walking-simp

[walking-simp]

hear me out. Aphrodisiacs/marathon sex w dazai x fem reader

⋆˚࿔ Lust haze °❀⋆

Warnings : Explicit, aphrodisiacs, fem!reader, multiple orgasms, squirting, fingering, MINORS DNI !!

A/N: Ok so I know I said I was gonna do older requests first... HOWEVER I got this and I just HAD to do it. I love Dazai and he's not on this blog nearly enough plus this prompt was lit perfect. (lmk if I've missed any tags & tysm for requesting anon!)

It was just another typical work day for you, until it wasn’t. Kunikida, too exhausted with Dazai’s antics and reluctance to work, had offloaded the maniac with no regard for his own life onto you, forcing him to accompany you on the field as you apprehended whatever criminals got sent your way. As much as you and Dazai got on perfectly fine on any usual day, there was no lying that he could get in the way when he wanted to, and apparently that particular urge to be a constant source of irritation was very common for him. Aside from the unrelenting teasing you had to endure from Dazai all day, it wasn’t turning out to be too awful, the only issue lying in a particular criminal you’d been attempting to track for the better part of the workday. You should’ve had Ranpo with you, at least his genius mind could be useful. Dazai on the other hand seemed content not doing a lot, hands buried in his trench coat pockets, strolling beside you with an overly casual gait whilst he rambled on about something you hadn’t had the mind to be paying attention to in that moment, far more consumed with different courses and tactics that could be utilised to find and take down this criminal before the work day was over, you’d rather not have to labour away doing overtime. 

“So as I was saying, I asked for a double sui- are you even listening?” Dazai noticed you’d stalked ahead a meter or two, eyes trained on the ground with focused precision, tracking every mark, every imprint in the dirt for a single sign of recent activity. He rolled his eyes, why bother wasting time doing something so mundane as attempting to track a criminal, they’ll come to you eventually. You’d sure make some pretty bait to lure out a scumbag or two, though for once he refrains from sharing that particular thought, conscious of the fact he’d probably receive a slap in the face for such a sentiment. 

“How mean Bella, I’m wounded you’d disregard me so” He huffs out an exasperated sigh that you’re not confident is truly sincere and turning around to throw an unimpressed glare his way you note the way one bandaged hand rests dramatically on his forehead, the other just above where his heart lies, the picture of theatricity. 

That glare cost you more than you’d realised. 

The second your back is turned, an overwhelming haze of rosy mist floods the area, seeping into every crevice of  space, until it’s so thick it feels like you're choking on it as it fills your lungs with something vaguely tingly. You cough, waving your hands like it’ll waft the smoke away, “Shit- what the fuck is this?”.It’s like looking through tinted lenses, the way it plasters the world in glimmering fog and you unconsciously inch closer to a surprised Dazai who’s holding a sleeve over his mouth and squinting through the vapour. The air is thick, like the clouds have descended down to earth to perform an unusual phenomenon. It begins to faintly dissipate, subtly, and in the edges of your clouded vision you barely make out a figure clad in dark clothing, face obscured, rounding the corner of the building and skidding away. 

Copying Dazai’s movements and throwing an arm across your face, you scramble after the person, pushing your way through the pulsating fog. Ducking around the same corner they disappeared mere seconds ago leaves frustration building inside you, adding to the already pounding headache you’re sure wasn’t there a minute ago as the suspicious figure is nowhere in sight, only vast alleyways that seem to stretch on for miles greet you. Sighing in resignation, you drop the arm still obscuring your mouth and nose to take a greedy inhale of air, clear of whatever peculiar mist had spread across the area moments before. Only then do you register the faint buzzing beneath your skin, like your nerves are vibrating with every brush of clothing against your body. You hiss as one step back towards your original location causes desire to immediately pool in your underwear at the feeling of your thighs making contact with one another. Fuck.

Ignoring the now insistent burning between your legs, you swiftly make your way back to see how Dazai’s faring, aware he was unfortunate enough to be enfolded in the ‘fog’ you’ve now determined to be some form of aphrodisiac powder. Every whisper of clothing against your skin sends rapidly intensifying shudders across your skin, restrained pleasure rippling through every contraction of your muscles. Desperately attempting to ignore the igniting desire overtaking your mind, you stagger back to where you once were, scanning the area for the lanky frame of your field partner through hazy vision. Your gaze locates him hunched over, arms leaning above his head on a moss clad wall, entire body heaving in time with heavy breaths, lips parted and panting. Oh. Oh. 

He seems to be even more affected than you are, though you can’t deny the fog crawling into your mind has your thoughts jumbled in a mix of desire and fragments of shattering control. Your own body is turning on you, legs struggling to hold up your weight, skin flushed a furious pink and breath leaving you in broken pieces. You take one slow fumbling step after the other, closing in on Dazai. You’re not sure what solution you have to solve this predicament and it’s not like you even have the capacity to think of anything other than the feeling of your panties clinging to your soaked folds and the shuddering of Osamu’s body barely a meter away from yours. You’ve never seen him so uncomposed, so…unravelled. In a matter of minutes an aphrodisiac has managed to force his appearance unruly, hair messier than usual, tussled and sticking to his forehead with perspiration, prominent bulge straining painfully against ivory trousers, eyes purposefully darting away from yours - lidded and clouded with molten desire. 

