give in.

Javier’s standing there, staring at you with those chocolate eyes, his dark brows drawn together, pouty lips parted just slightly as he waits for you to say something. Anything. He’s laid it all out in front of you, leaving you to make the next move. And fuck, as much as you hate to admit it, you want to. You want to let him pull you into his world, even though you know it’ll consume you. You want to feel his hands on your skin, his mouth everywhere, his name slipping from your lips.

But you can’t.

If you give in now, you’ll never be able to walk away from him, and you can’t afford to let yourself get tangled up in Javier Peña. He’s chaos wrapped in temptation, and once you let him in, there’s no turning back.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you try to hold on to the last shred of control you have. “Javier,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out. You feel like you’re on the edge of a cliff, teetering between desire and self-preservation. The weight of his gaze presses down on you, and for a moment, you think you might just jump.

But then, with every ounce of willpower you have left, you take a shaky breath, shaking your head and breaking the spell he’s woven around you.

“No,” you say, the word barely above a whisper, but firm enough to anchor you back to reality.

His face falls, the fire in his eyes dimming just a little. You almost regret it, almost, but then you remember who he is. What he does. And you know you made the right choice, even if every part of you is berating otherwise.

You stand there, locked in a silent standoff, both of you doing a piss poor job of pretending like you don’t want to tear each other’s clothes off right here in the elevator.

You’re hoping—no, praying— that he’ll finally let it go. That he’ll stop pushing, stop testing your resolve, and just leave you alone. You’re begging for him to go back to what he does best, to leave you to your job— both of them.

You break eye contact first, glancing down at your watch. You’re definitely not going to make it to your shift on time. Shit. You need to phone your boss and give him a heads up before this gets even worse. But right now, you can’t seem to focus, not with Javier standing there like a Roman statue, immovable and perfect, watching you with that infuriating intensity.

“Now, if you can get the elevator to take us down, I’d really appreciate it,” you say, but the words come out softer than you intended. You hate how small your voice sounds, like you’ve already lost the upper hand, and you mentally slap yourself for it.

But he doesn’t budge. He just stands there, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world, and it makes you want to scream. His gaze is piercing, boring holes into your entire existence, and it’s taking everything you have not to crumble beneath it.

“Do you really mean that?” He asks as he brings a hand up to smooth down his mustache. There’s a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips, like he already knows the answer. “Because everything about your body language is screaming otherwise.”

When the fuck did he get so close again? He’s right there, towering over you, and suddenly the air between you feels impossibly thin.

“It’s my fuckin’ job to read a woman’s body,” he continues, his voice growing huskier with each word. “And you know what yours is telling me right now?”

Your pulse quickens, your heart slamming against your ribcage, and you can’t find the words to respond. You don’t trust yourself to speak— not when his presence is drowning you in your own body.

He leans in, lips so close to your ear that his breath almost has you fainting. “It’s telling me that you want it.”

Your stomach flips, every nerve ending in your body coming alive as his curved nose barely grazes your skin. The touch is featherlight, but it sends electricity straight to your cunt. You grip the railing behind you like a lifeline, your knuckles flushed as goosebumps ripple across your skin.

Javier’s smirk deepens, the asshole clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “Stop fighting it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet, his hand sliding down the length of your figure in a way that feels too natural, too right. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel…”

You should stop him. You should. But you don’t. You can’t. His hands are on you now, moving with a confidence that’s impossible to resist. One large hand finds its way to your tit, groping it gently through the thin fabric of your tank top, and you gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stop it. Your body fails you, head falling back against the elevator wall, your chest arching into his touch.

The way his hand moves, so sure, so practiced, has your resistance crumbling, piece by piece.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your neck, peppering soft, teasing kisses along your sensitive skin. “Barely done a thing and you’re already gone.”

Your mind is spinning, your resolve completely undone as you melt under his touch. Every kiss, every graze of his lips against your neck feels like it’s unraveling the last bit of control you have. His body is pressed up against yours, and you can feel his erection through his jeans again, the hard (pun intended) evidence of just how much he wants you.

God help you, it feels too good to resist.

You sigh, a low, breathy sound that’s equal parts surrender and relief. His lips trail lower, his hand still groping your breast, and you let him. You let him because you’ve been fighting this for too long, and right now, you just want to feel something.

Javier grins against your neck, his breath hot on your skin as he pulls you even closer, his voice hoarse in your ear. “Told you,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “I knew you wanted this.”

You don’t respond. There’s nothing left to say. You’ve given in, you’ll figure out how to pick up the pieces later, but right now? Right now, you’re letting yourself fall apart.

It’s like your whole body just deflates against his, sinking into the solid warmth of him as if all the fight has finally drained out of you. You’re giving him the green light, and he knows it. The grunt that escapes his throat is guttural, and you feel the weight of his palm pressing harder against your chest, his thumb and pointer finger expertly pinching your now hardened nipple through the fabric of your tank top.

“After this,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, “if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave you alone.” His words are punctuated by a sharp tug at your nipple that sends a surge of arousal straight between your legs. Then his hand moves, sliding up to cradle your jaw with a surprising gentleness. He tilts your head so that your eyes meet his, forcing you to look at him— forcing you to really see him. “You have my word.”

You search his eyes, not entirely sure what you’re looking for— honesty, maybe? A hint of something real beyond the heat of the moment? Whatever it is, you can’t find the words to respond, so you just nod weakly, your breath bated.

Javier smiles at that, a slow, predatory grin, and he leans in as if to kiss you. But you stop him, your hand pressing against his sternum with just enough force to halt him in his tracks.

“No kissing,” you say, your voice more resolute than you feel. “You said one taste, so get to it.” You’re setting boundaries, trying to keep some semblance of control in this situation. No kissing, no fucking— just head. That’s all this will be. He’ll get a taste of you, and you’ll finally get a taste of what all the hype is about. Then it’ll be over, and you’ll go your separate ways. That’s the deal.

His frown deepens, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features, like he’s not used to anyone telling him no in any capacity. But it’s brief, because he’s not about to take the proverbial bone you’ve thrown him for granted. He agrees in his own way, pivoting without protest, his mouth returning to your neck like he’s already forgotten the attempt to kiss you.

Now that the rules are clear, you allow yourself to let your guard down— just a little. It’s not like your sex life has been riveting lately, and truth be told, you can’t even remember the last time a partner went down on you willingly. At least you’re getting something out of this fucked-up little arrangement, and for now, that’s enough.

He kisses and licks a line down your throat, his stubble scraping deliciously against the sensitive flesh. You sigh, your breath hitching as you feel his hands roaming your body with a confidence that should piss you off but doesn’t.

His rough palms map out your curves like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. He’s groping, squeezing, learning you in a way that makes you feel like you’re his personal discovery.

The warmth of his breath, the skill in his movements— it’s intoxicating. You can’t help but respond, your hips shifting, your body bending instinctively toward him when one hand slides up under your shirt, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast.

He’s good at this, you’ll give him that. Too damn good. It’s almost like he’s a fucking pornstar.

You hate that you’re enjoying it so much, hate that you’re already melting under his touch like some lovesick fool.

“Don’t overthink it,” he murmurs against your skin, feeling the nerves radiating off of you.

His touch lingers as he reaches the button on your denim shorts, undoing it with a flick of his fingers before pulling down the zipper, slow and deliberate.

“You and these damn shorts…” you hear him say, more to himself than to you. His voice is gruff, frustrated, like he’s been waging a silent battle against his own restraint. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down over your hips, watching as the fabric slides off your skin. You step out of them, standing there in nothing but your underwear, top and sneakers, exposed in ways you hadn’t intended to be when you walked into that office earlier today.

His brows shoot up, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks. Of course, it’s laundry day. Of course, you’re left wearing your least practical pair of underwear— this skimpy, lacy purple number you hardly ever break out. The delicate string disappears between the cheeks of your ass, and the sheer front does little to conceal the soft tuft of hair just below your navel.

And he’s drinking it all in.

“Fuckin’ hell, nena,” he breathes, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and lust. His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and hungry. “You always walkin’ around like this?” His hands grip your hips, and before you can even formulate a response, he’s sinking to his knees in front of you, taking his sweet ass time, like this is some kind of worship.

“No, I—” Your voice is breathy, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “I had to do laundry today…” It’s all you can manage, barely coherent as his lips begin pressing soft, teasing kisses to the inside of your knee.

He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, steadying you, his fingers gripping your thigh with enough pressure to leave you keening. You brace yourself against the elevator railing, your body tense with anticipation, your mind a chaotic swirl of logic and lust. You barely notice as the check you came here for flutters to the floor beside you, forgotten.

Don’t forget to deposit that, the reasonable part of your brain chimes in, but you tell that bitch to shut up because Javier Peña is currently on his knees in font of you, about to take you on the ride of your fucking life, and you’re nowhere near strapped in.

His head is tilted up, lips brushing dangerously close to where you want him most, and all rational thought is slipping through your fingers like sand.

He looks up at you then, his dark eyes glinting with something wicked, and your breath catches again. You don’t know how to feel about any of this anymore. There’s a line you swore you wouldn’t cross, but now that he’s right there, so close to giving you what you’ve craved for longer than you care to admit, it’s hard to remember why you drew that line in the first place.

Javier’s lips graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and a quiet moan escapes your lips before you can stop it. He smirks against your skin, his fingers tracing a slow path up your leg, sending shivers coursing through you. “Relax, bonita,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “I’ll take care of you.”

You want to tell him to hurry up, to stop teasing, but all that comes out is a shaky exhale as his hands part your thighs wider, positioning you exactly how he wants you. His grip is firm, possessive, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll survive whatever it is he’s about to do to you.

You don’t even have time to dwell on the thought before his mouth is on you, lips pressing a lingering kiss over the thin fabric of your panties. The sudden pressure sends a shockwave through your body, and your eyes fall closed, surrendering to the moment. His tongue teases the fabric, nudging against your already soaked cunt, and you can feel the wetness seeping through the lace. He hums low in his throat, savoring the first taste of you.

“These are so pretty. Don’t think I’ll take ’em off.”

He hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric and pulls it aside, exposing you to him completely. The cool air hits your slick folds, a contrast to the heat of his breath as he hovers just inches away. He’s staring, taking you in, and when he curses under his breath, it’s like he’s caught off guard by how badly he wants this. Wants you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, as he drags his nose up and down the length of your wet slit. The touch is maddeningly light, just enough to make you clench involuntarily, your body reacting without permission. More of your slick leaks out of your pussy, a response to the subtle stimulation, and you grip the elevator railing tighter to keep yourself from falling with how weak your knees get.

