#'i wouldn’t be bringing a dog into this apartment if i thought they might get hurt and i couldnt protect it'

[geometricalien]

She is such a dumbass. Delusional

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: four years apart and the ultimate question is about to be answered: do you and dazai really still know each other, or are you clinging to a fantasy of the past? you decide to put it to the test with a game of wits and questions when dazai gets back to your apartment—but as the game drags on, dazai starts to wonder if maybe he was wrong. worse, if maybe he would prefer to be wrong.

(wordcount: 14.5k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, jealous!dazai, possessive!dazai, smoking & drinking, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing, im rushing to get this out!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys here it IS - sorry it's late, but TRUST it's worth it. i'm so proud of this fic, genuinely one of the things im most proud of writing. this is technically a part 2 to he's my collar but can be read as a standalone

It takes far too long for Dazai to make it out of the Port Mafia headquarters, with both Akutagawa and Chuuya prowling about like the dogs they are. He wonders if you tipped either of them off—Chuuya, in particular—because the slug had been looking around like he was searching for someone. He thinks you’re entirely wretched for it, knowing that if he got caught, he’d be trapped in that damp and filthy torture chamber until he managed to finagle his way out, and he plans to make it known to you just how entirely displeased he is by the situation. 

The path to your apartment is achingly familiar, and the giddiness in his chest is something he hasn’t felt since the day he left. He knows that he should probably be more careful—he’s still in Port Mafia territory, your apartment spans the top floor of the easternmost building of the five towers—but he also knows that you’re the only one with direct access to the cameras in this building so he’s more reckless than he would’ve otherwise been. 

The floors tick up agonizingly slowly, Dazai swears that there must be something wrong with the elevator because it’s never taken this long before to get up to your place. His fingers thrum against his thigh, and his foot taps the ground impatiently. He paces from corner to corner within the small space like a caged animal. He thinks that maybe he should be taking advantage of the time alone, come up with some better excuses as to why he didn’t say anything to you before he left.

“I wouldn’t have left,” isn’t going to cut it. As true as it might be, it’s not the full truth, and Dazai knows you’ll be able to sniff it out in a matter of a few seconds with a clear head. He’s not walking into a cheerful reunion between old lovers, he’s walking into what’s about to be a stressful game of chess against a strategist whom Dazai has always considered a near-equal, a battle of wits against a woman whose whole life has revolved around political warfare. If he wants to keep his dignity intact and his secrets safe, he’s going to have to be incredibly cautious with what he says to you and even with how he reacts to what you say to him.

Still, he can’t help the giddiness. The excitement. He’s missed you. He’s missed you so much that it hurts. He’d thought that over time, the longing for you would go away, but it never did. If anything, it got worse because, over time, the pictures of you started to lack the soothing feeling they used to bring to the aching in his chest. Over time, he started to forget the sound of your voice and the sound of your laugh.

He’d known that you’d been sent away on foreign business not long after his last call to you, but he didn’t think Mori would actually keep you abroad for three whole years. He’d been hoping, maybe, that he could stumble into you one day. Or maybe just watch from afar, get close enough to hear the sound of your voice again. He’s been grossly denied of you for too long, and he knows that it’s of his own doing but that only makes it worse.

When the elevator dings, announcing his arrival on your floor, Dazai is sorely unprepared for the conversation about to take place. He steps into your penthouse, eyes drifting around the familiar vast space.

Like your office, not much has changed since the last time he was here. Your coffee table is still set down a few centimeters too close to the couch in the living room—the same couch he had his first kiss on with you when the two of you were sixteen and drunk on champagne celebrating a successful mission. You still hang your black jacket over a chair instead of properly on a hanger, it’s why it always has a crease on the back—he’d noticed it when you left your office, and he can’t help but smile slightly at the confirmation as his eyes linger on where it’s draped over one of your kitchen chairs. 

You tried to convince him that you’ve changed in the years the two of you have been apart, but Dazai doesn’t think you’ve changed much at all.

You’re leaning against the windows, looking down on the city—he knows you must’ve heard the elevator, but you haven’t bothered to look his way yet. There’s an indecipherable expression on your face and a glass of wine in your hand. You’re still dressed in your suit and Dazai notices there’s a glass of whiskey on the rocks untouched on the kitchen table. He shrugs off his trench coat and drapes it over yours, hoping that the scent of you seeps into it because he’s gone too long without it.

His fingers curl around the glass of whiskey you’d left out for him, and for a moment, he swears that he’s eighteen again. He’s making his way to your penthouse after a long mission with Chuuya, you’re expecting him—you always are—and he can never push away the fondness that squeezes his chest when he finds you lounging back on your couch, flipping through channels to find something to watch, a glass of his favorite whiskey set down on the coffee table next to where your feet are propped up as you wait for him to show up.

He wonders if you even care to remember what his favorite is. He wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.

He makes his way out of the kitchen and back into the living room, and he’s reminded that he’s not eighteen and you’re not waiting for him to show up after a mission because you finally look at him, and his breath catches in his throat.

He thinks you look a bit older now than you did four years ago—to be expected, of course—and there’s a coldness to your eyes that hadn’t been there before. Impossibly, he thinks that you’re somehow even more beautiful than you were when he last saw you, and he realizes again, throat tightening, that even after three years of no contact with you, he’s just as in love with you now as he was the day he left.

He knew it back then before he left, even if he never said it. When he was eighteen and could only feel any inkling of pleasure when he was with you; it wasn’t like he’d never tried to have sex with other people, he’d whore himself out for information at any given chance and slept around frequently after you started dating a civilian to distract himself from the bitter jealousy he felt, but he’d never known how good it was supposed to feel until he slept with you for the first time. When he was seventeen and could only ever feel comfortable in your presence, seeking you out at any given chance when he couldn’t handle being around people anymore; he’d curl up in your office with your orange blanket, napping as you did work, knowing that you’d keep people away from him. He thinks he might’ve even known when he was sixteen when the two of you first met on the streets of the Kanagawa prefecture.

He wonders if you even believed him when he said it earlier—he doubts it, you don’t seem too keen to believe anything he says, and he doesn’t blame you for it. 

But whether you believe it or not, it’s yours—that rotted heart of his, shriveled and shabby, riddled with holes and decay, half-eaten by maggots and worms it might be, but it’s still yours. He thinks that it was meant to be yours since the moment he was born, and it’ll be yours even after the two of you are long dead. He doesn’t know how he’s meant to go without you again—he doesn’t think he can. He knows that despite the tentative ceasefire, the Port Mafia and the Agency are still enemies, but he knows in his heart that he won’t be able to leave you again. Even just the sight of you has condemned him completely. 

Then you speak, and at once, his entire world falls apart.

“I’m leaving again in the morning,” you finally say, tone flat and eyes sharp and shrewd as you look over him. He reminds himself that this is not a reunion, that he needs to get his head on straight if he wants to make it out of your apartment in one piece, but it’s hard. “I was only brought back to smooth things over with the government after the whole fiasco with Fitzgerald and his American cronies. I’ll be leaving for Russia in the morning to meet with Tolstoy and Nabakov. Hopefully, gain some intel on Fyodor Dostoevsky’s plans before the man makes another move on the city.”

He… did not anticipate that you’d be leaving again so soon. Something cold and sharp latches to his heart, like jagged nails ripping it apart. He makes sure it doesn’t show on his face.

“Be careful,” he tells you quietly. “Dostoevsky… he’s not someone to underestimate. Just-Just be careful.”

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed, “I’ve worked with Dostoevsky before. I don’t need you to warn me about him.” 

Your voice is cool. Sharp. Dazai sighs, knowing that anything he might’ve said to you earlier in the night is lost to you, and he doesn’t know if he’ll have it in him to bare his heart again, only for you to scorn it. He’s not meeting with you as he knows you—as his closest friend, as his lover; he’s meeting with you as the Port Mafia executive. Not the version of you that treats with allies, wining and dining them with glittering eyes and playful smiles as you use your ability to ensure they never turn on the Port Mafia; the version of you that sits at the round table with enemies, with a quick mind and calculating eyes as you decide whether or not they’re worthy of being absorbed into the Port Mafia or if Double Black will be sent out to eradicate them. 

“I told you everything I had to say back at the office,” Dazai tries, and he wonders if you’ll let him get away with it—he doubts it, but it’s worth a shot, and it will at least stall for a few moments as he tries to forcibly turn the cogs in his mind to figure out the best way of appeasing you. “I missed you. I… couldn’t say goodbye to you, not if I was to leave. I…”

I love you.

He doesn’t say it; he thinks he was only able to push it out earlier in the night in the heat of the moment, the orgasm-induced haze fogging his brain enough to let it slip out in desperation to make you give him a chance. And it worked because you gave him a second chance when you invited him back to your apartment, but Dazai doesn’t know how to make the most of the opportunity. He thinks he’s a fool for not preparing for this before getting here.

You click your tongue sharply, lip curling up in something close to disgust, and Dazai is glad he didn’t speak his ‘I love you’ because he thinks he might’ve actually cried if that was your reaction to him saying it.

“The only things you told me earlier in the night were half-truths and sweet talk. I didn’t invite you back to my apartment to hear you beg for another chance, Dazai,” you say coolly, and Dazai desperately misses the sound of his given name on your tongue. The corner of your lip curves up into a half-smirk, eyes suddenly glittering beneath the dim lighting of your penthouse as you add, “Although, I wouldn’t be opposed to it after we talk.”

He thinks the fact that you’re already considering an after might be a good sign. He can feel his cheeks flush a bit at your words, but instead of letting himself get rattled, he takes a step forward, well into your personal space, as he dips his face down so close to yours that his lips nearly brush yours as he speaks.

“I’d beg pretty for you,” he whispers, letting his voice drop an octave as his gaze tracks down to your lips. “I’d even get on my knees.”

Unfortunately, you are entirely unbothered by the proposition. “We’ll see, I suppose,” you say, and then raise your eyebrows, signaling for him to take a step back.

He does, and he feels distinctly put out and rejected by your reaction, but he sighs and asks, “What did you invite me here for then?” 

He very much does not like the way your eyes glitter now—shrewd this time, more amused, dangerous, as if you know the two of you are about to tread down territory that he’s going to be unfamiliar with. You nod for him to follow you into the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table and motioning for him to sit opposite you.

He does.

“We can play a game,” you finally concede. Dazai settles back against his chair, fingers still tapping rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, a terrible habit that Dazai has accrued whenever he feels cornered. Not a frequent occurrence, but damning when it is. Your eyes linger on them, and he knows you’ve pinpointed the tell. He forces himself to stop, but from the way your lips curl up, he can tell it doesn’t matter. “Ten questions each. Yes or no answers only.”

Dazai notices that you pointedly leave out any rule about the honesty of each answer—intentional, surely, so he probes.

“How do we determine the winner?” Dazai asks. He finally takes a sip of the fine whiskey you’d poured for him, and his question from earlier is answered. His favorite. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the realization that you’ve remembered it even after all of these years.

Your lips curve up into a sharper and wider smile, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the soft lighting of your kitchen. The glass of wine in your hands is suddenly more reminiscent of a gun being pointed at him than your choice of alcohol, and he feels as if he’s already made some egregious mistake in your eyes.

“After we give our answer, the other has to decide whether or not it was truthful. In the end, we’ll both see how many the other got right. A test to see how well we still know each other,” is all you say in response. You’re mocking him and his insistence that the two of you are still the same, but Dazai intends to prove himself right. You tilt your head to the side and then say, “The prize is to be determined by the winner. I’ll ask the first question.”

Dazai winks, a lecherous comment already on his tongue about the prize, but the withering look you give him is more than enough to make it die before he can let it loose. He pointedly takes another sip of his drink and sinks in his seat.

He thinks that this should be an easy win. You’re quite the adept liar, but you’ve always had a glaring tell. Well, he amends, it’s glaring to him, at least. Not many others would be observant enough to catch it, and even if they were, only someone with an abundance of experience with you would be able to put it together. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, wondering if your lashes flutter right before you tell a lie. It’s such a simple and subtle tell, so casual that it took Dazai a year and a half to put together, but it was hard to miss once he did.

You hum to yourself as you give off the appearance of thinking about a question, but Dazai knows you better than anyone, and he’s certain that you already have all ten prepared, so he rolls his eyes at the faux show of uncertainty. 

“We both know you know what you want to ask,” he finally says. “Do us both a favor and quit with the theatrics.”

Your lip quirks up in amusement. “And here I was being gracious giving you more time to formulate whatever lies you’ll try to get away with,” you drawl, and Dazai nearly flinches.

“You know me so well,” Dazai sighs to hide how disconcerted he really is. “The question?”

You stare at him for a moment, and your lips curl up into a deceptively soft smile that almost throws Dazai off because, god, he’s missed you. And he knows you’re looking at him like this just for this specific reason because you’re a despicable bitch who knows that he’s always been easily unsettled when people show any semblance of affection toward him, but he can’t help the way he falters.

He tries to brace himself for whatever invasive question you’re about to ask regarding his reasons for leaving. Tries to prepare himself to lie cleanly because he’s sure you’re as aware of his tells as he is of yours. 

Then you ask: 

“Did you defect because of something Oda asked of you?”

Jesus. Right for the throat. You really don’t pull punches. 

Dazai’s throat tightens at the mention of his old friend, but he’s able to keep his expression clear of the sudden pain that your question brings on. You’re watching him carefully for reactions, gaze hawklike as you study his face, and Dazai is not about to let you pinpoint any more of his tells so early in the game.

He figures that this is an easy question; you already know the answer but want to hear the confirmation from his lips, so he decides to tell the truth.

“Yes.”

“The truth,” you say, an indecipherable expression on your face. He wonders if you want to ask what Odasaku asked of him, but that’s not part of the game and Dazai has no intention of answering that.

Be on the side that saves people. If both are the same to you, become a good man.

You might laugh in his face—Dazai Osamu, the Demon Prodigy, a good man? The idea is blasphemous, and he thinks it might actually hurt him if you scoff or laugh in response to hearing that, so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t give away more than he has to, hoping that you don’t just straight up ask him.

You open your lips to speak, and Dazai braces himself for the prying question, but instead, you only probe, “First question?”

He wonders if your whole first question and the implications of it was just a means of trying to throw him off because now he’s fumbling trying to remember what he wanted to ask you before you hit him with it. He wouldn’t put it past you to play dirty like that—bringing up his dead friend and his last request just to unsettle him to give you the edge.

“Did we meet during my underground years after I defected?” he finally asks, and yeah, he knows the answer to this question. The missing half of his ear and waking up in the old safe house he used to hide out at with you is more than enough evidence for him to come to a definite conclusion, but he wants to hear it from you.

“Yes.”

Dazai inhales sharply and then murmurs, “That’s the truth.” And then, more loudly and far more affronted, he accuses, “I can’t believe you shot half of my ear off.”

He expects you to toss him a wink and a sharp grin, unrepentant and even finding amusement in his offense, but instead, your expression falters for the first time since he’s arrived. Something strange crosses your face; for whatever reason, his words leave you conflicted and Dazai suddenly feels even more nervous than he already was because now he can’t help but wonder what he might’ve said to you in his drunken state. 

He supposes that’ll have to be another question, but first, he’s going to have to figure out how to phrase it to get a yes or no answer first, without being vague enough for it to be a waste of a question or easy for you to misconstrue.

You hum after a few moments, taking a pointed sip of your wine. Dazai watches curiously—you’re bothered still, you’re not even trying to hide it. He knows you have better control over your facial expressions than this, so he thinks maybe it’s a ploy to get him to start spiraling down a path of useless questions. Put off by his sudden inability to discern your schemes, a part of him wonders if maybe you were right because the him of four years ago would’ve seen right through you right now.

“I’m afraid it had to be done,” you sigh with faux regret, but he can tell from the way the smile on your lips doesn’t reach your eyes that you’re not into the banter. “Were you able to fulfill Oda’s request?” 

Fuck. This time Dazai can’t withhold the grimace that spreads across his face. He tries to keep his voice light with a deflecting comment, “My, bella, you’re really hitting with the deep questions tonight, aren’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer, not giving him any room to formulate a response to your question. He finally sighs and shakes his head, taking a long sip of his whiskey. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes on him, suddenly desperately longing for the pleasant burn of the smoke against his throat; he needs the buzz badly right now.

As if you could read his mind, you shift in your seat a bit and stuff your hand into the pocket of your slacks. It takes a few seconds but you fish out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, sliding them across the table over to him. If he wasn’t already so in his head over the question you asked, he’d make a quip over the fact that you still know him so well despite your insistence otherwise, but he only pulls out a cigarette and lights it, looking curiously down at the familiar brand.

“Since when did you start smoking these?” he asks quietly, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back and takes a long drag of it. He exhales slowly and then adds, “Thought you liked the other ones, in the green box.”

“Teal,” you correct, and then frown a bit. “... Switched after you left.”

Dazai’s eyes flutter back open as his gaze focuses on you, wondering if the implication you left up in the air is something he can take at face value or if it’s just another way of trying to get him to lower his guard. But from the way you suddenly don’t meet his eyes, Dazai thinks you might be being honest: you switched because they reminded you of him.

Dazai’s chest suddenly feels heavy again.

“... No,” he finally responds to your second question. “Not yet, at least.”

“... Truth,” you say, and Dazai’s lips curl into a wry smile.

“Unfortunately.” The word slips out before he can stop it.

Your gaze flickers back up to him, curious, but Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to dwell on his comment, asking his next question: “Did I… admit anything to you that night that I wouldn’t have said while sober?”

His fingers tap rhythmically against his glass of whiskey, half-empty now; he’s anxious to hear your response.

“You did,” you confirm.

Dazai grimaces because that’s another truth, and that is not good. But just like how he doesn’t offer any context for his answers, you don’t either. He doesn’t know what he might’ve admitted or how you might’ve taken it—he’s going to have to waste another question on this topic.

“Truth,” he murmurs.

You hum and then ask, “Do you still blame yourself for what happened to him?”

“Come on,” Dazai complains sharply, tossing you a dirty look now. His jaw is tight. He wonders if you keep asking about Oda as some sort of sick revenge for him leaving, ripping open wounds that never properly healed so you can dig your fingers into them and twist around. You don’t look bothered by his outburst, waiting patiently for a response. He lets out an angry sigh, looking away and taking another long drink from his glass and another drag of his cigarette. 

He voices his first lie, “No.”

You let out a puff of air, rising to your feet and making your way over to the opposite counter, you grab the bottle of whiskey and bring it back over to him, topping off his now-empty glass before pointedly holding out your hand. He passes the cigarette over to you, tilting his head back to watch you bring it to your lips—a part of him longs to lean forward, to slide his hand behind your neck and cradle your head as he brings his lips to yours, inhaling the smoke as you exhale it, dizzy off the proximity to you, high off the buzz of the nicotine, just like the two of you would do when before he left.

He refrains, if only barely.

You exhale the smoke, a small cloud billowing around you—Dazai mourns the waste—and then you pass the cigarette back over to him. Your fingers brush his as you do, and a spark shoots through his arm at the touch.

“A lie,” you finally say, looking down at him with a frown. “You shouldn’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done to save him.”

“You don’t know that,” Dazai says tightly, averting his gaze from you as you make your way back over to your seat across from him. “If I’d been faster-”

“If Mori wants someone dead, then they’ll die,” you interrupt him, a grimace on your face as you look down at your wine glass. “Trust me, Dazai, there was no saving Oda Sakunosuke.”

Dazai pauses instead of snapping again, catching the expression on your face. Haunted, as if you’re speaking from experience. He tilts his head to the side and then asks quietly, “Are you talking about your ex-partner? Itou?”

If Dazai remembers correctly, he died on a mission when you were seventeen. You never told him the circumstances, and he never asked, but it was the first and only time you ever broke down in front of him.

The corner of your lips tightens, “Is that your next question?”

Dazai barely withholds a frustrated sigh. 

“No,” he says quietly, and then asks, “Did I tell you why I couldn’t say goodbye? The real reason?”

He holds his breath now as he waits for your response. One way or another, this question is a double blade: if he did tell you why, then he’s at another disadvantage because he’s going to feel distinctly bare and vulnerable; if he didn’t tell you, he just admitted that he lied back at your office, at least partially. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally say, “Yes.”

The truth. Dazai wonders when you’re going to utter your first lie, if you will, or if you’re trying to make some sort of point by being honest with him. He voices his answer and then waits impatiently for your next question as his mind races.

He desperately wants to know how you responded to him back then. Would you have come with him had he come to you before he left? Or would you have chosen the Port Mafia? He wonders if he should ask, make it one of his remaining seven questions, but he doesn’t know if he has the guts to hear your answer, so maybe he’ll just change the subject.

“Are you enjoying yourself at the Agency?”

For the life of him, Dazai cannot figure out your angle. First, the prying questions about Oda and now asking about the Agency. He doesn’t know what he expected at the start of the game—you’ve always been unpredictable, but even more so now. He’s never had such a hard time reading you or your intentions before.

He starts to feel even more doubtful, wondering if you were right.

Maybe he doesn’t know you as well as he thinks he does anymore.

But this is an easy question, so he says the truth with little hesitation, “I am.”

Dazai swears the corners of your lips curl up into a soft smile, but it’s gone so quickly that he might’ve imagined it.

“Good,” you say quietly. “I’m glad.”

Dazai’s lips part, a warm feeling spreads through his chest at the honesty in your tone. Desperately, he wants to know what’s going on—where’s the rage and the betrayal he expected from you? The hate? Why do you seem… okay with all of this?

Irrationally, he starts to wonder if everything from the office was just a heat-of-the-moment conversation. If now that you’ve had time to sit on your thoughts, you’ve realized… realized what? That you’ve moved on from him? That you don’t care what he does anymore? That you’ve accepted that he’s no longer a part of your life? The warmth in his chest disappears, edged away by a sudden coldness and desperation because he thinks he’d rather die than go back to a life without you.

Even more irrationally, he remembers the comment you made back at the office, the admission that you’ve slept around since he left. Oh god, what if you really have moved on?

He knows his next question.

“The people you slept with—were they all one-night stands?”

He doesn’t want to know the answer unless it’s a yes.

You raise your eyebrows at the abrupt shift in his line of questioning, and then, to his absolute horror, you say, truthfully, “No.”

“What do you mean no?” he asks angrily—he thinks if he was a bird, he’d be puffing his chest out in irritation. He feels antsy suddenly, he needs to move around. He starts tapping his foot against the floor, his fingers against the glass. And again, he thinks you’re a despicable bitch because you only look amused at his question as if he’s not beside himself with righteous fury.

“It’s not your turn,” is all you respond with, and Dazai has a distinct urge to throttle you. Then you ask, “Do you feel like you belong there?”

He halts.

His fingers freeze from where they’re tapping against the glass, his foot freezes mid-motion. His lips part as he’s confronted with the very question that he’s been struggling with for two years now. He wants to yes, if only to maybe be a little spiteful, to rub in your face that he’s somewhere good and he’s somewhere where he belongs, and it’s not somewhere with you. A cruel dig to get back for the aching in his chest at the thought of you being with other people, but he knows that you’ll catch the lie, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to hurt you like that.

Maybe he has grown a bit because the Dazai of four years ago nearly killed your civilian boyfriend when he found out that you were dating someone besides him and then promptly made a show of sleeping around to try to get back at you.

So, instead, he says quite honestly, “I don’t know.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Not a yes or no answer, but I suppose it works. How curious.”

He hates your cryptic comments. Pointedly, he side-eyes you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. Already, it’s nearly down to the nub, so he puts it out on your table, ignoring the distasteful look you give him, and then reaches for another to light as he asks: “Were you in a relationship with any of them?” 

You roll your eyes at his prying, and he cannot hide the abject horror that crosses his face when you say, “Yes.”

“That better be a lie,” he complains, and when you look at him as if to ask if that’s really his guess, he makes a show of pushing out his bottom lip and looking away as he says: “I cannot believe you dated other people. Cheater.”

“We were never even dating, Daz-”

“Yes, we were,” Dazai protests instantly, entirely aghast at your words. “We absolutely were. What does that even mean? Of course, we were dating. Everybody knew it. Ask anybody. Ane-san knew. Gin-chan knew. Chuuya knew. Even Mori knew. We were so dating, you-”

“You never officially asked me to be your girlfriend, which is, unfortunately, the most fundamental step of dating,” you interrupt him, and Dazai stares at you in disbelief.

“I bought you flowers, we fucked exclusively,” Dazai complains, aggrieved. “We were definitely dating, and you definitely cheated on me because we never broke up.”

“If we were dating,” you emphasize the if very pointedly, and Dazai is distinctly put out by it, “then we broke up the day you left without saying goodbye.”

Dazai withers. He has no witty comment to return fire with, so instead, he just takes another sip of his whiskey, grateful for the combined buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine to distract him from the overwhelming guilt he feels whenever you bring up how he left you.

“Do you feel like you belong more with the Agency than you did with the Port Mafia?” 

Your next question is an amendment to your previous on, and it leaves Dazai just as lost.

He wants to belong with the Agency. He does. Desperately. He wants more than anything to feel as at home and comfortable in the light as he does in the dark. He doesn’t want to question his place among them anymore, he doesn’t want to wonder if he sticks out like a sore thumb. He wants to enter the office and feel like he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not, just so he can keep his place with them. He doesn’t want to have to fear at every corner that he’s going to revert to old habits, and they’ll see him for the monster that he is: a monster that should have never left the dark crevices that he crawled out from, a monster with blood so black that it strikes fear in even the most terrible mafiosos.

“No,” he admits the insecurity that’s plagued him to the one person he feels comfortable enough with to voice it aloud. He can’t bring himself to look up at you, wondering if the admission will give you some sort of sick satisfaction, if you’ll be happy that he’s not finding a place he can be comfortable in without you. Instead, he decides to rush to ask his next question: “The one you were in a relationship with, did you love him?”

He thinks that the question came across as far more timid than he meant it to be, and his eyes slide shut as he waits for your answer.

“There were multiple I had relationships with—” Dazai scoffs, of course, there were multiple. “—...but no, I did not.”