Seeing your own condition paling in comparison to the utter state of his, you reach out a hesitant hand to faintly grasp his shoulder, touch normally scarcely tangible through the thick cloth of his trench coat now concentrated, sending the blood rushing to his already agonisingly hard cock. He doubles over further and moans at the contact, unabashedly loud as a full body tremor can be seen physically running down the long planes of his body. 

“Hngh- f-fuck don’t do that…” He narrowly manages to mutter out and you can see his knuckles, just peeking out of his bandages, turning fiercely white with the force he’s exerting on the wall. Your hand lingers but without moving your fingers along his shoulder the pleasure derived from such simple contact is muted to a vibrating tingle beneath the skin. You’re not sure whether not to withdraw your touch, and your better judgement is becoming hastily clouded with the same desire reflected in the stance of the man before you. Hesitancy causes your hand to slip from his shoulder, though not before trailing down his back to do so. Another deep groan erupts from the back of his throat and you immediately realise your mistake.

“Oh- sorry I didn’t ev-” Your words are cut off as his head snaps in your direction, and the sight has your knees weaker still and slick gushing out of your pussy, unconsciously forcing your thighs together to gain some sort of friction to relieve the pressure that seems only to grow with each moment. Osamu’s eyes are wild, heavily lidded, hues of amber and chocolate brown swirling together in one pool of pure need, and in that moment you’re confident that his gaze could drown you, and you’d go along with it willingly. One more owlish blink of your eyes and his control snaps like a string pulled taught. He’s on you in speed you’ve never witnessed, lips crashing onto yours, all teeth and tongue, not a millimetre of space between you as he moves against you, devouring you. 

There’s nothing innocent or gentle about the way his mouth moves against yours, greedy and consuming, like he’s trying to swallow you whole with each possessive tug of his teeth on your bottom lip. His tongue wastes no time, layering over yours with lustful intensity that has your head spinning, hands grasping and clutching onto any part of him you can get. His hips rut frantically against your own, cock pressing onto you with fervour that has pleasure sparking like fire up your spine and his alike. You moan and gasp, and he swallows the sounds in every ravenous stroke of his tongue between your parted lips. 

In a second he has you pinned against the wall he rested on moments before, hands clutching your hips like a lifeline and lips moving to bite and suck a trail of scarlet marks and teeth indents down the slope of your neck, growling low against your skin every time you gasp and keen out at his ministrations. That buzzing in your veins has developed to full on pulsing, with each overwhelming canine sunk into your skin sending vibrations of pleasure running through your bloodstream like it’s second nature. His movements are frantic, bordering on animalistic in a way that says you’ll be wearing his marks for days. You don’t even realise your blouse has been torn open, lace clad tits out for Dazai to rain down another flurry of heated open mouthed kisses onto the skin. Deft fingers work swiftly to unbutton your trousers, slipping into your ruined panties to swipe through your drenched heat without hesitancy. “Hahh…s-so wet for me, dirty girl” His tongue barely leaves your skin to mumble the statement, returning immediately to claim any area of skin that doesn’t already bear evidence of him. 

“S-samu!” The word leaves your lips between shattered moans, hips bucking desperately, chasing the friction like it’s the only thing keeping you alive, “Wait- someone could s- hahh see” His fingers seem to speed up at this, dragging back and forth through the gushing slick of your folds, though for someone so desperate he’s cruelly avoiding inserting one inside you and the tension coiling tight in your stomach intensifies every time he just traces your entrance before he’s skirting away again, leaving you to let out a frustrated whine. Your fingers have an iron grip on his shoulders, trench coat slipping off as you scramble to ground yourself in the face of such immense pleasure. 

“Don’t care” his response comes muffled against your skin and yet another wave of pleasure courses through you as sharp teeth mark the hollow of your throat again and again, “let them have a show”. The next few seconds pass in an indistinguishable blur of hands and teeth and heat, Osamu’s fingers finally find where they’re supposed to go, one then two inserted into the impossibly tight confines of your walls with lewd sounds that echo off the surrounding walls, your hands fervently shove off his trench coat and then his shirt until he’s clad only in the bandages that find home around his upper torso, neck and arms. Your back arches like a bowstring, hips meeting his as you unconsciously roll them in tandem with every press of his fingers into that sweet spot hidden inside you. His teeth have finally let up on your bruised skin, only now for him to swallow every pitched whine that escapes your parted lips as his mouth returns, greedy, to layer over yours again and again until your head is spinning with the lack of oxygen. 