Javier flattens his tongue, delivering a slow, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit, and it’s like your entire body ignites at once. You throw your head back, a ragged cry of his name ripping from your throat as your hips buck instinctively, searching for more of him, more of that friction that feels like pure electricity.

He’s not done, though. Not even close. One hand snakes around your thighs, strong and sure. His middle and pointer fingers spread you open, forming an upside-down V, and then he does something so filthy, so perfectly Javier— he spits directly onto your exposed pussy.

The sound alone could get you off, but the sensation is something else entirely. His saliva mixes with your slick, making everything wetter, hotter, and you feel like you’re unraveling before he’s even truly begun. A series of high-pitched moans spill from your lips as he latches his mouth onto your cunt, sucking and licking with a precision that has your entire being quaking.

Lips, tongue, teeth—he’s using everything he has, dragging you deeper into a haze of pleasure where nothing exists but the heat coiling in your belly, tightening with every flick. He’s devouring you, utterly relentless, and it’s too much but not enough, all at once. Every nerve ending is on fire, your thighs trembling as you fight to keep your balance. His grip on your leg tightens, keeping you locked in place, helpless to do anything but take what he’s giving.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, pulling back for just a moment, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh. His face is glistening, covered in your arousal, but his eyes are dark and hungry, never straying from your face. “With noises like that and a pussy this pretty— you’d be a fucking sight on camera.”

His words send another jolt through you, dirty and wrong and so fucking hot that you nearly forget how to breathe. He nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving faint marks in his wake, before diving back in with that skilled tongue of his. He’s a man with something to prove, alternating between broad strokes and tight circles, zeroing in on your fleshy clit with a precision that makes your head spin.

It’s obscene, the way he’s working you over, all these years spent perfecting this art, but there’s a rawness to it too, a desperation like he can’t get enough of you. You’re soaked, dripping onto his face, and he laps it up like a man starved, the sounds of his mouth slurping against your wetness filling the small space around you. Your moans are louder now, more desperate, each one pushing you closer to that edge where you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fall.

His fingers tighten on your thigh again, and then he’s dragging them lower, inching toward your entrance as his tongue flicks mercilessly against your clit. When he slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you nearly scream. The combination of his mouth and his fingers is enough to send you spiraling, your legs trembling uncontrollably as you arch into him.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grunts when he pulls away to get a good look at your beautiful face and how you look when he’s making you feel like you’re on top of the world. It’s enough to get him to latch onto your clit, sucking on it harshly.

“God, Javier,” you gasp, your voice shaky, barely coherent. You can’t think, can’t form any rational thought, not with the way he’s pulling you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the pleasure.

“Let go,” he growls against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your core. “I’ve got you, nena. Just let go.”

And with that, the dam breaks. You’re coming hard, hips jerking wildly as waves of pleasure crash over you, your entire body shaking with the force of it. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up for a second, working you through it with that relentless mouth until you’re gasping for air, hands clenching at the railing so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t snapped.

Your vision blurs, your mind goes blank, and all you can do is hold on as Javier takes you on the ride of your life, just like you knew he would.

You don’t know how long it takes you to come back into your body after letting him take the reins for a little. You’re trembling, legs weak and body heavy against the cool metal wall of the elevator. He’s still on his knees, knuckle-deep inside you, lazily curling them as if savoring every last second.

His mouth trails soft, teasing kisses across your soaked panties, and the tenderness of the act startles you, nearly pulling you under again. But then he withdraws his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with an almost obscene groan, tasting you one last time as if to commit your flavor to memory. He carefully adjusts your underwear back into place.

Javier stands to his full height, your leg falling from his shoulder, towering over you. His hand comes to rest lightly on your waist as if to steady you. “You okay?”

You nod, though your bones feel like jelly. Your eyes stay closed as you try to gather yourself, forcing yourself back into reality, back into the woman who doesn’t fold like a house of cards for her co-worker. You bend down to retrieve your shorts and check from the floor, fingers fumbling with the zipper as you button yourself back up. He presses the button to resume the elevator, the gears shifting as you’re slowly carried back to the main floor.

And just like that, it hits you. It happened. You’ve came on Javier’s tongue and fingers. You swore it wouldn’t— swore up and down that he was nothing more than a nuisance at work, a distraction you wouldn’t let get to you. But here you are, post-orgasm, in a goddamn public elevator, of all places, with the man who was supposed to be just a headache.

“Hope you got your fix because it’s never happening again,” you mutter, trying to summon the biting edge to your words, almost like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him.

Javier just smirks, that infuriating glint back in his eyes like he already knows better, but he doesn’t push it. Not now.

The elevator doors slide open with a sharp ding, and the scene before you is worse than any nightmare you could’ve concocted in the heat of the moment. Two firefighters, the building manager, and— of course because why the hell not— Steve Murphy are standing there with varying degrees of shock and amusement.

You can see the moment Steve takes it all in— your flushed cheeks, the slightly mussed state of your clothes, Javier standing just a bit too close to you. His blue eyes narrow, then widen, and then he breaks into a shit-eating grin so wide you could slap it right off his face.

“Well, well, well,” Steve drawls, barely containing his laughter. “What do we have here?”

Your stomach sinks. Not again.

Javier, ever the cocky bastard, simply raises an eyebrow and slides his hands into his pockets, all cool nonchalance like he hasn’t just been between your thighs minutes earlier. “Just crapped out on us randomly,” he says smoothly, and you want to strangle him for the audacity.

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as if he’s in on some big joke that only you and Javier are the punchline for. And as you step past him, cheeks burning, all you can think is that this will never, ever happen again.

But even as you repeat it to yourself, a small part of you— the part still buzzing from the memory of Javier’s mouth— wonders if you’re lying.

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alienpossession · 2 months ago

Text

6 hours before Part 1

After quite some times, we believe that Enki's work on Earth already provided clear assurance to ensure a safe landing of our kind in the so-called "Blue Planet". As the lead, I landed first to greet Enki as he prepared me for his next step.

He looked massive inside the human husks from my perspective, but he promised me an even bigger catch which is important as I need to establish my authority and ensured protection over our existing kind that will follow Enki's and my steps. I latched myself in the heel of one of many Enki's husks as my skin seamlessly camouflaged to match the husks as to not draw unwanted attention. When Enki opened his front door, an even bigger human becomes visible from my point of view, which provided me with surrealistic perspective as this other human looked way thicker yet also stronger than Enki's towering form.

"What else, boy? You really need to stop calling me all the time for any minor inconveniences, you know? I have more than one building to take care off and definitely more than one tenant,"

"Yeah, and definitely more than one species too, now Cap,"

I take that as my cue. While the bigger guy clearly puzzled by the statement Enki made through this particular husk of his, I quickly latched myself to the hairy, uncovered legs of the older human. He instantly froze upon contact as I released the stream of my numbing liquid into his system with my small, delicate set of teeth that just penetrates the human flesh with ease. Then, after sensing that he really just stood still, I stop biting and climbed up into his shorts and pierced myself right through his anus to access the rest of his organ. The upward journey lasted rather quickly, and soon I found myself staring just slightly shorter compared to Enki's husk. He greeted me with a smile and then proceeded to hug me super tight

"Welcome to New York City, Captain. You fit right in over here as my landlord,"

"Hmmm.....yup....great husk selection, Enki. Or should I say....boy," I said, getting used to my human husk and all sets of his memories and muscle reflexes, "I need to use your bathroom if you don't mind,"

"Sure thing Greg, it's the first door on the left," he replied to me by calling me with the husk name, which put a rather sinister smile on my face

"Boy, I'm your landlord. No need to tell me shit about my own building," I said with a chuckle as I know I nailed to copy this husk way of speaking, but just a bit brighter to Greg's usual mean tone.

I eventually walked into the decent-sized bathroom, this is one of the bigger ones in this building since Enki chose a rather well-off tenant as his husk, and I started to let out a golden-colored stream out of my thick appendage into the toilet bowl. It's peeing, a rather unique excretion system of human's small-yet-complex physiology with all of its ritual and precision. My view is this activity is quite wasteful, as our kind are highly efficient in processing our nutrient, we don't really excrete anything as everything we consumed turned into energy. But based on Enki's notes, this thick meat that only naturally exist in the body of a human male also served as their reproductive organ, yet another fascinating and complex physiology of human body. Enki's video showcased how this meat, in its various form, shapes, color, girth and even curvature, impaled directly to a fitting hole that the female form have in their body. We of course have no full video on the inside of the female reproductive organ, but my husk memory of junior high school biology and his own various sexual encounters sort of fill in the gap on the kind of liquid and process that eventually resulted in the creation of a human being. Greg's memory also flashed me about several memories of man-to-man breeding too conducted by his own offspring, but Enki's knock snapped me out of my focus as he peeked his head in, already in different form

"Everything's good?"

"Y---yeah, all good. So, I'll call the other to start the descend to this room and then we'll go to all the tenants?"

"I mean.....you don't have to knock on all doors, just put them close to the door and let them slide inside and do the rest. We can just wait for their updates. All the tenants have your number after all, they can inform us once they succeed. Meanwhile, if they enter the room with the tenants out, they just can wait until the tenants returned. Sounds easy, right?"

"Hm, okay, that sounded more efficient and less time-consuming. After all, I need you to explain to me about some of Greg's memories, I rather spend my day understanding all things human compared to knock on multiple doors all afternoon long,"

"Even better plan, knock on one door you know exactly that the tenant is inside for the day and tell them to do the work after the takeover while you can return here and I can explain to you about everything you want to understand!"

And that's exactly what I did as soon as the rest of our kind descended. I put them all inside this utility bag and storm out from Enki's unit as I knock on the unit 3 doors down from Enki's husk unit. Greg memories revealed to me about Tim recent divorce proceeding and the fact that he practically lived alone ever since, making him a convenient operative to spread our kind all over the building. I wasted no time as I throw Elmy right at Tim's startled face and before long, Tim is a convert and ready to do his job. Like me, he excused himself first to his own bathroom as Elmy processed all the newfound memories and human reflexes in order to pilot his body perfectly. As I finally walk to the bathroom, he's buck naked and smiling at his own reflection

"He's so depressed, thank God you threw me to take control over him and instill this husk with a new sense of purpose, thanks Captain,"

"Well, less talking and more moving, Elmy. All your comrades here awaiting their fresh husk and a chance to instill those human husk with new sense of purpose too,"

"On it, Captain. You can leave the bag with me while I put on some clothes first. No need to worry, I'll finish it even before the sun sets,"

---

Truth be told, while Enki told me about the confusion I have over the conflicting memories of my husk and my original learnings about Earth from our elders ages ago, streams of messages entered my phone and disrupted our learning session. It's mostly selfie of men followed by a quick confirmation on who's who

"Ronntholn, reporting from Carter Worthington. 27 years old. Former FAANG senior programmer, now just relying on multiple investments from his savings and severance while enjoying life to the fullest, like sculpting his body and screwing chicks,"

"Ronnusen, reporting from Bruno Pereira. 49 years old with wife and 2 adult kids, all kids are out from the unit since two years ago, wife already subdued until further command,"

"Mafis, reporting from Ruben Moreno. Entrepreneur caught up with all sorts of the wrong people across the crime world and police in the city. Very high proximity to danger which usually means abandoning this husk, awaiting orders for next move,"

I shared the various stream of information I received from the husk to Enki, asking for his analysis on what course of action we should take next with these series of husk under our control. But I know there should be more bodies reporting, and I can sense that some of them are not reporting their updates despite already succeeding, so I tried to zone out and tap into all the visions that I can access all at once, like the human technology called CCTV.