He lets out a soft puff of air, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. But his fingers are still tense around his glass, waiting for whatever question you’re going to ask next that’s going to dig deep into open wounds, stripping him of all of his masks and armor to force him to lay himself entirely bare in front of you.

“Did you really blow up Chuuya’s car before you left?”

His eyes fly open at the sudden change of pace in your questions, noting the smirk curling at the corner of your lips and the amusement glinting in your eyes. He accepts the olive branch quickly as he gives you a sharp smile and asks: “What do you think?” 

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a laugh, and the smile on Dazai’s lips becomes a bit softer as he watches you desperately try to get yourself under control. “You’re insane, you know that?” you finally say, still trying to bite back giggles. “He was so mad. Raged about it for weeks.”

Another question pops into Dazai’s head at the mention of Chuuya, and before he can consider whether or not he actually wants to know the answer to it, he asks: “Speaking of Chuuya, was he one of your trysts while I was gone?”

Suddenly, you are not laughing, and suddenly, Dazai regrets speaking.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Do not tell me-”

“He was,” you confirm.

Dazai’s glass of whiskey is empty. 

He grabs the bottle and drinks right from it, miserable.

“I think I would’ve rather been stabbed through the heart,” Dazai says mournfully, and though he keeps a faux-light tone with you, his throat feels like it’s swollen, and he feels a bit sick to his stomach.

He’s always been jealous of the bond you have with Chuuya. Absurdly jealous, even. You clicked with him quickly—you clicked with both of them quickly, and maybe it was a matter of the three of you being the youngest of the Port Mafia’s uppermost echelon, but Dazai doesn’t want to attribute it solely to that—but the way you clicked with Chuuya was different from how you clicked with Dazai. Two people so completely human locked away in the dark, clinging to one another to maintain some sense of normalcy; your and his casual humanity made Dazai’s lack of it irrefutable and glaring.

Regardless of the why, he never liked how close you were with Chuuya. 

Even before you were dating him—because you were dating him—a part of him had always felt sidelined whenever the three of you hung out together. Not because of either of your wrongdoings but just because it was hard for him to keep up with the two of you. He always felt a bit lost trying to, unable to follow along when the two of you would start laughing at jokes that he didn’t understand even when you explained them to him, when you would share glances with one another that spoke whole conversations he wasn’t privy to. The two of you got along in ways that Dazai would never be able to get along with anyone because there’s just something fundamentally wrong with him at his core. Chuuya, for all of his talk and fear regarding the question of his humanity, has always been so unfailingly human in ways that Dazai, to this day, cannot fathom to understand.

After you started dating him—because you were dating him—it only got worse because he’d see you with Chuuya and wonder if you were better off with someone like him instead. Dazai doesn’t know how to treat you right, clearly. He can’t even treat himself right; and Chuuya has always been the epitome of a gentleman, loathe Dazai is to admit it—Ane-san drilled that into the other boy where Mori only taught Dazai how to be cruel and unforgiving. The line between love and obsession has always been a terribly blurry one for him, and you have always wavered on either side of it—and Dazai, unfortunately, does not love healthily and obsesses so entirely that it would have most people running for the hills. 

For better or for worse, you’re not most people.

In his spiral of insecurity, he doesn’t catch the way your brows furrow as you put together some puzzle pieces. “Dazai,” you say suddenly, drawing him from his thoughts abruptly. There’s an accusatory look in your eyes that he really does not like. “Were you the one that booby-trapped my fucking apartment?”

Dazai snorts.

“You bastard,” you snap at him, and Dazai can’t help but bite the palm of his hand as a means of trying to stifle his laughter. “Mori thought it was a goddamn assassination attempt. He kept me under watch for weeks because of you. I couldn’t leave the towers without half of the Black Lizards with me.”

“Sorry,” he coos, not sorry at all. Dazai, because he clearly doesn’t know when to learn his lesson, then he promptly asks, “Am I better fuck than Chuuya?”

“Jesus Christ, Dazai, get off the topic of Chuuya and my sex life, it’s clearly only upsetting you,” you snap at him instead of answering the question. Dazai wants to argue and retain some dignity; he’s not upset, but then his entire world is shattered by your next words: “I am not answering this question.”

Dazai blanches. He can feel the blood drain from his face. He’d thought this was an easy question to make him feel a bit better. What do you mean you won’t answer? Does that mean Chuuya-

No. Dazai refuses to believe it.

 “No way,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s not a better fuck than me. You can’t possibly-”

“He’s not,” you finally say, and Dazai audibly lets out a sigh of relief. “But if you ever mention anything along the likes of that to him, you will never fuck me again, Dazai Osamu. Do you understand?”

Dazai is too relieved to even argue. “Yeah.”

“No more questions about my sex life,” you say firmly, and Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does agree internally because he doesn’t think his heart can handle any more scares like that. Your eyes sharpen again, and Dazai braces himself. “Were you the one to tell Mori I lied about being sick so I could skip out on the ball Mishima hosted when we were seventeen?”

Dazai’s eyes narrow right back at you and rather than answering, he shoots one of his own questions at you: “Were you the one to tell Mori I had his contact in my phone as ‘ignore’?”

You take his lack of an answer as an affirmative, correctly so. Dazai has no regrets about ratting you out to Mori because he was not about to attend Mishima’s event without you on his arm. He’d rather die. 

“You bastard, do you know the lengths I went to fake being sick? I wanted one night to relax without people breathing down my neck.”

“If I had to go, you had to go,” Dazai retorts petulantly. “I was not about to suffer with only Chuuya as company. You had no reason to tell Mori about the contact name besides to be petty. I fought with Chuuya for weeks because I thought he was the one to do it.”

You choke on a laugh. “Chuuya was so mad, he had no idea what you were talking about.”

“He tied me to a pole and swung me around for three hours,” Dazai complains, but there’s a smile on his lips as you burst into laughter, unable to stifle the giggles that spill from your lips.

“I know,” you wheeze, “I got it on video. We watch it sometimes when we’re bored and can’t find a movie.”

Dazai gapes, and you laugh harder, but for the first time in four years, Dazai finally feels… at home, he feels comfortable in his own skin again. He’s back in your penthouse, he’s drinking his favorite whiskey and smoking his favorite brand of cigarettes, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with him and laughing your head off at his expense, and for a moment, Dazai feels as if nothing has changed: he feels like himself again, eighteen and entirely enamored by the sight and sound of you, and you feel like you again, all of the doubt that had begun to rise to his chest as the two of you played the questions game long gone.

He falls in love with you all over again. Harder this time. Faster. He thinks he’ll fall in love with you again and again every day for the rest of your lives, each time more than the last, no matter how impossible it might seem.

He thinks maybe it’s not that he feels like he belongs with the Port Mafia more than the Agency. He thinks that it’s you. You’re the one he feels at home with. You’re the one he’s comfortable enough to be himself with. You’re the one he belongs with, always has, and always will.

After a few moments, you finally manage to get yourself under control, still giggling a bit as you look back up at him. Your smile is softer now, eyes gentle, more genuine than the smile you gave him before asking the first question. Dazai’s breath catches because when was the last time you looked at him like this—the last time anyone has looked at him like this? A warm feeling spreads through his chest; Dazai thinks he would stay in this moment forever if given the opportunity.

“Are you happy?” you ask quietly

Dazai blinks, startled, and an odd feeling spreads through his chest once your question registers. His lips part to answer, but no words leave them; he draws back as if he’s been slapped, a bit flustered and confused because that’s the furthest thing from what he expected you to ask. He wonders if you’d asked the last three questions to lull him into a false sense of security.

“I-” he starts to say but cuts himself off. “What kind of question is that?” 

He tries to deflect instead of properly answering, frowning, but you only raise your eyebrows, pointedly keeping your lips sealed to let him know that you expect an answer. He shakes his head and then sighs, bouncing the question in his head a few times before going for a cop-out: “When I’m with you? Always.”

You’re not pleased by his decision, frowning as you look away from him—he knows that’s not what you asked, not really, but you should have been clearer with your question if you wanted him to give you the answer you expected. But he doesn’t like the sudden disappointment on your face, it leaves his skin itchy and his chest longing for the soft look to return.

So he sits there, ruminating on the question. Is he happy? He should be, right? He’s saving people. He’s on the way to fulfilling Odasaku’s final request. He has a whole group of people whom he can rely on without having to fear being taken advantage of or betrayed at every corner. He’s happy.

But is he trying to convince himself of it? Why is he still trying to kill himself if he’s happy? Why is there a part of him that feels lonely no matter how surrounded he is by people? Why is it that when he’s at his lowest points, the only two people he wishes he could be with are you and Chuuya? Why does he ache for the days he’d spend dragging the two of you around Yokohama, causing trouble for Mori—the closest he’s ever felt to enjoying life?

“I don’t know,” he finally amends his answer, looking down at the bottle in front of him and the cinders of the cigarette dangling between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips again, taking one last drag of it as he tries to figure out what his last question should be.

There’s only one pressing question he has left, but he hesitates, unsure if he really wants to know your answer.

He forces it out anyway.

“Would you… would you have come with me back then?” His voice is quieter than he intended, cracks over ‘me’, and to your credit, you don’t react to the question, expression as eerily still as it was before, as if you’re considering your words.

A yes or no. It shouldn’t take this long for you to answer. Each second that passes feels like an eternity, and Dazai suddenly feels anxious, he doesn’t know why he asked this question because if the answer is no—if it’s no, then…

Finally, you let you a soft sigh, taking a sip of your wine as if to prolong his agony.

Your lashes flutter before you speak.

You lie for the first time that night.

“Yes.”

Dazai’s voice sounds far away as he says, “That’s a lie.”

“I guess you were right,” you say softly, but you sound so distant, like you’re on the opposite side of a long, empty tunnel and not sitting right in front of him. “We do still know each other decently well; you got them all right.”

Dazai doesn’t care. In fact, he would have gladly conceded a loss in this game, and he would’ve gladly admitted that maybe the two of you don’t know each other as well as you used to if it meant that he got the last question wrong because then he would’ve just given you a coy expression and asked if you’d let him get to know this new version of you too. You would’ve said yes, and he would’ve made quite the pleasurable night out of it for the two of you. Instead, he had to insist that nothing has changed, and now he has to come to terms with the fact that he was right and he had known you well enough back then to know not to ask you to leave with him because you would have chosen the Mafia over him. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice you approaching him until you’re leaning on the table next to him, index and middle finger coming beneath his chin to tilt his face up toward you. He looks up at you through his lashes, eyes searching your face, but he only finds another blank slate that he can’t read. His breath hitches when your hand slides from his chin to cup his cheek, and he can’t help the way that he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“I would choose you over so many things, Osamu.” You speak his given name for the first time in years, but he can hardly find any comfort in it because he knows he’s not going to like what you’re about to say. Your fingers card through the tips of his hair, brushing the dark locks behind his ear as your thumb sweeps over his cheekbone. “But not over the Port Mafia. Just like how you didn’t choose to stay for me.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s-”

“It is,” you interrupt, voice deceptively gentle, and he thinks you’re entirely unfair because he can hardly focus with your touch distracting him. He’s missed it so much—he’s gone four years without it, without any type of touch that wasn’t him getting his shit kicked in by Kunikida or an enemy. “You didn’t choose to stay for me. I wouldn’t have chosen to leave for you.”

“Why?” Dazai asks tightly, and he hates that when his jaw tenses, you smooth your fingers over it, and he unclenches it immediately.

There’s a sadder look in your eye now as you give him a small smile. “You know why.”

Of course, he knows why. He feels the hatred deep in his gut as his mind draws back to Mori. Because that’s who the issue is. It’s not the Port Mafia. It’s not your friendship with Kouyou. It’s not even your friendship with Chuuya that’s the issue. It’s Mori and your undying loyalty to him. No matter how much you claim to despise him, bashing him every chance you get, sneering at him whenever he tries to treat you like his daughter, Dazai knows that when it comes down to it, you’ll always choose him. You’d throw yourself on a sword if he asked it of you, and not for the first time, Dazai wants to spit in the man’s face for making you feel as if you’re eternally indebted to him for rescuing you from that warzone so many years ago; for making you feel as if you’re nothing without the Mafia, nothing without him.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Dazai says tightly. “You have to know that by now—you don’t owe him anything.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation, Dazai,” you sigh, sounding tired. Your hand drops from his face, and Dazai longs for your touch again instantly. His fingers twitch from where they’re resting on his lap; he only barely stops himself from reaching out for you. You try to smile as you change the subject, but it hardly meets your eyes, “It’s a tie then. No prize for either of us, hm?”

Dazai is not so inclined to switch the subject. He wants to press on this now that he has the chance; he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to rip you out from beneath Mori’s thumb, but he needs to at least try… but you’re leaving again in the morning, and Dazai also does not want to ruin this night with you. He doesn’t know when he’ll get another.

So, instead, he matches your half-assed smile as he looks up at you and says, “I didn’t say you got them all right. You only said that I got them all right.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Did I get any wrong?” you ask, amused.

No.

“Yes.”

“Liar,” you say, but there’s a fond lilt to your tone as you let out another puff of air, the smile on your face finally reaching your eyes as you look down at him. The soft lighting of your kitchen casts a pretty glow over your face, your smile is so entrancing that Dazai thinks he could stare at it forever.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes out, the words slipping from his lips before he can stop them. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He’s sure he must look like a fool right now, entirely enamored by the sight of you, unable to even fathom drawing his gaze away. He wonders if you’ll protest again, call him a liar, and shift away from him.

You don’t.

The smile on your lips falls, and a wrecked expression crosses your face as your eyes search his. Your lips part to speak, and he waits with bated breath for whatever you’re about to say—he thinks that if you deny him again right now, it might completely shatter all of the walls he’d so carefully built to protect himself.

“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper as if you’re scared to speak the words out loud—and how can he blame you when the last time you dared to speak them, he hung up on you, never hearing from him again until tonight.

God, the guilt he feels whenever he thinks of you returns with a vengeance, so intense that Dazai starts to feel sick to his stomach. He can’t handle it, so he does the only thing he knows how to do to distract himself from it.

His movements are clumsy as he pushes himself up to his feet, nearly tripping over the leg of his chair, and his fingers feel clunky as he lifts them up to cup your cheeks. For a second, he fears that you might move away from him, but you don’t, so he leans in to press his lips against yours.

There’s no tenderness to his kiss. Dazai kisses you like he wants to consume you, lips sliding messily against yours, blunt nails indent crescents into your cheeks as he holds you close. Usually, he would be embarrassed by his blatant desperation and lack of finesse—he’s never been a sloppy kisser, when the two of you were younger, you would always let out pleased hums into his mouth, lashes fluttering as he worked his lips carefully against yours, tongue sliding against your own as he traces his name on it. 

All of his finely honed skill is thrown out the window now as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for years. He has been starved for years—the quick fuck in your office did nothing to quell the longing he’s felt for you the past four years. He could kiss you for hours. Days, even, and it still won’t be enough. Nothing short of an eternity with you would be enough to make up for the four years he’s been deprived of you.

He lets out a low groan into your mouth as you nip at his bottom lip, hands sliding from your face down to your hips. He’d take you here. Right now. But he remembers the last time he tried to fuck you on your kitchen table, it ended with him choking on the barrel of your gun as you yelled at him for being gross (“I eat on this table, you heathen!”) and he’s not particularly in the mood to set off your temper now that he finally has you in his arms again, so it’s with much restraint that he grabs you by the hips to walk you back into your bedroom.

He can hardly concentrate as your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, soft moans slipping from his lips, muffled against your mouth. It’s only sheer instinct and muscle memory that has him making his way from the kitchen and down the hall. He can’t bring himself to separate his lips from yours for even a second. And he’s a mess because he’s not coherent enough to force himself to breathe properly through his nose, so his lungs are burning and his head feels a bit light, but he doesn’t care so long as it means he can keep kissing you.

Turn left, turn right, second door from the end of the hall. 

His fingers fumble for the knob of your bedroom door, pushing it open a bit too hard, considering the way he hears it slam against the wall and how you tug his hair hard in retaliation. He doesn’t care, moans a bit louder even when your nails scrape his stinging scalp, and you let out a derisive noise against his lips before biting down hard enough to draw blood.

The taste of iron makes a slow smile curl at his lips, walking you back toward the bed, and it’s only when your knees hit the edge that you finally pull away from him. “If you broke my door, you’re fixing it, Osamu.”

Dazai’s smile is lecherous. “I’m gonna break something alright,” he croons, relishing in the way you immediately roll your eyes at him. It’s all so familiar—he can almost pretend that he never left, that nothing has changed since the two of you were eighteen, dumb, reckless, and in love.

Before he can press you back against the bed, he feels your fingers drop from around his neck to his waistband, curling around his belt loops. In an instant, you’ve twisted the both of you around, and suddenly, it’s the back of Dazai’s knees pressed against the edge of the bed as you push him down onto the mattress. He hits the sheets with an ‘oof’ and a hazy smile, surrounded by the scent of you, drowning in the sight of you. He thinks he might be in heaven. 

You shift on top of him, straddling his waist; Dazai’s hands instantly come to rest on your thighs, sliding up the sides to grab your ass and pull you more firmly onto him. He groans when he feels you grind down against his cock, and god, he’s already hard just from kissing you. He hears you snort above him, but Dazai doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed.

His lips part in a silent moan as you lean down to ghost kisses along his jaw, hands sliding up his chest. He feels you wrap your fingers around his bolo tie and tug it, you let out a sharp noise of distaste against his skin before murmuring: “I hate this ugly thing.”

He lets out a huff of laughter that quickly breaks off into a moan when your lips trail to the spot behind his ear that always makes him writhe. His fingers bite into your hips, pushing you down on him as he rocks his hips up into you—shit, he might be able to cum just from this. His cock is straining painfully against his beige pants, twitching as he grinds up against your clothed cunt. He thinks maybe if he fucks his hips upward a few more times, he might be able to push himself over the edge, but as desperate as he is to chase his release, he refuses to cum anywhere but inside of you.

Plus, he thinks he’ll be shamed to hell and back if he finishes in his pants with you hardly touching him. 

“Then strip me out of it,” he gasps, lashes fluttering as your teeth graze his pulse point right above the edge of his bandages. Fuck, he’d give anything for you to bite down—riddle him with marks he can’t cover so he can flaunt them off to everyone who looks at him. Dazai knows that there are countless men and women out there who’d die to be able to be called yours, he wants them to know he’s the only one who can take that honor. “What’re you waiting for?” 

You hum and then sit back on his hips—he bites his bottom lip raw as you unintentionally put even more pressure on his cock. He’s half dazed out, not realizing that your grip tightened on his bolo tie until you straight up yank it off of him, snapping the string around his neck.

“No!” he complains, watching with wide eyes and parted lips as you fling the now-broken bolo tie off to the side of your room. “Noooo, why’d you do that? I’m going to have to order a new one.”

“Boo-hoo,” you say dryly, hardly paying attention to him as your fingers curl around the hem of his vest, pulling it up over his head, snorting when he lets out a puff of irritation as his nose gets caught around the collar. 

“This is so unsexy,” he protests, rubbing his nose. “Shouldn’t you be more gentle?” 

“Stop wearing so many layers of clothes,” you retort, but Dazai is placated when you lean back down to kiss the corner of his lips, lashes fluttering as his eyes slide shut. He lets out a pleased hum as you kiss down his jaw, nimble fingers unbuttoning his final layer of clothing. He wishes he wore an undershirt just to watch you huff in annoyance. His breath catches as you nip at his skin and then murmur, “This better?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice wavering as you get down to the last button of his shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and easing him out of it. His body shudders as your hands slide over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Fuck, it’s been so long since anyone’s touched him beneath his clothes, even with the bandages still acting as a layer between the two of you, his nerves are on end, sensitive to everywhere your fingers touch.

He wonders if you’ll pull off the bandages—it’s a line that the two of you only crossed once back then, and although the idea of it has him brimming with anxiety, he longs for the feeling of your skin flush to his.

He almost feels a bit embarrassed when you sit back again to admire him as if there’s not a scar-ridden body hidden beneath the bandages. You look at him like he’s beautiful, like he’s not a monster disguised as a man, like he’s human. Dazai has always felt distinctly seen beneath your stare like you can see through all of the masks he wears and see him for him, and that has not changed over the past four years.

He’s missed the comfort of it. He has. It used to unnerve him back then, thinking someone could see him so clearly when he tried so hard and so carefully to hide himself beneath layers of impenetrable masks, but after going four years alone, with no one for him to turn to, no one he could look at and have them just know what he’s thinking… 

Yosano once mentioned offhandedly that to be loved is to be seen, and Dazai thinks the only time he’s ever been seen—truly seen, down to his core, deep in his soul—is when he’s with you.

It was a very lonely four years without you.

“I thought about you every day,” Dazai tells you softly, the grip on your hips easing up as he looks up at you. “Made a list of places I wanted to bring you and then burned it because I never thought I’d get the chance to be with you again. Stared at old pictures of you all the time, couldn’t sleep without thinking about memories with you. Drank your favorite wine just so I could pretend I was tasting it off your lips.”

You bring your hand up to cup his cheek, and Dazai leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut again. He kisses your palm, humming softly when your thumb runs along his bottom lip.

“There wasn’t a single day I went without you crossing my mind,” you admit quietly and Dazai’s breath hitches as he stares up at you, dark eyes wide and lips parted. He thinks he should say something, anything really, but it’s a lost cause. You don’t seem to mind, luckily, because you only lean down to brush your lips against his again.

This kiss is softer than the last, lips trembling against yours as your tongue dances along his inner lip. He thinks his cheeks might feel wet but he doesn’t dare acknowledge it; you don’t either, only using your thumbs to brush away the tears as they spill over his cheeks.

“Are you really leaving again in the morning?” he finally asks, and he hates that his voice cracks over the words.

You hum in agreement, still hovering over him, still running your thumbs along his cheekbone. His lashes droop shut, but he forces them back open as you speak. “I am. Bright and early. Flight leaves at six.”

His gaze flickers to the left, over to where your alarm clock is set up on your nightstand. 

12:35

He looks back at you, eyes swimming with desperation.

You give him a soft, wry smile. “We should make the most of the night then, hm?”

He doesn’t waste any time on that.

His grip on your hip tightens, and in one swift motion, he flips the two of you around, elbows resting on the mattress on either side of your head as he hovers above you. Your eyes glitter as you give him a coy smile, and again, Dazai falls in love.

Then, he ruins the moment.

“Tell me how you fucked Chuuya.”

Your smile drops. “Osamu, what the fuck?”

“Tell me,” he pouts, nudging his nose against your cheek and peppering soft kisses on your cheek and down your neck. His knees drop to the bed on either side of your hips, holding up his weight as he reaches down to unbutton your slacks, sliding them off your body. A smile flickers onto his lips as his fingers graze your panties—drenched, finally, evidence that he’s not the only one so affected by this. “Tell me. Were you on top? Did he take you from behind? Was he rough? No, it’s Chuuya-”

“If you care so much about how Chuuya fucks, Osamu, how about you go fuck him yourself?” you interrupt him.

Dazai gags.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he says and then returns to his mission, fumbling with his own pants now as he tries to yank them and his briefs off, unable to hold back the relieved sigh when he finally frees his cock, unceremoniously tossing them to the floor. “Tell me.” 

“Why do you care so much, hm?” you ask, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I told you that you were better.”

You’re only trying to deflect from the question and he almost lets you succeed, partially placated, but he stays strong, leveling an unrelenting stare onto you as he waits for your answer. You sigh heavily, and he knows he’s won.

“Not rough,” you say as if Dazai hasn’t already come to that conclusion. Chuuya’s had a crush on you since the three of you were sixteen. Dazai assumed he had grown out of it, but evidently, he was wrong, considering he took the opportunity to sleep with Dazai’s girlfriend—because you were his girlfriend—the moment Dazai was out of the picture. What a little snake. Dazai needs to vandalize his apartment again. Maybe set up a few more bombs. He’s only drawn back from his mental spiral when you start talking again: “He took the lead. Wanted to see my face the whole time, make sure I was okay.”

“How gentlemanly of him,” Dazai says—he’s not bitter. He’s not.

“It was,” you agree, too genuinely.

Dazai squints at you hard. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You asked.”

“You don’t need to sound so wistful.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Osamu, I’m not wistful.”

“How-”

“Are we going to talk about Nakahara Chuuya all night, or are you going to fuck me?” you interrupt immediately, looking increasingly incensed. Dazai only raises his chin at you pointedly—you’re the one that slept with Chuuya. “Time is dwindling, Osamu.”

Okay. 

Dazai’s gaze flickers back to the clock and then back down to you, withering a bit under your irritated stare. He sighs and leans back over you to kiss the corner of your lips, fingers curling around the hem of your panties to slide them off your legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his kisses linger against your skin now as he drags his lips down to your jaw. “The thought of him being with you…”

It makes Dazai want to do terrible things. The part of him that he locked up deep within rattles at the bars of its cage, furious and bloodthirsty. The trigger finger he’s been so careful to tame twitches with a desire he hasn’t felt in four years. The thought of anyone being with you makes Dazai sick to his stomach—Dazai is the only one who should get to see you like this, be with you like this—but the thought of Chuuya being with you is so much worse.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Osamu,” you tell him quietly, fingers intertwining with his hair as he nips at your neck. “No matter how much I slept around, nothing was ever able to fill the hole losing you left. Not even Chuuya.”

Dazai exhales, shaky—the guilt returns, and so does the doubt because what right does he have sitting here being petty about what you did while he was gone when he was the one who left you behind without so much as a word? His eyes flutter shut, he spares a few more chaste kisses across your throat before lifting his face back to yours, kissing you gently.

“Let me make up for lost time then,” he says softly.

He doesn’t hesitate now, one hand dropping down to your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist as he presses his hips into you. His breath shudders when his cock slips against your folds, a low moan spilling from his lips. He has to reach down to angle himself properly, tip pressing against your tight hole.

The fingers of his free hands are shaky as he lifts them to cup your cheek. “Look at me,” he says, heat spreading through his abdomen when he realizes you already can hardly hold your eyes open, quick breaths escaping your lips as you try to keep yourself from cumming already. “Look at me, I want to see you.”