You pull away, chest heaving with every inhale and he chases you, lips locking onto yours like the only air he needs is coming through you. You can feel the strain of his cock against you, and as he brings his thumb to your clit to flick and tease at the sensitive bud whilst his fingers scissor and prod your g-spot, you release one of his shoulders to palm his cock through his trousers. His head drops into the crook of your neck, groaning and almost whimpering at the feeling of your hand on him. He adds a third finger, stretching you out impossibly more, and combined with the fact every touch is like an inextinguishable flame of pleasure burning against your skin, you’re quick to fall off the edge, hips writhing and twitching beneath his touch as your walls clench and spasm, “O-oh fuck! Osamu!” His name falls like a mantra from your lips as your orgasm rolls through you like tidal waves. 

“Y-yeah go on, make a mess on my fingers” His ministrations don’t slow, still plunging deep inside you and every coherent thought seems to desert your mind as he repeatedly hits that sweet spot over and over again. You don’t even realise your hand has stopped rubbing his cock until the bucking of his hips alerts you to the issue still present. In the haziness of your aftershocks you manage to fumble and undo the button, shoving his trousers and underwear down just enough to free his cock and it springs up to slap his abdomen. He’s big, in a way you didn’t even think about, long with prominent veins running up the underside until they reach his tip, red and swollen with pre leaking from his slit. You wrap a shaky hand around the base, fingers just unable to fit around it, and he groans low from the back of his throat with the contact. 

Patience deserting him, his fingers are abruptly pulled from your heat, leaving you whining at the loss until his hand, soaked in your release, spreads your fluids on his cock, grasping your hand to guide it up and down his shaft. The irony of his cock fitting in his own hand isn’t lost on you but through your lust addled brain it’s a fleeting thought that goes as quickly as it comes. The aphrodisiac hasn’t calmed down at all, your stomach still coiling tight with sheer need, desire translated into a ravenous hunger for release that only Osamu can bring you. Hiking one thigh over his hip, you hook your arms behind his neck, grasping the short hairs at his nape before grinding your soaked folds along the length of him. His head tips back, and you take the exposed column of his throat as an invitation to trail heated kisses down it. You can feel him physically twitch at the feeling of your kiss bitten lips tracing his neck, and another bead of pre leaks down from his tip to mix with the already obscene amount of slick coating your pussy. 

“O-ohh fuck.. Bella let me fuck you, have to- hah be inside you” His gaze meets yours, drowned in desire and want and you swear you see your reflection in his eyes, head half tilted back onto the wall, body heaving with lust and dizzy pleasure as your hips still grind slowly onto his length. He ruts into you, the head of his cock catching on your overtsimulated clit with every thrust against you, and the need to have him buried as deep as he can get is making you light headed. You nod as furiously as your brain will allow, but that’s all the signal Dazai needs to join himself to you in one agonising thrust. “Ohh fuck- you’re s-so fucking tight”, he hisses out as his cock practically splits you in half, and you wince, expecting pain that never comes. Instead, the pleasure vibrating under your skin reaches its peak, unravelling your mind until you can’t focus on anything other than the sensation of his heavy cock pounding into you with relentless force. 

You attempt to raise your hips in time to meet his thrusts, but it proves difficult with the strength and pace he’s slamming into you with. “Shit- gonna fuckin ruin you-” It’s sloppy, in his haste to pursue release his rhythm is lost, fucking into you with hunger alight in his eyes, fueled by the lewd look on your face and the sensation of your fingers tugging at his hair like you’ll break apart without him, “till this pretty cunt remembers my shape”. Your head knocks back against the wall and your back jolts, scraping painfully against the concrete as his thrusts force your body backwards with the strength behind them. Your hands move down to his shoulder blades, scratching angry red lines into the pale skin. His hips drive into you with intense vigour, relishing in the tight clamp of your walls around his cock and the way you’re screaming his name over and over again. 

You can see the peak of your desire swiftly approaching, clenching down on him as you chase the pleasure he’s giving you with desperacy. “Hngh- so c-close ‘Samu” He huffs out a broken laugh, interrupted by a moan as you squeeze hard, clit brushing against his abdomen as he draws you impossibly closer so not an inch of space remains between your bodies. Sweat beads and drips off his forehead onto your own, mixing with the perspiration soaking your own face. His pace never slows, hips continually meeting yours in a messy blend of your slick and sweat, colliding with lewd squelches that ring out into the empty space of the alleyway. “Go on, come for me- f-fuck you’re tight- come on this cock” He shifts deliberatley, assuring your clit grinds along his abs with every jolt of his hips. You’re so painfully tight around him, and your skin seems to tremor with pleasure with every contact it makes against his, so much so you can’t tell where his ends and yours begins. Wound in the unending spiral of desire, you’re swiftly pushed over the edge, stars bursting behind your eyes as you gush around his length, still pistoning into your sweet spot as Dazai chases his own release which follows almost immediately after yours. You feel his hips still for a split second, warmth blooming inside you as he spills deep inside, pressed flushed to the entrance of your cervix. 