As expected, some of them are already defying my orders, testing around their vessels even before making a report.

One interesting vision showcased one of the recent husk surrounded by 4 reeked skater punk or something that he alone can clearly beat the shit out of, but somehow he decided not to. I tapped Enki on his shoulder to make him join my vision and share his assessment on the situation

"Come on, pathetic fag. Don't just stand there. Sniff!"

Enki pulled me out of the vision rather quickly

"That's some sort of fetish, pretty sure uniquely human but it's not like we figured out all the rites of the species in the entire universe yet, right? So, it's when powerful and respectable member of society degraded themselves to be humiliated or controlled by what society generally deemed to be the lower people, younger, smaller, less privileged, all sort of that. Some humans get their "sexual kick" from such act, and I guess it's better for you to not linger too long in it, that can alter your husk's psychological state if you are exposed to it for too long or internalizing it. After all, you are very much still adjusting to all the newfound information, your mind is highly malleable until the first 12 hours is over,"

"Yeah, I really don't know whether it's the atmosphere or something, but I feel like I'm so unsure about everything and just let my husk to do all the moves and the thinking. Like, yes I can assert myself to make this husk do what I want, but there's this nagging sensation that always asked to be paid attention to. I'm not even sure I'm this curious about the matter of gay sex, I just feel like it's what this husk constantly pushed me to think about,"

"Hmmmmm.....maybe that's what filled his mind before he came to my room. Is that memory fresh according to his memory?"

"Yeah, quite fresh. Just last night,"

"Oh well, maybe that's why. You know what, before my friend comes around, maybe we should check your unit, see what's up. And pretty sure your son should've been converted too judging on the timing, let's check him out,"

---

Dang, sorry for long delay from me & @fullfriendnerdclutch we're both dealing with issues in our life hence the delay on the brainstorming session on the direction of this one. The continuation of this part (Greg's son & the actual part 2) will all be posted in fullfriendnerdclutch account, so stay tune!

#alien possession #male possession #alien takeover #alien expansion #male puppet #male takeover #possessive clingy boyfriends

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elsecrytt · 1 month ago

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you fucking hate your job.

unfortunately, you also need it.

some old money family hires you to play housekeeper for their weird ass son. satoru gojo, you think.

he's handsome. just looking at him is a treat; stark white hair, bright blue eyes, a face like an actual idol.

and then he opens his mouth. illusion ruined.

whatever. you don't care that much about his "wow! you really didn't dress up for work, huh?" and "so, let me guess... no boyfriend?" you’ve dealt with worse.

you'd been excited when you got this job. you're broke. the pay is great. you're ready to do anything to not get fired.

you keep the apartment completely spotless, despite how many candy wrappers and packages he leaves around, the disaster that is his stupid fancy bathroom.

seriously, who leaves soap and shampoo everywhere like that? who jerks off in the shower that often? throws towels around and knocks bottles and toothbrushes over? it's like he's trying to leave a mess.

you do his laundry, which he just leaves on the floor like a goddamn animal. there's some clothes with gross, crusty white on them.

one time, you'd caught him staring at you while you picked it up, smirking all the while.

this is the guy you’re being paid to look after. and you’re fucking trying! god, do you ever try!

you cook meals from scratch, hours-long, intensive processes. you check his fridge, shamelessly dig through his garbage to see what he likes and try to make things he'll enjoy.

he leaves empty boxes of takeout on the counter, your homemade dinner in the trash, untouched.

it's in your contract. you can't not cook for him. and you can't eat anything, either, not when you're terrified of getting fired and he obviously likes to make you miserable.

and your landlord just informed you last month - rent will be going up. and not by a small amount.

you'd just finished digging yourself out of one hole and life kicks you right back down.

you don't know how you're going to make rent this month. fuck, you don't even know what you're going to have for dinner. if you can afford dinner. if you can even afford to put the heat on tonight.

it's not even a question. obviously the answer is no.

sitting on the plush, luxury couch in gojo’s apartment, you bury your head in your hands, and cry.

maybe you can get another job? but there's only so many hours in the day. you're so fucking sick of working all the time. you already do.

is it too much to ask for life to cut you a fucking break?

"what's wrong?" your least favorite voice interrupts - and a hand on your shoulder, shaking you, none-too-gently.

"don't tell me..." there's that smugness, "are you cryin'?"

"sorry, i just need a minute." you say, swallowing your anger to look him in the eyes. "i just got some bad news. my landlord is raising the rent next month."

"oh?" his tone is only getting worse, "so what? just move out. or get some roommates, or whatever you poor people do."

god, the fucking mouth on this man.

"soooo? sounds like poor planning on your part," satoru says, casually leaning onto the edge of the couch, "i just don't get why you're crying about it. like, that's kinda pathetic, you know?" he snickers -

SLAP

dead silence. a sting on your hand. satoru's face bent to the side. you don't even regret it. not right now, as angry as you are.

"you-" a rant is just about to spring from your lips, and then -

satoru grabs your hands, pulling them into his, right in front of his face.

his cheeks are dusted red. pretty eyes wide and dilated, fixed on you. mouth twisted in a grin.

you glance down to the front of his pants, where a noticeable bulge has formed.

"do it again."

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #it's not exactly smut but it's not really sfw #god he's such a jerk. he loves being a jerk #and the moment you slap him for it he will fall over and bare his belly like the dog he is #i have more content like this. reader is VERY upset about the homemade cooking being thrown away #something something making him eat it off the floor #just. hngh. gojo lying prone on the floor. maybe on his stomach #i love making him punchable and then having him get off on being punched #he's exactly the sort of awful gorgeous man who would piss you off bc he's hoping you'll beat him up for it

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vivwritesfics · 5 months ago

Text

Fighting Fires

Fire seems to follow her everywhere. As does fire captain Carlos Sainz. Not that she minds

Warnings: Fire, Logan almost dying

Viv's AUgust Event

Her landlord had warned her about the alarm. "One bit of smoke," he'd said as he placed the keys into her palm, "and the alarm will go off. The firemen will be called and the building will be evacuated." He closed her fist around the keys. "Don't set it off."

For three months, she'd been careful. For three months she hadn't set off the fire alarm.

The toaster was broken. She knew it was broken, knew she had to pop the toast before it popped itself. Because it wouldn't pop itself, it would burst into flames. She shouldn't have put the toast down before went in the shower. Before she knew it, the fire alarm in her apartment building was ringing.

Rapped in her pink robe, with her narwhal slippers on her feet, she was rushed out of the building. Her legs shook from the cold as the firemen rushed inside.

That was when she remembered.

The toaster. Fuck.

The firefighters walked out of the building and called her apartment number. Embarrassment was written on her face as she approached them, looking at her feet instead of the stares of her fellow tenants.

"It was the toaster, wasn't it?" She asked as the firefighter pulled off his helmet. As the handsome firefighter pulled off his helmet. Even after running into an almost burning building, helmet on his head, his hair was still perfect. His brown eyes drew her in as he stared down at her.

But she wasn't ready for his voice, the way it wrapped around her when he spoke. "Your kitchen is ruined," he said. She stopped herself from shivering, and not from the cold. "Do you have anybody you can stay with while your landlord pays to get it fixed?"

She opened her mouth, but she didn't get a chance to respond. "Wait a moment, Sainz!" The landlord shouted as he strode towards them. "She set my building on fire! She can fucking pay for it!"

She didn't mean to cower. But it had been a long evening and it was her fault that the building nearly burnt down. She wanted nothing more than to lay on her floor and cry.

The firefighter looked down at her, sympathy written on his face. If the ground opened up and swallowed her whole, she would have been happy. But the firefighter turned to her landlord. "This isn't the first time we've been called out because of the toasters you've put in your apartments, Christian," he said, large hand settling on her back.

Her landlord backed down and the firefighter turned towards her again. "Have you got somebody you can stay with while he gets your kitchen fixed?"

She swallowed and nodded.

***

Fire was following her, she swore. She sat at her desk, tapping away at her computer when the fire alarm went off.

It had been a week and a half since the fire that wrecked her kitchen. Her best friend Logan had insisted that she stay with him. He picked her up and took her back to his house, giving her the couch to sleep on (reluctantly giving her the couch to sleep on. Logan had insisted she take his bed, but she declined. It went back and forth until Logan gave in).

And now the fire alarm was going off in her office. She stood with the rest of her co-workers and followed them out to the car park. Other businesses on other floors of the building grumbled as they made their way outside.

"What is it this time?" The guy from the paper company from the floor below asked.

She crossed her arms over her chest as she looked up at the building. "It wasn't one of your guys, was it?" She asked with a little laugh.

He laughed right back. "I don't think so," he replied and nudged her with his elbow. "One of yours?"

"I hope not."

When the sirens sounded, everybody turned towards the entrance of the car park. The fire engine pulled in and everybody stepped back as the fire fighters climbed off of the truck and made their way inside of the building.

"We had a small fire at my apartment two weeks ago," she said to the guy from the paper company as they waited for the firemen to do their things. Was fire captain Sainz in there? God, she hoped so.

The guy from the paper company let out a laugh. "You're just a bit of bad luck, aren't you?" He asked jokingly and she gave a nod.

The firefighters emerged from the building. Just as when they'd put out the fire in her building, the fire captain pulled off his helmet. Perfect hair, pretty brown eyes and soft, pillowy lips. Fire captain Sainz addressed the crowd before his eyes landed on her.

His eyebrows went up, but he finished what he was saying before he approached her.

Helmet tucked under his arm, he strode over to her. Fire captain Sainz looked all kinds of sexy as he walked up to her, grinning. "You again?" He asked as he looked down at her.

She could have melted beneath the warmth of his gaze. "Trust me, it wasn't my fault this time. At least, I don't think it was my fault," she said, head tipping to the side slightly.

"Did you use the microwave on the top floor?"

Her eyes bulged slightly and she released a laugh. "The microwave finally gave out? I should have known," she mumbled and shook her head. "No, but this time it wasn't me."