Your eyes flutter open, lidded and heavy as you look up at him, and Dazai thinks that maybe he could cum just from the expression on your face alone, inhaling sharply as his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He thinks maybe he should try to get ahold of himself, fearing that if he pushes inside of you now, he might cum on the spot, but his cock is aching so badly that Dazai thinks he might die if he doesn’t feel your heat around him immediately.

It takes all of his strength to keep his eyes from sliding shut as he pushes inside of you, desperate to see the way your face twists and your breath catches. Your lips tremble, chest rising and falling rapidly, he can feel your thighs tightening around his waist, and Dazai groans when your heels dig into his lower back, forcing his hips flush to you, burying his cock deep in your cunt. He chokes, grip on your thigh bruising; his abdomen tightens, and his head feels light.

No way, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he tries to hold back the waves of pleasure threatening to tear through him. He hears you let out a huff of laughter beneath him, and Dazai would shut you up with a sharp thrust of your hips, but he’s still desperately trying to regain control over himself, so he thinks that’s maybe not the best idea.

His forehead drops to rest on the pillow next to your head, lips brushing your ear as he lets out a low moan. He can’t even savor the way you let out a full-body shudder, fingers coming up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck, you’re so tight—Dazai can feel your walls tightening around him, spasming, his breath is shaky, and he tries to distract himself by pressing his lips to your skin, mouthing messily at your skin, sucking and nipping and counting to ten as he tries to settle down.

But it’s hard with the soft sighs you’re letting out, the way your fingers catch on his tousled hair, tugging enough to make his scalp sting. His head is so fogged that he can hardly think straight—god, he’s missed this, he hasn’t had the comfort of letting himself go like this in… since he left, really. His mind is always turning, plotting out ten, twenty, thirty steps in advance in fear of making a mistake, slipping up and letting the rest of the Agency see him for what he is, slipping up and their lives being the price just like with Odasaku. It’s only with you that’s ever comfortable enough to finally let the cogs in his brain slow and shatter, lose himself in carnal pleasures, lose himself in you; it’s been four years since he’s last had a reprieve from his own brain.

But he only lets himself slip halfway—tonight isn’t going to be about him, it’s about you. He has four years to make up for and he intends on getting a good start on it tonight.

He pants quietly as he lifts his head enough to bite your earlobe, tugging it gently before pressing his lips to your temple. “I’ve missed this,” he admits, voice raspy and clogged thick with emotion. “I’ve-”

He can hardly get the words out, and his breath catches when your hands slide from behind his head to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. He thinks he must look wrecked—he can already feel the sweat beading on his forehead, and he knows his eyes are probably glazed over. You still look stunning, a soft expression on your face as you look up at him as if he’s not buried to the hilt inside of you. 

Unfair, he thinks mournfully. 

“What're you still holding onto, hm?” you ask, and Dazai only barely registers your words, sinking into your touch as you brush matted hair out of his eyes. He can finally bring himself to roll his hips—experimental, slow, trying to make sure he can actually move before trying to fuck you. Then you sigh softly, and he’s too out of it to try to make out the expression on your face as you say: “You work yourself so hard… always have. I’ve got you, you can let go, Dazai. C’mon.”

“No,” he hums, but his voice is strained, evidence of his struggle. “Tonight’s about my favorite girl.”

“Favorite?” you tease, lifting your shoulders off the bed to ghost a kiss against his lips that nearly has his hips stuttering—the conversation so reminiscent of one that the two of you had at seventeen it almost makes him smile.

“Only,” he amends quietly, kissing your nose, then the corner of your lips, and then nipping your jawline.

Just when he thinks he’s good to actually start picking up the pace, intent on fucking the thoughts out of you until you forget about your stupid flight in the morning, he catches a suspicious expression on your face, one that has his eyes narrowing.

“What?” he asks dubiously; your eyes are glittering in a way that he knows from experience is dangerous. 

You don’t say anything, just look pointedly at your thighs, then up to his shoulders. Dazai tilts his head to the side, recognizing what you want, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slides your legs up above his shoulders, folding them to your chest, eyes nearly rolling back at the new angle. Fuck, his hips do stutter this time, breath hitching. He has to readjust again, mentally focus on not cumming on the spot, and then-

And then you say: “He had my legs like this.”

A trick. 

Dazai knows it. 

You’re trying to make him let go of the thin thread of self-control he still has. To give in. To let all of the gears in his brain finally fall apart for the first time in four years.

He knows it.

He falls for it anyway.

Dazai’s jaw tightens, gaze snapping down to you only to catch a goading look in your eyes, a sly smile on your lips that Dazai has every intention of fucking right off your face. He inhales sharply, one hand sliding up your body to grab your chin, blunt nails digging a bit too deeply into your cheeks.

“Yeah?” he says, voice rough. 

Your lashes flutter and lips part as Dazai pointedly jerks his hips up. Your breath catches over a moan, and Dazai knows that this new angle is affecting you just as much as it is him.

“Mhm,” you agree, and just like that, the thin thread snaps.

He snaps his hips into you so hard that your bedframe bangs loudly against the wall behind it, quickly setting a steady pace, nice and deep, quick enough that you can’t even get a breath of air to your lungs before Dazai is fucking it right out of you. Already, he’s so fucked out that his mind is in shambles, one hand settling on your hip to hold you in place as he thrusts his hips into you, hitting that sweet spot with each stroke while his other hand, still cupping your face, slides down to your neck.

He doesn’t squeeze—wouldn’t dare to cut off the pretty noises spilling from your lips, moans of his names, choked gasps and cries between each rock of his hips—but the fact that you trust him, him, enough to have his fingers wrapped around your throat is always a quick way make him topple over the edge.

His eyes dart down to your chest, realizing, very unfortunately, that you haven’t taken off your button-up yet. He nearly bites down on his tongue in frustration as his hand comes down to your chest, careful to keep the pace of his hips as he hooks his fingers around the first button just to yank down, popping off half of the buttons of your expensive dress shirt and haphazardly pulling it off of you to toss it to the side before fumbling with the clip of your bra.

“Osamu,” you hiss, and Dazai revels in the way your voice wavers with each thrust, biting back moans. “That’s the second-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Dazai tosses your bra over with your discarded shirt and dips his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before rolling it between his teeth, and you’re gone—Dazai lets out a muffled groan around you as your back arches up into him, crying out his name, walls tightening around him as you cum on his cock.

“Oh-f-hah-fuck,” Dazai gasps as he rests his head on your collarbone, grip on your waist tightening. 

He has to physically force himself to lift his head, bracing his forearm on the mattress next to your head, desperate to see the way your eyes roll back, he can already feel himself teetering over the edge—the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock driving in and out of your cunt, he can feel your cum dripping down his cock, smeared on his pelvis.

His hand slides behind your head, lifting it from where you have it pressed against the mattress. Beautiful—the only thought that can run through his hazy brain is of you and how perfect you are, lips swollen and bitten raw, parted as pitched moans escape them, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes as he fucks you through your orgasm and right into a second. He’s the only one that should ever get to see you like this, with your clever brain fucked right and dumb, body writhing against the bed as you cling to him.

He leans down again, trailing sloppy kisses against your neck, gasping as he starts to feel his high approaching.

“No one makes you feel like this,” he says, or maybe he begs, he’s not sure if he’s making a statement or pleading for you to tell him it’s the truth. “Tell me. T-shit-tell me.”

“No one,” you sob over another moan, and Dazai can feel your pussy fluttering around him—he wonders if he’s already fucked you into a third. Usually, it takes longer. “No one, Osamu, you’re the only one.”

And that’s the only thing he needed to hear to give him that final push. His steady pace shifts into a more erratic one, sloppy and desperate, as he chases a high that’s just out of reach. His moans are muffled against your skin, teeth scraping your collarbone, mind a jumbled mess of thoughts of you. He feels your fingers trembling as you lift them to his cheeks, pulling his face up to press your lips against his, and that’s all it takes: he lets out a wanton moan against your mouth, pressing your legs further into your chest as his hips still against your ass, finishing deep inside of you.

Spots dance in his vision, head buzzing and ears ringing; he swears his orgasm lasts an eternity, body shaking and shuddering above you, letting out breathy moans into your mouth. He can feel his cum dribbling out of you, pooling onto the sheets beneath the two of you, so much of it that you can’t even keep it all in you. 

He doesn’t let his lips leave yours once—the kisses are messy and sloppy, devoid of all of the finesse that the two of you usually have, teeth nearly clashing, tongues sliding against each other’s. 

It’s only when his vision finally starts to clear and his head feels less on the verge of passing out does Dazai finally trails kisses from your lips to your jaw and down your neck before he finally collapses on top of you, mind entirely gone, like he’s floating on clouds. He pants as he tries to catch his breath, eyes lidded as he absently trails kisses along your chest and collarbone. He thinks the world could be ending around the two of you, and Dazai wouldn’t even have the capacity to notice. For the first time in four years, he really, truly allows his brain to rest.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, eyes drooping shut as he lets himself be enveloped by your arms, drowning in the comfort of your scent.

He doesn’t want to know. He’s scared to look at the clock and check.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you,” Dazai finally complains, burying his face in your chest as he pouts.

You only let out a soft laugh above him. “We have the rest of our lives for that… You deserved a break, Osamu.”

The rest of our lives.

Dazai’s throat tightens, vision blurring a bit at the thought—he can only barely bring himself to respond, and the words that slip out are not what he means to say: “I never thought I’d get to be with you like this again,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I never thought-”

“I know,” you interrupt, voice quiet, a bit shaky. “... I know.”

Of course, you know.

He can’t bring himself to say anything else, so he doesn’t, sinking into your arms and allowing himself the comfort he’s deprived himself of for so long. He almost starts to drift off—and god, he can’t remember the last time he’s dozed off willingly, only able to sleep after drinking copious amounts of alcohol or taking an even more copious number of sleeping pills. It’s not until you speak again does he stir back awake from the brink of sleep.

“What did he ask of you? Oda, I mean,” you finally ask, fingers brushing through his dark hair, lulling him further to sleep.

Dazai thinks that you’re cruel, asking him while his mind is still fogged from the exhaustion following his high, and he’s still half asleep in your arms, trying to regain his bearings. The words slip out before he can think twice, forgetting his fear of you laughing at the idea of him trying to be a better man.

“He asked me to be on the side that saves people… if both are the same to me, he wanted me to be a good man.”

The words dawn on him too late; he can hardly bring himself to look up at you, scared that he’s going to find an amused expression on your face or a derisive sneer. He wouldn’t blame you, he’s thought the same about himself ever since he left the Port Mafia, doubt and self-loathing riddling him with every step he takes in the light. He waits for the scoff, he waits for the laugh, he waits for-

“... I think he would be proud of who you’ve become, Osamu. I think you’ve fulfilled his request.”

Dazai does look up at you now, feeling particularly vulnerable, still scared that he might find a mocking expression on your face but he doesn’t. Only an uncharacteristically soft expression is painted on your face as you look up at the ceiling, a genuine one—a small smile and a look in your eyes that makes his heart feel warm. You don’t notice him looking until he lets slip out:

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers. 

(I love you, he means)

“I’ve missed you too,” you say back quietly.

(I love you too)

[nrnyx]

PROMPT: How about Derek and Stiles meeting at a dog adoption event and falling in love over the same dog.

Thank you @steelcodewolf-blog for the prompt!

Stiles ran up to the counter and slammed his application down. “For Sparky!” he gasped out of breath as he’d just sprinted the entire mile to the adoption agency after his jeep broke down. It was finally the day. Stiles was free of his lease agreement and moving into a pet-friendly apartment. He could have a dog - his dog because he’d been visiting Sparky for months now after seeing his cute picture online. 

The animal shelter staff held Sparky as long as they could for him, but he’d been warned that today was their big adoption fair, and Sparky would be part of the group being pushed hardest for adoption. Sparky had already been with them for nearly a year before Stiles showed up, and before that, poor Sparky had been shipped from another shelter in New York. The shelter couldn’t hold him if someone wanted to adopt him. 

Stiles hadn’t been too worried. One of the reasons Sparky was still around was because he was a rather large and somewhat alarming German Shepard mix that might have actually been a wolf-dog, but the shelter didn’t have the funds to test his genetics, to be sure. Sparky had never been aggressive or tried to attack anyone. He was a chill dog that loved belly rubs, so he remained up for adoption. 

The staff even said that Stiles was the only person Sparky had ever shown an interest in. Sparky didn’t really like toys, wasn’t interested in other dogs or attention of any kind really, but he liked Stiles. The staff said he already knew the sound of Stiles's jeep and only ever bothered barking to alert them that Stiles was coming. Stiles adored the old grump right back and had visited him at least once every few days with the hopes that no one else would take notice of just how awesome Sparky was. 

Being a newly graduated college student and an intern with the FBI didn’t exactly bring in the big bucks yet, so Stiles had to wait for his lease to be up in order to find a new place to live that allowed pets. He’d managed to scrape up enough extra money for the rather hefty pet deposit and had Sparky a new bed, food, and dog tags waiting for him in the jeep, which they would have to walk back to, but he was sure Sparky would like the chance to stretch his legs.

It was going to be awesome.

Martha’s face fell as soon as she realized it was him, and Stiles felt his heart falling right along with her look of pity. “Stiles…” she started, but Stiles didn’t give her time to finish.

“Where’s Sparky? Please tell me you didn’t give him to some stranger off the street! I’ve been coming in for months!” Stiles protested in disbelief. How could they betray him? He thought they were all rooting for him and Sparky. He’d told them he would be in by the end of the day. They promised that even if someone tried to adopt, they wouldn’t let Sparky leave the same day. They’d make an excuse to hold him as long as they could for Stiles.

“I’m so sorry, Stiles. I know how excited you’ve been. This must be so heartbreaking for you, but his dad showed up,” the woman explained with actual tears in her eyes. 

Stiles couldn’t find his voice. That had been the last thing he’d expected to hear. “His dad?” he finally managed to get out. “His dad?”

“Yes, he had proof -” 

“He lost him! He lost him for over a year, and you’re just going to let him walk in and take him! Just like that? Clearly, the guy wasn’t a responsible dog parent to begin with. I mean, what kind of evidence did this guy have?”

“Uh Stiles…” Martha tried to interrupt, but Stiles was on a roll. There was no way Sparky was going anywhere with anyone but him. 

“Because photos can be photoshopped, and videos can be falsified. I know! I work for the FBI. Who is this guy? I want to see some I.D. and this so-called evidence. No one is leaving here with Sparky until I hear this assholes side of the story because there’s no way Sparky - ”  

“Jacks,” a male voice spoke up from beside him, and Stiles was momentarily left speechless as he turned and caught sight of, frankly, the most attractive guy he’d ever seen in his entire life, and he’d gone to school with Jackson Whittmore. 

“Holy shit, adopt me,” Stiles mumbled before his brain-to-mouth filter could catch up.

The guy's eyebrows did something impressive. “What?” 

“What?” Stiles asked back equally as dumbfounded. Honestly, he was just as surprised as anyone at what came out of his mouth sometimes. 

“Stiles, uhh… meet Sparky’s…  I’m sorry. I mean Jacks’s dad, Derek Hale,” Martha introduced as Stiles's big brain tried to get back online. “Apparently, Jacks was stolen about a year ago. His dad’s been looking for him ever since. He tracked him down here all the way from New York. Crazy, right?” Martha laughed nervously as she looked between the two.

Stiles eyed Derek Hale for a long moment and already felt himself accepting this new disappointing reality. The guy looked like Sparky’s dad. They both had a certain wolfishness about them that was undeniable. Honestly, Derek Hale had to be the most dedicated dog dad in the world to have tracked his lost dog all the way across the continent. 

Stiles felt himself deflating. “I’m glad you guys are reunited. I’m sure Sparky - I mean Jacks is pumped to see you again.”

Derek fished his phone from his pocket and turned it so Stiles could see the screen saver, which was truthfully the most adorable picture of the two together and obviously happy. “After he was taken, it took me a while to track him down. I found out that a shelter in New York shipped him to the West Coast, thinking he’d have a better chance of being adopted, but they couldn’t tell me where he ended up. I started checking shelters in Washington and was working my way down the coast when I saw an ad for today’s event. Jacks picture was part of it.”

“I’m glad you found him,” Stiles offered again, unable to look at the guy as he said it even though he did mean it. He couldn’t even get that kind of dedication out of a boyfriend. This guy was like a superhero or something. “Cool, well I gotta go…” 

Derek opened his mouth to say something, but Jimmy from the back was calling for him. Stiles knew Jimmy was the one who typically got the adopted dogs ready and brought them out to greet their new owners. He needed to get out of there. Stiles didn’t think he could say goodbye to Sparky- well, Jacks, which was a much more suitable and dignified name, he supposed. 

Derek, with his man stubble and leather jacket, looked like a guy who would own a dog named Jacks. 

More proof that they fit together.

While Derek was distracted, Stiles slipped away, shoulders slumped as he started the long walk back to his jeep. About halfway there, a familiar bark froze him in his tracks. Stiles turned just in time to see a black pickup slowing down to a stop beside him. The passenger window was down, and Jacks's big head was sticking out of it. 

“Do you live around here?” Derek called from the driver's side as he leaned out of the way of Jack’s aggressively thumping tail. 

Jacks whined, and Stiles immediately reached out to soothe him, running a hand over his massive ears and scratching how he knew Jacks liked. This earned him a great big lick across his face in return. Stiles laughed, swatting playfully, but Jacks only pushed closer, beginning to lick Stiles in earnest.

“That’s amazing. The shelter told me about you visiting him. I didn’t believe them at first. Jacks has never taken to… well, anyone else really,” Derek spoke up again, amusement clear in his voice as Stiles tried to fend off all the affection being lavished on him. Jacks had never been quite this excited to see him either, but it was a very welcome shift after the heartbreak he’d been feeling a moment ago. 

At least Stiles knew Jacks would miss him too. “Yeah, me and him… we kind of bonded while he was waiting on you.” Stiles shrugged in reply taking a small step back and almost giving in again when Jacks whined in protest.

Derek glanced at Jacks, before reaching out and patting him on the back in a reassuring way. “They said he was pretty depressed before you came around. Wasn’t eating much or leaving his kennel,” Derek explained. Stiles hadn’t known that part, but he was glad he helped Jacks until Derek found him. It was at least some comfort he could take home with him.

“I should uh… get back to my jeep,” Stiles said, pointing his thumb in the direction he was walking. 

As much as he liked seeing Jacks he really wanted to get home and have a good cry in private. Not only was he losing Jacks, but Jacks owner happened to be an insanely hot guy right out of Stiles's fantasies and entirely out of his league. It just reminded Stiles of exactly how lonely he was these days. Loneliness and his last breakup had been the whole reason Stiles was on the shelter’s page looking at adoptable dogs in the first place. 

“It’s parked a little down the road. I need to call a tow,” Stiles felt the need to explain, hoping his ears weren’t as red as they probably were. It was a bit embarrassing, but the jeep had been his mom’s, and he only had a few more years as a lowly FBI intern before he could afford to get it fixed properly. Maybe he could get his pet deposit back. That would help pay for the tow truck he was going to need to call. 

 Derek leaned over to unlatch the door. “Hop in. I’ll drive you down there and take a look. I’m a mechanic.”

Stiles couldn’t help how his mouth fell open. Could this guy be any more perfect? The only thing that would be better was if he were - 

“And maybe you’ll let me and Jacks take you to dinner… you know, as a thank you for looking out for him.” Derek sent him a wolfish smile that had probably seduced the panties off of hundreds of college co-eds back in his day. Stiles wasn’t embarrassed to admit that he could now be bunched into that category. 

“Uhh yeah okay…” Because what else was he going to say. Jacks moved over a bit to give him room, and as soon as Stiles settled, he had a lap full of wolfdog. 

Derek threw his head back and laughed. “Doesn’t look like he’s going to be letting you leave so easily.”

Stiles cleared away the lump in his throat and buried his face in Jacks soft fur. “I don’t mind.”

[purplelupins]

My Pretty Girl

|The Black Phone|

Albert Shaw(The grabber) x fem!reader

Summery: After getting roped into watching over your older sister at a house party, you come to realise that the uncomfortable situation might be better than you think. Sure it’s not Max’s house like you were told, and sure there’s a house full of people you don’t know, but there’s that nice man with bright blue eyes and a sweet voice that keeps you company. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

MINORS DNI PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Warnings: Mentions of partying, alcohol, and cocaine, age gap, manipulation, masturbation, daddy kink, filthy thoughts

Note: this was a 7000 word commissioned piece by @trashutjr and if you are interested in requesting a commission, you can tap on the link

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A phone call was how it all began.

A shrill ring of the teal phone in your kitchen made you pause your dinner. A part of you already knew who it was, but you optimistically hoped your intuition was wrong.

With your sunny thoughts dwindling quickly as you walked to the kitchen, you picked up the receiver and held it to your ear before uttering a gentle, “Hello, this is y/n speaking.” Always such a polite voice.

“Hey lollipop!” The voice of your older sister, Ellen, came through the phone, and your shoulders dropped slightly. Your intuition had been right, and while you usually praised yourself for it, tonight you cursed it. Mentally wishing it away.

It wasn’t that you disliked your elder sister, you got along surprisingly well; it was that over the past few years, the only time you received a call from her was because she needed something…usually with no intention of returning the favour. She already had a running tab with you, and a list of ‘I owe you’s a mile long, but family was family.

Plus, she only called you Lollipop when it was a favour she knew you wouldn’t like to partake in. The last time that sickly sweet name and tone came through to your ear, it had ended with you getting an elbow to the cheek from your heavily intoxicated sister’s friend, Karen, and you driving the two of them to Ellen’s little apartment outside the city. Herding them up the building’s dingy stairs was a whole other story.

“Hi Ellie…” you replied softly, half hoping she just needed directions to a bar.

A relieved breath came from the other end of the phone, “I know this is last minute…but you’re free tonight around 5, right?”She asked hopefully.

Ah. You closed your eyes and sucked in a breath, “Yep. Was just about to eat dinner.” Indeed your dinner was staring at you like the boneless girl you were when it came to Ellen.

Ellen laughed, “It’s 4 o’clock! You’re such an old lady sometimes…” that stung a little, “Listen, I know you don’t have a lot going on so I thought I’d take you to a friends tonight for some drinks and hanging out. You’ll come right?”

Which translated to: I’m going to get drunk and high and I need you to drive me home, so come be the sober one.

You felt the ‘No’ on your tongue, but it wouldn’t come out. If anything happened to her, you knew you would never let it go.

“Sure. What’s the address?” You asked, “Do they have any animals?” After going to enough of Ellen’s parties, it became habit to sit with the cat or dog that the stranger owned. You liked to bring treats, just in case.

“Um, one sec-“ she turned away from the phone and you could hear mumbling, “Hey, yeah he has a dog. It’s at 7742 south Irving St. I’ll see you there!” She blew you a kiss through the phone, and hung up before you could ask anything else. Your stomach already felt uneasy at the thought that this was a man’s house you were going to, but you pushed it aside.

It was a warm evening, and while you truly did not want to be out, a slow grin made its way onto your face; the fresh air enveloped you like gentle, warm fingers. You hopped on your bike, and pedalled off in the direction of the house, dog treats and a water bottle tucked in your bag.

Before long, the two story houses on the edge of the city turned into one stories, and you turned from East Anderson road to South Irving. You began counting the addresses, slowing your pace until you saw 7740, and stopped at the simple brick house beside it. Sure enough, your sister’s car and a couple others were outside,

With a deep breath, you walked your bike up the driveway, and leaned it against the side of the house before you knocked on the door tentatively. You could already hear loud voices inside, and you cringed.

Before you could back out, the door swung open to reveal a man in his mid to late thirties and a light blue dress shirt, and a thick moustache. He regarded you for a moment, and it only took you a moment to see his dilated pupils a a little bit of white powder caught in his nostril. “Hey, what can I do-“

“Lollipop?” You heard Ellen call from inside- a slight slur to her voice.

Then a look of recognition washed over the man’s face, “Oh you’re Ellen’s baby sister, come on in. Wish my name was Lollipop.” He said happily.

You tried to return his easy smile, but it likely came out as a tight line instead, “Thank you. I’m y/n…” you said as you walked inside, “Ellie just calls me that sometimes…”

He nodded enthusiastically and you looked around the modest home as the smell of cigarettes and alcohol wrapped around you. It was a mess. Littering the coffee table and floor where beer and brandy bottles, along with some bowls of chips and…were those dog treats? But what drew your attention the most was the almost violent array of clippings pinned to a cork board on the wall. Your brows pinched in the middle when you tried to take a look, and you noticed photos of the missing boys.

You felt a twist in your gut when you realised this was some conspiracy party…and even as you listened to the conversations being had, your thoughts were confirmed.

What have you gotten into now, El…

From her place on the couch, you heard Ellen call your name, and you slowly looked over at her with a small smile; she returned it with one far larger and dazed. Everyone you saw her like that, you wished she ran with a better crowd, a sober one at least. Though you figured that after living a life with an alcoholic barely-there father, one of you would turn out on the bad side…it just hurt to see your older sister filling that role.

You waved to her and said a few greetings to the other unfamiliar faces in the room- a total of three women including your sister, and four men. All of them older than you, and all of them not noticing your presence. Not that you dwelled on it. Your attention was soon captured by a large black dog that laid in the corner. The smell of beer instantly went away as soon as you began to walk over to the hound, and you grinned at your new companion.

It picked up its large head, and watched you closely as you crouched down, “Hello you…looks like it’s just us tonight.”

Huge dark eyes stared back at you, and blinked. Taking that as a sign that the dog wouldn’t rip your face off, you sat down beside it, and took your bag in hand. As you were about to ask if it could have treats, your words died in your mouth; the man whose house you were in was very animatedly explaining some wild theory of his, and all eyes were either on him or a tempting body part of another man or woman. You prayed to god that this wouldn’t turn into a cocaine orgy.

You sighed and just hoped for the best as you fished out the the baggie- surly the dog had no allergies. Instantly, the dog’s eyes perked up and it’s head rose again in acknowledgement of the goodies.