He takes you in, head tilted back and lips parted in a silent scream before your whole world shifts and suddenly your hips are being held up by surprisingly strong hands and your own are braced on the wall you’d been leaning on moments prior. You feel the filthy combination of your own sweat and a mixture of both yours and Osamu’s release trickling out of your abused pussy and down your thighs. His cock has barely left you before you feel the thick stretch of him pushing into you again, cock kissing the deepest spots inside you that he couldn’t reach before, “O-oh hahh.. Samu!” You keen out, pushing back onto him despite only having been filled up seconds before. You can already see your third orgasm of the night on the horizon, and yet you still chase it like it’s the oxygen you crave. 

“N-not enough, need more, more” He’s not even directing his words at you now, just muttering into the skin of your back, finding another area that’s been unclaimed by his greedy mouth. His canines are sharp, sinking into your skin repeatedly as his hips collide with yours with renewed passion, aching to force another tidal wave of an orgasm out of your sensitive body. One hand releases its possessive grip on the fat of your hip, snaking around to draw tight circles on your swollen clit. Your legs shudder, struggling to keep you up, but Dazai’s other arm wraps tight around your stomach, holding you steadfast to him. It proves even more fruitful for him as he can feel the bulge of him in your stomach, unravelling him even faster as intended as the added stimulation tips him over the edge again, spilling another heavy load into you deeper still. The feeling of his hips stuttering and fingers still circling your bud causes another mind numbing orgasm to wash over you, gushing and spurting all over him, soaking the ivory of his trousers and his hand. 

“Hngh- so- fuckk so fucking good for me” Yet again, you’re manhandled into another position, marked back now flush with the wall once more yet this time you’re completely suspended in the air, secure arms beneath your thighs as Osamu plunges his - still hard - cock into the consuming heat of your walls again, pounding and pounding into you like he’s trying to make you forget your name. “Shit baby- constricting me hah-”. His moans come in tandem with your own, raw and unfiltered against your skin, thoughts consumed by nothing other than getting you to squeeze on him like that again. He finds your sweet spot, abusing it until you can feel, what is this your fourth orgasm?, approaching you. This time it feels different, like the already present pressure in your stomach is about to unfurl in a tsunami of pleasure, and you realise far too late. “W-wait hah- Samu! I’m g-gonna p-” You’re cut off as liquid pressure comes shooting out of you, spraying his abdomen with your release as your body shudders with the aftershocks. His eyes widen for the first time since the aphrodisiac affected him, hips still pistoning into your gushing heat with inhuman speed but soon he’s following you again, and you’re surprised he’s not shooting blanks yet as another wave of heat floods your insides. 

“Ohh shit- did you just fucking squirt on me? Fuck-” He doesn’t bother changing positions this time, just withdrawing his hips to start fucking back into you sloppily, skin meeting skin with a clap! Clap! Clap! “W-wait Osamu- m’still too sensit-” your voice morphs into another series of broken moans as you realise he won’t be stopping anytime soon. You’re relatively sure the drug has worn off by now, not that you could communicate that through the haze of lust obscuring both your vision and mind. This is going to be a long night.

Tysm for reading hope u enjoyed!! All likes & reblogs r appriciated and reqs r open as usual ^^ love u all <33

[walking-simp]

scars in fiction: I got this trying to save my lover from an assassin- but tragically, I was too late. now I carry the mark of my failure with me always, and I can never forget~

scars in real life: so I was trying to open macaroni sauce with a paring knife

[walking-simp]

dislike how many mental health posts on here are just "you've never done anything wrong in your life ever and they were evil for that"

[walking-simp]

Warm up sketch

[walking-simp]

He's so 😩

[walking-simp]

never change

[walking-simp]

I'm so serious about being kind above all else. it has genuinely changed the way I interact with the world on a fundamental level and has made me so so much happier.

[walking-simp]

timeless image

[walking-simp]

how old were u in 2004 just askin >_<

[walking-simp]

They're so silly

[walking-simp]

listen i love boys who finger you when eating you out but there’s something almost hotter about boys who don’t, boys who want their sole focus to be on tasting you and feeling your warmth on their tongue, who make you cum with just their mouths and nothing else ough

[walking-simp]

Make sure you don't accidentally punish people for communicating their needs and boundaries. When someone cares enough to have the uncomfortable conversation, that's a compliment and a clear sign that they are invested in the relationship. Yes of course it's uncomfortable to hear that something you've been doing has been upsetting someone you care about when that was never your intention, but people generally only bother to have these conversations with the people they want to keep around - the people they trust to care. If they just didn't like you, they'd probably just try to avoid you. So make sure you don't make it into a more punishing experience than it has to be. Try to see the care and the trust behind the criticism, even when it triggers uncomfortable emotions. It's a good sign that they're there telling you.

[walking-simp]

— ♬ NSFW

Hear me out. You're inside your car and parked in a dimly lit parking lot, it's past ten in the evening, and you doubt anyone would be wandering around this particular parking lot. Still with caution, you looked at all of your windows while in the driver's seat before carefully hiking your hands under your dress and sliding your panties down. You exhale as you spread your legs and let the pads of your fingers travel to your bundle of nerves. You shudder when the familiar jolt of arousal shoots all over your body. With lidded eyes, you teased yourself until you grew soaked enough to slip your fingers inside.