Paper company guy stepped back, but neither of them noticed. "I wouldn't mind putting out your fires," he said and adjusted his helmet in his grip.

Her heart was beating so erratically as she looked at him. He was flirting, that was definite. She just wasn't sure how to flirt back. Instead, she gestured towards helmet. "Can I try it on?" She asked and Carlos placed the helmet in her hands.

***

Logan insisted that they go out for drinks. "Just let loose," he had said, and she agreed. She got dressed into her favourite skirt and a top to match.

She and Logan walked arm in arm into the bar. It was busy, music loud and atmosphere lively. They sat opposite each other in a booth and Logan got up for the first round of drinks.

It had been so long since she and Logan had gone out for drinks together. Her hands tapped against her thighs as she looked around. Surely they knew some people here, old school friends they'd lost touch with as their adult lives began.

Logan sat down and placed a colourful cocktail in front of her. "What is it?" She asked as she picked it up and smelt the liquer inside.

"It's called a tropical smash," Logan said as he sipped his own drink.

She lifted it to her lips and sipped. It was delicious, didn't taste like it contained alcohol.

She had a second before the face of the handsome fire captain came into view. She was stumbling slightly as she approached the bar, not having yet spotted the handsome fire captain.

But a large, warm hand settled on her waist, steadying her. "Woah there, Arrancadora de fuego," he said with a deep chuckle.

She turned to face him, eyes going wide at the sight of him. His button up shirt wasn't all the way buttoned and his sleeves were rolled up. He looked damn good.

"Captain Carlos!" She called and threw her arms around him. "You look hot!"

He laughed, but he didn't take his hands off of her. "Have you had a few drinks, by any chance?" He asked as he brought his hands to settle on her waist.

"Do you wanna dance with me?" She asked as she leaned back in his hold, arms still around his neck.

Maybe it was his saviour complex, maybe it was because it was her, but Carlos couldn't say no. He led her to the dance floor, made up of only a few people, and followed her movements.

Dancing didn't come naturally to Carlos. He was stiff, and that had her frowning. So, she grabbed his hips and moved him with her. Loosened him up until he was moving fluidly against her.

Logan and drinks were forgotten about as she stared into Carlos's eyes. She could have kissed him, could have pressed her lips against his own and enjoyed the moment. He was leaning in, wasn't he?

But then his phone rang. He pulled away from her to answer it, pushing through the crowds of people to get outside.

***

(Note: this is not a reflection of real people)

Logan's girlfriend was a little bit... ditsy. Forgetful. Like leaving the freezer door open, leaving television on and forgetting to turn off her hair straighteners before she went to work.

Logan had no idea. His temporary roommate had no idea. They were sitting there, watching television as the straighteners sat on a cushion. Stretching, Logan yawned. "I'm heading to the bathroom," he said and stood up.

The fire alarm went off while Logan was in the bathroom. She switched off the television and stood up. "I'll see you outside, Logan!" She called and headed out of the apartment they were currently sharing.

The rest of the tenants were outside. It was mindless chatter that she joined in with while she waited for Logan. He was on his way, she knew.

But then those around her started gasping. She turned towards the apartment building and looked up.

That was Logan's bedroom window. An orange glow came from inside, a fire. "Logan!" She called desperately as she searched for him. He had to be outside.

But he wasn't. "Fuck," she hissed. The sirens of the fire engine in the distance, but there was no way for them to get there in time. Not with Logan still inside. "Fuck," she hissed again. It would be so easy to just run inside and get him out. "Fuck."

She ran forward, pulled open the doors of the building and headed inside. The elevator was out, shut down the moment the fire alarm went off. Taking the stairs two at a time, she headed up to Logan's floor. The fire engines were much closer now. If she had time to look out of the window she would have seen them parking up and climbing out.

One of Logan's older neighbours grabbed a hold of fire captain Sainz's arm. "Please!" She cried. "She just ran inside!"

Carlos remained calm as he spoke to the old woman. She gave the name of the girl that ran inside and Carlos felt the blood drain from his face. He knew that name, knew that girl. Of course she would be here. "We'll get her out safely, ma'am," he said and headed inside.

Smoke filled the corridor as she entered her floor. She coughed and held her elbow over her nose and mouth as she headed towards Logan's front door. "Logan!" She shouted and pushed her key into the lock.

It was so damn hot when she pushed open the door. Fuck, this was a mistake. "Logan!" She shouted again. "Are you in here?!"

There was a muffled noise from the bathroom. Dropping to her knees she crawled over to the bathroom door. Her eyes stung, throat burned as she reached up for the door handle.

Suddenly a hand was on her shoulder. It pulled her back, pulled her into a strong chest. "He's in there!" She cried and tried to push away from the chest. "Get him out, please!"

Strong arms picked her up, held her head against his chest so she was breathing nothing but him as he got her outside. Other firefighters were rushing about around them, putting out the fire and getting Logan out. But she wasn't aware of any of it as the fire captain carried her outside and placed her on the ground.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" He shouted as he pulled off his mask.

Fury was written across his face as he stared down at her. She let out a cough and folded her arms over her chest. "Logan was still in there," she said as she looked at her shoes. "He could have died."

"We would have gotten him out! You could have died going in there!"

Tears stung at her eyes. A mixture of smoke inhalation and humiliation. Suddenly his fingers were on her chin, tipping her face towards him. "You had me scared, cariño. When your neighbour told me that you ran in there..."

She leaned forward to kiss him, something she should have done that night in the bar. Carlos wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "I'm sorry," she whispered against his lips.

Carlos settled her back on her feet. "Never do something like that to me again," he said, his forehead against hers.

"Never again," she whispered and kissed him again. "But shouldn't you be helping your men stop my best friends apartment from burning down?"

He looked towards the building. The fire had died down and they'd gotten Logan out, but he still had a job to do. "Wait here," he said and kissed the top of her head.

Pulling his mask back over his face, he ran inside.

Her hero.

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz x you #cs55 #cs55 imagine #cs55 x reader #f1 #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #firefighter!au

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lizzy06 · 5 months ago

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Sero Hanta x Reader Fic Recs!! (Tumblr/Ao3/Wattpad)

My Hero Academia Fic Rec Masterlist

all in a day's quirk/tumblr link ✨✨by @andypantsx3/ andypantsx3 (oneshot, friends to lovers, fluff, smut<18+>)Sero gets hit with a quirk that makes others see him as the person they are most attracted to. Which you really wish you had known before you opened your mouth and gave him your usual, “Hey, Sero!”. [COMPLETED]

Trash Polka-- A Sero Hanta X FemReader/ Tattoo Parlor AU ✨✨ (neighbours, fluff, humor)Today is move day, and unbeknownst to you, you actually rented an apartment right above a tattoo parlor with an exceptionally cute owner, who is now your new landlord. .. But you don't particularly mind… and, the owner seems sweet, so who are you to complain ?[COMPLETED]

Infiltration Complete! ✨✨by animepseud (multipurposeroom)(fake dating, fluff, humor)The adventures of Sero (codename Hunter), you (his pretend wife), and your attempts at investigating a murder while trying not to fall madly in love with each other by the end of it (mission impossible).[COMPLETED]

he was like the Sun ✨by @rainybubbles (oneshot, fluff) Maybe it was your childish obsession with stars that led you to him. After all, if you took a closer look, he was like the Sun.[COMPLETED]

skintight✨ by @saturnsorbits (oneshot, suggestive, fluff) Sero's got an embarrassing problem.[COMPLETED]

it’s a date ✨by @shinaus (oneshot, fake datings, friends to lovers)The invitation was to a party this coming weekend, which they have insisted within it that you had to bring your boyfriend too.[COMPLETED]

do re mi by @mythiccheroacademia (oneshot, angst, toxic relationship, cheating) Sero loved you. He loved you with everything he had. But he thinks he hates you just the same.[COMPLETED]

Fall In Love With Me. by Itsjustadrian(neighbours, friends to lovers, fluff) You have had the misfortune of being neighbors with the pro-hero cellophane. It wouldn’t be bad if you didn’t embarrass yourself the first encounter you had with him.[COMPLETED]

Daddy’s Little Hero ✨by Madysenpai(oneshot, parent! sero and reader, domestic fluff, family feels) Pro hero Cellophane tends to stay busy with his hero work, but on his day off he forces you to get out of the house while he spends the day with your daughter.[COMPLETED]

your initials paint my skin ✨by whatisreggieshortfor (oneshot, soulmate au, angst with happy ending)You just want to be a hero. You don’t want a soulmate, don’t want the bond. But… you’re kind of stuck to him. Pun intended.[COMPLETED]

always have, always will by Kumi(oneshot, childhood friends, angst) Sero Hanta doesn’t know a life without you by his side. For as long as he can remember, you’ve always been there. You’ve always been his person—always have, always will. Or so he thought.[COMPLETED]

Love (Sero Hanta x Reader) by dirtyoatmeall(oneshot, fluff, insecure! reader, comfort)In which you are insecure and believe Sero couldn't love you back. In which you are so utterly wrong.[COMPLETED]

Why Kaminari Is Not Allowed To Do Grocery Shopping✨ by jumix (oneshot, fluff, humor) It started, as many things in Sero’s life apparently do, with Kaminari wanting Oreos. aka 5 times Sero goes to the grocery store + 1 time he left with more than just the groceries.[COMPLETED]

Like Father Like Daughter ✨by Jessimatsu_girl(oneshot, fluff, just parenthood guys) Your sweet little girl is worried that she'll gets a quirk like her Papa.[COMPLETED]

Spider-Man✨ by animepseud (multipurposeroom)(oneshot, fluff)Sero is a pro hero and an adult who struggles with being a pro hero and an adult. You are (kind of) a Cellophane fan. Though things get cute nothing really gets resolved but sometimes it doesn't really matter.[COMPLETED]

It Started With A Postcard by NyxDeLaNuit (oneshot, strangers to lovers, fluff, smut) Sero loves his friends, but he's desperate to talk to someone who doesn't know who he is…[COMPLETED]

Me & You Together by kingexpl0sionmurder(oneshot, fluff, secret admirer) “What? Who sent me flowers?”[COMPLETED]

It’s worth it. by Madysenpai (friends with benefits, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, smut)Sero and you are friends with benefits, you wanted more but knew you couldn’t have it. Sero knows your relationship with him only goes so far, so why is he so jealous of Todoroki?