“That’s Sampson, he’s a big sap…might not let you go if you give him treats!” The man called over to you as he took a swig from his beer.

You still didn’t know his name. You knew his dog’s, but not his. Regardless, you nodded and laughed gently as your attention returned to the massive dog. “Well Sampson, I would just take you home with me if my landlady allowed it. Guess I’ll just have to keep you in my pocket.” You cooed to him as you held out two treats, which he ate greedily. You wondered when the last time he had been fed was.

A half hour passed, and you were slouched comfortably in front of Sampson, trying to get him to catch a treat from high in the air. He wasn’t amused. You were happy for the distraction, especially since the last time you had looked up, your sister had one of the male attendees’ tongues down her throat.

It wasn’t that you were a prude or judging her, but something about seeing your sibling making out with someone made your stomach uncomfortable.

Max -as you had finally come to hear him referred to as- was still very animatedly talking about various topics that you had completely lost track of when the front door swung open, and for the first time, you saw him stop talking. From your standpoint, you didn’t see who had opened the door, but from the look of recognition on Max’s face, this wasn’t good or expected.

“Max what the fucking hell is this?”

Another man stepped through the door; he was taller than Max, and clearly older. He slammed the door shut, which made you jump, and your nerves were set on high.

“Hey Al…just some friends I invited over, no biggie.” Max tried to sooth the older man -Al- but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“Oh I see. A little get together?” He mocked, “I let you crash here for a month, Max. You make a mess of my- is that…Christ clean that shit up.” You saw the older man catch a glimpse of the cocaine still on the coffee table.

You felt sick.

This wasn’t even Max’s house. You almost wanted to shout to the man that you were sorry and just bolt, but then you remembered the tether that kept you there. Ellen. And she barely looked awake.

Max pulled Al into the kitchen, and you watched anxiously as they continued their heated exchange.

“Listen Albert I’ll make it up to you okay, I got this interview comin’ up and I’m sure I’ll get it-“

But Albert shook his head in disappointment, “I don’t want your money, I want my house back. With none of that shit everywhere.” He gestured pointedly to the coffee table.

That was all you could hear until Max clasped his hands in front of him and seemed to reason with the older man.

From what you could gather, Albert was too tired for the younger man’s antics, and gave him twenty minutes before everyone had to be out. You didn’t blame him. Hell you only blamed yourself for not asking more questions about this gathering.

Sampson watched the conversation as closely as you, and you wondered if he was even Max’s dog. You doubted it. So you sunk deeper into your seated position, and heaved a sigh as your hand stroked the hound’s fur.

Albert took several long deep breaths as he wrenched the fridge open and grabbed one of the last of Max’s shitty beers. It wasn’t like he drank much, but after a long day at work, and now this, he needed something to take the edge off. He cast an irritated eye around his once very orderly home, and was about to roll that watchful gaze at the sight of the idiotic smatter of articles Max had taped up when something stopped him.

Someone.

For a moment, he stared; raised the cold drink to his lips, and watched. A young woman was curled up next to that mutt that was supposed to intimidate, and he watched as you held a fearless hand out with a little treat on it for Sampson to devour.

Albert’s eye twitched. You were young. Very young. And definitely sober. Your movements weren’t sluggish, and there were no bottles near you aside from-

Oh what a diligent little girl…

Aside from the water bottle sitting by your bare thigh.

You were pretty- very pretty. Your hair was a little untamed and he wondered if that bicycle was yours. Judging by the light muscles in your legs, it was definitely yours. Albert drank again. You wore a little sundress that was bunched up and wrinkled around your legs, and a cardigan that looked too big for you.

A-fucking-dorable. Absolutely adorable.

And was that a damn ribbon in her hair? Wrapped up like a little present just for me? How considerate.

Albert sighed, and quickly made a list of what would be needed to perfect an interaction with you. He saw your eyes flicker nervously to him a when you thought he wasn’t looking…once, twice, three times…Come on little bunny look at me one more time- ah. There you go. Good girl.

But as much as he wanted to stride over to you and drag you to his room or basement by your hair, he decided on a different approach. One that felt very much like torture, but it would at the very least distract him from wanting to throttle his brother. So, the older man sucked in an irritated breath and walked briskly past the gathering, past you and Sampson -though he didn’t miss how his foot brushed against your toes- and went to his room. He shed his work shirt, and ran a hand through his hair as he contemplated his next move. Albert knew you had watched him as he walked down the hall, so you acknowledged his presence and you were attentive. As he stood there he even let himself imagine that you followed him to his room and begged for his forgiveness-

Fuck.

The older man looked down at his pants, and saw his cock twitching as it strained against the fabric. Closing his eyes, one arm braced against the wall, he palmed himself and imagined it was your little hand stroking him instead.

It took thirty seconds for him to spatter cum inside his pants.

Albert gasped to settle his breathing, and twitching limbs as his sensitive cock shifted in his ruined pants. He wanted you. Badly. With that thought in mind, the older man made quick work of stripping himself, and changing into fresh clothes before he grabbed his beer and slowly walked back to the living room with a practiced air of distain and irritation.

Again he had to pass you to get into the living room, and ‘accidentally’ brushed your foot a little harder this time; he murmured a quiet “Sorry” but paid it no mind as he plopped himself down in one of the chairs- conveniently close to you. He didn’t even look at you- he wanted to see if you actually cared-

“E-excuse me?”

You had watched the man walk off with a tight jaw, and return about ten minutes later in fresh clothes. It was like a blow to your gut when you imagined how tired he must be; probably returning home from work only to find this. His voice was soft when he had apologised for bumping into you the second time, but if you were honest, his apology only made you feel worse when you should be the one apologising. Hell you shouldn’t even be there.

So in favour of repairing the brittle status-quo, you shifted on your knees away from your furry friend, and moved a little closer to the man as he stared at the articles pinned to the wall. You spoke gently to get his attention and you saw him cast you a slow look of indifference.

His gaze pinned you to the spot, but you tried to not get struck by his sharp blue eyes, and forced some clumsy words from your mouth, “A-Albert, right? Um…I didn’t know- that is…uh…I’m really sorry about all this. I didn’t know this wasn’t Max’s house…I can’t…” you sighed, “I’m just so sorry.”

Well that was a mess.

But Albert relished your nerves. You should be nervous. It was a blessing the basement was empty or who knows if Max’s little party might have found his newest guest…and then he wouldn’t be able to play with you.

Albert watched you, and took another drink before looking away and nodding to his brother, “You’re a friend of Max’s?” He asked you.

Your eyes widened and you shook your head defensively, “Me? No. No I’m the designated driver so to speak…I’m Ellen’s little sister.” You pointed to your inebriated sibling, “Sort of got roped into coming. If I had it my way I would be laying on the couch with some ice cream.”

He eyed Ellen for a moment in distain, then looked back to you. Beautiful little you.

Albert cocked a brow, “Your daddy lets her run around town like that?” He asked chidingly towards your sibling in her intoxicated state, and he watched an array of emotions flicker over your face at his question. Interesting.

“N…no. Well, he’s not really in the picture.” You sighed and absently rubbed Sampson, which caught Albert’s eye. It was odd to see the dog so…docile.

“He doesn’t usually like strangers.” He murmured as he shifted to look down at you a little better now. His interest was growing the more you knelt beside him.

Pretty.

Young.

Sweet.

Open.

Attentive.

Naive.

Malleable

A little laugh bubbled out of you, “Well I think I might have bribed him a little,” you took out your almost empty baggie of snacks, “I hope that’s okay…this isn’t my first time being in a strangers house to watch over my sister and ending up sitting with the house dog or cat. Thought it might be nice.” You rambled on.

Albert squeezed his drink -wishing it was your throat- and grinned, “Can’t complain. The old man could use some company.” Not the only one.

You laughed again. He liked that sound. He wondered what you would sound like whimpering as he-

“Yea, Max joked that if I was too nice to him he wouldn’t let me leave.” You smiled easily and looked back down at the black dog that rested near you.

Albert almost laughed at your words. Sampson wasn’t the only old dog that would rather keep you to himself.

She’d probably look pretty in chains…

“That’s true. He’s very…territorial.” The older man said, and smirked as he gazed down at your sweet form. If he turned his head just right he could see down your dress…fuck…no bra? Albert already felt himself twitch in his pants again.

He wondered if you wore any panties.

Albert could have come right there again just at the thought.

“Well I think he’s sweet. He’s yours?” You asked, shyly.

He nodded. Now, you were looking up at him with undivided attention, just like he wanted. Some charm and garnered sympathy was all it took, too.

Whether it was because you felt terrible and wanted to make him feel a part of the gathering or something else, you weren’t sure. But you knew he had beautiful eyes and a nice voice, so you happily payed attention to the sweet man.

You shifted a little closer and leaned up onto your heels to place your arms on the side of Albert’s chair, “By the way, I’m y/n-“

“Lollipop, there you are!” Ellen yelled far too loudly when she remembered you existed.

Albert watched you squeeze your eyes shut.

Lollipop? Christ please tell me that’s her nickname for a reason because I’d give her something to suck on…

You sighed and slowly opened your eyes to look over at your sister who was smiling at you, and you grimaced as she munched on a dog treat. “Hi Ellie.” You replied, hoping she wouldn’t get all lovey-dovey now that she was inebriated.

“Why’re you over there? Come sit with us!” She slurred and waved you over enthusiastically.

Albert watched you closely, almost wanting to speak up for you to tell her you were staying right there perched by him. But evidently, he didn’t need to.

“I’m okay over here…Albert’s keeping me company.” you said, and unconsciously patted his arm. Albert almost jumped at the feeling. It seemed your refusal was enough for her, as she turned away and shrugged, leaning into the man next to her. Then you looked back at Albert and found his focus on you already, “I…I hope you don’t mind. I’m not much of one for…those sorts of things…”

A relieved sigh left you when you saw a look of understanding on the older man’s face, “Are you sure you’re the younger one?” He teased you in a quiet voice, finishing his beer, and spreading his legs.

You nodded and rolled your eyes at the question you had heard a million times.

“Positive…plus…” you beckoned him a little closer and he relented instantly, “I think it’s worth saying that one of those bowls of chips are actually Sampson’s milk bones…and while I like to try new foods, I’m a little sceptical…” you said with a cheeky laugh, which only continued when Albert’s eyes widened and his head whipped around to inspect the dishes.

“For fucksake…” he whispered under his breath, and when he turned back to you, your hand was covering your mouth as you hid your laughter. But it faded and that remorseful look came back to you when you remembered this was his home.

“I’m really sorry about all this…” you whispered, but then noticed just how close you and Albert had become and sucked in a breath. He was less than a foot away, and his breath fanned across your cheeks; you were a little dazed, and noted how soft his hair looked.

He smirked, and shook his head, “You didn’t do this…and besides, it seems having an idiot for a younger brother payed off since I get to talk with a pretty little thing like you, hm?” Albert perched his chin in his palm and gazed at you, now only a few inches away.

Your words died on your tongue.

“Well…I…um. Wait you’re brothers?” You asked, trying to find a single coherent thought.

He breathed out a laugh and nodded, “Yes ma’am, Max over there is my baby brother if you can believe it…”

You looked over at the mentioned man, and shrugged, “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but intoxication makes you age faster…so if I’m honest I would have guessed you were the same age.” You said softly, a heat rising to your cheeks when you saw the small grin on Albert’s lips.

He has nice lips…

“Now you’re just flattering me.” He murmured, still gazing at you from his perch.

Your cheeks burned. “N-no it’s true! I mean Max isn’t bad looking but…you’re-“ again, your words wouldn’t come out. Especially not now with yourself halfway to severe embarrassment. When you realized how forward you were being, you sank down onto your calves, now having to crane your head to look up at Albert if you did have the courage to do so, but in that moment, you didn’t.

And Albert was having none of that. He clicked his tongue in a tsk, which instantly made you look up.

So responsive.

“I’m what, sweetheart?” He cooed to you.

Come on my pretty girl…tell me.

You couldn’t help it. Your heart leapt in your chest at the pet name.

Deciding to take things a step further, he reached out with his free hand, and brushed some hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear, “Hmm? What am I?” How far can I push you?

Your eyes fluttered at his touch, but you quickly snapped out of it and blinked, “Well you’re… handsome. Definitely.” You murmured, and looked away to try and seem aloof, even though you were far from it. His hand was huge and warm against your cheek as it engulfed it.

“That’s sweet of you to say, y/n.” He whispered and drew his hand away, which you missed instantly. “Why does she call you lollipop?” The question had been sitting on his silver tongue for six minutes. He needed to know.

Your cheeks burned even more and you moved some of your wayward hair away from your ear, “O-oh. Um…they were my favourite candy when I was a kid. Still love them and I get made fun of for it because they’re childish.”

Talented tongue then.

Albert nodded, “Well that’s not very nice.” He said with a little pout that made your eyes flick to his lips again.

“Well people aren’t always very nice.” You whispered, the weight of your words all too heavy.

Your breath fanned across Albert’s face and he had to keep himself from inhaling deeply.

“Do you think I’m nice, sweetie?” He murmured, tilting his head to the side. You had come closer again, though you didn’t even realise it.

You nodded, “Uh-huh.”

“I think you’re nice too.” Came his whisper that make your pulse quicken and a heat stir in your belly-

“Looollliiii!”

Both you and Albert blinked and turned towards the sound of your sister. Usually her sing-songy voice calling your name would set you at east to get out of the house as soon as possible, but this time, you didn’t want to go. You cursed her timing too.

“Let’s gooo!” She hopped on the spot where she stood, and nodded to the door.

Not in the mood to fight, you slowly stood, and found that Albert did too. He had his arms crossed, and you had to fight with yourself to not stare at his arms.

“It was uh…really nice meeting you, Albert.” You said with a shy smile; the older man was barely a foot away, but you didn’t move. Even when he grasped your chin and tilted your face up to his, you just stared back at him with your cheeks ablaze.

“I hope I’ll see you again soon, sweetie.” He murmured and stroked your chin.

“Come oon!” Ellen wailed from outside.

You sighed and shook your head, “I am sorry again for this mess…take the rest of these for Sampson…I think he might need some new snacks after tonight.” You smiled and bit your inner lip to keep from laughing.

But Albert didn’t smile back. If he did, he might not have restrained himself from leaning down to bite that lip or suck it until you were begging him for more. But he managed to keep his cold eyes gentle, at least long enough to fool you into thinking he was harmless. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite, bunny.”

Don’t let the bedbugs bite, bunny.

His words ran rampant in your mind as you drove your sister and a friend to her apartment. Even when you hauled your bike out of the truck and pedalled home, you didn’t notice the black van that followed you from afar as you remembered how his hand felt on your cheek and chin.

You didn’t even remember getting into your apartment or into bed, but what you did know was that tomorrow was Saturday, and your day off, and that you were going to go back to that house and apologize.

That poor man deserved that at least. Perhaps some fresh cookies…

When the warm morning sun shone through your window onto your face, you took a long breath to calm yourself. There was something about that man that made you nervous…but nervous wasn’t the right word. Something akin to nerves but so much warmer. Balancing the plate wasn’t an option with your bike, so you decided a long walk and bus ride would have to suffice.

You checked your watch for the fifth time once you got off the bus, even though you didn’t have an appointment. It felt like you did though, especially with how much your hands were trembling and your heart was beating frantically. South Irving st. ha d never seemed so long and so short at the same time. Once you passed 7735, it seemed the houses jumped right to 7742, and you were confronted with the brick house you had pulled your sister from just ten hours ago.

With a long, deep breath and a twisted gut, you walked up the path, and to the front door. You knocked before you could back out, but then your logical brain kicked in and you realized you didn’t even know if he would be home.

But you couldn’t dwell on your possible mistake for too long, as the door in-front of you swung open, and you were greeted with those same blue eyes that had plagued you all night.

“Well, what do we have here?” His shocked expression melted into one of mischief; you didn’t need to know it was actually self satisfaction.

What a good girl…coming back to me so soon.

Your cheeks were instantly scorched, but you tried to keep yourself calm, “Hi Albert…um, I just felt so bad about last night and I doubt Max helped you clean up…so I made you some cookies this morning,” you held up the plate, not able to meet his eyes, “A peace offering.”

Albert smirked, and tilted his head at your inability to look at him.

Just grab her and tie her to the bed…Max isn’t home so make her scream-

“Aren’t you just the sweetest? Come on in., y/n.” He said gently, taking the plate from you and moving aside; but not enough that you could move without brushing against his front to get in. He almost groaned at the feeling of your chest against his as you slipped inside.

Now as you looked around, the house resembled much more of a home than a fraternity house. It was very tidy, and actually very comfortable; you started to wonder if Albert had a girlfriend who helped with the cleaning, because in your experience, most men didn’t clean like that.

But most men weren’t Albert.

You walked into the kitchen behind Albert and watched him place the cookies down. “Would it be terrible if I indulged?” He asked you; the double meaning, however, was lost on you.

“It would be terrible if you didn’t.” You chirped back with an encouraging nod.

Albert felt himself pulse in his pants; imagining you saying the same words right before he’d force himself inside you and watch you cry out. He bit into the cookie and moaned, half from the taste, and half from the subtle rock against the counter he did. “Might have to hire you to make these for me all the time.” He joked once he recovered.

“Oh you wouldn’t have to pay me. I’m just happy to give you something yummy! I’m glad I caught you today…wasn’t sure if you’d be home.” You said, not knowing whether to get comfortable or walk to the door.

Albert took another bite lest he ask if you could be the yummy thing you’d give him so willingly; he began walking towards you, and you gathered it was time to go. “I get weekends off, so if you’re ever in the neighbourhood, you know when to find me.” He said. But instead of walking to the door, he sat at the couch, and you took that as an invitation.

As you sat down, you failed to notice how the older man shifted closer to you so once you settled, and successfully invaded your space- after all, it would be rude to move away. You wore another dress that day- a little soft blue one that you didn’t wear too often. Albert took another bite of the cookie, and chewed it thoughtfully, at least that was what you thought. You didn’t need to know that he was thinking of anything he hated to keep himself from coating the inside of his pants with his cum again.

“How did you sleep?” He asked, turning a little to see you better; the last bite of the cookie in his hand.

You bit your inner lip to keep from smiling and blushing. He didn’t need to know that you had woken up with ruined panties, “Oh not bad. Got home late after dropping everyone off.” You shrugged and shifted, but your knee brushed his in the process.

Albert grinned gently, and rested his head in his hand as he braced his elbow against the back of the couch.

“Such a good girl…bet your daddy would be proud of you.” He murmured, watching you so closely. He had said the same word last night, and you had reacted…he was curious if you would again.

Albert soaked you in. How your face glowed and your hands trembled; how you couldn’t look him in the eye.

You’re going to be mine.

Then he blinked, and his voice was light, “I’m so sorry, I’m being rude. Did you want one of those delicious cookies?” He asked as if nothing had happened.

You grinned at his kindness, “Oh, sure. Just a half is okay.” You said, not wanting to take away your gift from him like a greedy child.

Albert returned your grin, but you missed the dilation of his pupils, “Open.” He said, and held the last bit of cookie he held in his hand to your lips, which made your brows pinch in surprise; but before you brain could catch up, you parted your lips and let him place the cookie in your mouth. Albert hummed in satisfaction, and held your chin as you chewed, “Good, isn’t it?” Came his lofty whisper that made your head cloudy.

So fucking obedient

You could only nod slightly.

He could see the dazed expression on your face- Albert might not have been terribly experienced in the art of seduction, but he knew that the girl in his hand was at his disposal.

“You like me, don’t you sweetheart?” Albert purred, leaning closer to you. He was growing greedy.

You finally looked away and shrugged half-heartedly.

“Ah, look at me.” He chided you with a tap to your nose.

You swallowed and your eyes fluttered.

“You like it when I touch you?” He cradled your cheek, drawing small circles by your mouth.

You nodded again.

“Say it.”

“I…I like it when you touch me.” You whispered.

“Yeah?” Then he pulled away and relaxed into the couch, “Do you want to touch me?”

You fought to think. What did he say?

“Yes.” You breathed out, your mind was completely gone.

Albert hummed in satisfaction, and sucked in a breath.

This is going to be fun.

Without a word, he took your hand in his, and brought it to the crotch of his pants where his cock was hardening quickly. He flattened your palm and used it to stroke himself, grinding his hips into your hand, “You feel that? You did this. I was fine until I saw you last night…I fucking came in my pants when I went to change. Thought about fucking you right there in front of my brother and your sister…” he rasped. His predatory eyes were locked onto yours.

You stared at him, not able to move or speak.

“Did you get all wet for me, sweetie? Let daddy check.”

Just like that, your brain shut off.

“Come here,” he cooed, pulling on the hand that he held against himself. You stood up and came to stand between his spread thighs as he continued to stroke himself. He stared at you for a moment, then reached under your dress to pull your panties down and growled when he saw the darkened patch where your cunt had been.

Embarrassment should have frozen you, but like a woman possessed, you placed a hand on his shoulder and stepped out of them. You knew you should be concerned, but your mind was empty. Perhaps it was the shock of the sweet older man -who you had known for a total of 13 hours- now grasping your soaked panties in his hand and raising it to his nose, or maybe you were just naive to fully understand what was happening.

He sucked in a long breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me what a mess you were making, sweet thing?” Albert murmured; you felt his large hand around your arm, and pull you into his lap, “You’ve just been torturing me, you know that? That’s not very nice of you…” he pouted and tilted his head to the side.

Your lips parted, and you fought to think, “I…I’m sor-“

“You’re sorry?” He cut you off, “Is coming back to my house in a little dress like that…with cookies and soaked panties with no intention of letting me have a taste…sound sorry to you?” Albert mocked you.

A taste? But the cookies were for him-

“I’m not talking about those cookies.” His eyes seemed to grow predatory the longer he stared, and it wasn’t until the fabric of your panties brushed against your thigh that you noticed he was rubbing them against his pants to stroke his cock. “I’m talking about that cunt between your thighs that I could smell as soon as I opened the fucking door.”

Gone was the lofty, gentle voice you had heard before. Now all you could hear was a low growl that settled into your bones.

Your mouth dropped open as you listened to those depraved words leave his lips. Never in a million years did you think that he would be relaying such filth to you, and you certainly didn’t think you would listen, but there you were.

“Come on, where’s that pretty voice of yours?” He rasped, slipping his free hand into your hair before grasping it painfully, “Answer me.” He snapped.

You jumped in fright and fought to find your words, “I-I just…”

“You just? You’ve gone all silly, hm?” Albert soaked up your embarrassment, and rocked into his palm, “Or maybe you just want me to touch you?” His hand in your hair released you, and slipped down to your thighs where he paused, “Lift your dress up for daddy, sweetie.”

He saw your jaw drop sweetly at the title he gave himself.

So she likes that? What a filthy little thing…

You let out a shuttered breath, and moved your shaking hands to the hem of your dress.

“That’s it…” he encouraged you.

You pulled the hem up over your thighs and bunched it around your waist so you were completely exposed to him.

Albert sighed out a gravelly breath that sent a shiver down your spine; before you could blush from his heavy gaze, his hand was back in your hair, and those lips you had admired were against yours. You gasped in surprise, and put your hands on his chest as if to push him away, but that sweet taste was still on his tongue and it slipped into your mouth, and you were helpless. Albert groaned at the feeling of your body relaxing, and smirked to himself when he felt your little hands gripping his shirt.

His hand left his pants, and opted to wrap it around your waist to hold you tight against his body as he stood with you wrapped around him. You gasped and accidentally bit his lip, tasting blood; you pulled away and began to stutter out a meek apology but Albert said nothing as he strode to his room, and threw you harshly onto the bed.

You stared up at him, not even caring that your dress was flipped up for him to see your -shamefully- glistening thighs; he was ripping his shirt off in a flash and crawling over you before you could take a proper breath.

“A-Albert-“

“Shut up, sweetie. Let daddy make you feel good.” He rasped, pulling on your legs to shift you closer to him. The older man bunched up your dress around your waist, and pressed a harsh kiss to your navel before he was nipping at your thighs. Then, again, he paused and reached up to his lip and dabbed it before looking down at his finger.

Blood.

Your eyes went wide when you saw that his lip was definitely bleeding, but they only widened when you saw his breathing grow heavier.

“Now look at what you did. Say you’re sorry, bunny.” He murmured in a strangely sweet but stern tone.

You felt so tiny.

You couldn’t breathe.

He smacked your thigh. “Say it!”

“I-I’m sorry.” You whispered.

“You’re sorry…?”

“I’m sorry, daddy.” Your voice was a shell of what it usually was. Your brain was so busy playing catch up, that you could barely even register the words in your mouth.

Albert closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

“That’s my good girl. See isn’t that easy?” He cooed, kissing where he had slapped.

You nodded and sucked in a breath at the feeling of his lips on your thigh, moving higher. The sensations were too much, and had you squirming to try and alleviate the intense sensations. But Albert only grinned and chuckled as he skipped the rest of your leg and planted a open kiss right on your clit.

A loud whimper echoed through the house, and it took you a moment to realise it was coming from you.

“Did that feel good, bunny?” You heard Albert ask from between your soft thighs as he did it again, “You like my mouth on your little pussy? I bet you do.” He kissed you again, but this time he sucked your clit into his mouth. Hard.

You cried out and tried to wriggle out of his grip, but Albert had his hands and arms around your hips, pinning you there for him to use you as he pleased.

“Ah, ah…hold still.” He bit your thigh, then returned to your soaked entrance, this time slipping his tongue inside you. Your eyes rolled back, and you arched your back; he ground himself into the mattress at the sound of you mewling so prettily for him. Albert returned to your clit, and sucked on it slowly. It had been years since he had done anything like it, but he caught up quickly with what made you rock into his mouth for more. He could feel you start to tense as your pleasure built up; your hands found their way into his hair and your attempts to hump his face were adorably pathetic.

“I- I…p-please I’m-“ you stuttered.

“That’s it, you’re gonna come?” He mocked you, slipping a thick finger inside you and stroking against your sensitive spot, “You’re gonna come when I get to 1, okay?”

You nodded helplessly, right on the edge.