Swiftly, your index and middle finger plunged inside your cunt, and your head tilted back with a sigh. You wiggled your fingers inside in search of that special spot to relieve the building pressure. All you can hear is the sound of your quickening heartbeat and panting. You were too focused finding for that delicious spot that you were unable to notice the shadow on your left side car window.

Knock, knock

Your blood goes cold as you instinctively slip your fingers out of your pussy and hastily pulled your dress down. Your heart skips several beats as you face your left to see who the hell knocked on your car window. With a wobbly composure, you put on an awkward smile and rolled your window down. A brown-haired man wearing a brown trenchcoat smiles at you, it was a bit difficult to see the rest of his features in this dim parking lot.

"Uh, can I help you?"

You decided to speak first. The man chuckles, and you notice that he has a charming face, which makes your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Did he catch you masturbating?

"I should be the one asking you that, sweetheart"

He leans closer to the open car window and glances down at your lap, your entire body ignites with heat. You swallowed while you felt your heartbeat stuttering under this man's attractive presence.

"May I?"

He asks and looks at you with his amber eyes. You struggled to draw in a breath when you unconsciously nodded. He grins as his arm reaches over to grab the hem of your dress, his skin was wrapped in bandages as he teasingly pulls your dress up until it revealed your naked lower half. You sucked in a breath when he whistled.

"It's making me sad watching you struggle so I figured you needed assistance"

His hands felt like fire on your skin as he squeezed your thigh. In the corner of your eye, his face was getting closer until you felt his breath hit your face.

"Relax for me, that's it. Open those pretty legs of yours"

Your head spun with the way his voice sounded so tantalizing that it made you obey him; it made you wetter. His fingertips found their way to your slippery clit, and you jolt in surprise. Your eyes watched as his drew delicious circles on your clit. You bit your lip and whimpered.

"Don't hold back"

He says and your clit throbs in response, electrifying pleasure travels from your clit to all over your body. You let out a shuddered exhale when he slowly pressed two fingers inside your pussy. Your eyes widened.

"Fuck"

"Feeling good?"

The brunette asks and you answered obediently with a nod of your head. Your pussy fluttered around his fingers with delight as he began to explore your velvety walls. Your teeth slowly lets go of your bottom lip as low moans poured out. His fingers went deeper, reveling in how your cunt reacted invitingly at his touch. You hear him chuckling lowly to himself. Your slick arousal drips out of your hole as it coats his fingers and hand, his fingers moved with experienced precision as he brought you pleasure after pleasure. The erotic sound of slick and wetness filled the air.

"I'm-hah-getting close!"

You mewled as you arched your back on the driver's seat. His fingers went faster, effectively fingerfucking you from the open car window. The pads of his fingers pressed and pressed inside your cunt until it hit that special spot you've been desperately looking for. You threw your head back, comepletely missing the wicked grin spreading on the man's face.

"There you go"

He cooed as he fucked you faster until the knot on your abdoment grew tighter. Your heart leaps when the pressure starts to feel more intense and it felt like you were going to pee. But your mind was deadset focused on the way his delicious fingers moved inside of you, numbing you with that addicting pleasure, that you were unable to speak. Instead, you gazed at him with lidded and glistening eyes when you orgasm washes over you.

You squealed and felt your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your release sent your entire body into a shudder as you squirted on this man's fingers. He watches with glee as spurts of liquid gush out of your cunt as your cum coats his fingers. He lets your orgasm properly wash over before pulling his creamy fingers out. He brought his hand to his mouth as he licked his finger clean. The brunette smiles at you.

"Oh my fucking godddd!"

"Feeling much better, belladonna?"

Your body was limp as you sent him a tired nod.

"...Thank you"

He grins. You were about to roll your car window up when you thought about asking his name.

"Wait, you didn't tell me your name"

The brunette raises a brow and laughs at you.

"It's Dazai Osamu"

"I'm [Name], by the way"

"Hm, a fitting name for a lovely lady"

i'm back and i'm horny

He smiles at you as if he didn't finger your soul out of your pussy moments ago. You bid him goodbye as you slowly rolled your car window up. Somehow, you get the feeling this won't be the last time you'll be seeing Dazai.

[walking-simp]

what is your holy trinity of fruits

[walking-simp]

TRASH SUGAR MAGIC

➛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 15: ʙᴜʀɴ

➛ nikolai gogol x fem!reader

➛ cw: general content in main menu, angst, manhandling, horrible man ahead! | words: 3.0k

➛ a/n: hello! it's been a while. sorry for late update lol and today's chapter is quite short. consider this a warm-up gift!

➛ ao3 | spotify (note: high in low places by beach weather is fun!) | main menu

Eleven twenty-three. 

Olga still has not called him. 