The Things That Bind Us by lunadoesntexist(fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pinning) You were alone… and then he showed up.[COMPLETED]

Blankets & Banter by Stumbleduck(oneshot, fluff) It’s the Bakusquad’s not so weekly sleepover of shenanigans, video games and hopefully no fires. But after getting very little sleep the night before you start to doze off on a certain tape user’s shoulder…[COMPLETED]

BREADTH: Sero Hanta by KaigaraX (oneshot, fluff)Someone You Loved - Featuring: The Hero & Exactly As You Saw.[COMPLETED]

A Sign of Love✨ by @dira333/ Fogfire (oneshot, soulmate au) Everyone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed on their body. Well, everyone but Sero.[COMPLETED]

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thehauntedetheral · 5 months ago

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Can I request Yandere doctor x patient???

Yandere Doctor

Requests are open!

• The world should just end. It was the only thing you were manifesting right now as you were walking down the street.

• Why? Because well when you were mourning at home on your parents death anniversary your boyfriend of years was cheating on you with some random girl. And also your landlord has given you the notice to leave the house in 2 weeks all of a sudden. The only thing you have now is your job.

• You were going to meet a broker to find a new house when your stomach ache started again. You have been feeling this way for quite some days but you ignored it as you haven't got much time between finding a new house and your love life's drama. And on top of that this stomach ache. Just great. Please god just kill me you thought when out of nowhere you felt fainting. No. No god I just thought that figuratively not literary Please don't kill me you thought before black took you over.

• You woke up and found your self on an hospital bed. An IV attached to your hand.

• An handsome doctor came in giving you a polite smile. "Glad you woke up. You fainted on street a kind stranger got you here. You fainted due to appendicitis. It was infected so we took out via surgery. The staff called your emergency contact which is your friend I guess. she signed all the surgery and consent paper while you were unconscious. We have to keep you here for two days under observation just in case nothing serious." The handsome doctor said. Well that explains everything how I ended here you thought.

• After the doctor went your friend came in. Fussing all over you.

• Your friend stayed with you most of the time during the 2 days. You both thought that the doctor was so polite, good looking and handsome. Especially more handsome in his scrubs

• During the two days you were in the hospital. Yan Doctor would stop at your room a lot unnecessarily.

• He would check up on you a lot saying "doctor duties" when it was not at all necessary but who is gonna tell you anyways.

• Would try to chit chat with you and your friends during his break.

• Switched his shift with his colleague just to be around you went it was his day off.

• When he heard you were looking for a house. He told you a house beside his is empty and affordable so if you want you can move there.

• After getting discharged you went to get a look at the house. It was so spacious and beautiful yet it's price was too low according to its infrastructure you thought when it should cost a lot. Nevermind the owners loss you thought and moved into that house.

• You and yan doctor were neighbours now.

• He would often invite you for meals at his house. Under the facade of "I again made too much".

• Helps you in shifting and settling down. Saying "I am just being a good Neighbour".

• Well in reality the owner of that house is none other than yan doctor. He knew that this house's rent value is a lot but he told you less because he wanted you closer to him. In fact he wanted to give you this house to live at free but that would cause a lot of suspicion so he told you a very low price.

• Has been obsessed with you since he saw you unconscious on the stretcher brought into hospital looking beautiful as angel. He thought you looked beautiful while unconscious. But when he talked to you saw you smile, heard your voice he thought you were out worldly. Just Divine.

• This man is madly in love with you.

• Kills your ex with a overdose of drug making it look like an accident just because he was jealous and mad that he hurt you emotionally. How could someone cheat on such a perfect human? He thought.

• Tries his best to become close to you and become your friend and more.

• Gives you health advice all of the time.

• You fell sick? This man becomes your personal doctor, nurse everything.

• Has so much money that always showers you with your favourite coffees, meals and tickets to movies or concert. His reason? "Well I was just passing by and saw this I know you like it so I bought it for you". When in reality this man specifically goes to that place just for getting it for you.

• He sees your one smile and feel like he won in life. This man is whipped for you.

• If you ask this man for his heart he would literally tear his chest and pull his heart out for you. Nothing matters to him except you. You are his everything.

• When you get an invite to a wedding. You thought who should I take with me as a date?

• Yan Doctor keeps throwing hints at you all week indicating that he wants to be your wedding date. This man is so desperate for you.

• When you finally ask him to be your wedding date. This man is the most happiest person in world. You might think you just asked him to marry you by looking at his happy expressions.

• Well don't worry darling because he is damn sure you are gonna marry him one day.

• With you being conscious or high with drug. Choice is yours darling. After all he is a good doctor and knows how to use them well.

Requests are open!

For more yandere reading:

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ghouldump · 6 months ago

Note

Your lestat x louis x claudia fic EATSSSSSSSS

If your are up to it could you do something with my pretty husband armand and his manipulative ways?

Beautiful Deception | Armand x Reader

ෆ moving to paris, the last thing you expected was to come across the ancient vampire.

lol thank youuu so much, i hope you like this 💕 sometimes i take a while to post because i rewrite my work over and over until i think it’s good. this was a great idea and i don’t mind taking more.

“How long will you continue to claim that you are a vampire?” The interviewer, Daniel Malloy asked. Crossing your leg over the other, you smiled.

“It is merely one of many truths, but I will let you and the readers decide if it should be accepted,” you said.

It had been nearly a year since you turned 100. Since you made the blog, originally to share stories from your past. Despite all events being true, and the website becoming a success, it was all seen as fiction. You were seen as a character, an upcoming writer dedicated to your role, but it would be coming to an end. Daniel, someone you’d been studying for some time now, needed a story, something fresh. He was getting the raw unspoken truth, things you hadn’t shared before, publishing it along with an interview.

“Why now?”

“Why not now, Daniel? We live in a new age, where we people of the night should be known,” you smirked.

Just then, the door opened, and Armand, your partner of over 80 years entered. The sleek black turtle neck was perfect against his glowing brown skin. Turning to him, you looked up in admiration, as he placed a soft kiss on your lips, before sitting next to you.

“I hope you don't mind, my husband, Armand, joining us”

“Armand the vampire? You said some concerning things about him,” Daniel said, trying to get under both of your skin.

“We’ve moved past those times,” you said, as Armand intertwined your fingers.

“Alright, whatever that’s supposed to mean, shall we start?”

“Yes, let’s,” you smiled, nodding.

“Let’s start here…”

Run, run, don’t stop, keep running.

Your heart pounded, as you ran through the streets, gasping for air as you grew more tired. Afraid to look back, you kept going, you were sure you’d drop dead in fear seeing him behind you. Turning on nearly every corner, relief washed over, seeing a store owner closing his shop.

“Sir,” you called out, as you jogged to him.

“No, no, I’m closing,” he pointed at the sign.

“Please help me, he’s going to get me,” you cried, as the man finally turned to face you, genuinely concerned.

“Come in,” he said, letting you into the store. As you came in, he locked the door behind you. With the adrenaline coming down, you could feel pain in your foot from stepping in glass.

“We have to hide,” you told the man, tugging at his sleeve.

“You go,” he pointed to the back, before he went behind the counter, pulling a shotgun out.

Limping to the back of the store, looking back one more time, you screamed as the door burst open, the shop owner being killed instantly. As the elderly man fell to the floor, you cried out, before he appeared in front of you.

“Y/n,” his eyes softened seeing your tear stained face, all of your makeup running down, mixed with the tears.

“Please….”

“You’re moving ahead of yourself, Daniel, we have to start from the beginning, I had just moved to France-

“So Armand didn’t kill the shop owner and was about to kill you next?” He asked, as Armand clenched his jaw, glaring at the man.

“Daniel, you only get one session, you have to get this right, just let the story seduce you as it had done to me,” you said as he begrudgingly nodded, finally ready to listen.

"Here are your keys, rent is due on the third of each month," your new landlord, Henri said, handing the keys to your husband, Phillip.

“Thank you, sir,” he muttered, while you giggled, your eyes exploring the place. Neither of you was the best at French, at least speaking it. Despite the previous months of studying and reciting, your articulation was still overwhelmingly, American.

He didn't say anything, giving you both a questionable stare, before leaving the small apartment. Compacted in size, and already cluttered with furniture, but it was your new home, and that's all that mattered. Shutting the front door, you walked over to the full-sized bed. This was the fresh start you needed.

“What do you think?” Philip asked.

“I love it,” you told him, jumping into his arms.

Living all of your life in the States, you were the youngest of two children. Your father, you never knew, not that it mattered too much to you. It was your mother who came from a wealthy family in France. Before she decided to move to its child, New Orleans.

She didn't talk about her time there much, only telling short stories about your grandparents or her early life in Paris. She was lonely as a child, and her parents were oftentimes neglectful, as a result of having her at an old age.

Having her own children, you and your twin brother, Elijah, from a hookup with an attractive soldier, she vowed to dedicate herself to both of you. She made sure neither of you ever went without, providing the best of your desires.

Around 9, you were certain you wanted to be a performer. It didn't matter how or what you did, the idea of being adored, captivating the crowd, your juvenile mind was set. Your mother soon paid for all sorts of lessons, dancing, singing, and instruments, she was just as determined that you would achieve your dreams.

While you were striving for your goals, your brother, Elijah, struggled with living in your shadow. You took up most of your mother's time, which is how she didn't notice the bullying. He had always been introverted, harmless as a butterfly, nose deep in a book. While you were holding onto hopes and dreams, your brother was guaranteed a successful life with how smart he’d always been.

However, there was a problem, jealousy. She was a demon, stronger than most, willing to compel whoever that would allow, to do whatever their deepest desires were. This is why, on that Saturday evening, on your 14th birthday, you and your mother left for the market, intending on baking a cake for the two of you, she attacked.

Bullies from his class saw him as he was taking out the trash. They never liked the boy, coveting the lifestyle he had been fortunately given. Attacking him, they only meant to roughen him up a bit, until he fought back. Then, filled with that ancient spirit of jealousy, one of them picked up a rock.

Thankfully, one of the neighbors heard the commotion and came running to save him, but the damage had been done. From that point on, your brother was different, as was your mother.

The life that he was once guaranteed to have was gone and your mother spent all of her time focused on caring for him. She still paid for your classes, but you were no longer a priority.

At 18, you met and eventually married Philip, a 22-year-old, journalist. He was very handsome with the most alluring brown eyes and soft wavy hair. He didn't have much money, but once he settled somewhere and established his career, he promised to give you the world.

Your mother disapproved of the marriage, how could you carelessly marry a poor man trusting his empty promises, she screamed at you. Which is why, out of spite, you told her you’d be moving to Paris. You watched as the hardened expression dropped, and sad memories flashed through her eyes. Throwing her hands up, she gave up with her argument, letting you leave, sending a parting gift of a few thousand dollars, before you were out of the country.

Now in the beautiful city, Phillip’s future seemed to be already looking up to be just as bright, as he had already been hired by a popular news corporation. Securing the apartment was simply the final step in your new life, at least that's what you thought.