“5.” He sucked at your clit, and you screamed.

“4.” He slipped his tongue inside you along his finger.

“3.” He slipped another finger inside you, and you felt tears running down your cheeks from trying to hold back.

“2…” he sucked at the skin of your thigh-

Then he pulled away completely. Nothing touching you.

You bolted up, eyes wide and teary.

What-

“You didn’t think I’d let you come that easy did you?” He tilted his head to the side all innocently, and rose up onto his knees.

You must have looked like a kicked puppy judging by how he chuckled mercilessly at you, “Now why don’t you take off that little dress and sit pretty for me.” His voice was ragged as he crawled next to you and nodded down by his feet.

With your eyes glued to his, you slowly lifted the dress off yourself, and let it fall beside you. In the back of your mind it registered that it was the exact shade of his eyes, and you wondered if you had done that on purpose.

Albert wondered too.

Of course she did.

She’s yours, whether she knows it or not.

Albert grinned wolfishly and blindly began undoing his belt, “You’re going to watch. And if you try anything…well you’ll find out.” He winked down at you, which you answered with a deep blush.

You watched as he unzipped the fly, and the head of his cock was already peaking out from the top of his briefs, eager and weeping pre-cum. His large hand gripped it and pulled the shaft out completely, and you couldn’t help but let your jaw drop open.

“What’s wrong bunny? Too big?” He murmured like he cared.

You didn’t say anything, only staring. Then Albert began to stroke himself, his hips bucking up into his hand after keeping himself on the edge for so long. You watched, feeling your pussy clench around nothing at the sight of the older man’s cock.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his free hand go to his pocket and pull something out; you let out a whimper when you saw it was your panties that he was now wrapping around his shaft as he pumped.

He eased his thumb over the head, and hissed at the sensation. Albert took in your sweet, desperate little form and how your hands were clenching so tightly to refrain from reaching out.

Such a good fucking girl.

“You want this don’t you?” He rasped, gripping his cock tighter to make his point, “I bet you’re making a mess on my clean bed, aren’t you?”

Your breathing came in heavy gasps, and you nodded.

“Get the fuck over here.” He growled. You barely had time to move before he gripped your arm and pulled you onto his lap.

Albert held your hip in one hand and his cock in the other. Up close now, you were nervous as to wether or not it would fit, but he didn’t let you fret too much before he was pushing the swollen head inside you.

“Ah-“ you gasped, clutching onto his shoulders. He was huge, and it felt like you were lit on fire.

“I know sweetie, but it’s going-fuck…it’s going to feel so, so good-“ he groaned and thrust up and forced another inch inside you. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sit properly for days at the sheer stretch of him inside you alone.

Albert was entranced by his cock getting swallowed up by your body, and he had to force himself to hold back lest he fill you his his cum right there. But oh how pretty you’d look all shocked.

He gripped your hips with both hands and pushed you down his length until your hips met his, and you choked out a pained gasp. The bulbous head of his cock dragged against your walls so firmly you saw stars, and couldn’t help but clench around him.

“You like that? Huh?” He rolled his hips and drew a moan from your lips that made his cock twitch, “I can fucking feel you, you little- fuck!” You met his hips as he rocked against you, and you both gasped at the feeling.

You wished you could form a sentence to make him as flustered and flushed as he did, but all you could do was grip his shoulders for dear life, and whimper.

“You fuck every old man who says you’re nice? Huh?” He chided you.

“N-no-“ you breathed, grinding against him, already feeling your orgasm build.

“No. I didn’t think so. You’re a good girl aren’t you? You’re mine, right?” He rasped, thrusting up against you.

Your mind was clouded with lust and you nodded.

“Say it. Say you’re mine, sweetie. You belong to daddy.”

“I’m y-yours-“ you murmured, head lolling into the crook of his neck.

That easy huh? That’s my girl.

“That’s right.” He gripped your hips even tighter until it hurt, and bucked up into you.

“I-I-“ you stammered.

“You’re going to try and come again?” He growled into your ear, biting at the skin. You nodded helplessly, and let out a sob, “Yeah you fucking come. Come on I’ll be nice.” He rasped; you swore you could feel his voice vibrate through you.

It took two more rolls of his hips for you to break, and you were well aware of the fact that your vision went dark, and your hearing was null.

Albert felt you tighten uncontrollably around him, and pressed your face into his neck when a scream tore from your throat. A gush of cum soaked his shaft, and he almost stopped breathing at the feeling. Your shaking legs and sobs sent him over the edge, fucking himself into your slick pussy until his cock throbbed and his cum began to fill you up. His hips kept rocking against you until he felt his pants grow saturated with your joined cum. Then, when he slowly came back to his body, he felt how you had slumped against him. Boneless.

So trusting.

You were almost limp, and Albert began to wonder if you had passed out as he cradled you there with his cock still inside you. But then, after five blissful minutes, you slowly raised your head to look him in the eye and Albert felt something inside him pulse with a need from the way you looked at him. There was a certain devotion in your blissed out face- an almost thankfulness.

A lovingness- it didn’t matter if it was from the brutal fucking you had just received or a true adoration. To Albert it was all the same, and he wasn’t about to let you go. It didn’t matter how it started, he was going to keep you with three words.

“My pretty girl.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@dancingisdangerouss @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @dogmatic255 @honeycovered-bandaids @ethanhawkestan @theroadreader @ebiemidnightlibrarian @lxdyred @eth1calcannibal @al-shaw @katehawke

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

The Dragon’s Spoil (Aemond Targaryen x Rivers! Reader) Part 2

Part 1   |   Part 2   |  Part 3   |   Part 4  

Summary: The baseborn daughter with little knowledge of who your Lord father was, your life is caught in the midst of war. The Riverlands are the base for the Greens and the Blacks, dragons loom in the skies, and men die daily, especially within the walls of the cursed Harrenhal. It’s only when a certain one-eyed dragon comes for his retribution. The year is 130 AC and war endures.

A/N: It was good to see people liked the first part, so I’m continuing with this. If you’re not aware, this series will be around 4 parts, sort of following what happens at the end of the dance of Dragons. 

I also changed the ending to the final part as initially, Vhagar was going to eat the corpses instead or burn them, but it made me think that Aemond wouldn’t do that. Despite killing pretty much all of House Strong, he will still respects their bodies to give them a respectful funeral rite similar to the cremations Targaryen family members get.

I also promise the next chapter is when it gets most spicy.

Tags: slight mention of threat, some gore at the end.

Wordcount: 1,817

The Dragon’s Ruin

It feels like an eternity when you next see the Prince.

Criston Cole has you dragged away into the kitchen of the castle, throwing a cleaner apron that is not stained in mud. “I’m sure one of the ladies has a spare gown for you to wear.”

There are no true ladies of Harrenhal, only those that were dragged to live here by the husbands if they were willing. You gritted your teeth, finding some reprieve when the Hand leaves the room, only to allow you a short moment to change.

You can’t do much apart from try and drag the mud out from the bottom of your gown, already was it stained and appropriately dirtied from days of labour around the castle. The castellan had made sure you were occupied in cleaning: especially in places that had little to no to see you.

You wipe at your brown kirtle with some water in a bucket close by, changing your previous apron with one that is just as messy as the previous one, except the stains seemed more appropriate for a cook. You tie your long black hair up in a bun, loose ringlets fall and frame around your face and fail to fall back behind your ear.

You’re appropriate when the Hand comes for you again, muttering along the lines of “the Prince wants to see you in his chambers” before you’re dragged by the arm again, through the corridors you’ve known all your life. 

It’s not hard to find him: he’s in the same apartment you had previously been cleaning, its fireplace still unlit and ash messily strewn in a manner that had looked to of been discarded. He would be displeased to have his room not the cleanliness of one in the Red Keep.

The One-eyed Prince is situated in a chair by the unlit fire, idly preoccupied in waiting for you as if he had been called to see you and not the other way around. For a moment when you both enter the room, he does not look to address either, and you see in the split second how he does not seem as calm as he usually is.

His hair is thrown forward past his shoulders, long and graceful, he is caught staring with a stare of longing and unknown thoughts. It makes you wonder just what he is thinking, whether he is proud of his doings, or if war has strengthened him into becoming the man he was meant to be.

He is playing at war. You think, staring at him. Boys as green as summer, they think they’re untouchable.

“My Prince,” Criston addresses and the split moment of being with his thoughts bring him back, his eye turning just enough to see you both in his peripheral, “the bastard you called for.”

“Thank you, Cole,” Aemond speaks calmly, though one hand is squeezing his thigh with might that you think he’ll rip the fabric. “You may leave us both.”

Cole obeys like the loyal dog he is, leaving through the doors and closing them shut, leaving you with the man who killed all in a minor House, and what he could do with a girl like yourself.

You could only imagine what Perra was feeling, how she had been lucky to escape with her life. If Aemond had found out that her uncle had been working alongside the Blacks, you were certain her head would have been sent over to him in a lavish box. 

She was the daughter of a knightly house. She escaped because her name was important, not yours. You think, and sadness spreads through your chest. If you had been born a lady of some house, you wouldn’t have to worry about the judgement, the hatred. It burnt in the back of your skull knowing they stared when you walked past, whispering the lies about you.

Witch. Sorcerer of Harrenhal. Killer of babes and men.

They had all been lies, though, if you had been a witch, you wished your stares could burn through a man’s skull. The part about killing babes was false when you had rarely seen children born in a place such as this. Harrenhal was not the place that would bring life but take it. 

You had been warned that bastards were sterile, never able to create life. It was “to curse them for their unfaithful parents.” Though you did know some bastards could reproduce, you dared think the rumour had been true just for yourself.

Though, you feel rather relieved that you wouldn’t be able to, the constant reminder is enough to make you believe so. You wished you were the witch people called you by, just so you could curse the Prince who had waltzed in and dug up everything root and stem. House Strong could never come back and if they could, the baseborn girl that came from the line could certainly not be legitimised to restrengthen its line.

Aemond is standing from his seat when you blink out of your thoughts, staring at his lips move when you realise he is asking you something. “Who was your father, my Lady?”

My Lady. It stings when you hear that come from him, and you almost laugh at the absurdity. You were everything but a lady. Witch. Sorcerer. You think he uses it to humble you, to remind you of what you were.

“I did not know who,” you answer coolly, “many whispered it had been Ser Simon or Lord Lyonel. Some even said Harwin or the Master of Whispers himself, though I would believe they would be similar in age to me the same way a sibling or cousin would be.”

“How old are you?”

“I am three-and-twenty, my Prince.” You grit your teeth when you say his title.

“And your mother?”

A sad smile appeared on your features, hoping that he did not see it appear before you look away from him. “My mother too, was a mystery I never got to know.”

Aemond hums at your word as he slowly stalks closer towards you. “It is not right for a child not to know their parent.” He speaks causally. “The Mother above can be cruel in most ways.”

“It is the sins of the parents that bring bastards into the world, my Prince, not the Mother.” You say, and when he turns his head to you sharply, you dart away to look elsewhere. 

You curse at yourself for overstepping and speaking when you shouldn’t have.

He stares you down with fascination, humming lightly in a singsong tone. “You’re familiar with the Seven, but you were never brought into the Faith?” 

“A novice life would not suit me well,” you shrugged, smiling to yourself. “I simply could never remember the prayers. Harrenhal is cold but I would rather prefer these walls than those of cold and dreary Oldtown.”

Aemond chuckles at that and it takes everything not to gawk at him when you hear it. It’s soft and subtle, but it sounds surprising and oddly nice to hear come from him. “I suppose you’re right. My mother always thought I would make a great knight, fighting in tourneys.”

“I suppose we were put here for greater purposes.” You speak, trying not to look as intimidated under his purple-eyed gaze.

He stares at you, not saying much, but his eye flicks through emotions as if flicking through a book. It’s unnerving but it draws you in ever the same as a moth to flame. You’re intimidated, but you’re intrigued to know more about him, even when you feel such conflicting feelings of wanting to see him and the entirety of the Greens burn.

You find your words come easier, and you ask the crucial question that had plagued your mind since the moment he landed in the courtyard. “If you aren’t going to kill me, my Prince, why am I here?” 

honestly to him before you find yourself lost in his gaze and you forget everything about hating him. 

 Aemond draws his hands behind his back to straighten his back and appear taller, towering over you with ease. It’s as if just staring at his features makes you feel lost in his Valyrian beauty, and you forget everything about hating him. 

“I need a handmaiden and someone who is most familiar with Harrenhal. You would fit both best, am I correct?” He speaks earnestly.

“That… would be correct.”

He is close enough that you can smell the oils on him, the smell of musk that any proud warrior would wear. It's powerful and overwhelming, but it’s almost as if the way he's standing so close to you is his ploy to make you subservient to him. “My brother will only ask that the prominent line of House Strong is destroyed, not of its baseborn. After all, he had taken… to creating some of his own.”

Oh. He was far from a faithful man, and certainly fit the role of a sloth and licentious King. “My condolences to the Queen.”

Aemond hums amusedly as he traces back to his seat, “I require a fire. I expect you know how to work one?”

“Indeed, my Prince.”

“Very well,” he spoke, his face turning just enough that you see his visible eye, burning with something that makes your heart flutter and your stomach twist, “you will have my undivided protection from all the men in this castle. I swear it on my life.”

It doesn’t make you feel any better to know that, rather you think of one thing that you wish you could ask him aloud, and what about you?

You curtsy rather clumsily, forgetting your footing but playing it off as you leave his chambers, hurrying past Cole who awaits just outside. You almost bump into him as you catch him scowling down at you.

You’re blinking away your confused thoughts, muddled in a worry of feelings and mixed emotions. You hate him, and you should hate him for everything, but his looks and charm were everything that made you feel lured to him. 

Standing back in the place you recalled not long before, the courtyard is a sore sight. Blood still cakes the ground, but the bodies are all replaced with a large pile of ash, some mixed with plates of metal and burnt articles of clothing.

Your stomach twists once again as you back away from the sight, turning back as your vision catches something perched on the walls above.

Thinking it was a raven at first, your heart drops when you recognise that no, they’re not birds, but the heads of every member of House Strong.

Your fists clench into your apron and you’re nearly quick to tears as you look away, remembering your job was to collect firewood for Aemond’s chambers.

Hurrying away, you think if there was any way Targaryens were immune to fire.

[shieldofiron]

Meals on Wheels

(Harringrove, just a flirty little drabble for @disabledbillyandsteveweek day 2 prompt-Family)

Steve thought it was maybe the stupidest thing he’d ever thought of. He and Robin had been having a sleepover and somehow the subject got around to tattoos.

“I would get a pin up girl but that might be tacky,” Robin sighed.

“As far as I’m concerned, the tackier the better,” Steve rolled up to his countertop and poured another glass of wine.

“Oh yeah, what are you getting? A nail bat?”

“Only if it says ‘who wants to get nailed,’” Steve snarled.

“What about a tramp stamp?” Robin took the glass of wine and sipped it. “Eat me.”

Steve thew a saucy look over his shoulder, dripping with king Steve charm, “Please. Look at me. It would say meals on wheels.”

Robin giggled, “Yeah, as long as we’re getting tattoos of wishful thinking I should get one on my hand that says, ‘Pussy destroyer.’”

“‘M just in a dry spell.”

“Yeah, okay,” Robin rolled her eyes, “Would you actually get ‘Meals on Wheels?’”

“Eat fast, eat fresh,” Steve quipped. “I’ll do it if you do, Madam Pussy Destroyer.”

Robin giggled loopily, “You know I did see an article about a tattoo parlor that specializes in sensory safe tattoos.”

“What’cha mean?” Steve wasn’t drunk, but he was a little tipsy on their good fortune in securing a wheelchair accessible apartment this close to the city center. Sure, a lot of rent had to come from their was Starcourt hush money, after Steve been paralyzed and a flayed Jonathan Byers has saved the world, but they he still found it and so Steve was happy to fork over the cash. The location was ideal, even if the city noise sometimes wrecked havoc on Robin’s sensory issues so they’d installed some extra sound proofing. But he wasn’t sure how a tattoo parlor was a part of that.

“It’s super cool, the owner has OCD so he made it so each room is private and soundproofed. They don’t play loud music, and offer headphones if the buzzing is too much, though you can bring your own movies. I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but some of those places are just too loud and busy,” Robin sighed.

“So you’ve always wanted to be a pussy destroyer?”

“No, shut up,” she blushed. “A Lilly, for my grandma.”

“Well maybe tomorrow we can go check it out.

“I wouldn’t want to do it alone.” She bit her lip. “I wouldn’t have the guts.”

Steve shrugged, “ok, you convinced me. It’s tramp stamp time.”

“No, you’re not serious,” Robin giggled.

“You’re my family. If you bleed, I bleed. You tramp stamp, I tramp stamp,” Steve said, only laughing when Robin did.

But then the next morning, his head pounding, he didn’t have too many defenses when Robin had looked at him with those puppy dog eyes and said she’d called and made them an appointment. She’d even brought in his motorized wheelchair and said that she’d buy bagels on the way.

But he was regretting it when they were finally there, and Steve was contemplating actually getting something permanently inked into his skin.

He wasn't sure if he was cool enough for this. He definitely wasn't cool enough for the artist that came in and introduced themselves to Robin. Their name was Eddie and they were practically covered in tattoos, wearing some cool unpronounceable band name t-shirt that they'd sewn to a mini tutu skirt to make a dress. They took Robin back to her room after they went over her sketch, a lilly painted with pale watercolor shades.

Robin squeezed his hand, "You're not gonna chicken out on me, right? I booked the only two person room they have so if you don't show up, I will know."

"I'm not chickening out," Steve laughed, "Though I hope your grandma isn't watching from heaven, because she'll probably see my ass."

Robin snorts, "She definitely saw your ass this morning when I helped you out of the shower. She was a tough old bird, a little of your pale ass won't scare her."

Steve snorted, "I'll see you in a moment."

Steve was starting to feel a little nervous. Honestly after Starcourt, he hadn't been interested in hiding his sexuality at all. Life seemed too short, he might as well unapologetically be himself, bi and disabled and ADHD and slutty and everything that was himself. But maybe the double entendre tramp stamp was a little too out there.

And then... he'd come in.

"Hi, Steve, right?" The guy was stunning, with long blonde curls streaked with blue piled up into a big bun on the top of his head. He offered a large, warm hand and Steve almost melted when they shook.

"Yeah, hi."

"I'm Billy, I'm the owner," Billy smiled, and Steve swore that he could see a cartoon smile, like Billy was an anime prince. An anime prince that had a giant seratonin tattoo that was splattered with that looked like watercolor. "I hope you don't mind that I use some hand sanitizer. I'm working on my handshake thing, but..."

"It's fine, ah... do you mind if I have some too?" Steve held out his hand.

Billy squirted Steve out a little of their fancy hand sanitizer.

"So I have to be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect when we got the call for a wheelchair themed tramp stamp that said meals on wheels," Billy licked along his lower lip, "But now that I'm seeing you it makes more sense."

Steve could feel himself turning red, "It was kind of a joke-"

"I mean," Billy leaned in, "You do look good enough to eat."

Steve shivered, blush spreading up to his hairline.

Billy straightened, "God, sorry. Sorry, that was so inappropriate-"

"It's fine."

"No, really, I can see if Heather is free to take over the appointment, except that-" Billy bit his lip, "I think I'll still have to be the one to help you onto the table. Maybe if Eddie and Heather work together... God, not that you're like... too big or... shit... I'm sorry."

Steve laughed, "Really, it's fine."

"You're not too big, you're like... perfect," Billy ran a hand down his face, "Sorry. I'm sorry. Chrissy should know she can't give me the pretty guys, I clearly can't handle it."

Steve glanced up, giving him that King Steve sparkle right back, and seeing the way it made Billy's eyes go wide and nervous.

Steve pressed on the joystick to his chair with one finger, running a hand along the tip flirtatiously.

Billy's eyes darted to his hand, and then back to his face.

"I think you can handle me," Steve said smugly, "Don't you wanna try?”

Steve left that day with a bit of a sore ass, though the sensation was soothed a lot by the business card that had Billy's personal number scrawled on the back.

"I can't believe the meals on wheels tattoo got you a date," Robin rolled her eyes as she attached Steve's chair to the floor of his van, tightening the straps down with a shake of her head.

"What can I say," Steve shrugged, "Billy looks like a hungry boy to me."

Robin gagged, "You are my family. But never, ever, say that again."

@intothedysphoria thanks for answering my question on this one.

[definitelynotamhafan]

A cave at the edge of a universe (Darkness pt.2)

Warnings! Flashbacks.

The day had gone by in a mixture of awkward silence and mistrustful glares, nothing you weren’t used to, of course.

Now, as the sun was setting, your bare feet dug into the still heated sand, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The sound of silence was swirling around you, the wind carrying a salty scent.

The sea. Oh how you missed it. You remembered the days of the first sprouts of plants ever growing on the soil beneath your feet, the way Amun slipped his hand in yours, both of you running along the shore…

No. Amun was gone, he had changed, what use was to dwell in the past if it only caused you pain?

Your screwed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath and going back in the tent. You grabbed a bowl from one of the tables, pouring yourself some water for your parched throat. As you tilted the bowl, your lips pressed against the smooth ceramic carved with depictions of some pharaoh you couldn’t care less about, you felt a pair of eyes on you.

Staring at you, with a glare so sharp that it was burning the back of your head, was Seth.

“Are you just gonna keep glaring at me like that? You’ll get wrinkles.” You said, chuckling.

“You still play that game, huh?” He retorted. “Acting like you aren’t an evil god.”

You paused. Evil? Out of all the words he thought, evil was the way to describe you?

Unfair? Sure. Damned? Yeah, why not. Cursed? Go ahead! Unwanted? Unforgiven? Bring ‘em in! But evil? That didn’t sound right.

“Says the god of chaos.” You said. “At least I’m not punished to live as a demigod.”

Now it was Seth’s turn to go silent.

“You know?” He asked.

“Of course I do. I can smell it on you. Half god, half human. Such a pitiful punishment.”

“What did you just say about my punishment, you asshat?!” He snapped

“You heard me first, Weasley!” You retorted.

“…what?” He asked confused.

“Nevermind, you wouldn’t get it. What did you do to deserve that shit anyways?” You asked, putting the ceramic bowl down and tilting your hunting dog headdress back.

“I cut Osiris into pieces.” Seth said, looking away.

You paused.

One beat.

Two beats.

And then you burst out laughing.

“Fuck yeah! That green pea-looking bastard deserved it!” You managed to say between laughs.

Seth was stunned. I mean quite literally shook™️. He had no idea that someone would actually hate Osiris this much to agree with him.

“Really?” He asked.

“Of course! That dude is wayyyyy too obsessive for his own good. He didn’t do anything to you, right?” Your expression turned serious at the end. “Right?”

———

“HE DID WHAT?!” You gasped. “Oh you poor thing…” you extended your hand out to Seth, wrapping it around his shoulders comfortingly.

The way his head rested against your chest, it felt just like-

“Am-heh! Wait up!” Ra called out, running after you. “Slow down, love.” He whispered, trailing kisses on your skin as soon as he reached you.

“And if I don’t?” You teased.

“Then I might just make sure you can’t run away.” He winked.

“Oh? And how is that?” You inched closer, your faces inches apart.

“We’ll find out tonight, won’t we?” He teased, before turning into his female form, guiding your hands to her waist. “You won’t run away from me, right?”

“Never.” You sealed her lips.

-no. Not again. You pulled yourself together, ignoring the throbbing pain at the back of your head. Amun-Ra was gone. She wasn’t the same anymore. Now she was just Ra, goddess of the sun. Not your dear Amun. Once the love of your life, who couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you created the stars, embroidering the sky with their light, or creating the fabric of the Nile from your cloak of darkness. They weren’t the same. They would never be. Never again.

“You still don’t trust me?” You teased Seth a little bit.

“Maybe a little.” He replied, snuggling against your chest, his breath so deep that you were surprised he hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

Yet one thing couldn’t escape your mind as sleep began closing in on the both of you, as you laid face-up on the bed. The familiar rocks, the darkness surrounding you, the cool breeze seeping in your bones…. Something was calling out to you. And you knew where it was hiding.

In a cave at the edge of the universe, at the end and beginning of time, somewhere where the clock is pointing at the 25th hour, and no ticking will ever be heard. Somewhere where your memories will haunt you forever.

[callsign-bunnie]

52 Letters To Simon Riley - Chapter 1

Week 1

Dear Simon,

I know you hate cliches. But… if you’re reading this, I’m dead. I’m sorry. I know what this is going to do to you.

Or

Soap is dead. Ghost isn't at all sure how he's possibly going to get through this one, but Soap thought ahead for this, in the form of 52 letters, meant to be read weekly in a desperate attempt to help Ghost move on in the case of Soap's death. Ghost isn't sure they'll work, but... he'd do anything for Johnny, even now.

Warnings: main character death, grief, drug use, and referenced suicide

Spoilers for MW3

--

It’s been one week since… Johnny died . Simon hated cliches, but every day was a fucking struggle. Waking up and just breathing was a fucking struggle. Maybe if they’d let him see the body- no. No, that would have been worse. That would have been so much worse. 

Ghost had gone with Gaz and Price to spread the ashes, he’d stood at the edge of that fucking cliff, he’d gone through the motions. That was yesterday. This is today. 

With Makarov dead, with Shepherd dead… the four- No. The three of them were allowed to take a rest. Allowed was a bit of a… strong word. It was more that they were told they wouldn’t be deployed for at least a year or so, and Simon couldn’t bring himself to argue with it. So much had been figured out in a week, it’d made his head spin, so maybe it was best for them to be off for a year.

Any other situation, and Simon would have fought it. He would have cussed out the higher up who gave the order, hell he might have fist fought them if they pushed it too hard. But… No. He didn’t want to go anywhere, he didn’t want to do anything without Johnny. Even the idea of going somewhere and clearing it out without Soap on the headset, joking back and forth… It made him sick to his stomach.

He hesitated at the top of the stairs, his hand resting on the door knob. Somehow, opening the door and going inside felt too final. Johnny had never been in his apartment, but they’d started to discuss potentially Soap visiting, maybe one day moving in, though Soap had made a face at the idea of living in Manchester.