Nikolai sighs. It feels a little unnatural for Olga to not call him at this hour, when she usually starts to close the diner. The football match ended a while ago—he kept track of the news, and the result was out. He is sure that Olga has subtly urged her customers to leave as the restaurant is approaching its end of operation hours. 

Maybe you are just too kind to stay and help. You always do that even when your manpower is not needed. It is not the first time you stayed late to help, but something about the lack of phone calls from Olga makes Nikolai feel uneasy. 

He grabs one of his overcoats—a dark brown one—and as he wears it, he makes his way to the door. He steps out of his house, slipping his hand into the overcoat’s pocket to take the car key from the coffee table. Once he is outside, Nikolai slams the door shut and leaves the building. 

It is getting late, and if you are still working by the time he arrives there, he will just grab you and drag you home. It slightly irks him that there is a big possibility that you are spending a little too much time with that boy Vasily—knowing that he is your only friend in that part of the town, aside from Olga.

The journey to Olga’s diner does not take long, despite some small traffic during the drive. When Nikolai arrives, he notices how dark the whole diner is. The ‘CLOSED’ neon sign is blinking weakly. There are only a couple of cars parked in front of the diner, and one of them catches his attention. 

“Fuck.”

Nikolai quickly gets out of his car and practically rushes to the diner. He looks at one of the parked cars—its plate number indicating that it is from Moscow, and everything about it is just too familiar to him. 

He reaches the entrance door, and when he tries to push it open, the door is stuck. Nikolai rattles the handle, realising that it is locked from the inside. The uneasiness in his heart burns, sending waves of discomfort through his entire nerves. His feet are fidgeting on their spot—restless. From the corner of his eyes, through the dim window, he sees that the kitchen is still bright. 

Elvir is here—Nikolai is sure of it. Without a second thought, he takes out his handgun from the pocket and shoots the wooden frame of the lock. He rattles it again, much firmer and faster. The door almost opens, but he lacks the patience to try again. Instead, Nikolai kicks it as hard as he can, sending the door breaking open. 

And immediately, he hears your scream. 

Your screams, your cries, your weeps. 

At that moment, he loses his line of thought. Instantly, his mind is filled with you—visions he never wants to see of you. For a moment, his anger and worry blend—a mixture that soon bleeds into hatred and frustration. Indeed, indeed, I was never free—the first thing his heart says to him. 

Red covers his sight as he stomps to the kitchen. He barges in, gun in hand. He does not even see you cowering and weeping on the floor—“Go… away…! Go away go away go away!” You beg—and he immediately lifts his gun, just enough to aim it at the injured man near you. He shoots. 

Bang! 

You scream in surprise, your body jerking and curling up. 

Nikolai steps deeper into the kitchen, and his eyes widen at the sight of a bleeding woman with her head cracked open. Her eyes are bulging wide—death greeted her before them. He treads carefully, making a large step over Olga’s body. Aside from the two dead bodies on the kitchen floor, he sees another unconscious young man sprawled by the freezer room’s door—he does not look as injured, as dead. 

The kitchen is eerily quiet, except for the hiccuping cries and hitching breaths—weeping blue girl who cannot breathe properly. Dead bodies do not surprise Nikolai—he does not feel a thing when he sees the unconscious boy or the dead man. But once his eyes take a glance at Olga’s body, his heart drops further—morose weighing in. 

This shouldn’t have happened. 

Everyone likes Olga. 

Nobody would let her be like this. 

This shouldn’t

I’m sorry. 

“K-Kolya…”

Your voice does not even sound like you. His eyes refuse to look towards you. He does not want to look at you—he worries that this heaviness in his heart would become greater. He refuses to burden it—though prickings of his conscience are getting more painful as he keeps his eyes on the floor. 

“K-Kolya…” You call again—a tiny, weak, frail voice desperately trying to reach him. It reached—it is just him who did not want to hold it. You sound as if a heavy lump is in your throat, tears soaking your face, blocking airways to even mutter his name clearly. 

“Help…”

Nikolai hesitantly approaches you, and once he is close enough to your proximity, you immediately wrap your arms around his legs. And you cry again. Your fingers clawing his calves, begging him to help you.

Something boils in him. 

He slowly steps back to give himself some space before he gets down on one knee, just enough to be at your level. You waste no time wrapping your arms around him, pushing your bloody mess self against him. You cry on his chest and he could only return your embrace—pulling you as close as he could, as if to keep you in his overcoat. His hands awkwardly rub your back and your head, all the while his eyes stare at nothing. The loud and desperate cries on his chest seep deeper—tugging his heart down at each attempt of you trying to say his name. 

For a second, your arms feel like a cage to him—something confining him even tighter. 

“N-Nikolai… W-What do we— Olga— She— She’s hurt and she— she was— she’s bleeding and I— I just wanted to help and he— he hurt me—”

“Shut up.” 

Your irises twitch, and it is clear that you are taken aback by his sudden firm voice. But you say nothing as your tears fall again, and you sob pathetically against him again. Your body shrinks, like a small child who was berated horribly. 