Immediately, Philip worked day and night, hoping to begin to provide you with the life you deserved. Dates weren't as frequent as they once were in the States, but intimacy was just as regular as before, if not more.

Meanwhile, you oftentimes left home, looking for work. Not many places would hire women and the people who did expected their workers to work twice as much as they were paid. Until The Grand Cabaret, Edward, the head director of the restaurant/theatre was in dire need of new performances.

He'd stopped you on your way home from the store, captivated by your looks, giving you his card. Telling Phillip about the man, he agreed that it could be a good idea. Perhaps even a step towards becoming the big star you always wanted to be.

The next night you went, Philip was going to be out a little later than usual, finishing work. Anxiously, you made your way to the address on the card. Stopping in front of the building, you were surprised by the lack of guests. The establishment was nice, a few people were seated eating, and slow music was playing, but people continued to walk past.

“Ah, mademoiselle,” Edward smiled, as he stepped out.

“Not a busy night?” you asked him.

“People are more willing to eat with an equally lovely performance,” he said sheepishly, his eyes shifting to his left.

Following his eyes, you stared at the theater, Théâtre des Vampires. You could see the line of customers, excited to get into the theater. Although, the workers looked extremely rude and intimidating, dressed in the vampire costumes.

“I’m sure you just need the right act,” you told him, making eye contact with security, catching his brash expression.

“Do you sing or dance…?” He asked, waiting to hear your name.

“Y/n, and yes, I’ve been trained in both, I will admit, I am still not the greatest singer,” you laughed, as you accepted his hand.

“Please allow me to offer you a job here, as one of our employees. I trust your word, I am desperate, you’ll be paid weekly-

“I-when would I start?”

“Tonight…I mean, if it is possible,” he said.

“I can only stay for a while, my husband isn’t aware that I am away”

“Yes, of course, come right this way,” he said, leading you to the dressing room, allowing you to set your things down.

The cast members were all kind, introducing themselves as you glanced at yourself, checking your makeup.

“We have our newest act of the evening, the lovely and beautiful, Y/n,” Edward said, introducing you, before leaving the stage. He could already see the attention shifting to you, excitedly he opened the door, along with the windows, allowing potential guests to see.

“Just follow my lead,” you spoke to the small orchestra before you began singing a song you’d heard back when you lived with your mother. As the audience grew more interested, you felt your confidence rising by the second, as you danced freely, shutting your eyes, thrilled to finally be performing.

That night, for the first time, The Grand Cabaret was a full house. Everyone who passed wanted to see and hear more of your talent. As everyone clapped for you, and you could see now, you would be a star.

“What is the meaning of this?” Santiago frowned at Sam, wondering why he hadn’t been notified about any signaling of the play starting.

“Well…” Sam faced their leader, who stood, waiting for an answer.

“They’ve all gone to that stupid cabaret,” Estelle crossed her arms.

“Cabaret?”

“Apparently there is a new girl, American, she’s bringing them a bit of attention with her…performances,” Celeste told him.

Not saying a word, Armand furrowed his eyebrows, leaving the theater. His steps held a steady stride as he approached the building. Never since the theater had been opened had the place been empty. He had to see with his own eyes, this person, what had you done to take all of the loyal guests.

As he approached the entrance, the first thing he noticed was everyone wearing all black. The Dance of the Dead, starring the beautiful lead, Y/n,” his eyes skimmed the sign.

“Excuse me,” you said, brushing past Armand, and nearly running to the dressing room.

It had been a little over a month since you began working and although at first anxious, you were more than grateful for the opportunity. Edward was incredibly generous, wanting to keep his main act satisfied. You began to recommend themes, scenery, and new music, the guest needed to be able to visualize the show further than what you were giving.

The Dance of the Dead was a mockery of the vampire theater but with your own twist. A few people you'd grown familiar with had gone, telling you about how real everything seemed. How they’d managed to pull off some sort of screenplay, like movies. You never took the time to visit yourself, but saw the action as simply a little fun competition.

As the lights dimmed, Armand sat down, unintentionally gulping as you sauntered onto the stage. Immediately, the music started, along with your dancing. Armand watched as everyone focused, hypnotized as you were oozing in sex appeal. He nearly second-guessed himself about you, it shouldn't be possible for a mortal to captivate so many people in such a way, Armand thought to himself.

Going to your knees, as your head went back, he couldn’t help but think of how supernatural your beauty was, how luring your essence was. Going further to the floor, you faced the audience, your eyes meeting his. He smirked slightly, nodding at you, while you bit your lips.

As the song came to an end, you stood up, bowing your head. The audience cheered loudly, clapping and whistling.

‘Beautiful’ you heard, your eyes going to Armand, as he stood up.

“Thank you,” you blew kisses at the crowd, before going backstage.

He watched in amazement as they still cheered for you, the way that you moved ingrained into his thoughts. Coming from the dressing room, you looked almost different, blending in with the audience. He walked to the door, as you talked with your boss, accepting the envelope, along with a quick hug.

Moving outside, he stayed not too far behind you. Seeing that no one was around, he sped up, intentionally bumping into you.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized, as his hand brushed against your waist.

“No, it is my apologies, I may be mistaken, but do you work at the Cabaret?”

“Yes, I do,” he watched as your eyes twinkled with joy.

“I’m Armand, I am the director of Théâtre des Vampires,” he held out his hand.

“Y/n,” you went to shake his hand but froze as he lifted your hand, placing a soft kiss near your knuckles.

“I…I have to get home, my husband is waiting,” you told him, emphasizing the title, as he stared into your eyes. You couldn't deny the mysterious man was quite the sight.

“Allow me to walk you home,” he offered.

“Oh no, I wouldn't want to take up your time-

“Nonsense, a woman of your caliber should be escorted, perhaps we could talk business,” he said, making you smile.

“Okay,” you nodded.

“Ladies first,” he motioned for you to lead the way.

Armand was unnaturally enchanting in every aspect, a forbidden fruit your heart told you to stay away from, but your flesh tingled in his presence. It was an unspoken understanding that you could only see him at night at these shows. You anticipated seeing his youthful face, every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. He'd sit within the audience, watching your every move. Then backstage, approaching you, he'd always have a fresh bouquet. You would give him a look and he’d say something along the lines of how a star deserves flowers.

“Knock knock,” Armand said, catching your attention, turning from the vanity.

“Hi,” you smiled, standing up, and closing your robe.

“For you, the beautiful star of the show,” he said, handing you the bouquet.

“Thank you, Armand,” you told him.

“You never have to thank me,” he shook his head, reaching for your hand, and placing a soft kiss on top. Pulling away, as your heart leaped, you shifted your eyes.

“I have to get home soon,” you said.

“Right, your husband…it is a shame he doesn't come out to support you,” Armand said, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“He works a lot”

“Unfortunate, I mean for him, because I get to have you to myself,” he said, smirking.

“Are you walking me home?” you asked, your face burning at his shameless joke.

“I'm ready when you are, angel”

You admired Armand, greatly, how confident, bold, intelligent, handsome-wait. Being around Armand, you oftentimes had to remind yourself you were married, as well as him. He had no problem blatantly flirting and laughing as you froze up in embarrassment. The two of you were growing closer than you should have been, while, it seemed like your marriage was crumbling.

“I don't want you working there anymore,” Philip told you, as you replaced the water in the vase, setting it near the window.

“Why? The extra money is helping…” you said, still staring at the flowers, Armand crossing your mind.

“My colleagues have been talking about the place nonstop, they think you’re some exotic whore,” he grumbled.

“Okay? There opinions aren’t paying us,” you told him.

“I don’t need them having you as a subject in the paper, you’re quitting,” he began to raise his voice.

“Philip, the money is great”

“I told you, I would provide the life you deserve-

“When? We’ve been out here for nearly a year and you have no signs of a pay increase. Am I supposed to sit around and hope? My mother was right about you,” you spat.

“What did you say?” He stalked towards you, your hands went up defensively as he walked towards you, as if you were prey. Raising his hand, he held it high, ready to strike you. You’d shut your eyes, waiting for the blow, but it never came.

Opening your eyes, you watched as he stood still, realizing what he was about to do, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he began to repeat, reaching for you before you ran out of the building. As you made it down the flight of stairs, you mentally cursed yourself, realizing you forgot to grab your coat, but were too afraid to go back.

Instead you walked the streets, stopping in your tracks, seeing the familiar faces. The cast members dressed as creatures of the night. You were about to walk towards them when a hand lightly pulled you backward. Gasping, your face relaxed as you bumped into Armand.

“Hi,” you said, breathlessly.

“What are you doing out here, in the middle of the night?” He tilted his head at you. You could ask the same thing, they were all here, a good distance from the theater.

“Just walking around, clearing my mind,” you said, shrugging.

“Something happened?” He asked, a concerned expression on his face.

“I’ll be fine, it’s nothing,” you shook your head. Armand was the last person you wanted to burden your problems with.

“Then allow me to join you, we can clear our minds together,” he intertwined his arm with yours.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to-

“Shall we go to the park? It’s quiet around this time,” he thought, leading you in the other direction.

“What are you all doing out here, in the middle of the night?” You asked him.

“Finding…inspiration,” he smirked.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course”

“Do you think it is wrong to regret big decisions you’ve made?”

“I think there are no coincidences, your mistake can lead you to your biggest culmination, regret is unnecessary, stress about something from your past, but tell me, what is it, you wish could have been done differently?”

“Maybe stayed home, pursued my dreams there, found a husband who was a man of his word, who supported my ambitions despite if others thought negatively of me,” you said, you hadn't realized you were crying until you felt Armand's finger brushing the tears away.

“This is nothing to be ashamed of, your dreams are coming to reality and I am a man of my word, I couldn’t care what anyone has to say when you’re on stage,” he smirked as you started laughing.

“And why is that?” You stopped walking.

“Because my eyes are blessed to see an angel and I don’t want to miss any parts of your beauty,” he said, as he gazed into your glossy eyes. Stepping closer, he pressed his lips against your own, and your arms guilelessly went around his neck.

“Where have you been, all my life?” you peered into his eyes.

“Waiting for you,” he said, kissing your lips, once more.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you giggled as the kiss broke.

“You’ve been worth the wait, come, it is getting late, I’m sure there are still some hotels opened-

“I can go home”

“Y/n-

“Trust me, I’ll be fine at home,” you smiled, as he redirected the walk to your apartment.

“Are you sure you want to stay here tonight?” Armand asked, as you both stood outside your door.

“Knowing Philip, he left,” you reassured him.

“Come to my theater tomorrow night”

“Okay,” you nodded.

“See you then,” he grinned, pecking your lips, before turning away.

“Edward, I don’t understand?” You frowned, trying to fathom what he was saying.