At the time, Ghost had been slightly offended, though it’d also been amusing. Manchester? Why don’t you move to Glasgow?

I own the building, Johnny. No rent.

Manchester it is!

Ghost’s shoulders dropped and he put his forehead against the door. He’d told himself that Soap never having been in the apartment would be a good thing, then he wouldn’t have to deal with traces of Johnny everywhere, but now he was thinking that maybe he needed those traces. He needed whispers of Johnny, so him being dead didn’t feel so absolute.

Finally, he told himself to stop being a pussy and to just open the door, so he did, pushing it open with the same force he used for everything, unsurprised when he had to catch it from slamming back into the wall. 

Instead, he just pulled it forward, using his foot to give it the force needed to slam shut, before going straight to his bed and falling onto it. Once upon a time, the apartment wasn’t a studio. It had three bedrooms, and a living room. Now, save for load bearing beams, it didn’t have any of that. He’d taken the bulk of the wall, not liking that there were so many places for things to hide in there.

It’d been a sort of manic haze that had led to him tearing down the walls, though. Like a rabid dog, he’d torn into the drywall. The building was so much newer, it wasn’t older like every building around him. Practically a newborn, as it was hardly older than 20 years old. So, it didn’t have that much brick filling in the new rooms. Definitely didn’t, now.

He’d gotten rid of everything that blocked his eyesight. Of course, after calling a contractor to make sure he wouldn’t bring down the fucking building. Keeping the mania at bay long enough to get all of the paperwork was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Which was… saying something.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Surviving Roba was second place, but tearing the cartel to shreds had been as easy as breathing. Making that decision, implementing it, following through, it had taken no more effort than floating in water ever did. Every mission he’d ever done was easy, save for Las Almas.

Talking Soap through Las Almas, spending every minute both terrified the Sergeant wouldn’t make it, and grappling with this newfound terror, and then confronting his own feelings afterward… That was third. 

Discovering his family’s bodies, looking down at his nephew’s small body under that cloth, and failing to end himself in the aftermath was definitely fourth place.

Pushing through fresh paranoia and mania, barely a year after destroying an entire cartel with nothing but himself, to wait three days to get a barely legal go ahead, and the restraint that it required to not say fuck it and rip the walls down immediately… that was fifth.

But now, laying in bed, and trying to put his mind in the direction of Soap’s death , trying to accept that he really was gone… This was the hardest. Fuck, this was so hard. As he rolled over to face the wall, he again had to force the idea through his head that Soap was gone. They weren’t going to call in the morning because Soap had no family to return to, so he was calling Ghost to distract himself. They weren’t going to again be on the phone by mid day because Ghost desperately needed human interaction and the only person’s voice that he could semi stand for longer than five minutes was Soap’s. They wouldn’t, again, call before Soap went to sleep at an absurdly early hour of ten o’clock at night because Soap wanted to make sure Ghost would be okay before sleeping.

I’m not a bloody toddler, Johnny. 

No, but it makes me feel better, Si. It’s not for you, it’s for me, so just shut up and let me check in.

…fine.

Ghost couldn’t cry.

He’d tried.

He remembered confronting his father about it. Demanding to know why, to know what he’d done to him. I remember when that prostitute died… How I made you laugh at her. Real men don’t cry, Simon. But… Ghost wanted to. Maybe then he would feel like he was honouring Soap’s death in some way. 

Come on, Ghostie, your boyfriend is dead and you can’t even shed a few tears. Did you ever love him at all?

Point blank, right in the head like everyone else. Ghost really would lose everything in the exact same way, over and over, and over.

Maybe he should get some sleep.

-

Well, some sleep turned into a lot of sleep and Ghost ended up being woken up by a rather loud knock on his door. Frowning, he sat up and ran a hand down his face, unsurprised to check the time and see it had been close to a day and a half. Great.

Well, he could use the sleep.

Another knock pulled him from the bed and he made a frustrated sound, hoping it was loud enough for whoever it was to hear. “I’m coming! Fuck…” He grunted before he reached the door, swinging it open.

He was actually shocked to be met with Gaz, who was holding a large wooden chest and… honestly looked more irritated than Ghost had ever seen him. “Garrick-” Ghost tried, but Gaz just thrust the box out at him. “What is this?”

“Soap made these… told me in the case of his death to… give them to you.” Gaz answered, his voice oddly colder than Ghost would have ever thought the sergeant would be capable of, around him. He’d often acted almost intimidated by Ghost, putting Price or Soap between them if he could. Now, however, he appeared bold, irritated. “He wanted me to deliver the letters, weekly, but… I can’t do it. I won’t.”

“Letters??” Ghost pulled the box back, startled, and he shook his head. “What do you mean?” It was a lame statement, but Ghost had asked almost in a knee jerk manner. 

Gaz shook his head. “I don’t know, he didn’t explain very well.” He mumbled and then sighed. Gaz looked at the box, once, and then he shook his head, dropping his arms to his side and half turning, presumably to leave, before stopping and turning back to Ghost. “He was my friend. I just… think he sometimes forgot that when it came to you.”

Ghost stared at Gaz, dumbfounded by his words, but he didn’t have a chance to even ask for a clarification because then Gaz was marching down the stairs and Ghost couldn’t find the will to follow him. To be fair… he wasn’t wrong. Soap did call Gaz his friend, frequently, but Ghost had picked up on the fact that if Ghost wanted to do something, Soap would drop whatever he was doing with Gaz or even Rodolfo in Mexico to do it with him. 

Ghost knew why, but he got the feeling that Gaz didn’t. 

So, he took a deep breath and returned back inside his apartment, staring down at the wooden box in his hands. He recognized it fairly quickly, as it was a box that he and Soap had looked at at a thrift shop. It was rather old, looking like an old treasure chest, and Ghost had jokingly considered buying it to “bury all the fucks I give”. 

Soap had laughed at the joke and ended up ushering him to a different part of the store, but now Ghost was looking at that same box. Had Soap went back and bought it? Did Soap know he was going to die? How?? He shouldn’t have, Makarov had shot him because Soap had attacked him. 

He wanted me to deliver the letters weekly…

Letters? 

Ghost moved to sit on the bed, still staring at the box. He needed to open it, he needed to know but… he was scared to. Simon Riley was fucking terrified to open a box.

A box.

A box potentially full of letters.

From… Johnny?

Finally, his fingers found the latch of the box and he took a deep breath before opening it and finally pushing the box open. Inside were quite a few envelopes, which he had expected upon hearing letters. They were each labelled with a number, but an envelope at the top of the box with his name on it caught his attention, first.

He did note that there was no envelope with a number 1 on it, even after he dug around in the box a bit. There was 2 all the way to 52, but there was no 1. There were also quite a few packages in the box, but they were labelled with the letters A through H and were fairly small.

“Johnny, what the fuck is this?” He murmured to himself, half expecting an answer but fully knowing he wouldn’t get one. 

Still, despite his desire to grab every envelope and just start to tear them open, he knew Soap better than this.

A few months after Las Almas, on a very short leave in Urzikstan, Soap had spent an entire day (with Farah) setting up this dorky little scavenger hunt for Ghost in her base. It was… actually rather sweet, and Ghost would only admit that he loved it out of honour for Soap. He wouldn’t say it out loud, though. 

It had all been rather inconspicuous, just a set of notes with dorky messages. I’m so happy that I met you in Las Almas.

You set my world aflame.

Some stuff in gaelic that Ghost didn’t understand and Soap refused to translate, and Ghost didn’t have access to anything to translate with as the base didn’t have power and most of the little notes had disappeared. Most of them, though… Ghost had managed to keep a few.

He put the box to the side, going to his nightstand where he’d stuck them the last time he’d been there, carefully getting out the small folded notes and taking them back to where the box sat. There, he sat and unfolded one of the little notes. You’re beautiful in every single way, Simon.

Soap.

The grief welled back up in his chest until it was practically taking over him, leaving him to hunch over and gasp for air. He hated grief. He hated it because there was never any warning. There was no build up, it was just there. Even if he thought he’d moved on, there would be some sort of reminder and he was right here, drowning in it.

He wasn’t sure he could repeat the cycle again. Not when he’d just finally allowed himself to get close to someone, again. It wasn’t fair. He trusted and he lost. Over and over. Simon Riley was a death sentence. You start to care about him and you end up dead.

It was why he refused to get too close to Alejandro or Alex. Both of them had made a clear effort to be his friend but… he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to them. He’d lost himself with Soap and Soap had paid for it. 

That was the other thing he hated about grief.

The guilt.

It was slow to fade, taking far far longer than Ghost would like, but it did fade and he was left staring at the box and the small notes again. He needed to open that letter, but did he even have the strength? 

Clearly, though… Soap wanted him to. He could open it, he could open it for Soap. It was the least he could do, for condemning him to death with his presence.

Dear Simon,

I know you hate cliches. But… if you’re reading this, I’m dead. I’m sorry. I know what this is going to do to you.

I’ve had a bad feeling about this mission for a while. When Price didn’t let me kill Makarov, I knew then that that would be the end for me, I just didn’t think it would be so soon. However, he ended up breaking out and… here we are. When I heard that Konni were making plans, I wrote the letters then.

The letters being a set of 52, some having corresponding packages. I remember watching this film a bit ago, which had a similar concept. I can’t remember the movie and… god, I really can’t be bothered to look it up. I’m writing this mid-flight to deal with the missiles. I don’t think you’ve even noticed me writing it.

Ghost frowned, since he didn’t remember it at all. Hell, he remembered Soap being fairly engaged with the rest of them. When would he even have the time?? Ghost couldn’t remember a single moment that Soap had sat down to write, but… that was Soap. Soap was always like that, always managing to accomplish a hundred little tasks in the time it took Ghost to do one.

I wrote all of the other letters first. I tried, but I just couldn’t get around to this one until now. I managed to race through the others, but not this one. Even now, I still can’t find the words to say.

No, that’s not true, Si. 

I want to tell you that I love you. I know we were barely a thing for a year, whatever we were, but I do know that I fell so deeply and truly in love with you. Everything about you. Your eyes, your voice, the way you joke when you want to make sure the person you’re talking to isn’t nervous.

Truthfully, I think I actually fell in love with you four years ago, though I don’t know if I’m ready to admit that. You’ll laugh and roll your eyes, I know you will. Ghost, in fact, was. But it was love at first sight. You were exactly my type, tall dark and mysterious, and I knew by then that you had a classified background and that grabbed at me in all the worst and best ways. 

I was very excited when we were sent to Al Mazrah, together, and even more excited when we were sent to Las Almas.

However, if I wasn’t in love with you before, I fell completely in Las Almas. 

Despite it all, I will always consider that night where you were guiding me through, keeping me alive, one of the best nights of my life. I’ll admit, it doesn’t have much competition, but it definitely was. Though, I think I could have done without the gunshot.

That got a full belly laugh from Ghost and he shook his head, amused but not surprised that Soap could make Ghost feel better, even dead . 

We have had quite a few good nights after that. Very good nights. Ghost was blushing, he hated himself. Of course Johnny would also manage to make him blush. But that is still my favourite. I remember that shower.

Darker blushing, fuck Soap.

I’m so happy that you trusted me with yourself. I wish I could be there, longer, to continue to help you but… I know that I can’t be. You wouldn’t be reading this, otherwise.

I read, somewhere, that the first year of grief is the worst. I wouldn’t know, I never had anyone to lose until you, but I think that sounds right. I remember Gaz talking about losing one of his foster siblings and he also mentioned that the first year was the hardest.

So, in order to help you, I wrote the letters. I don’t want you to go through this, alone, and I know you won’t reach out to Alejandro and Alex willingly. I asked Gaz to give them to you, one by one. I know he’ll do it, he’s faithful like that.

Ghost winced, though now he wondered why Gaz wasn’t. I can’t do it. I won’t. Why not?

Some of the letters will ask you to do things. I know that sometimes, you won’t want to. I’m asking you, knowing I have no way to make you, to do the things they ask. Even if you feel like you just can’t, please do them.

Please do them for me.

Some of the letters have matching packages that Gaz should give with them, but just in case he forgets, the letter will have the package letter in it, so just ask him if he forgets. 

For now, though, you can give in, Simon. You can just sleep. I know you want to. God, he really did. I think others would force you to keep getting up, but I won’t do that. I know you, too well. It’s better for you to finally get to sleep. The rest of the letters will be here, and they will be given to you once a week for the whole year. 

I hope you sleep well, Simon.

Yours, always and forever,

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish.

I found the movie, it’s called “PS. I Love You” but I don’t recommend watching it. It’s a romcom.

Ghost laughed, since Soap really did know him well. Soap had loved romcoms but Ghost hated them. Surprisingly, not for any edgy reason, that time. He just didn’t like watching two people fall in love, it was boring. He preferred action or horror, which Soap had known. He did wonder if Soap had liked the movie, though. 

But… he guessed he’d never know, now.

Before the grief could crash into him, again, he decided to just heed Soap’s advice and go to bed. Soap was right, he did want to just climb into bed and sleep for a few days. He did question why he was seriously considering only opening a letter a week, and maybe for anyone else he would laugh and refuse, but… something about Soap had always had him doing things that he didn’t particularly want to do.

Fall in love, open up, not rip every envelope and package in the box open in order to seize the instant gratification it would give him., But… Soap wanted him to wait and so Simon would wait. He would put everything, even the little notes, in the box, relatch it and slide it under his bed.

Then, he would take a deep breath, lay back in bed, roll over.

And then he would get out his phone and contact Jason.

I’ve been waiting for you to reach out, Simon. -Big Jay

You’re not even going to advise me against the drugs? Ask me if I’ll pay you this time.

Let’s just say that I know better. -Big Jay

Smart man. I’ll see you in a few days.

The usual spot? -Big Jay

You know me so well.

It’s almost as if we’re childhood friends. -Big Jay

Yeah. Whatever.

Just text me before you show up. -Big Jay

Right.

By the way, Simon? -Big Jay

I’m sorry about Soap. -Big Jay

Yeah. Whatever.

--

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[damon-loves-pie]

“I’d Get You Anything Sweetheart.”

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader.(plus size but can work for any.) 

Word count: About 2,200 words

Warnings:18+,crying, feeling of loneliness. 

 Requested by: salenorona23 

Summary: Eddie x plus size reader who asks for a dog and Eddie gets her one for her birthday. 

Author’s note: Imagine written for salenorona23, I hope you enjoy it! I loved creating a way I thought Eddie would approach giving someone a dog! Thank you so much for your request! 

Writing Masterlist

It's just another day you thought to yourself as your eyes opened. You knew you should be excited because today was all about you but you couldn't be. Even though it was your birthday,  you knew there was no way you were going to get the one thing you wanted. A puppy. To be honest, it didn't even need to be a puppy, you would be fine with an older dog from the pound even. You sighed, turning towards the sleeping boy. Eddie's bangs were sticking slightly to his head as he snored quietly. While admiring his features you allowed yourself to slip back into your thoughts.

You just wanted a friend for the lonely nights when Eddie works at the plant with his uncle. After graduation, he managed to get hired on, and sometimes it gets quiet at home. Which is also a little creepy, making you weary of any noise inside or outside the trailer. Most people ask you what to do you have to be afraid of, especially since you don't look like the usual person someone would attack. It doesn't bother you much when your parents or whoever makes comments though, you knew you were beautiful. Plus your weight didn't mean you shouldn't feel like you didn't deserve to be safe.

There had been endless arguments about whether or not you two should get a dog. Eddie had told you over and over again he didn't want a dog. He stated he wouldn't have the time for it, and would rather spend his free time with you. You understood knowing it would be his job to watch the dog and take it out while you worked during the day. You just hoped though that he might have changed his mind. Apart from that he also didn't think the trailer park was that dangerous to need the dog for protection. Which he's right, it really wasn't but you wanted him to want to make sure you were safe.

After the last argument two weeks ago you never planned on bringing up getting a dog again. At least not for the next few years. The fight you two got in was heated and there were voices raised. Eddie finally having had enough put his hands into the air before emptying his lungs to you. "Do I not do enough? Do I not make you feel safe? If I don't then why the fuck do you stay with me?" Surprised at the turn this argument took, you raised your voice, not wanting the argument to go father but also wanting to get your point across. "That's not it Eddie, you do make me feel safe. It's just how are you supposed to keep me safe when you're working almost every night leaving me alone in the trailer? You aren't here to protect me Eddie." The argument ended in silence and with you crying in the bathroom. You didn't want to lose Eddie, especially over a dog.

"Morning beautiful," Eddie mumbles, rubbing his eyes as he lets out a yawn. "Morning baby," you tell him as the boy sits up, grabbing a shirt off the floor. He smells it before throwing it on. You watched him, waiting for him to tell you happy birthday like the years before. You felt taken aback as he just stands up, grabbing a pair of pants off of the dresser before putting them on.

"I promised Steve and Robin I'd give them a ride to work and that I'd help Dustin put some furniture together." Eddie informs you, grabbing his keys. "I'll be back later tonight and we can watch a movie like we do most Saturday nights. I love you." Eddie shouts, as he leaves the room, door closing behind him.

Your jaw drops shocked that he just left you here, not even asking you to come with. Also surprised with how quickly he had left. He didn't even say happy birthday, did he forget it? How could he? Especially after you two almost broke up about it when discussing getting a family pet two weeks ago. You wondered if you really meant that little to him, you knew he's been tired from work but this wasn't something anyone would just forget. You turn over, tears falling as you quietly sobbed in the pillow.

Eddie was stressed driving to Steve's house, it was killing him to have just left like that. He wanted to love on you, pulling you close, feeling your soft belly against his. He wanted to kiss you, telling you happy birthday and how happy he was your parents had decided to have sex. You were the best thing that ever happened to him, he didn't know where he would be if you hadn't came into his life.

You were new at school his third senior year, having been seated next to him in Chemistry. No one else in the class wanted to be seated with Eddie the Freak so the only remaining seat got placed with you. You didn't seem to mind and actually engaged with him. To be honest, if it wasn't for you he wouldn't have paid attention to anything in that class. But he didn't want you to think less of him that you might had already thought by learning he was in his third senior year. So he studied, wanting you to know he was capable of learning something.

Thank god he did study, because it ended up with him getting his diploma plus giving him more confidence to talk to you in class. All of the studying lead him to where he was today, in love with you almost 2 years later. He wanted to do whatever he could to make you happy and he was going to that today. You had been begging him for a dog so he was finally going to surprise you with one. He had been wanting to for a while but hadn't been able to find the correct time which lead to a lot of begging for the animal from you.

Two weeks ago you two had gotten into a pretty bad fight and he wasn't sure why he reacted the way he did since he wanted to create any kind of family with you. He was okay with getting the dog, if anything maybe the constant asking is what got to him. He felt so bad and decided that today was going to be the day, he wasn't going to wait any longer. He could of just brought the dog home, but with how bad you wanted it he wanted to do something special. Eddie walked right into Steve's house when he arrived to see everyone seated across his living room. "Ready to do this?" He asks as the group nods, standing up. They had little time to get this done.

It had been legit 9 hours where was Eddie? Your mind raced, tugging on your hair slightly. He left at a little before 10 this morning and it was almost 7 at night. You had spent your birthday all alone and bored in the house. You also had barely talked to anyone besides some calls from your family. You tried to get ahold of Steve or Robin at the store to see if he got any movies but the line was busy every time. No one answered over at Dustin's either, just leaving you hopeless.

Today was legit one of the worst birthdays you had ever had, and it's not something you would of ever had expected out of Eddie. This would have been your third birthday with him, the second one since officially dating. He had been amazing to you every single one of them surprising you with such thoughtful gifts. You wondered if he wanted to break up with you and did this on purpose. Hearing a knock at the door, you wipe your tears.

"Happy birthday (Y/N)!" Nancy shouts as you open the door. You felt so relieved to had finally see someone that the tears started back up as Nancy pulled you in for a hug. "What's wrong (Y/N)?" Nancy asks you, worried. Nancy didn't want you to cry, and especially not on your birthday. "I've been alone all day, so it was nice to see a face." You say as your voice cracks, pulling away to wipe your eyes again. "Eddie is working?" She questions as you let her inside. Nancy follows you to the living room, quietly behind you.

Shaking your head you tell her no. "He left this morning saying Steve and Robin needed a ride to work and that Dustin needed help building furniture for his mom." You explain, sitting down on the couch as she sits next to you. "His car is still in the shop?" She shakes her head, upset that you were left alone. "I guess, it's not even him needing to help any of them. I'm happy he helps the people he loves. It's just that-" You stop. "Just what?" She urges, wanting you to finish your sentence worried about the thoughts forming in your head. "He didn't wish me happy birthday either." You sigh, tears welling up again. She stares at you for a moment, heart aching because you felt alone. "Why don't we go out?" She smiles, as you nod just wanting out of this trailer.

The sun was starting to set as you both got out of Nancy's car. You two were walking towards the arcade, her having suggested it knowing it reminds you about back home where you grew up. "Thanks for this Nancy, I need this." You tell her as she holds the door open. "You don't have to thank me (Y/N)." She smiles, closing the door behind her. You still looking at her hadn't noticed the setup in front of you.

"SUPRISE!" You hear, making your head snap quickly towards the arcade. There stood Eddie and all of your friends waiting for you. Streamers and balloons decorated the arcade as your friends stood around a giant cake. You didn't expect to see this, not ever and especially not today. Eddie walked towards you, pulling you into a hug. "Happy birthday sweetheart." He whispers, kissing your head. The small action breaks you as tears fall hot and heavy down your face. You couldn't believe this, that everyone here cared enough about you to be here tonight. You had thought that you hadn't mattered to any of them.

"Don't cry baby, you still haven't seen the best part yet." Eddie pulls back, running his thumbs over your eyes. He wanted to make all your tears stop, hoping they were from happiness but also worried there may be some leftover from earlier. He knew that you had to of been hurt all day, he hoped all of this would make up for it. "What's better than this?" You giggled as he smiled, knowing you were feeling better. "Well, the gifts of course." He tells you, giving his eyebrow a wiggle. You let out a laugh as he wraps his arm around you, pulling you towards the rest of the group.

Eddie orders you to open your eyes as he lifts his hands off your face. In front of you stood a decent size box, not super huge to make you think much about it. "Open it please," Robin says excitedly as Eddie takes a seat next to you. You look at the group questionably, wondering what could be in the box. All of their eyes glimmered under the lights, watching your every move and reaction.

Your hands move to the top which wasn't taped shut, just folded close. That's a little weird you thought. Nervously you closed your eyes slightly, not being able to see much as you undid the box. You didn't want to see something and ruin the surprise before the whole box was open. The box started to move, making your heart race. Am I shaking that bad you wondered? Are we having an earthquake? Your eyes open up to be met with a pair other than your own.

There was a puppy right in front of your eyes. You jump up squealing at the small dog lets out a bark. "Eddie you got us a dog! I can't believe you actually got us a dog!" You babble as he watches you, both of your eyes shining bright with love. Quickly you sit back down petting the fluffy creature behind it's ears. The dog excited licks your hand, wagging it's tail.

You felt whole seeing the animal in the box, knowing Eddie cared about you more than you believed a few hours ago. The dog barked asking to be set free as you place the puppy onto your lap. It's little claws digging into your skin slightly as it licked your face, squirming in your lap.

Moving closer Eddie wraps his arm around you. The dog looked at him jumping onto his chest, causing  a laugh out of him. "You got me a dog Eddie," You smiled softy at him as he looked into your eyes.

"I'd get you anything sweetheart." He states, watching as you pet the newest member of your little family.

------

Thank you for reading! As always please leave love if you enjoyed it! 

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2023 - 5. Barbarous Characters: Y'shtola Rhul Rating: Teen Summary: Y'shtola's finding her first adventures in and around Limsa Lominsa to be very frustrating, but her companion may help remind her of some perspective. Takes place in 1.0 Notes: None

Y'shtola was managing to keep her temper in check, but only just. This city had been a problem for her since she had shown up, and it had culminated in a failure that would have been embarrassing had it been to anyone besides an Ascian.

As it was, it still stung. And what stung most of all was it was all so avoidable.

"I must needs apologise for dragging you into this mess," she said to her adventurer companion.

He shrugged, giving her a carefree smile. "No need. I was happy to help. That's why I became an adventurer, after all. See the world. Help its peoples. Get accosted nearly from my first day and accused of stealing a firearm from the local military and have that dog my footsteps the entire time. You know. Adventurer business."

Y'shtola could not help but laugh at his levity, and he laughed as well. However, she sobered quickly, and turned to look out over Limsa Lominsa with a sigh.

"If only any of the fools we have tried to parlay with had thought to listen to something besides their own thirst for power."

"I think you're being too hard on them," the Hyur said gently.

"Am I?" asked Y'shtola. "Perhaps I am, perhaps I am not. However the situation may seem, the facts are simple. The Ascians now have a powerful artifact at their disposal. And it did not have to be so. This city is barbarous, as are its inhabitants. The Admiral may think to dress it up in the finery of civilization, but I find it still a wretched hive of decrepit thieves each only invested in their own self interest and unwilling to entertain any wisdom that might steer their course to calmer waters if they think they have found profit in otherwise."

"I... uhm. Well."

Y'shtola turned on the man to see him rubbing the back of his head and looking off into the distance. She sighed.

"If you have counsel, I would hear it. I hold you apart from them, and your guidance may yet steer our course to fairer waters."

"Well, I just - you're mad because they wouldn't listen to you, but you're a stranger to them, right?"

"I am an Archon of Sharlayan. I would think the reputation of our learned people would reach even this shore."

"Well, maybe that's the problem, right? You're making a lot of assumptions about them. You act poorly towards them. But they're just people, right? People living their own lives, their own way. You gotta not just talk to them. You should listen, too. And maybe you shouldn't make assumptions about them."

Y'shtola frowned at him just a little bit, and tilted her head slightly, feeling her tail sway back and forth behind her.

"Say that last again."

"What? Uhm, I just meant to say, maybe you shouldn't assume what they know, you know? You know a lot, but they do too, and maybe you don't know what they know, but they don't know what you know. But... they're not dumb, you know."