Nikolai bites his lips—he does not mean to scold you, knowing how distressed you are right now. But he is angry—his emotions are burning to a point, and he does not know where to put them. Your cries—even your tiny sobs—are thorns to him. They prick the spots igniting his own turmoil. 

He quickly takes out his phone, dialling Viktor’s number. As it rings, his hand mindlessly caresses your shaking body. 

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Vitya, please come to O-Olga’s place. Now.”

“Huh? Do you know what time it is? Office hour is closed—”

“Just come. I can���t do anything right now. It’s Olga— She—” Nikolai halts himself, biting his lower lip in frustration. “She…” is dead.

“… Hey, hey, what the fuck happened? I heard her crying. Is she crying? What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything. The loanshark— He’s dead now and I…” He could not find the right words—everything is a mess in his mind and it becomes more jumbled when they leave his mouth. His grip on your hair tightens. 

“Please.” He says. 

A few seconds of silence from Viktor before the man hums slowly. “Okay. Okay, I’ll come. You don’t have to wait. Take her home and get her safe.” 

Before Nikolai could send him his gratitude, Viktor hangs up. He keeps his phone in his overcoat and takes the garment off. He pries your arms from his body—somewhat roughly. And he finally gets a good look at your face. Runny nose, teary, bloodshot eyes and a face covered with a state of confusion. Your hands and forearms are covered with smeared blood, as well as your clothes. Your hair is a tangled mess—a sign of painful struggle. He drapes his coat over your body and silently helps you to get on your feet. 

You are shaking, but he does not have the time to be gentle. 

Not when his mind is barely in the right. 

He drags you out of the restaurant, ignoring your confused squeals and disrupted doubts—What about them? What about that guy? Is Vasya okay? Is Olga okay? Where are we going? It hurts. 

“A-Ah!” You yelp when Nikolai shoves you into the car, and your wretched gaze burns into another bursting tears again. You do not seem to care about your dirty hands as you try to wipe your tears with them. 

Nikolai only glances at you through the window before he makes his way to the driver’s side. He gets inside, turning on the engine. You are still crying in your seat, and your attempt to stop yourself is futile as you cannot stop hiccuping and whimpering how hard it is for you to breathe. And he ignores it all, just silently driving home. 

“Nikolai, I’m s-sorry…” You whimper. His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I didn’t know… I just wanted to help and… I didn’t know… I…” You grip the overcoat harder. “I-I shouldn’t have stayed… I-It’s my f-fault… It’s all my fault… I’m sorry… I-I… I didn’t—”

You bury your face in your palms, bawling uncontrollably. Fingernails scratching your own skin in dismay. You whimper in pain—not only is it hard to breathe, but your head is spinning and aching. You want to stop, but the dried blood on your clothes and skin constantly reminds you of death. 

“I shouldn’t have stayed here… I should be dead…”

The car stops abruptly. 

“Please just shut up.” Nikolai props his forehead on the steering wheel, eyes shut. The guilt in his heart has travelled across his whole body—even breathing feels like a crime, with your cries as his punishment. He wants to block his ears from hearing your noise. His hands are itching to attempt anything—shut your mouth or wrap his fingers around your neck, wishing that he could put you to sleep. The constant apologies from your lips make him want to tear you apart—images of his past when he first spilled blood come flashing through his mismatched irises. 

“N-Nikolai, I’m s-sorry—”

“Shut up. Shut up, please. I don’t want to hate you more than I already have.”

He hears your little gasp of surprise—hate is a strong word, after all. Nikolai says nothing to that. He does not bother to correct himself nor retort to his own remark—for what he has said is true to what is dread in him now. Who else can those anger and guilt courses towards if it is not you? 

For now, he hates you. 

— ✿

Nikolai wastes no time dragging you into the bathroom once you two arrive home. 

You are shaking, legs trembling as you try to match his angry pace. He takes off his overcoat from your body and pushes you into the bathroom—“Clean yourself, take a bath, leave the clothes on the floor, I’ll take care of it.”

You do not know where to start, especially when he is standing by the bathroom door, watching. His eyes are cold. With a shaky hand, you turn on the tap on the sink and let the water run through your hands. Some crimson bleeds away, but the dried, smeared ones are stubborn stains. You rub your hands, trying to clean them off but just like the guilt in someone’s heart, it stays. 

“I-I can’t…” You whimper. The gentle movement disappears as you start to hasten. Your fingers frantically try to peel off your skin, discarding the blood that reminds you of everything that happened less than an hour ago. “It’s not off of me… It’s not— coming— off!” You scream.

Nikolai clicks his tongue before he stomps into the bathroom. He grabs your arms, causing you to flail against him. Your whimpers and cries are loud in his ears, and it is clear that his rough touch on you is starting to hurt. But Nikolai only stares fixatedly at the fading red in the sink. 