“I think it’s better this way, I’ve been more than grateful for the business you’ve brought to us, but we can’t risk having the article released, it will do more damage than anything,” he explained, his eyes full of pity.

You had extra time on your hands, stopping at your job, when Edward gave you the news. He was firing you, not because you had done anything wrong, but because he had received an anonymous tip about the cabaret soon to be in the media, and not for anything positive - going as far as being compared to a brothel.

All coverage wasn't good coverage in Edwards's eyes and he knew the target audience would turn away from the establishment in an instant.

“I'm sorry, Y/n,” he said, as you sighed, before putting on your best smile. You wouldn't cry now, sometimes this happened to big stars, you told yourself.

“It is alright, I wish you nothing but the best, goodbye,” you told him, leaving the cabaret.

You never looked back, keeping your eyes forward as you approached the ticket collector. His eyes snapped to you as he slightly frowned.

“There is a line,” he told you matter-factly.

“Is Armand here?”

“You can find out after you get in line just like everyone else-

“Y/n,” Armand walked outside, giving him a look. You watched as he lowered his gaze, almost in submission.

“Come,” he motioned, reaching out. Smiling, you accepted his hand, letting him lead you to his booth.

“Is there a reason you look like you’re on the verge of tears?”

“Just trying to figure out why everything is going wrong in my life,” you said, with a chuckle.

“Perhaps your culmination is closer than you realize”

“I hope you’re right”

“I’m in love with you,” your eyes widened at his words as you spoke at the same time.

“Armand, I-

“Since the moment you graced my eyes, I’ve been bewitched by your presence and…and I don’t want to leave it. I can give you the life you deserve, a stage to perform, love unlike any other, and pleasure beyond comprehension, choose me,” he told you, his eyes went to your lips, before he turned, watching as the lights dimmed.

Throughout the play, you could hardly focus, as your finger interlocked with Armand’s. His thumb caressed your warm flesh, bringing your hand to his lips. You could agree with your former colleagues, the play seemed real, almost too real. If it wasn’t for Armand’s swooning, you would be panicking.

You watched as the girl screamed, begging to be saved, but death came to collect. Surrounding her, her shrieking faded away as the curtains closed.

“That was…intense,” you gulped, as Armand laughed.

“It is all apart of the show,” he reminded you.

“Yes, doesn’t change that it was a little scary”

“You would look ravishing on that stage, whatever you'd like, singing, dance, it's yours,” he told you.

“I have to go,” you bit back your smiled, flattered by his bold promises.

“Stay, for tonight”

“I can't, it has been on my heart to write to my mother, so I want to get a head start,” you told him.

“Then will I see you tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night,” you nodded, accepting his kiss, before you left, making your way home.

Thinking of the steady decline of your marriage, you worried for your future, if you were headed towards a divorce. Your mother was the smartest woman you knew and although she was disappointed, you knew she would never turn her back completely. Like the prodigal son, you’d return home if it meant better circumstances, and your mother like the father, would accept you with open arms. Your heart wanted to believe Armand, but you couldn’t allow yourself to fall for more empty promises.

Settling back into the apartment, you sat at Philip’s desk. You wouldn't consider yourself nearly as good as a writer as he was, but he had taught you a few things to better your craft. Grabbing a pen, you started a bit formal, it had been a while since you'd seen your mother after all.

As your writing progressed, you poured your emotions out into the paper. Dealing with the suppressed feeling of being the reason for your brother's condition, your failed attempts at marriage, and your career, since leaving home. Glancing at the clock on the wall, you raised your eyebrows at the time. Had it already been two hours of writing? Albeit, there was a pile of crumbled papers.

Suddenly the door burst open, Philip rushed in, terror covering his face. Locking the door, he immediately went to the small kitchen, pushing the stove in front of the door.

“Philip?”

Hearing his name, his head jerked around as he met your gaze. Rushing over to you, he stopped, seeing you back away nervously.

“Y/n, please, I won’t…just let me explain,” he said, opening the manila folder.

“It started when you wanted to work at the Cabaret, I was so excited for you, I started an article, you were going to have an entire page. But…but then my brain began to get distorted and fuzzy, I could hardly think. Before I knew it, the article was on fire. I came to your show and I noticed someone”

“You came to my show before?”

“Always, after the first time, you came home gushing, I promised to try to make it,” he said, pulling out the stack of photos he continued.

“This man, he came to every show, front row, bringing you flowers,” he showed a series of pictures of Armand, some of the photos you were in. His arms around you, his lips pressed against your own.

“Philip-

“Just listen,” he shook his head, stopping you.

“I went to his theater, to confront him, to win my wife back, but then I found this, in his office,” he pulled out more photos.

“He has been watching you since we came here, from the time we arrived, there are photos of you taken. Then, I looked around, and what I saw, they aren't human, none of them. Those aren't plays, they're actual murderings,” he cried, showing the hardly developed pictures of the coffins and corpses in a box full of rats.

“I think he has been getting in my head, since I began to suspect him, I’ve felt like another person is living inside of me,” he said, wiping his tears.

“I waited until they all settled in for rest and I set the hell house on fire, we have to leave, now, we can go home, start fresh, leave all of this behind us,” he stressed.

Moving to your shared closet, he began to rip all of your clothing from the hangers, throwing them on the bed. You stood with your hand on your stomach, trying to process the photos. Indeed, there were photos of you from the moment you stepped off the boat. You didn't want to believe any of these bizarre claims, but here was the proof right in your face.

Unexpectedly, the stove was pushed out of the way, as the door burst open. Armand walked in, his hair slightly disheveled, the scariest glare set on Philip.

“Armand?” you called his name, hesitantly.

“Y/n, run,” Philip told you, as you jumped away from the table, the paper catching ablaze.

“Philip-

“Run, now,” he shoved you, right as Armand grabbed him. His hands around his throat, lifting him off the ground. Philip struggled, trying to free himself, gasping as fangs came out. Armand seemed to be growling at him, before sinking his teeth into him, determined to drain every ounce of blood from him.

“Run,” Philip strained, as you covered your mouth, rushing out the door.

Run, run, don't stop, keep running.

Your heart pounded, as you ran through the streets, gasping for air as you grew more tired. Afraid to look back, you kept going, you were sure you'd drop dead in fear seeing him behind you. Turning on nearly every corner, relief washed over, seeing a store owner closing his shop.

"Sir," you called out, as you jogged to him.

"No, no, I'm closing," he pointed at the sign.

"Please help me, he's going to get me," you cried, as the man finally turned to face you, genuinely concerned.

"Come in," he said, letting you into the store. As you came in, he locked the door behind you. With the adrenaline coming down, you could feel pain in your foot from stepping into the glass.

"We have to hide," you told the man, tugging at his sleeve.

"You go," he pointed to the back, before he went behind the counter, pulling a shotgun out.

"Y/n," his eyes softened seeing your tear-stained face, all of your makeup running down, mixed with the tears.

"Please, don't kill me,” you cried, shaking your head.

“Shh, shh, there is no need to cry,” he consoled you, forcing your head into his chest.

“Why did you kill him?”

“Because he married you,” he admitted.

“What are you?”

“A vampire,” he shifted his eyes as you looked at his face.

“They weren’t acting,” you shook your head, trying to shove him away.

“Not at the end, no,” he confessed. Wrapping his arms you, he walked you out of the store. You continued to try to fight him, but he was much stronger, holding you effortlessly.

Lifting into the air, you gasped, realizing he was floating, no flying! Wrapping your arms around him, you shoved your face deeper into his soft coat. He smiled as one of his hands held your head.

“We were out hunting, when I noticed you, stepping off of the boat. I could hear your precious thoughts, you were sure you'd be the next big star. You had dreams but weren't putting yourself out there, so I sent Edward to you, and I made sure he paid you like the star you are,” Armand said, as his feet landed on top of the museum.

“I showered you with praise and gifts of all kinds, and yet you left every night, going back to him, what is it that he could possibly have that I couldn't give you?” he asked, a gloomy look in his eyes.

“He was my husband, he didn’t have much, but I loved him,” you cried.

“He wouldn’t have given you the opportunities you can have. He would work himself to death, not without cheating on you to fill the void within himself because he knew he could never give you the life he promised”

“You killed him,” you continued to cry. Rolling his eyes, he felt himself growing frustrated with you.

“Because I love you, I can love you better than his wretched human mind could ever think to fathom. I could give you the eternal gift, lavishing you, treasuring you, why can’t you see, has your love for me left that quickly?” he asked, as he grabbed your face, forcing you to look into his eyes.

Glamouring you, he hoped to find the truth, that your heart had turned cold at the sight of him. Wiping your eyes softly, his hand trailed to your lips, brushing against them softly.

“No,” you said, breathlessly.

“Then choose me, you have no need to fear me, we will be companions, equals, I, your maker, and you, my angel,” he said, a bloody tear slipping out of his eye. As he looked away, you snapped out of the trance, your heart ached to see Armand this way.

“I don't think I can forgive anytime soon, but I love you and I want you,” you told him, as you began to cry all over. Reaching towards his face, you wiped the blood away, before cupping his face in your hand. Searching your face for reassurance, you nodded.

“This will hurt for a short moment, but our eternity together will make up for it,” he told you, softly pecking your lips. Swiftly dipping you, you held onto him, as his fangs sank into your neck.

“Then what happened?” Daniel raised his voice, leaning towards you.

“I drank from him, and became his fledgling. I would say the rest is history, but it’s on the blog,” you laughed.

“You forgave him, just like that, after what he had done to Philip?”

“She actually took nearly a decade before I didn’t hear anything anymore,” Armand said, lifting your hand to his lips.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to a few things,” Daniel said, writing on his notebook.

“Okay, let’s hear it”

“Philip said that he came to your shows, nearly every single one, up until you were fired. But, during your time with Armand, he always seemed to working”

“He was saying a lot of things that night, him showing up to my shows was the least important thing to me at the time, but it was like 80 years ago, I don’t remember it like it was yesterday,” you laughed.

“I understand, Philip and Edward both spoke about an article, did this said article ever come about?”

“No-

“The fire was talked about, it took any attention from Y/n,” Armand interrupted.

“And what of the Cabaret? The Vampire Theater?”

“As far as we know, no one made it,” Armand said.

“The Cabaret went out of business a few years into my new life, I hear it’s a bakery now, you should visit,” you told him.

“If I’m not busy, I will think about it. What about your mother and brother?”

“I checked on them a few times, but the bloodline has ended with me,” you said, your smile faltering.

“I see,” he nodded, writing a note down.

“I trust you will do well with my story Daniel, reflecting on my past, I was a child, I didn’t have a real grasp of love and what it meant. I cared for Philip, he is who influenced my writing, but I can finally understand how much I didn’t actually love him,” you told him before he stopped the audio recording.