Y'shtola crossed her arms and watched the man for a bit. He turned a bit red, and looked off to the side, seeming to her to be embarrassed.

Which was unfortunate. It was her who should have been embarrassed.

She allowed herself a quiet laugh. "Well. It is well Master Matoya cannot see this now. She would have a word or two to say about having to be taught the same lesson twice."

"...everything okay?"

"Everything is quite alright. And you are more right than you know," she said. "But for now, what's done is done. I once more apologise for bringing you into this mess... and thank you for your insights."

The man gave her a grin that she could only think of as dopey, and shook his head.

"Hey, just... you know, that's why I got into this business. To help people. I'm just happy to be doing that."

She smiled up at him, into his large blue eyes. If she strained her ears, she felt as though she might be fit to hear air aether whistling between them.

She could work with this, she decided. And she would. And she would stop underestimating people one of these days.

For now, though.

"And I shall be happy to be a part of your journey. But for now, it must needs take you elsewhere, and I should send you on your way."

She held a hand to her chest, and gave him a deep bow, a gesture which he attempted to awkwardly mimic.

"...and thank you too. For - for looking out after me. We'll meet again, you think?"

She nodded to him. "I am certain of it."

[peterpparkrr]

The Lost Boys (Ch. 1)

Series: the lost boys

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Summary: Steve Harrington has spent the last three years of his life fighting alternative demotion shadow creatures. But when the dust settles after the final battle and it seems like things are finally getting back to normal, a ghost from the past comes back to haunt the former King of Hawkins High.

AKA

Eddie Munson is a vampire and Steve Harrington is his little spider monkey. 

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Gonna be honest, I’ve given minimal thought to the vampiric lore of this fic, but more will be explained next chapter once I plot it all out. (I’m just too excited by this idea to worry about it right now)

// Next chapter

Steve Harrington was going crazy. Like, literally going insane. 

He had naively assumed that after they killed Vecna that this whole stupid nightmare would be over. 

Now nightmares were the least of his worries.

After the Demogorgon, there had been night terrors. He’d wake up with cold sweat dripping down his back, heaving and shaking with vivid flashes of the Demogorgon ripping Nancy and Jonathan, and sometimes even himself apart still flashing across his eyes. As he tried to calm himself down.

The next year, after the demodogs, Steve started having panic attacks. It felt like almost anything had been able to set him off. If it got too dark, or too quiet, the sound of rustling leaves, the smell of blood, the littlest things could bring right back and he’d worry the dogs or even Billy Hargrove would get him or the kids and he wouldn’t be able to calm down for ages. It was those times that he was glad he was usually alone in the house. If he had to deal with his dad's silent, judgemental disappointment, or even a lecture about manhood, he might have snapped.

He’d rather deal with it by himself.

After everything at the mall, he’d thought maybe it was okay. Things were getting back to normal. He and Robin would spend hours talking about what happened, and helping Robin work through her own anxiety had weirdly helped him too. 

Who would have thought?

For the first time in forever, it felt like he wasn’t alone. When he and Nancy had still been together he’d thought it was easier to pretend everything was okay. And Nancy had never really pushed the envelope, never wanted to talk about her own experiences, at least, not with him. In their own ways, they had both been happy pretending things were okay. 

But with Robin, it was like he finally had someone in his life who truly understood him. Even if it was just a friendship he felt like they were able to connect in a way Steve had never felt before. 

And he’d truly never been so grateful to have met Robin as in those nights they spent sitting in his car outside her house talking for hours. 

But then Vecna happened. And He and Robin and Nancy had almost died. And Eddie had. 

Eddie.

And just when it felt like the worst experiences of their collective lives were finally over. Like they could maybe live lives that weren’t governed by demons and hellish creatures, Steve started seeing things. 

He’d been able to brush it off at first. It had just been out of the corner of his eye, so he could chalk it up to someone else with the same dark, curly hair. Or another kid in a leather jacket. A member of Hellfire who still wore their shirt around town.

But then he’d seen him outside Family Video after he and Robin had closed up for the night.

Why he and Robin were still working their shitty customer service jobs after saving the world was still anyone’s guess, but Robin hadn’t wanted to quit, so neither had Steve. 

Robin had been locking up behind them, still rambling about some weird foreign movie she’d watched with Vickie that she insisted he ‘had to watch’ while Steve looked out into the quiet parking lot, the street lights illuminating the pavement, His car right in front of the door the only one left in the lot, Robin’s voice the only sound, the only sign of life until Steve’s gaze had traveled across the parking lot to the street.

Eddie was standing there. Dead center in the street, staring directly at him.

And when Steve had seen him he’d frozen. Whether it was shock or fear or something else, Steve hadn’t been able to move or to look away from the man that he had been so sure had died protecting them. 

“What are you staring at? Let's go,” Robin said as she broke Steve out of whatever trance he had been in.

His gaze flicked over to Robin in confusion but as he glanced back at the street, opening his mouth to ask her if she saw him too, Eddie was gone. 

At first, dread had gripped him, along with the fear that they hadn’t killed Venca after all. This felt exactly like how Max had described her visions when they’d realized what Vecna was doing, how he was getting into the mind and using fears and secrets to terrorize his victims.

He was next. 

Because he had seen Eddie. 

And Eddie was dead.

And it kept happening. 

Steve felt like he saw Eddie everywhere he looked.

He’d been so desperate for answers. He'd knocked on the Byer’s door, and a confused and slightly suspicious Jonathan had watched him like a hawk while Steve sat on the Byer’s couch waiting for Will.

Will had assured him that Vecna was dead. That he couldn’t feel him anymore. 

But that there the Upside Down was far from gone. And it seemed like something else had taken Vecna’s place.

“It’s not bad, per se,” Will assured him. Maybe it was crazy to take the word of a fifteen-year-old so seriously, but something about Will’s kind but direct tone calmed Steve for the first time since the visions had started.  

“It actually feels like the opposite of what I felt with Vecna,” Will continued. “I’m not connected to it in the same way, but whatever’s down there, I don’t think it’s evil.”

“So I’m just crazy?” Steve asked with a huff, as his relief was quickly taken over by a new wave of fear as he considered the other explanations for what was happening to him.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Steve, you just need to talk to someone,” Will assures him. “Maybe confronting your fears might help. Does he talk to you, when you see him?” Will asked him quietly.

“No, he hasn’t,” Steve admits. He honestly didn’t think he wanted to know what Eddie would say to him if they spoke. 

I mean, they’d barely been friends when he had died. They’re bonded over the trauma of it all. But he wouldn’t say 48 hours of high-stress monster hunting were conducive to a solid relationship. And before that? Eddie Munson had just been a ‘freak’ that he disregarded throughout high school, and then tolerated once it became clear that Dustin was enamored with him.

Their newfound partnership had been shaky at best, and while he had no ill-will towards Eddie, he doubted Eddie would feel the same way now, after they’d all left him in the Upside Down. 

Steve had a feeling that dying left people feeling pretty ungenerous towards the people who had survived. 

“It might just be a personification of your survivor's guilt,” Will tells him, as if he had been reading Steve’s mind. 

“How do you know all this?” Steve asks.

“I’ve seen a lot of shrinks, you tend to pick up on the lingo,” Will replies with a shrug.

“You’re a smart kid, little Byers,” Steve replies with a grin. “I knew there was a reason I liked you more than your brother.”

“It probably helps that I didn’t steal your girlfriend from you,” Will replies with an uncharacteristically wide grin. 

“Yeah,” Steve replies as he bursts out laughing.

“Hey, Steve?” Will adds. “There’s nothing wrong with needing help. And I know you probably don’t want another 15-year-old best friend. But I’m always around if you want to talk.”

“Thanks, Will, I might have to take you up on that,” Steve replies. “I’ll see you around.”

“Harrington,” Jonathan bids Steve farewell cautiously from the kitchen as he watches Steve get up and move to leave.

“Later, Byers,” Steve replies as he pushes through the Byer’s front door, making his way back to his car with a lightness in his chest that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

Steve had closed up Family Video himself tonight, Robin had the day off due to a dentist appointment and had called him in the middle of the afternoon to ask him an unfollowable series of questions about the Cuban Missile Crisis while she had still been loopy on the laughing gas. 

And he’d known he’d see Eddie before he’d even spotted him out in the parking lot.

“I know you’re not real, you can’t scare me,” Steve says as he walks up to Eddie. Who’s leaning against the hood of Steve’s car with his usual smirk as Steve comes up to him.

“I can’t, Harrington?” Eddie teases as he pushes himself off the hood of the BMW to come face to face with Steve. “Because it looks like you were consulting that little Byers kid about me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that.

“I can assure you, I’m as real as they come,” Eddie adds.

“You died,” Steve says with an unfamiliar feeling in his mouth as he struggles to get the words out.

“Did I? Because I don’t remember you all taking the body back up here with you,” Eddie points out.

“You all left me,” Eddie says with a melodramatic sigh as he tilts his head back, giving Steve a good look at the column of his neck. “Even Henderson.”

“Because you were dead,” Steve reiterates, his patience already running thin. This had been a stupid idea. Maybe Will was patient enough, kind enough to sit through this sort of conversation with his subconsciousness, but Steve definitely does not have the tolerance for this bullshit.

“Or was I?” Eddie questions as he tilts his head to the side as his lips pull down into a frown.

“Fuck you, dude,” Steve hisses as he moves to reach for the drivers-side door of his car.

“No, dude,” Eddie replies, mockingly as he steps between Steve and the car, blocking his path. “Fuck. You.” 

“I’ve officially lost it, Jesus fucking christ,” Steve mutters as he rubs his hands over his face.

“You are such a drama queen, Harrington, I’m very much here,” Eddie says as he stretches his arms out on either side of him. “You can reach out and touch me if you want.”

Steve reaches out a tentative hand, fully assuming his hand will swipe right through Eddie’s chest, but instead makes hard, awkward contact as his palm connects with Eddie’s sternum, even pushing him back slightly. 

“Shit,” Steve mutters in equal parts shock and alarm as he makes the connection, pulling his hand back quickly as he reels backward. 

“Yeah,” Eddie replies with a nod as his arms drop back down to his sides.

“So you didn’t come back to haunt me?” Steve asks in confusion.

“I don’t know, maybe I did,” Eddie jibes as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Munson,” Steve hisses. “I swear to God, if-”

“God is dead, Harrington,” Eddie quips. “Just ask me the question you’re dying to ask.”

Steve stares at Eddie with a hard look. He does know what he wants to ask. Of course he does. But he’s terrified of the answer. And of what that answer might mean. 

“How are you here? What happened to you?” 

“Well, Henderson was right, my heart did stop beating, I mean, those bats really did a number on me, it was gnarly,” Eddie explains. “But I didn’t die. I’m not alive either.”

“Quit with the riddles, Munson, what are you?” Steve asks impatiently.

“A vampire,” Eddie replies with a wicked grin. 

“Seriously, Eddie? You expect me to believe that?” Steve scoffs.

“Deadly serious,” Eddie replies. “Well, undeadly.”

Steve stares up at the night sky, cursing whatever God or entity he pissed off that is forcing him to deal with shit like this. Shit like Eddie Munson. Even as a ghost, or a figment of his imagination, a vampire, whatever the fuck is happening, he’s still as annoying as shit. 

“After everything you’ve seen, this is too much for you to accept?” Eddie asks. “I’m not trying to fuck with you, I swear, I’m just trying to… lighten the mood, I suppose,” He admits with a sheepish lift of his shoulders.

“Who else knows?” Steve asks.

“No one,” Eddie admits. His signature bravado falters slightly, reminding Steve a lot more of the Eddie who was running from the cops, the scared version of Eddie that he’d seen when they’d been trying to help clear his name. “I’m uh, still trying to figure out how all of this works.”

“What? Have you got vampire powers now?” Steve asks, his brow furrowing as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Hell yeah, I do,” Eddie replies a grin returning to his face. “Wanna see?”

[lord-of-the-harvest]

Pleasure, Pain, and Power Chapter 11

Jasmine’s Reward

Chapter 11 Jasmine’s Reward

Summary: Cont. of Chapters 8, 9, 10. Jasmine finally gets her reward for being a good girl, and Ren gets a day off after his business trip.

Contains: Oral sex, face sitting, exhibitionism, spoiling, drinking, mentions of self harm

NSFW

MDNI

“Ren c’mon, it’s time to get uuuup.” Jasmine had spent the last twenty minutes trying to get Ren out of bed, but to no avail. He tugged her arm back down and curled into her chest. “Why is it that whenever I need to go to work, you insist on me staying in bed, but now that we’re having a ‘you’ day you want me up? Is your affection for me that conditional, Pet?” He looked up and gave her puppy dog eyes, feigning being hurt. “That’s because you leave me all alone, and today we’re actually spending time together. Forgive me if I want to spend time with my beloved.” The night before, Ren had showered her with love and attention. He, of course, made up an excuse for ordering her to cut herself. Something about missing her, and wanting her to be good for him, but Jasmine didn’t care. She figured he’d lie about it, and was much more concerned with him bringing up their talk. However, it didn’t seem like he remembered it at all. Even in the past when he had caught her in a white lie, he acted like he knew something. Now, he was bubbly and happy to be with her. She figured Kangaroo was right, and he had just enough to drink that night to not remember. It could also be that the whole thing was some drunken joke that didn't land. Maybe he thought it would be funny to freak her out, but forgot about it after he woke up. That was the possibility Jasmine was more inclined to believe. Either way, she had been through Hell the past few days, and was now eager for her reward.

“So what do you have planned anyways?” She asked, climbing on top of him, straddling his waist. If he wasn’t going to get out of bed, she might as well have fun with it. Ren looked up at her, hands on either side of her hips and smiling. “Aw, wouldn’t you like to know? Well, I can’t tell you.” Jasmine tilted her head, wondering what he could be planning. “I’ll tell you…when we get there.” Her eyes widened, Ren is finally taking her out of the apartment. She bent down and hugged him tight, letting out a stream of “thank you”s. “Now you really need to get up so we can get ready!” Ren succumbed to her eagerness and got up, tying his robe around his waist and following her to the bathroom. They got ready together, but Jasmine had something she needed to attend to. She sat on the edge of the tub with a few bandages and started unwrapping her leg. Ren turned around just in time and knelt down to help her. “I see Kangaroo did a good job of cleaning you up. Hmmm, let me see what else I have for this.” He opened a few cabinets and searched around till he found what he needed. The package read “Waterproof Bandages” on the front. “Why do they need to be waterproof? I thought the ones I had on were just fine.” Ren gently took her thigh and kissed her scars. “Darling I’m so proud of you, you make me so so happy.” He kept caressing her and kissing her thigh till he hit a particular sweet spot. Jasmine gasped and her eyes fluttered shut. She looked down and saw Ren staring up at her with a satisfied, yet mischievous smile on his face. He knew all of her sweet spots by now, and knew just how to toy with her. He kissed her again, and again, and gave her a gentle nip. He moved closer to her panties, all the while her breathing was getting heavier. He kissed her clit while throwing her thigh over his shoulder. Jasmine placed a hand on his head and lightly tugged at his hair. He slowly licked at her, taking in her scent and listening closely to her moans. Not wanting to break himself away from her, he opted to tear her panties off with his teeth, causing Jasmine to yelp out in surprise. “I’ll buy you another pair later today, darling.” That was always his way of making it up to her. He would cut and claw off all the clothing he had gotten her, only to replace it within the week. She didn’t care, it was his money and she thought it was hot anyways. Although, it did frighten her at times. The ease and speed he was able to tear clothing to shreds with just his claws and teeth made her think of what he could do to skin if he wasn’t careful. Or if he was angry.

Her surprise was cut short with his hot tongue licking at her sensitive clit. She let out a moan and gripped his hair tighter, making him grunt in return. He kept licking and sucking, his grip getting tighter on her thighs. Eventually he had enough, and brought himself up to kiss her. He wrapped her legs around his waist, lifted her up, and carried her to the bed. He dropped her down and climbed on and laid down too. Jasmine climbed on top of him, placing a thigh on either side of his head, with her ass hovering above his face. She didn’t want to sit down just yet, and decided to make Ren beg for it. “What are you waiting for? Sit down, darling~” Jasmine considered his request for a second, comically placing a finger to her lip and looking up. “Hmm no. It’s my day, and this is your punishment for keeping a secret from me.” She swayed her hips above his face, teasing her poor toy. Ren’s ears pinned back and his brows narrowed at her. He placed his hands on her hips and leaned up, only for Jasmine to grab his hair and pull him back down. “Be a good boy, and tell me what we’re doing. Then, you’ll get your treat.” Ren smiled at her cute dom work. “Where’s the fun in that? I thought you liked a surprise.” “Oh I do, just not when it’s my day. Where are we going?” Ren rolled his eyes, his cock was aching for attention and Jasmine’s scent was driving him even more wild. “Fine, we’re going shopping and out to dinner. I already have the places decided on and reservations made. After that, it’s a surprise, but I’m sure you’ll figure out what it is while we shop.” Jasmine lit up, now even more excited for their day out. “I guess that’ll do, I’m fine with one surprise. Good boy, here’s your tread.” She put her full weight down on Ren’s face and he brought his arms up to hold onto her thighs. “This is what you wanted, Ren, you can breathe when I say so.” While still suffocating Ren, she bent over and pulled his cock out of his pajama bottoms. His tip was already leaking precum, and she decided to tease him a bit more. She swirled her tongue around his head and wrapped her hand around his knot. She could feel him groan under her. I guess he can breathe, good. Slowly, she wrapped her lips around his tip and lowered herself down onto his shaft. She heard another moan and she ground herself further into his face. She hummed while bobbing her head up and down, she knew that would drive him wild. It did, and he showed it by thrusting up into her mouth. Jasmine lightly slapped his hip, a way of telling him No, bad boy. He stopped, struggling to not thrust up again when her lips passed over his knot. She came back up, swirled her tongue around his head, and plunged her head back down. Ren screamed, and knowing how close he was, decided to slip a finger into his love above. Jasmine moaned at the contact, she could feel herself getting close too. They kept going, reducing each other to one tangled, moaning mess. Ren shot hot cum right down her throat, and Jasmine ground herself onto his tongue one more time. She sat up, panting, admiring her toy’s growing knot. Ren tapped her thigh, asking for air, and she rolled off of him. “See, sweetie? It wasn’t too hard to tell me the truth, now was it?”

They ate and got dressed together, Ren wore his usual suite and picked out a cute sundress for Jasmine. It was dark purple with an incredibly short skirt and short sleeves. She gave him a spin after putting on the strappy heels he also gave her. “You look absolutely stunning, as always, darling. I could eat you all over again, but you’re missing one finishing touch.” He bit his lip and picked up a shock collar off the nightstand. This one was different, it had a satin ribbon covering the band and a plain black box. No camera, red button, or fox emblem. Jasmine bent over, allowing Ren to strap it to her neck. “I know you don’t love it, darling, but I promise it’s for your own good.” He kissed her on the cheek as it clicked into place. Her face fell slightly. Until now, their morning together was so light hearted and happy. She usually didn’t mind the collar, but now it serves as a reminder of her place in his life. A pet, someone to come home to and be entertained by, but never one to truly speak to or respect. He took her hand and led her to a nearby mirror, placing an arm around her waist and holding her close. Jasmine looked at Ren, something about him was off, but she couldn’t put her… “Wait, what’s wrong with your face?” She turned to him and held his jaw, turning his head up. “Where are your red marks? Aww are you wearing makeup?” She smiled and pinched his cheek, while Ren slapped her hand away. “Yes, Pet, I am. It’s easier for me if I cover them, my tail and ears included.” He looked back at the mirror and sighed. Even though he wears a mask on stream, it’s still no hard feat to recognize Fox, one of the few beastkins in the area, in a public space. Their town didn’t have many others, none of which he associated with, anyways. “Well that’s a shame, I liked them.” His face perked up and he turned to her. Sure, she’d call him cute and sexy on a daily basis, but it was rare for him to hear an actual compliment about something so specific. “Y-you do?” “Yeah, of course I do. Haven’t you noticed they’re the first thing I go to when I kiss your cheek?” Just like that, Jasmine bent down and kissed him over his hidden marks. A light blush crept on his cheeks and he hugged her even tighter.

They were about to cross the threshold to the front door when Jasmine stopped. It took a little convincing, but Ren was able to get her to trust him when he said her new collar wouldn’t go off when she crossed. He explained on the elevator ride down that she has a few collars. One for the home, one that’s waterproof, and one to go out in. The one she was wearing would go off if she got too far away from Ren, or if she said any key words or phrases. The elevator took them all the way down to the garage, where they were met by Kangaroo leaning back on a black limo. “Hi Kangaroo! I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon!” He stepped aside and held the car door open for her. “Hello Fox’s Pet, I’ll be your driver today, it’s good to see you too.” He had that same smile on as he greeted her. They all got into the car and drove off, Jasmine had her face glued to the window while they drove by the apartment building. She had only seen the place once in the dark, and even then she had eyes for Ren. It was huge, with beautiful landscaping and flowers littering the place. They drove till they hit the first store on Ren’s list, a high end piercing shop. Jasmine’s jaw dropped, she had always dreamed of going there, but knew she could never justify the price. Before her first date with Ren, she had multiple piercings she took out. She would usually take them out before streams, it made her much more of a blank slate for her viewers to project onto. Most of them were on her ears, but she had a traditional labret piercing she got when she first started college. They walked in, and were greeted by the receptionist, who showed them rows and rows of jewelry. She immediately gravitated to a simple titanium ring for her labret, and black and purple Czech glass for her ears. Ren placed his arm around her and whispered in her ear, “You know you don’t have a budget, right? Get what you really want, darling~” She looked at him, then back at the receptionist, and smiled.

She left the store with new amethyst and onyx jewelry in. To her surprise, her piercings didn’t close up much, and with the help of some saline, they felt just fine. Of course, Ren insisted on paying for her to get new piercings as well, but Jasmine declined. She wanted to map them out better, and come in prepared. They settled on just getting her enough jewelry to allow her a new set for each day of the week. She now had a wide collection of rings and studs, most encrusted in gemstones or czech glass. Ren even snuck in some black sapphire studs she insisted she didn’t need. The next place they went to was going to be Ren’s favorite, a small lingerie shop he had frequented in the past. “This is where I’ve gotten most of your pieces so far, I’m great friends with the man who owns it.” Lingerie shops owned by men never sat right with her, but Jasmine wasn’t in a position to complain. They came in, and almost as if on queue, a man in a three piece suit entered from behind a curtain to greet them. “Fox, welcome back, I-oh, is this her?” He took her hand, bowing and kissing it. “Madam, I’ve heard so much about you, please, come in and look around.” He had a kind smile, and Jasmine thanked him. “Pet, look around and pick out some things you’d like, I’ll meet you at the fitting room.” Ren stayed back, talking to the store owner, and allowed Jasmine to look on her own. A woman approached her, offering to take her measurements. As she had the tape around her waist, Jasmine looked over at Ren and thought to herself. I could…this could be my chance. I could ask this lady for help and…wait. She remembered the collar’s key phrase feature, and the fact he knows the owner. Of course he’d pick places and people he already knows, he’s not stupid. Surely, that was the only reason why she didn’t ask for help. She was snapped out of her thoughts by the woman bringing her to a rack of bras in her size. She looked through, all of them were beautiful and incredibly expensive. He said I don’t have a budget, but this is still a little extreme. She got a few bras and the matching underwear and went over to the fitting room. Sure enough, Ren was waiting on her with the owner by his side. They were talking and laughing till they noticed Jasmine. “Darling, that’s all you have?” As soon as he said that, the employee from before brought her a few similar pieces she thought Jasmine would like. She entered the fitting room and Ren followed, apparently one of the perks of knowing the owner was being able to go in with your partner. She had gotten changed in front of Ren too many times to count, but doing so in a public space almost had an heir of exhibitionism. She nervously started to strip, and Ren was all too happy to sit back and watch the show. The first set she tried on was a plain bra and thong panties with a few pieces of lace. “Cute, Pet, but you have a set like that at home. Let’s go for something a little more fun~” He held up a strappy red bra with matching crotchless panties. She, again, stripped and tried on the new set. “Hmmm, I like it, we’ll get two of those. One for you to keep, and one for me to play with~” Blush spread across Jasmine’s cheeks and she felt butterflies in her stomach. Men had bought her pieces before, but it was never a hugely personal event like this. Having him stare at her and dictate what she should try on and what she’ll get with absolutely no limits was exhilarating. Her butterflies flew a little lower.

After a particularly steamy makeout session in the fitting room, Jasmine tried on the rest of her pieces and they checked out. The owner thanked them again for coming, and slipped in a few pairs of thigh highs as a token of his appreciation. Kangaroo was waiting for them outside, and as soon as they got into the car Jasmine kissed Ren all over again. “You’re so” *kiss* “sweet” *kiss* “to me” *kiss* “honey!” *kiss* “Thank you” *kiss* “so much!” He was, of course, drinking in her affection, and returned it with light gropes and kisses of his own. The next shop was a shoe store, where they were served champagne and Jasmine got to try on dozens of pairs of shoes. They were all so beautiful, mostly heels by Ren’s request. She tried on a particularly tall pair of platform heels that made her almost six feet tall. She walked over to Ren, who had the biggest grin on his face, and towered over him. Holding his head in her hands, she whispered, “I love looking down at you, baby” and kissed his forehead. She’s known since the day they met in person he has a bit of a thing for those who are taller than him. It was obvious by the way he’d affectionately comment on her height, and insist she wore heels. It wasn’t just height, though, just one of her thighs was about the size of his waist. The occasional “crush my head” comments would also slip out in the heat of eating her out.