His figure traps you between him and the sink. You are squirming, tugging away your arms from his roughness. Nikolai grunts, frustrated. He quickly wraps his hand around your neck, tilting your head up to face him. Bloodshot eyes, lips drooling with the results of your cries.

“Stay still! I’m trying to help, why can’t you just stop?” 

And with his wet hand, he harshly cleans your face. You are crying and begging him to be gentle—just as he usually does. Nikolai ignores you and instead, with his other hand, he holds you by your waist, pinning you close against him. His arm is pressing hard against your stomach, and his other hand is just pushing and wiping your face with water. You wail in pain, gripping his arms. 

“It hurts, K-Kolya… Please—”

He shushes you and yanks you by your arm to the bathtub. He deliberately pushes you into the tub, and your weak body falls into the hard porcelain. You hiss when the hard surface hits your body. Nikolai turns the shower on, and the water directly soaks you and your clothes. 

He is about to step away, but you immediately latch your hand on him. His attempt to not look at your face fails when he is forced to turn—confusion, lost, guilt—you remind him of his past turmoil. No matter how much he tries to rub that expression off your face—it keeps knocking again in the back of his mind. 

Nikolai stares at you. Guilt is eating and devouring him like Maenads, raving his conscience until he is reminded again and again of his own confinement, to a point of madness. The deaths that happened were a deliberate event from his choices. The moment he made a choice, his punishment was set. 

Maybe yours too. 

You can cry all night long—but he knows your wasted tears will never cleanse that guilt.

He takes a deep breath and gently takes your hand off his shirt. But you immediately grip his hand, apologising for things out of your control. Your tiny tugs are pleading to him to stay—even after how he treated you. Maybe he is not any better than Elvir after all. 

Nikolai is silent when he crouches beside the tub, looking at your teary eyes. Your body is shivering because of the unadjusted temperature of the shower. It is cold, and your wet clothes are sticking to your skin. 

Your lips part open, trying to speak but he lifts up a finger, stopping you. Parted lips say nothing—they only emit hiccups. He only stares at you with his finger still up in front of your quivering lips. You try to stop sobbing—like he wants. 

“Stop crying.” He says. You nod fast. “Don’t think about it. Don’t think about what happened, about the boy, about Elvir and Olga. Don’t.” His other hand wraps around your wrist. “It’s nothing big, nothing serious. Do you hear me?”

His tone is convincing. To someone. Perhaps not you.

You nod again, sniffling. But Nikolai is not convinced—he needs you to verbally say it. He needs you to affirm it—he wants to hear it. His hand reaches up to grasp your head, thumb pressing your lower lip. “Do you hear me?” He repeats.

“Y-Yes. I-I’ll stop crying… Promise… Please just stop…”

“… I’m sorry… I just—” His fingers caress your hair gently but his hold turns firmer. “It’s just you keep crying so much, saying sorry a lot, feeling guilty every fucking second. It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Won’t bring her back, will it? Doesn’t change anything.” He murmurs, voice quiet. Both of his hands reach up to your face. “Doesn’t make you all innocent—you can only forget about that feeling and let it die somewhere. It hurts being so sane, isn’t it?”

A glimpse of fear in your eyes halts him from rambling further. He needs to leave this room—far from your tears and cries, far from you. Biting his lips, Nikolai gets up again, wanting to leave, but you are just reluctant to let him go—always reaching, holding him as if his touches feel like sweet kisses. 

“D-Don’t leave… Help me…” You plead, whispering. “I-I won’t cry…”

Nikolai sighs deeply and resignedly turns to you. You need help, that is clear. A girl who experienced murder mess for the first time in her life will not know what to do with all that blood and dirt. He stands beside the tub, looking down at your figure, curled in the tub. 

He then quietly grabs the hem of your shirt and takes it off your body. The shower hits him, but he cares little about it as he sits on the tiles at the edge of the bathtub. He turns his body so his legs are in the tub as well. Nikolai leans down, tugging the waistband of your pants. You seem reluctant at first, but a glare from him makes you relent—you straighten your legs, allowing him to pull the garment off them. 

His mismatched eyes travel across your half-naked body, only covered with washed white undergarments. He does not think the rest of your skin is as dirty as your hands and arms. But he does see fresh bruises on some spots. For a moment, his anger ignites again—just what the hell did Elvir do to you? A tint of murderous intent seeps into his heart—he wishes he could go back to the diner and give Elvir’s dead body the treatment it deserves. 

“C-Cold…” You mumble. Nikolai internally sighs before he adjusts the temperature of the shower, not realising you are crawling closer to him. As the water becomes warmer, Nikolai feels something between his legs. He turns his head, seeing that you are there. 

“Can you h-hug me?”

It does not sound like a question as you slump your arms around his waist, resting your head on his lap. And he instinctively embraces your figure, one of his hands rubs your back and the other tenderly caresses your head—fingers stroking your messy strands. 

You bury your face into his thigh, sobbing quietly. “I shouldn’t have stayed, Kolya…”

His grip on your hair tenses. 

And I should’ve killed you. 

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