“Well, that’s it,” he sighed, saving the contents, before closing the computer.

“Lovely, would you like to stay for dinner?” you asked, as Daniel rubbed his head.

“No, I already made plans,” he said, his head feeling distorted and fuzzy.

“Awe, too bad, let me at least walk you to the door,” you stood, leading him to the front door of the spacious penthouse.

Sitting alone, Armand clenched his jaw, his eyes sharply piercing the air. Years upon years, nearly reversed in a single session. He could tell by the way Daniel was asking these questions, he wanted you to remember the obvious, but the truth was far too blurred for you to ever remember things how things were.

From the moment he saw you, he wanted you, filled with jealousy seeing you kiss him. He immediately began to find information about the two of you, watching from a distance. He did hear your thoughts, about how you wanted to be a star, which is why he sent Edward to you. The Cabaret had been nearby for some time now and hardly got any attention, you could work there for a while until you were ready for his stage.

Philip had been to nearly every show, but Armand was too far into your mind for you to ever notice him. Dancing and singing for the vampire alone, he had changed your memory too many times for you to even recount your performances. His breaking point was after stalking you, approaching your apartment, his heart shattered hearing you moan for him. The man he despised.

Lastly, he wished him turning you was as romantic as you made it out to be. After you told him you didn’t love him anymore, he promised that you would learn to love him again, before draining you. The thought of the fire infuriated him, his hate growing towards him. Philip ruined his plans and for that, he paid with his death. You were supposed to be turned, in the most beautiful way, becoming the lead actress at his theater. All of his plans, plans for you, the both of you, went to waste, because of him.

Armand knew some would come to this conclusion, and begin to question why. The answer was simple, so simple that many would hate him for his actions. He was jealous, seeing someone have what he wanted, so he took it. He had lived too long to care about his decisions hurting others and he held no regrets.

“Hey, are you coming to get ready for bed?” You asked, coming back to the entrance of the living room. Standing up, in an instant, he stood in front of me.

“Am I forgiven for my choices, my angel?” he asked, rubbing his face against your hands as you held his cheeks.

“You don't have to ask, don't let this story get to you, it's in our past,” you told him, furrowing your eyebrows at him.

“I love you,” he smiled, kissing your lips.

“I love you too,” you told him, kissing him once more.

“I'll join you soon,” he said, watching as you turned, walking away.

Armand would never admit how prideful and monstrous his nature could be. Selfishly, he has taken you away from any and everything you knew, keeping you all to himself. However, none of these things mattered, he had won, in the end. You were a star, only meant to perform on his stage.

#interview with the vampire #armand x reader #amc iwtv #amc armand #armand the vampire

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alotofpockets · 8 months ago

Text

Roommates | Kyra Cooney-Cross x Gorry!Reader & Katrina Gorry x Sister!Reader

Where you start dating your sister's bestfriend after she becomes your roommate.

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.8k

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"You're still going to pick up Kyra from the airport and drive her to her introduction at the Arsenal training grounds, right?" Your sister has asked you this question at least ten times now. Her Matilda's teammates, and one of her closest friends Kyra Cooney-Cross was making the move from Australia to the UK, just like you had done two years ago, and your sister had asked you to look out for her there.

"Yes Mini, don't worry. I will pick up Kyra and drive her to London Colney. You can go to sleep and stop worrying, I promise I've got her."

Katrina seemed to finally relax a bit, "Okay, text me when she gets there? I told her to do that too, but she'll probably be too tired from the flight to remember.” Your sister loved Kyra like family, and it was sweet to see how similarly she cared for Kyra as she does for you.

“I will text you when I see her at the airport, now please go to sleep.” You laughed at the slightly annoyed sigh that escaped her mouth. “Thank you again, and goodnight.” You hung up the phone after wishing Katrina a good night as well.

You finish your workday, and run some errands, before you head home. You made a funny poster to welcome Kyra to London before you head to bed for an early wake up call to head to the airport.

When you saw Kyra walk down the gate hall, she looked exhausted from the long flight, a feeling you knew all too well yourself. She was wearing a pair of sweats and a hoodie, combined with a messy bun. When she laid eyes on your poster her face lit up. Welcome to London, my favourite Tillie!

"Oh we're so showing Mini your sign." She greets you with a hug. “Yeah, let's send her a picture. I promised I'd text her when you landed.” The two of you pose together with the sign, while someone next to you takes your picture.

“Are you hungry?” You ask while you take half of her bags. “I ate on the plane, but am in desperate need of a coffee.” In the coffee shop you catch up for a bit over coffee, and breakfast for you, before Kyra gets a call. She walks out of the shop to take the call, while you scroll on your phone.

“What’s wrong?” The panicked look on her face as she walked back in immediately grabbing your attention. “That was the landlord of my apartment, he just let me know that he accidentally double signed. In other words, I don’t have a place to stay anymore.” Without a second thought you had a solution for her problem. “I’ve got a spare room that I never use. It’s yours if you want it.”

The following week you helped Kyra get settled and went with her for her introduction meeting at Arsenal. Initially you would just drop her off and pick her up later in the day, but she had insisted you’d join her. Together you got the Arsenal tour, and you sat to the side for all her video and picture moments. All in all, it ended up being a fun day.

The two of you had gotten close quickly over the days that passed, sure you had known each other already, but now living together brought you on a whole new level of friendship.

Tomorrow would be Kyra's first training session at Arsenal, as well as meeting the team for the first time. Besides her Aussie teammates Steph and Caitlin, she didn't know anyone more than a familiar face. You had known she was nervous, but you didn't realise just how much until she knocked on your bedroom door.

“Hey Ky, what's up?” The usual smile the girl was wearing was replaced by a frown. “Were you homesick when you first moved here?” You had been so adamant that she was just nervous, that you hadn't taken the move to another continent into consideration. “Yeah, I did. Come here.” Patting the spot on your bed besides you, you offered her a place to sit.

You talked for a while before you both fell asleep. The next day you drove Kyra to her first practice with Arsenal. You were just going to drop her off, but when you saw Caitlin get out of her car, you had to go say hi. You knew all of the Tillies from the many times you had met them in the family and friends hall after matches.

“Y/n, hi, what are you doing here?” She greeted you with a quick hug. You point back to your car where Kyra appeared from behind the trunk. “Ky has been staying with me.”

On queue Kyra appears beside you, and drops her bags to hug Caitlin tight. While the two of them embrace, another player walks up to greet you. You knew it was Katie, but as far as you remembered you had never properly met. “Hi, I'm Katie, nice to meet you.” She extends her hand. “Y/n, nice to meet you too.”

Katie inspects you, trying to figure out where she knew you from, until it finally clicked. “Oh you're Gorry’s little sister, aren’t you?” Kyra stepped out of her hug with Caitlin to defend you. “She's her own person you know.” It was really sweet, but you really didn't mind. “It's fine Ky, I am.” You rolled your eyes at her defensiveness, but behind that facade you secretly loved how she stuck up for you.

From then on Caitin and Katie picked up Kyra for practice, since you basically lived on the route to the training centre.

Kyra joined you in your room on more days than not over the next few weeks, and you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t enjoy the moments you spent together. You were quickly falling for her, and every part of you hoped that she felt the same way.

Then one morning you woke up with Kyra cuddled into your side, and her leg draped over yours. You lift your hand to gently play with her hair, she hums with enjoyment and cuddles further into your side. “Good morning to you too.” You were like a deer in headlights, caught by the fact that she had, unbeknownst to you already been awake. “Don’t stop.”

You release the breath you were holding and continue. You must have laid there for another hour before you got out of bed. “Can I maybe take you out for breakfast?” The way her eyes lit up at your question was enough for you to realise that she did indeed feel the same way. “I would love that.”

The two of you had been together ever since, just keeping it to yourselves to enjoy your time together away from prying eyes. Which is why you were stressed since your sister had called that she was coming to visit with her family, because she was meeting with the West Ham United team. You had offered your home as a place for them to stay while she had her meeting, and while her and Clara would be looking at homes for their family.

“Relax babe, we never changed my room back to a guest room, so they won’t notice a thing if we act like just friends for a couple days.” Kyra tried reassuring you. You had talked about telling her, but ultimately you decided that you weren’t ready to tell her yet, and Kyra was fine with that.

Kyra offered Mini and Clara her room, while she took the couch, and your niece Harper was overjoyed to be having a sleepover in your room for a couple of days. It was nice having your family around, and you were excited to have them closer after the move as well.

Mini and Clara were out house hunting while you and Kyra spent some time with Harper. Harper insisted on some painting, and you could not stop laughing when the girl had started painting Kyra instead of her paper. While Harper was dancing and singing her little heart out to Frozen, you cleaned Kyra’s face. When you were done you placed a quick kiss on her lips. “All done.”

Meanwhile a few blocks over Mini’s mind was on something besides house hunting. “I think they’re together.” She stated to Clare, who was busy inspecting the kitchen of the place they were currently in. “Who?”

“Y/n and Kyra.” This got Clara’s attention. “What makes you think that?” Mini went on and on about how Kyra’s room looked like it hadn’t been touched in weeks, that you looked so comfortable together, the glances she had noticed between the two of you, and just the general vibe when the two of you were in a shared space. “Well, if they are, what would you think of that?” Mini thought for a moment before ultimately deciding that she thought the two of you would be cute together and good for each other.

Mini had not expected to get answers to her question on if the two of you were together or not, but when she put Harper to bed, her little girl snitched on you right away. “Did you have fun today?” The girl nodded her head enthusiastically before telling her mom all about the things that you had done today and finished her story with, “Oh and Auntie and Kywa was kissing.” Mini smiled to herself. “Oh did they now, sweetheart? I am glad you had a good day. Sweet dreams.”

The next morning you head out to breakfast all together, before your sister and her family fly back for a couple more months. “This place is great, y/n. Where did you find it?” You’re glad that they are enjoying the food just as much as you do. “I took Kyra here when she was all settled in.” You were soaking in all the time with your little niece as much as you could, so you were helping her colour in her drawing while you were speaking to the adults at the table.

“Oh, did you go here for your first date?” Since you were so focussed on the colouring you didn’t think before speaking. “Yeah- oh.” Your head shot up at your older sister, though you relax when you see the proud smirk on her face. “You knew?”

Mini points to Harper, “We’ve got ourselves a little snitch on our hands, she saw you two kiss yesterday. I did also have a feeling already.” You felt relieved now that your sister knew, because she was the person you were most scared of telling, with Kyra being one of her best friends and all.

You drove Mini, Clara, and Harper to the airport with Kyra, where you said your temporary goodbye’s. Knowing that they would be back in two months to move to London. You couldn’t wait to have your family close again.

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