It took some help from Kangaroo, but they were able to fit all the shoe boxes they got into the limo. Jasmine swapped out her shoes in favor of another strappy pair of black heels. These were patent leather sandals, with a long sexy stiletto heel. Ren looked at her, admiring her beauty and happy face. He got off knowing he was the one to dress her like this. From her new labret, to her shiny shoes, he was satisfied knowing he could infect every part of her. The next shop confused Jasmine, to the point of questioning if they went to the wrong place. In the windows stood mannequins wearing bathing suits and sun hats. Ren assured her they were at the right place, and it finally clicked for her what the final surprise would be. She excitedly rushed him into the store and looked around. Unlike the other lingerie place, he didn’t know the owner, and thus couldn’t accompany her in the fitting room. To combat this, she would get changed, and come out to greet him, almost like a fashion show. She was exclusively given bikinis, with varying levels of coverage. One by one she would come out to put on a show for Ren, which only made him smile more. Jasmine saved the best for last, a dark red bikini with almost no coverage. It was more akin to dental floss, and she debated even stepping out in it. When she did, Ren dropped his phone, wide eyed and mouth agape. Jasmine smiled and stepped back into the fitting room, knowing this would be the one she wore later that night.

By the time they were finished, it was time for their dinner reservations. Ren had made Jasmine change into an evening dress at the last shop they visited to save time. She emerged wearing a long black dress covered in dark sequins. They met Kangaroo, yet again, and climbed into the limo. Jasmine swung her legs over Ren’s lap, and he took his hat off, letting out his ears. “I’m fine hiding them, but after a while it just gets tiring.” Picking up on her queue, Jasmine took his ears in her hands and started to rub. “Poor Ren, you do so much. So much for me to have a good time, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” She whispered to him, and kissed his temple. She had successfully avoided his cheeks, so as to not leave lipstick stains on his makeup. They kissed deeply and passionately while she still played with his ears. Pulling away, Jasmine looked down and giggled at her still close eyed fox covered in her lipstick. “Darling, I think I have a makeup wipe, let’s get you cleaned up before we eat.”

Feeling nostalgic about their first date, Ren chose another sushi restaurant for their dinner. Jasmine commented about the Summer/beachy theme to their day out, while he pretended to not notice, still not acknowledging what he had planned for them after dinner. They were walked to a small booth facing a dimly lit stage. After they sat down, Jasmine asked about it, only for Ren to smile back at her. Another surprise, fun. They had a nice view of it, and the way the booth was shaped made them feel secluded, almost as if the show was theirs, and theirs alone. Ren ordered them cocktails and appetizers, promising Jasmine would love what he picked. Sure enough, the waitress came back with an orange drink for Ren, and a pink smoothie for Jasmine. It was a strawberry daiquiri, and tasted divine. She sipped Ren’s mai tai as well, which was also delicious. Their appetizers had just arrived when a woman in a glittery blue dress came to the stage. She thanked everyone for coming, and started to sing. In between verses she would take a garment off. It started with her gloves, then her headpiece, then eventually the dress. Underneath, she had on matching lingerie and a corset. She took those off too, eventually leaving a thong and pasties. “Oh my God, she was amazing!” Jasmine said, applauding her once her show was done. “Her outfit was gorgeous, and her voice was beautiful. Will there be more performers like her?” Ren laughed, assuring her the show wasn’t over. Shortly after, two dancers came out in matching outfits. They wore orange corsets, feathered hats, and glittery thigh highs. Next, a woman and man in similar green outfits did the sexiest dance yet, ending in the woman giving him a lap dance. Jasmine could barely take her attention off the show to eat her food, and Ren could barely take his attention off of her to watch the show. She lit up seeing them, their shining outfits were only outshone by their unique talents. Again, Ren was satisfied with himself. He knew all of this was for him and his own amusement more than Jasmine’s. With each piece of magic he showed her, the more she’d fall for him, and the more she would submit. He thought fondly of the future events he would be able to bring her to, and show her off to his friends. However, something weighed on him. She was acting fine, happy with her situation, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was off. The look on her face the day before when he spooked her looked more of horror rather than surprise. He even wondered if Kangaroo had done something while he was away. Maybe I should watch through the tapes from when I was gone. He looked up at Jasmine again, who had her hands clasped together and was smiling at the stage. Ren smiled to himself, I can do that later, this is nice.

Full of booze and food, Jasmine held onto Ren’s arm while they left. She was always more of a lightweight than she would like to admit, and of course Ren got nearly drunk off just a few drinks himself. They were giggling at each other, and met Kangaroo for the final time that night. “Fun night, guys?” “A spleeendid night, Kangaroo. Absolutely divine!” Ren drunkenly responded. He helped them into the car and drove back to the apartment. As they drove, the alcohol started to wear off, and they were content with silently holding each other. Kangaroo helped them up, then went back to the car to get the rest of Jasmine’s bags. By this point, Ren had sobered up enough to gain his bearings and remember their next plan. Jasmine had practically fallen into his arms, kissing him all over. “Darling, let’s get you changed and go downstairs, alright?” Jasmine pulled back, tilting her head. “Downstairs? What’s downstairs?” After a night of pure bliss and spoiling, she had forgotten her surprise, in favor of hurrying to the bedroom. “You’ll see when we get there, come on into the bathroom.” She followed him and he sat her down on the edge of the tub. Ren knelt down and took off her shoes, followed by her evening dress. He went to the sink and pulled out a makeup wipe, taking off hers before his own. Helping her step into her new bikini, Jasmine remembered her surprise and hugged him. Ren donned his own black swim trunks and threw a t-shirt over his bare chest. He tied a cover up around her and even took off her collar. He figured she’s intoxicated and content enough to not make a great escape.

Ren held Jasmine’s hand as she stepped into the hot tub, then proceeded to get in himself. His apartment building had a hot tub and pool in the back, which was rarely ever used. He would often go for a late night swim before Jasmine came along, and was happy to finally share it with her. Since no one was around, he felt comfortable letting his ears and tail out as well, which Jasmine took notice of. She pet his head and trailed her fingers across his chest. “Thank you for a great day, Ren, I mean it.” In a moment of touching sobriety, he held her close and pressed his forehead to hers. “I-um, I wanted to make this day special. I felt bad about leaving so quickly, and your leg, so I wanted to make it up to you. You’ve helped me more than you know, and you’ve been so good for me. I don’t know how you put up with me sometimes, I know it can be a lot.” He laughed to himself, and shook his head while still holding hers. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the moment of what felt like genuine connection, or maybe it was the burning questions at the back of her skull. Whatever it was, Jasmine was compelled to finally confess her sins to him. “Ren I…I know.” He pulled away, confused as to what she meant. “Um, I’m sorry I didn’t bring it up, but your last night away, you did call me. You didn’t tell me much, but you sort of told me…what it is you do.”

Notes: Yeahhh, nevermind, one more part after this, sorry for the cliffhanger guys! I wanted to do a filler chapter in between, but I like where this -d r a m a- is going. Also, to whoever requested a RenXfeminine male reader with corset piercings, I hope this works! I liked the ask, and I would like to explore it more in the future. I’d say I’ll get to it when I run out of ideas for PPP, but I already have at least four more arcs in mind, all of which I'm incredibly excited for. Don’t worry though, I’ll have more fluffy/smutty filler in between the heavy stuff :)

Now, I can’t resist a good hint. The next arc involves something I’ve posted about already on my Tumblr ;)

[fizzigigsimmer]

In October I saw a prompt for a Hannibal style Serial Killer!AU and I had so many thoughts about it. They’ve been sitting in my drafts for ages. Maybe I’ll do something longer with this eventually, but for now I’m just going to share my imaginings as they come. I think that if Billy were a serial killer who fell in love with an FBI agent it would go something like this…

Billy hears Steve’s footsteps – knows their tread apart from the heavy scuffling steps of the jail guard on shift – and smiles. He doesn’t move from his position sat on the narrow bed, back against the wall gazing up at the flicking light on the ceiling of his cell. Not even when those steps pause outside his door and he senses Steve there, smells the shampoo he used in his hair this morning. It’s the one Billy bought for him, that smells like sun and sand, expensive and beachy, in a way that makes Billy think of the house he built for them. A house they might never see. Only time will tell.

“Am I dreaming or is that you Harrington?” Billy says as he’s lead in handcuffs into the interview room a few minutes later.

“Yeah, don’t cream your pants. I mean, you went through so much effort arranging this little date Hargrove, it would be a shame to end it prematurely.”

Billy’s smile deepens, appreciative.

“I’ve missed you baby.” Truth and nothing but the whole truth.

“You’re fucking crazy.” Steve retorts. Billy is not crazy.

You wouldn’t think it to look at him, unkempt, disordered, and bruised, sallow under low fluorescent light. Caged animal that he is. When they study him it’s not to see how his mind works – though the essays and the novels that will fund their children’s college tuitions may be so tritely titled. When suited men open the doors to his cage and sit across from Billy Hargrove without daring to meet his eyes, it’s not to understand him or his assumed insanity. It’s comfort they want. The false sense of superiority that comes with his imprisonment is shouted in the gleams of their polished nails, tap tap tapping impatiently away on the side of the coffee Billy is no longer free to buy. The sheep sip it just to have something to do with their hands. Harrington sips it like a taunt.

‘We got you’ is what these faceless, nameless, men and women in their dime a dozen suits want to say. Want to see it so that for another night they can believe it, and sleep peacefully. ‘We got you. So you can never get us.’ Billy doesn’t cooperate with their questions but he smiles. Whatever brings them comfort. Because he’s just polite like that. Billy has never been wantonly cruel, though he might one day achieve that if Harrington has anything to say about it. His cruelty has always been like his anger, well earned, inevitable and brutal. Deep water that rises to become a flood. Harrington is something else. He’s a knife. Cold, tempered, reflective. Beautiful to look at and dangerous to touch the wrong way. It’s no great mystery why Billy wants to get him bloody and lick him clean. Put him back in the drawer, unassuming and politely functional, show him off at dinner parties. ‘This one cuts through anything’.

Billy’s been a very good boy. He’s been keeping his lips sealed, not giving them what they want in order to get the thing that he wants. The entire reason he’s here in this cell in the first place. It has nothing to do with their laughable detective skills or even the dogged determination of Special Agent Jim Hopper. It’s all about Steve Harrington, the survivor who grew up to hunt monsters.

He and Harrington have been playing their game for years, cut for cut, tit for tat, without near enough tits, but Billy would be lying if he said the hold out wasn’t working for him. Steve’s got him strung, going to bed burning and waking up hungry, until he doesn’t know whether he wants to fuck him or tear him apart. But that’s love for you. Billy’s never been able to back down from a challenge and neither will Harrington. He wants to see what Harrington will do, now that it’s game over. Now that Billy Hargrove is caught and the thrill of the hunt is gone along with the promise of the kill.

Big Jim thinks he saved a traumatized teen, fashioned him into a weapon that always strikes true at the monsters in the dark, but he’s wrong. Doesn’t know enough about the dark to know what he carried out of it but Billy does.

He’s been hunting in the tri-state area of Indiana since he was a teen himself, and in the ensuing decades a few interlopers have come, but they have all been dealt with without fanfare. There has been nothing like a true challenger, a true threat, a real opportunity for connection, until about five years ago.

He met Agent Steve Harrington at a Halloween party of all things.

[madebymandyla]

Baddie SMP Starters 4

the one with a lot of murder

"There's a menacing sign on my door."

"I don't want to hit you because I might kill you. Might also set you on fire."

"I think it was a prank on yourself. You looked like an idiot."

"That's always your excuse, that you're being attacked by phantoms."

"That's actually defamation, so. . ."

"Why does she say her own name like a Pokemon?"

"Me and my dog are going for a walk if anyone would like to join us."

"Part of my unfinished business is haunting [name]."

"It means a lot that he forgave me on your behalf."

"Finally, some fucking peace and quiet."

"You've gotta die to be reborn as a beautiful phoenix."

"If it wasn't for you dying, we wouldn't have half of the adventures we've had."

"Everything's hot, including Butterfree."

"We're gonna be shagging with my daddy tonight."

"Do you wanna live in one of those low-grade apartments or do you wanna live in a luxury high rise?

"I hear everything, but I'm not really understanding anything you're saying."

"You're on for lunch tomorrow, right? At the place?"

"This is the most suspicious behavior I have ever seen."

"I'm civilian arresting this guy."

"We've got no choice but to drown him."

"Your dick is out, you're pointing a bow and arrow at me, and you're getting mad at me?"

"You have an arrow in your butt, by the way."

"I'm pretty dumb when it comes to movies, so sometimes I miss what they're about."

"There's blood coming out of my eyes all of a sudden."

"If you're a chicken, you have to tell us."

"There's a sad, naked sheep in here."

"You should try eating it. It's really tasty."

"You're kind of ruining my whole fucking vibe right now."

"I would kill to live with your father."

"Let's just go kill a family of goats or something."

"I'll bring the purple drink, you bring yourself."

"The second everyone leaves the room, you're fucking dead."

"I can't help but shake to this."

"If you kill my cat, I will end you."

"You asked a question, I used my endless knowledge to fucking answer it."

"I guess we're a band of mourning fellows now."

"I'm pretty sure I can survive this fall."

"I was unjustly slain in my prime by someone I thought was my friend."

"Speak much, loser?"

"I kinda feel partially responsible for egging you on."

"That's some nice stuff. You could build some things with it."

"I actually have a really poor memory, so thank you for reminding me."

"I wouldn't call it a murder weapon."

"It's against my religion to eat things pretty much any time."

"She's either vomiting or becoming a zombie right now."

[kingcunny]

I’m sorry but my mind has latched onto your Female Viserys AU so bad. She’s so interesting. Unlike her parents she was quiet peaceful and scholarly and yet was brave enough to go against the family ‘traditions’ and marry out but still finds herself having an affair with Daemon because who else can ‘understand’ her. The two of them would have grown up in lockstep, surviving as their family dwindled they wouldn’t be able to fully healthily separate themselves. Otto meanwhile just constantly wants power and pride and Viserra in a way gives him both. He has a princess for a wife but also he’s married to someone he Quite Likes. This might be weird but in the show I felt kinda like he tried to live through Alicent so he could be always closer to Viserys. If he had Viserra as a wife, a deeply complicated woman who nonetheless gives him attention and care. He’d never do anything about her infidelity because whatever the fallout that would take her away from him. and Daemon. He grew up probably with the assumption that he’d have his Valyrian bride only for his sister to marry another. Sadly her husband is fucking hard to kill so he just keeps deluding himself that they’ll be Happy Together eventually and meanwhile is Dying each time the kids call him uncle. He will be his sisters dog until the day he dies even if he causes a Lot of Problems unrelated to that because Daemon was created to cause problems.

What do you think the immediate fallout of her choosing to marry Otto would be like though? Before they have kids?

do not apologize i love that other people are into this and i Love ur thoughts about it <3

(i cut out a bunch here im gonna post separately, cause it got LONG)

i have two conflicting ideas for how the otto/viserra marriage goes down.

idea one: shotgun wedding but the bridge is holding the shotgun and the bridegroom is not the father

in this version, viserra and daemon have always been having an affair and he gets her pregnant. she loves daemon, but does not want to be his wife. so instead she goes to her boyfriend otto and rushes into a marriage with him. viserra tells daemon that the babys his though, so he doesnt do anything publicly to try and stop the marriage. trying to like, comfort him with the idea that they have this secret together now. viserra might not be willing to marry him, but shes willing to have his children, and that will always bind them together.

its only after the marriage when viserra starts to show that she claims the babys ottos, but like hes not stupid. he knows the timeline shes given him doesnt work out. (because he was a good 7 star gentleman and did not have premarital sex with her) but he loves viserra, and bringing any accusation against her children or daemon would mean losing her too. so he swallows his pride and accepts her children as his own.

after all she did marry him, so she must love him too. and her children will have his name, and its not obvious to anyone except them 3 that they are not his.

second idea: viserra marries otto the way youd rebel in an alt family by dating a nice boring button-down office worker

viserra marries otto as a way to try and reject her fate. she saw what happened to her mother, grandmother, all her aunts, and doesnt want it to happen to her. so she picks the nice steady man who will coddle her and never make her think too hard about the things shed rather not. she picks otto to reject daemon. and maybe they even drift apart for a few years, each trying to figure out who they are without the other.

but then viserra learns that they are planning to marry daemon off (maybe to aemma?) and viserra is SICK with the idea that she might loose her brother, or worse, have to share him. (either unaware or ignoring the cruel irony that this is exactly what shes doing to him) so she goes to him, starts an affair with him, and convinces him to break the betrothal. and daemon is insane enough to do it, damn the massive political fallout it causes, as long as viserra keeps letting him sleep at the foot of her bed.

but oops! the man you married to save you from a fate of being a political pawn is secretly insane and sick with ambition!

and oops! but you cant escape your family unless you are also willing to let go! and viserra has daemon in a bloody death grip and cant even entertain the idea of him not being wholly hers.

i think daemon and otto have very similar views of each other. neither of them see this relationship triangle as being a 'viserra' problem but rather the others problem. that if only the other man was gone viserra would be Free. and she could truly love and devote herself to HIM, the man she REALLY loves.

but viserra loves them both. in her own way. its not the way that they love her, but if thats the price they have to pay to be with her, then theyll grin and bear it. and just keep plotting to bring the other down. coping. deluding themselves that One Day itll all be better and they will be happy

[scriveyner]

chase forever down 11/31

chase forever down | 11/31 | bungou stray dogs | 👿🐯 / sskk | #smarch 🔞| ~1800 words

It was really weird, not seeing or hearing from Akutagawa for so long. They would go months at a time before, only seeing each other during a calamity, but now he’d so quickly become a fixture in Atsushi’s life this absence felt glaring.

Continue on AO3, or:

Atsushi pushed the strange, empty feeling in his chest aside and threw himself into the backlog of work that had built up instead, ever since Dazai had nudged his entire casefile onto Atsushi’s desk when he wasn’t paying attention. It was easy enough to keep busy at least; handling some small, simple jobs with Kyouka-chan, hanging out in the café with Tanizaki and Kenji, and chasing after Dazai whenever he ditched work at Kunikida’s behest.

He almost didn’t notice how suffocating the emptiness had become.

Kyouka sat at the low table in their dormitory apartment, drinking tea and watching Atsushi attempt and mostly succeed at making dinner. “You’d make a terrible wife,” Kyouka observed, and Atsushi wrinkled his nose at some unsalvageable meat.

“That’s fine. I don’t intend to be anyone’s wife,” he responded absently, scraping the charred, inedible mess into the bin. There was blackened, and then there was charcoal; and he really didn’t want to hear about the wasted food. “So, you get to stay the whole weekend at the ryokan? I’m jealous.”

Naomi had won a grand prize at a raffle drawing while picking up groceries, which ended up being a weekend for four at a popular ryokan. “I asked Naomi-san if you could come along too, but Tanizaki had already offered Kenji the ticket.” Kyouka frowned, like she was still working out a way to include Atsushi on the trip.

“That sounds like an interesting experience,” Atsushi said, amused, as he sat opposite her at the table. “I’m glad you get to go, though. Sounds nice.”

Kyouka nodded her head, picking up her bowl of rice. “Do not bring your boyfriend over for sex while I’m gone.”

Atsushi choked on his tea and laughed nervously. “I don’t know when Akutagawa is even getting back. I might not see him again until next month, you have nothing to worry about.” For some reason, saying that he could be gone a month caused a lump to form in his throat, and Atsushi didn’t like that at all. He swallowed hard a few times, hoped it wasn’t too noticeable, and started in on his own rice as well as a distraction.

At least he couldn’t screw up rice.

“Hm,” Kyouka said thoughtfully, studying him.

Atsushi raised an eyebrow.

“You miss him.”

“Of course, I do, we’re going out.” Atsushi shoveled rice into his mouth and tried again to Not Think About Things Too Much, because it was still too weird a concept for him. “He is my boyfriend.”

Kyouka kept looking at him, but then she smiled and resumed eating as well. “I’m happy for you. I don’t understand why you chose Akutagawa of all people, but he’s important to you and I respect that. I shall do my best not to kill him if he ever gets in our way.”

“Thanks,” Atsushi said dryly. “You do remember that we don’t normally kill people here though, right?”

She nodded, chewing her mouthful, and spoke once she swallowed. “I will only have Yasha Shirayuki split him open if he harms you in any manner.”

He thought, for a moment, about how many times those lethal-sharp fangs had been in his neck already, huffed out an amused sigh, and continued to eat his dinner.

=====

It was quiet, with Kyouka-chan gone. Atsushi sat at the low table, elbow propped on the surface and chin in his hand as he flipped through a binder of work that he didn’t need to bring home but did anyway. Kyouka had made him swear up and down about not having Akutagawa over, and he didn’t know why she was so worried about it. Even if it were an option right now, he wouldn’t do it.

He’d just think about it a lot, though.

Atsushi sighed, chin still in hand. It was an aching, clawing loneliness that nestled against the back of his throat, and truly it was starting to baffle him. He’d never felt this way about Akutagawa before, and now all it took was a couple of weeks of radio silence before he started climbing the walls? Maybe he needed some fresh air.

He stood, stretched; and then slid aside the window, putting his palms inside the frame and leaning out. It was past dusk now, the air warm but not stifling, and a breeze caught in his hair.

Maybe tomorrow he could go to work early to feed the strays that congregated around the office and bask in their unconditional love for a bit; that might make him feel better.

Plan decided, he cleaned up the table and went to pull his futon out.

With Kyouka gone, he got to sleep outside of the confines of the futon closet. He usually appreciated the close, closed-in space, but this time of the year it got stuffy and uncomfortable sometimes, so he might as well take advantage of the airflow. When he unfolded his futon, his small bundle of useful items dropped to the tatami by his knee, and Atsushi picked it up and held it for a second before discarding it. It had things like his earbuds, phone charger, a few odds and ends…

…and that damned vibrator, cleaned and charged with the remote.

Atsushi didn’t even remember Akutagawa sneaking it into his things, but he’d found it a few days later and promptly hid it as quickly as possible. Atsushi flushed red at the memory and went to toss the sack away, he’d deal with the phone charger later—but then he stopped.

He opened the bag again and looked at it.

The last time he’d used this was the last time Akutagawa touched him…far too many days ago already. Atsushi closed his eyes, thought about Akutagawa’s hands on his shoulders, fangs buried in his neck, and his mouth opened slightly. He cock gave a decidedly interested twinge, and Atsushi shifted how he was kneeling and palmed his hand over his lap, already getting stiff.

Okay. He was alone in the apartment and wouldn’t be disturbed. And he’d masturbated in here plenty of times before, admittedly usually in the bathroom with the faucet running just in case, but still.

He could do this, at least.

Atsushi wriggled out of his pants, leaving them in a heap on the floor, underwear soon following. He remembered, after a few seconds, turning it over in his hands, how this thing worked—pressed and held the button on the base and it buzzed once and lay still in his palm.

Out of curiosity, he took the remote and pressed the button, and then jumped when it started buzzing violently in his hand. Atsushi dropped the vibrator and it fell atop the futon, buzzing away merrily, until Atsushi cycled through all the stages with the remote and it lay still. Breathing a little hard, he picked it up again, and wet his lips.

He had lube somewhere…right?

=====

Atsushi groaned into his arm, shuddering as he pulled his fingers free again. He’d managed to get himself up to three, but he couldn’t quite get the angle right for what he really needed, and it was so frustrating. He panted into his arm for a moment before pushing back up onto his knees, groping blindly for the vibrator.

It wasn’t nearly that big, but he wanted something more than that, anyway—Akutagawa spreading his thighs with his hips, the warmth of his body crushed to Atsushi’s, his mouth, hot and familiar—and Atsushi groaned again, but this time he settled back onto the vibrator, sinking onto it until the flared base sat snug against his ass.

It wasn’t enough.

Atsushi rocked on it for a moment, but it didn’t fill him up the way he needed. He shifted around, found the remote in the blanket, and pressed the button—the vibrator pulsed and started; a jolt of electricity racing through his nerves. Atsushi tilted perilously forward, one hand out to keep himself propped up, the other wrapping around the base of his straining cock, stroking slowly.

Okay this, this wasn’t so bad. He ended up on his side, panting hard and stroking quickly, rubbing his thumb over the slit before slipping back down. If he closed his eyes he could easily pretend that Akutagawa was sitting there, just out of sight. He was watching Atsushi, observing the way he touched himself—and that made Atsushi want to put on a show for him, rolling onto his back and bracing his feet flat on the floor, keeping his hips off the futon.

Akutagawa watching him stroke, pressing his cock back against him, the very tip leaving sticky fluid if it touched skin. His dark eyes would glimmer, and he’d press his lips flat, trying to look neutral as Atsushi’s hips jerked without input from him, the vibrator shifting and trying to work its way free.

Atsushi dropped his hips just right, forcing the toy back into him without touching it, gasping as his cock sputtered. He hadn’t quite come yet, but thick fluid rolled out of the tip. Atsushi arched his back but kept his hips down, he could see Akutagawa had tilted his head, resting his cheek against his fist, but there was a small upturn to his expression as he watched Atsushi struggle to not come right away, to continue putting on a show just for him.

He was getting better at holding himself off, but Atsushi rolled slightly and the remote got under his elbow. The long press of the button made the vibrator increase rapidly in intensity, so much so that Atsushi wasn’t able to contain the howl, his hips bouncing up and back down. He squeezed his knees together and came, several long stripes across his belly and chest, and he couldn’t even enjoy the fade out post-climax, slapping around for the remote until he found it and was able to cycle the vibrator to silence.

Limbs shaking, Atsushi yanked the device free and collapsed on his side, breathing hard. He could almost still imagine Akutagawa there, just out of reach; resting his hand in Atsushi’s hair and softly urging him to sleep.

Too hot, sticky and sweaty and worn to the brink, Atsushi drifted off into darkness.

=====

Atsushi slept poorly.

He drifted in and out, through incomprehensible, hazy dreams. The moon behind his eyes shimmered sickly yellow-orange, hot like the sun. At one point he woke enough to stagger to the sink and drink water straight from the tap, guzzling greedily; he kicked the futon to mess and struggled before passing out again on his face.

At one point, he thought he heard Kyouka-chan’s voice, worried and insistent. That couldn’t be right, she wouldn’t be back for another day at least, but he couldn’t focus enough to tell if he was truly awake or if it was another dream. Dazai’s voice was there as well, rich and warm in a way he’d never heard before: it vibrated in his skull and through his bones and soothed, before he fell, finally into a deep and dreamless sleep.

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